#the french resistance;by a. dietrich

[i-dont-write-as-often-as-id-like]

this is my favorite part of TFR but it doesn’t translate well into tumblr formatting

[i-dont-write-as-often-as-id-like]

For my dear Ian

“3-Image Character Introduction” for lack of a better title Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @writingpotato07 ! This is such a neat idea and I definitely had fun with it!

Tagging @arijensineink @elijahrichardwrites @i-dont-write-as-often-as-id-like @words-after-midnight + whoever else wants to join!

Rules: “Introduce your character with 3 images. The images can be related to appearance, personality, what they do, or whatever you want. Go wild!”

I’ll do this for Kilderan.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Anna May Wong (The Thief of Bagdad, Shanghai Express)—Wong was the first Chinese American movie star, arguably the first Asian woman to make it big in American films. Though the racism of the time often forced her into stereotypical roles, awarded Asian leading roles to white actors in yellowface, and prohibited on-screen romance between actors of different races, she delivered powerful and memorable performances. When Hollywood bigotry got to be too much, she made movies in Europe. Wong was intellectually curious, a fashion icon, and a strong advocate for authentic Asian representation in cinema. And, notably for the purposes of this tournament, absolutely gorgeous.

Josephine Baker (The Siren of the Tropics, ZouZou)— Josephine Baker was an American born actress, singer, and utter icon of the period, creating the 1920s banana skirt look. She was the first black woman to star in a major motion film. She fought in the French resistance in WWII, given a Legion of Honour, as well as refusing to perform in segregated theatres in the US. She was bisexual, a fighter, and overall an absolutely incredible woman as well as being extremely attractive.

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Anna May Wong propaganda:

"She so so gorgeous!! Due to Hollywood racism she was pretty limited in the roles she got to play but even despite that she’s so captivating and deserves to be known as a leading lady in her own right!! When she’s on screen in Shanghai Express I can’t look away, which is saying something because Marlene Dietrich is also in that film."

"SHE IS ON THE BACK OF QUARTERS also she was very smart and able to speak multiple languages and is a fashion icon on top of the acting/singing"

"Paved the way for Asian American actresses AND TOTAL HOTTIE!!! She broke boundaries and made it her mission to smash stereotypes of Asian women in western film (at the time, they were either protrayed them as delicate and demure or scheming and evil). In 1951, she made history with her television show The Gallery of Madame Liu-Tsong, the first-ever U.S. television show starring an Asian-American series lead (paraphrased from Wikipedia). Also, never married and rumor has it that she had an affair with Marlene Dietrich. We love a Controversial Queen!"

"She's got that Silent Era smoulder™ that I think transcends the very stereotypical roles in which she was typically cast. Also looks very hot smouldering opposite Marlene Dietrich in "Shanghai Express"; there's kiss energy there."

"Hot as hell and chronically overlooked in her time, she's truly phenomenal and absolutely stunning"

"A story of stardom unavoidably marred by Hollywood racism; Wong's early-career hype was significantly derailed by the higher-up's reluctance to have an Asian lead, and things only got worse when the Hayes code came down and she suddenly *couldn't* be shown kissing a white man--even if that white man was in yellowface. After being shoved into the Dragon Lady role one too many times, she took her career to other continents for many years. Still, she came back to America eventually, being more selective in her roles, speaking out against Asian stereotypes, and in the midst of all of this finding the time to be awarded both the title of "World's Best Dressed Woman" by Mayfair Mannequin Society of New York and an honorary doctorate by Peking University."

"Incredible beauty, incredible actress, incredible story."

"-flapper fashion ICON. look up her fits please <3 -rumors of lesbianism due to her Close Friendships with marlene dietrich & cecil cunningham, among others -leveraged her star power to criticize the racist depictions of Chinese and Asian characters in Hollywood, as well as raise money and popular support for China & Chinese refugees in the 1930s and 40s. -face card REFUSED to decline"

Josephine Baker:

Black, American-born, French dancer and singer. Phenomenal sensation, took music-halls by storm. Famous in the silent film era.

Let's talk La Revue Negre, Shuffle Along. The iconique banana outfit? But also getting a Croix de Guerre and full military honors at burial in Paris due to working with the Resistance.

She exuded sex, was a beautiful dancer, vivacious, and her silliness and humor added to her attractiveness. She looked just as good in drag too.

So I know she was more famous for other stuff than movies and her movies weren’t Hollywood but my first exposure to her was in her films so I’ve always thought of her as a film actress first and foremost. Also she was the first black woman to star in a major motion picture so I think that warrants an entry

Iconic! Just look up anything about her life. She was a fascinating woman.

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 3 - reckoning

Theseus Scamander x Reader

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible. "I can't," he groans.

summary: a second mission with newt and the group reintroduces theseus's former fiancée, leta lestrange, into the mix. old wounds and insecurities flare as you both reckon with your pasts and make decisions that determine your future.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: romance with plot. some smut. slight angst!! non-canon compliant.

warnings: 18+ smut, semi-public inappropriate touching, dirty talk, hand kink

part one / part two / part three

author's note: it's funny how the title of this fic doesn't really fit anymore HAHA, goes to show that i did not plan this story at all. this part is going to be LONGER & more focused on plot & their character development! hope you enjoy, as always let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

The surreal, electric buzz from the gala dissipates as soon as you enter the elevator at the Hotel de Rome with Theseus.

Theseus's jacket is so large you're practically drowning in it, the sleeves hang well past your hands. You feel like a little girl in a nightgown. The elevator pulleys burr mechanically as it slowly rises, the electric bulb light casting your face in a sickly, ghastly light. The backs of your high heels have begun to dig painfully into your skin, that stinging pain the only thing grounding you to reality, that and Theseus's warm body beside you. You're positive your feet are bleeding.

Your weariness is mirrored in everyone else's faces when you walk into the hotel room at last. It's obvious that they're all overextended. There's no semblance of victoriousness, even after your successful heist.

Newt stands, alert, at the sight of his brother.

"Theseus! Finally, I was beginning to worry-"

"I'm fine, brother," Theseus waves him off. His hair is slightly damp from the snowfall, and his dress shirt as well. "We got caught up, but we're fine."

When Newt turns to speak to you, his lips part but no words come out. He's staring at your mouth. He looks pale and horrified.

"What?" You turn to the others and to Theseus in uncertainty. Tina and Jacob are also looking at you with newfound distress, but Theseus seems as clueless as you, frowning warily at Newt.

Newt makes as if to bring a hand to your face but pulls back at the last moment.

"Oh dear," Newt says. "Y-Your lipstick is smeared... I'm so terribly sorry, Y/N. And your hair—I didn’t think Dietrich would actually-"

Theseus half-raises an arm, cutting his brother short, looking admonished. 

“Actually, Newt, that would be my doing...”

Your face warms considerably. Newt chokes on his words.

“Oh…” He turns to the rest of the group, his face nearly flushed as yours. Jacob lets out a strangled noise and Tina does a discreet double-take between you and Theseus.

“Well,” says Newt, mercifully changing the subject. “We all made off fantastically. Good work.”

You want to share in his congratulations, but it feels premature with Grindelwald still at large. It doesn't feel as though you have much to celebrate in this tiny hotel room, the five of you still standing awkwardly in your evening wear.

"What now?" Asks Tina.

Newt sits on one of the two twin-sized beds and hunches over, forearms on his legs. He is your designated leader, but you have to admit he looks so small and frail without his coat. Thin and unsure of himself.

"I have it on good authority that Credence will be at a mausoleum in the French Alps. He could be heading there now, we have no way of knowing, but he is planning on going there soon. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Why?" Tina's face is full of emotion. You don't know who Credence is, or why he is important to the resistance, but you don't feel that now is the time to ask. It stuns you, the subtlety of her expression, how someone can look so crushed and full of love at once.

"He's, erm, searching for his ancestral records I believe," Newt answers. "The Lestrange artifacts and family tree were moved there from the cemetery in Paris, possibly by Grindelwald. This is likely all a trap set for Credence, but this could very well be our last chance to intercept him. To save him."

Tina is speechless, Jacob nods solemnly.

"Y/N," says Newt. It startles you to hear him say your name in all of this deliberation. "I know you probably don't understand half of what we're saying, and we understand if you don't want to come. But we'll likely run into Grindelwald and his followers. They're after Credence. We could use you."

You don't even have to think.

"Of course, Newt. I go where Theseus goes." You wonder if you sound too intense, too devoted, so you add: "And besides, I want to be of any help that I can."

Theseus reaches out and clasps your hand in his. It thrills you, for him to do this in front of his brother, in front of the others. Your heart races, happily so.

Newt smiles at the sight.

"Sleep," he turns to everyone. "We leave first thing in the morning."

----

The next day, by the time you make it to the French Alps in spats of apparition and stretches of traveling by train, it is nearly dusk again.

You and Theseus had slept like the dead in the too-small hotel room bed, with Tina in the other bed and Jacob and Newt, in a turn of events beyond your understanding, in some hidden compartment within Newt's brown leather suitcase. Strange, but you didn't question it. Your bodies ached when you woke, but it felt like heaven to you, being held by him, you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"I'm too big for this bed," he lamented, stretching his limbs, when the two of you woke in the morning.

"Hmm, yeah. Too big... " When you smiled coyly and narrowed your eyes at him he threw a pillow at your face. You caught it with a laugh.

"Naughty," he chided.

"The resistance," as Theseus had once jokingly called it, turned out to be not so glamorous after all. The resistance was perpetually tired and forever embarking on some haphazard plans only half-understood.

But when you set foot at the base of the mountains in the Alps, you feel bizarrely energized. This is what you imagined the work of an Auror would be like, chasing leads, pursuing justice through crowded cities and rugged terrain. It feels good to be so proactive after a year of being more or less cooped up in an office at the Ministry. And, best of all, Theseus is here with you. And he wants you, if not your heart then your body, at last, at least...

"This can't be it, Newt," you hear Jacob say, his breath pluming in front of him in small huffs. He struggles through the thick snowbed to catch up to Newt, who is a bit ahead of the group. You're in what looks like a forest clearing, the mountains rise in the distance, gargantuan and feeling a bit holy in their emptiness, their silence.

"He's right. There's nothing out here," calls Tina.

It's a winter forest. A killing wood. In truth, you’ve never been so cold in your entire life. The whole world has turned white as death: white blizzard blotting the air, thick blankets of fresh snow carpet the ground, and everywhere outside the clearing are great white pines standing like sentries, their edges blurred and softened by the snow fog.

You can see what’s in front of you, but you can’t see what’s coming.

Newt walks clumsily back through the budding blizzard to rejoin the group.

"The mausoleum should be a bit uphill from here!" He assures. "It's concealed by magic. Credence doesn't know, but we need someone with the blood of a Lestrange to enter."

The blood of a Lestrange.

Before you can even make the connection, Theseus stiffens beside you and drops your hand.

"Newt, you didn't." His voice is grave.

"I'm so sorry."

You wonder in a shrugging, aloof way why Newt looks to you after saying this to Theseus. It still doesn't mean anything to you.

A branch cracks, a high, ear-splitting sound like a broken bone. When you see the figure emerge from the tree line, your hand is already on your wand.

Grindelwald, you think.

But then Theseus's arm snaps out to yours, stilling your hand, almost just as quick.

"Don't." He says.

She approaches you slowly and you make out who it is almost immediately, just by the shape of her silhouette. Theseus and Newt's reactions make sense now, it all clicks into place with resounding dread. You feel the word "oh" in the pit of your stomach like a dropped stone.

Floating from the forest like that, in her wine-colored silk dress and black coat, Leta Lestrange really does look something like a ghost, or an angel...

When she approaches she walks straight to Theseus.

"Newt wrote to me," she says loud enough for everyone to hear, but she is only looking at Theseus. Looking at him like she's searching for some lifeline there. "Credence thinks he's my brother... We both know this cannot be true. I can help you get inside the mausoleum. I want to help you."

You dare to look at Theseus, bracing yourself. He looks genuinely stricken, lips parted, palms open and hanging limp beside him. So little affects him, he's so confident and secure in himself. But there in the clearing, the look on his face...

Before anyone can speak Newt steps forward again.

"I'm so sorry, but we need to get to Credence before Grindelwald. We have to go. Credence is... sensitive. He's afraid. It's best Tina and I go ahead. Leta, Theseus," he turns to the two, who are having some silent conversation with their eyes. It's so private and familiar you have to look away, you want to scream. "You two follow closely behind."

"What about me?" Jacob chimes in with a nervous laugh.

Newt tilts his head and gives Jacob a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. I won't leave you to the wolves. Y/N is a brilliant duelist and a master of all sorts of charms. You two will stay at the very back and wait outside the mausoleum. We can't afford to frighten Credence, and you need to alert us if you see any of Grindelwald's followers coming our way."

You nod numbly. Some roaring white noise fills your ears, anesthetizing the scene in front of you.

"Theseus," you hear Leta say softly. She places a gloved hand on his forearm. "Can I speak with you on the way there?"

"Of course," he responds, graciously, easily. She leads him up ahead.

You keep hoping Theseus will turn to you, even just to look back at you, to reassure, to reconnect now that Leta has been thrust back into the mix between you.

He does not turn back. You stare blankly at the back of his head as it disappears in the blurring snow. He follows Leta into the woods like a man being swept away by magic, following some siren song you can't hear.

'I can't compete with her,' you realize achingly. The truth rings dully in the pit of your stomach, metallically. 'They were engaged. They've been connected since childhood... I'm nothing.'

You try not to wring your hands or shuffle your feet, try not to look like someone left behind, wounded. You blink at the delicate crystals of snow that land on your lashes, hoping that the others don't mistake them for tears.

Newt comes over to you cautiously. He's not one for knowing what to say, but he's perceptive, and kind. Sinking, sinking, you can feel your heart being pulled to your feet and swallowed by the ground.

"Y/N," he begins. "I'm sure... When they were together—but when they separated…" He swallows and starts again. "I’m quite sure my brother’s mind is made up. I know he cares for you too, though I don’t know if he made you any promises-"

“He did not,” your voice sounds acrid, bitter to your ears, petulant, and you hate it. “It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay. He doesn’t owe me anything.” 

'And I don't owe him anything,' you finish in your mind. When really you love him like breathing, need him like water. You're just trying not to let it show.

You want to be nonchalant and unaffected, want to give only what he’ll take. You don’t want to ask for too much. 

You don’t know why loving always takes the form of limitation with you. You withheld your feelings for him for nearly a year. You only ever do what he asks. You turned down jobs and tried your best not to burden him with your feelings, with your past.

Why this mode of loving, why starvation and restraint, when love itself, for you, felt like every door in you burst open at the sight of his face? It was a wild and unwieldy joy, a freeing sort of affection that you felt for him. Now and always. 

You swallow thickly, embarrassed at the speed at which he abandoned you for her. Embarrassed by the way Tina and Newt and Jacob, even, are looking at you.

"Let's go," you say, trying to sound encouraging. Newt and Tina run ahead. You and Jacob walk in silence uphill, trudging through the snow.

----

In the end you don't see any action at all. The mausoleum appeared at Leta's beckoning, a wave of her wand and the stunning glass building, hexagonal, glittered into solidity in front of you. You and Jacob waited outside, as instructed, but through the thick, crystalline glass you could make out that the bodies and artifacts were housed in beautiful stone tombs, scattered in the glass room like giant chess pieces, and you could see what unfolded within.

Leta, Newt, and Tina were talking to Credence. They met him down where he was crouched on the floor, explaining something to him in hushed tones. He was sobbing so softly. And then he was gone, and so was Tina, who left with him.

You feel so utterly mute, so adrift, you're glad that Jacob doesn't speak to you.

Newt is the one who jogs out to you and Jacob. Theseus is still inside talking to Leta, who seems sad in a soft, unperturbed way. He's gazing at her so gently as she speaks. It's the way he looks at small animals, and children, and the people he loves.

Looking at them feels like looking at a photograph, or like looking through the windows at Primrose Hill when you were a child, before you'd outgrown the title of "orphan." You would escape the orphanage to peek into the townhouses, the family homes overlooking Regent's Park. Dining tables and grand pianos, all the lights on. Nothing to hide...

"Y/N," Newt says breathlessly. "We better get going. We beat Grindelwald here, but I don't know by how much."

You cross your arms to help with the cold.

"Okay. Where are we going-"

"Oh, it's probably best if you go back to London. Back to the Ministry. Lay low until you hear from me, or Dumbledore."

You don't know why his goodbye is so cutting. You know that he's not abandoning you too, but it's almost too much.

He purses his lips sympathetically.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Grindelwald is planning something big. But if we act any earlier Grindelwald and the Ministry will be onto us and our efforts will have been in vain."

"I know," you say. "I understand."

You apparate away without another word. You try not to think about the two of them, in the forest clearing, in the glass mausoleum, together in all the years before that, but you allow yourself to wonder when Theseus will notice that you're gone.

----

On Monday you call in sick. You've never called in sick once in your entire time at the Ministry, so your request for a sick day is accepted easily and without complaint.

You sleep the whole day and do not answer the door when you hear the knocks. Knowing who they belong to is agonizing enough. He'd never been to your place before, but you can't imagine that it was difficult for him to procure the address.

You wake from your day of fitful, restless sleeping around 2am. Moonlight streams cold and bright through your chiffon curtains, filling your apartment with blue and silver shadows that you find comforting, beautiful maybe.

When you pad out into your living room, barefoot, you see a letter on the hardwood floor. A creamy envelope that had been slipped under the doorframe, waiting there for you like magic.

You bend down to pick it up and open it. There's nothing on the envelope itself, but you'd know him by handwriting alone, by his breathing, his scent.

Dear Y/N,

I know you're not sick. Because you're never sick. You have the most formidable immune system I've ever come across and I think muggle doctors should study you in a lab for it. But, I confess, that's beside the point...

I know you're cross with me. Please, if I have upset you or, worse, if I've broken your heart, I can assure you it was never my intention. Meaning: if I hurt you it is because I am a fool, and not because you are deserving of any hurt.

Forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I needed to resolve some things, and Leta's arrival was a true shock for me. I behaved poorly to you, but even more unforgivably to Leta, who I left mere weeks before our wedding, confessing my love for another woman. The pain I've caused her haunts me, and I was happy to be absolved of it yesterday evening. Happy to answer her questions and to be forgiven. But I should not have left you there alone. I should not have let go of your hand. I damn myself, because as much as I love you, it seems I've never been able to do it well.

I hope this pitiful explanation and guileless apology will suffice. Come, pretty girl. Come to work tomorrow, I beg you. My whole life is on the floor without you, nothing works, my head's a mess.

Yours,

T

You heart clenches painfully. Your lungs constrict and your hand tightens around the letter. You love him. You want to let it go, what happened between him and Leta, and you and him, in the clearing.

But you can't.

----

Apparently, it's going to be a week of first-times. Because, also for the first time in your career at the Ministry, you are running late.

"Fuck," you hiss to yourself. You hate traveling by Floo Flame, are used to the muggle comforts of walking and the London Underground, but you don't have time.

You dust off the fireplace ash from your shoulders as you walk through the British Ministry.

"Y/N!" you hear. The voice slices through the bustle and noise of the suit-clad workers not with its volume but with its familiarity.

It's him.

'Oh, god. Already?' You'd been hoping to avoid Theseus today. An impossible task, considering he was your boss, but you'd taken on more impossible tasks before. Bigger monsters.

"Y/N, hold on!" Theseus shouts again.

You have to speed up your walking to a near-comical pace to escape his long-legged strides. Hard to do in heels.

You turn your body sideways and push forward through a thicket of office workers with an "Excuse me! So sorry!" to shoulder your way into an empty elevator.

You slump against the back wall, exhaling deeply in relief. No Theseus-encounter after all. You really managed to-

"Aha!" Theseus exclaims, interjecting his overstretched hand just as the elevator doors begin to close. "Perfect. I was just looking for you, Y/N."

You don't respond, but huff in indignation and move aside, making room for him in the small elevator. He presses your floor number, level two, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who just ran across the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic, unrepentantly.

Your heart pounds as the elevator begins to move, you don't know why you can't look at him. Maybe it's because you know, if you did, all would be forgiven. You jolt when he leans forward and pulls the emergency break. The elevator comes to a jerking, screeching halt.

When he looks at you, sidelong, your stomach flips.

"C'mere," he mumbles, and moves to trap your body against the wall.

Your body responds differently than your mouth, arching against the wall, pushing closer to him.

"Ugh, no," you say, mournfully. You want it bad, want him. But you're still angry. It's oddly possessing, the notion that just a kiss from him could save you.

Your words do give him pause, however. He's standing so close to you he basically has you up against the wall, there's no escaping him. His chest heaves, you can feel his breath against your face. You want to press his open mouth to yours, to taste it, open yours to his tongue.

"No?" He echoes dubiously. "Did... did you not get my letter?"

"I got your letter," you retort, feeling flustered. "I found it... insufficient."

He starts forward again, a hand cups your ass. You slap it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible.

"I can't," he groans.

"Try harder."

"I am rational and measured about all things in life, except for this, for you."

"Try harder," you say again, more forcefully, ignoring him.

"Hmm," he hums, considering. You don't move this time when his hand traces your thigh through the material of your skirt, you just stare, mesmerized. Your skin breaks out in chills. His fingertips move in lazy, dancing circles.

His hands, his fucking hands. They're so big. Long, elegant fingers with large knuckles. The veins there, the fact that you know what his fingers feel like inside of you...

Theseus follows your gaze with his eyes and scoffs, but not unkindly.

"You want my fingers inside of you, baby?"

He doesn't wait, and when you don't protest he doesn't stop. His hands slide under your skirt, one of his thumbs is pressing firmly against your clit through the lacy material of your underwear. He applies such a steady, unmoving pressure, staring into your eyes relentlessly and leaning his thumb harder and harder into that one spot until you squirm back against the wall with a ragged moan, breaking his burning gaze, not sure if you're more desperate to escape the sensation or to keep feeling it, over and over again.

"Theseus," his name sounds filthy out of your mouth, heady as a moan, though you're actually trying to tell him something. "Really, I just-"

The elevator lurches forward again, shuddering in place for a few moments before resuming its path with a piercing screech. You tumble into Theseus, losing your balance, and he catches you with both his arms.

"What did-"

"I don't know," he says, helping you right yourself, looking over his shoulder at the doors.

The elevator stops at level six, the Department of Magical Transportation. Your face is still flushed red and tingling with heat when the ornamental brass doors slide open and the two of you are greeted by a curious, gawking group of wizards that includes the department head, Mr. Silas Elodius.

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Scamander, it's you," Silas Elodius is a unfailingly happy, plump man. "We were wondering what must've happened! It seemed the two of you got stuck. Well, all sorted now!" He laughs heartily. "Trust our department to get you moving again."

Theseus returns the laugh, a little less enthusiastically. The both of you move against the back wall of the elevator to allow the large group to shuffle in.

"Excuse us, we're headed to level three," Silas smiles wildly, toothily. He tends to talk through his smiling, which makes his next admission all the more horrific. "Terrible accident involving a misplaced potion bottle on the Knight Bus! Boom! Limbs lost. Really nasty business."

"Erm," Theseus seems shaken, at a loss of how to respond, which is uncommon for him. "We'll be level two."

"Right, of course!" Mr. Elodius motions impatiently for one of his several colleagues to press the button. With the combined weight of everyone there, the elevator moves slowly, dragging sluggishly upwards through space. Thankfully, the group does not turn back to you or Theseus, preoccupied with their own small conversations.

Your heart is still thumping pitifully, your pussy still throbbing and aching around nothing, craving his fingers, stuffed inside. You're wet, and there is no relief in sight. But you still want, need, to be mad at him.

"Y/N," Theseus is leaning in, speaking so low that only you can hear him. The sound of your name in his mouth, it's a purr, a plea.

You shudder. "Theseus, please don't."

"If this were my office," he whispers. His hand returns to the front of your skirt, slips beneath the hemline and nudges your underwear aside, slides up, embarrassingly easily, between your slick folds. You lean back against the wall in silent prayer, for him. You're frozen, incapable of moving, incapable of telling him to stop.

"If this were my office," he continues, voice thick and ragged. His finger moves leisurely, pumping in and out, driving you crazy. "I'd have you on my desk with your legs up. And I'd lick you until you cried. I bet you're such a pretty crier. I wanna make you come on my mouth, my tongue."

It takes everything in you to remain quiet, to remain still. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling, your head going pleasantly fuzzy, the elevator dings and he retracts his hand, smoothly, unfussily.

He looks so unaffected, leaning back against the wall. It's you who has to bow your head to avoid Mr. Elodius's eyeline. Your knees tremble.

"Well, this is us! Best of luck, Scamander." Mr. Elodius waits for his people to file out of the elevator before departing.

Theseus salutes him with two fingers, in a charmingly youthful way.

When the doors close again you've recovered more of yourself, your wits.

"Where were we?" He corners you again, kissing the side of your neck.

"I'm mad at you, Theseus." You don't stop him from kissing your neck, but you grip his wrist, haltingly hard, when it starts to reach under your skirt again.

"Mm," he hums against your throat, noting the way you expose more of it, craning it for his access. "No, you're not."

With a nip of his teeth, he extracts a whine and a tremor down your legs. You imagine his hands, his beautiful big hands, coming around your throat, squeezing, applying pressure there until you go light-headed. You want to be choked by him. You want to get down on your knees in this elevator and unbuckle his belt and take him into your mouth until he's the one who is needy and whining, wanting it bad, moaning and praising you, calling you a good girl.

The elevator dings for the final time and you have to physically push him off of you. He falls back without a fight.

"Our floor," you say, trying to make your expression into something like a glare. You're not very good at resenting him.

For a moment you're not sure what he's going to do to you. It's scandalizing and rousing, the idea that he might grab you, touch you anyway. The look in his eyes is black and beyond hungry, sapped of all restraint. He gulps and clenches his jaw. Blinks at last.

Ever the gentleman.

"Of course, after you," Theseus says. He motions for you to walk ahead of him.

You stomp off to your shared office, trying pathetically to fix your skirt and your hair and any other part of you that looks disheveled.

When he comes into his office behind you and closes the door, latching the lock, he looks equally undone. Vulnerable almost. It's not only that he needs you, which he does, but that he wants to make it okay and doesn't know how.

"Y/N," he makes a vague, defenseless gesture, throwing up his arms weakly, and sighs. "I don't.... How can I make it right? How can I make it up to you?"

It's a cheerless, pitiful noise, your responding laugh.

"Don't worry, Theseus. I got your letter. And besides, I manage my hopes quite well on my own."

"I wish you wouldn't. Don't."

You scoff.

"No, it's my fault for hoping for more from you. You're asking me to, what, put my faith in the world?" You know your tone is sharper than intended, and your expression is that of a burned woman, hardened and jaded.

But he doesn't hold it against you. You try not to flinch away when he steps forward and brings a hand up to your face, to your cheek.

"No, I'm asking you to put your faith in me."

You could cry at this tenderness he's affording you.

"I just," you gently place your hand over his and lower it from your face. "I just can't believe that you don't feel anything for her. I can't shake the way I felt watching you leave me, without a second glance."

Your voice breaks on the last word. You're admitting more than you bargained for. Admitting that this is the way you've felt your entire life. The orphanage, your parents, every adult who promised to help you, to save you, and didn't. It was too familiar of a pain for it to hurt as badly as it did, being left behind.

"Leta, she... I don't know what you mean," he says, shaking his head.

“Theseus, I'm not stupid! I saw the way you went after her! The way you left me behind, it was like I ceased to exist. You obviously still have feelings for her—"

“I have feelings for you!" He raises his voice in frustration, and it startles you. "She’s the one I left behind, for you.” 

You feel so worked up, so overheated. You don't want to be fighting with him, not now, not ever.

"I-I don't believe you-"

"Y/N, you are essentially calling me a liar right now. I don't know what else I can say to make you believe it, you act as if I took off with her and kissed her-"

"You didn't have to! You already have been for the last two years, Theseus!" Your hands are wavering, your bottom lip too. "I don't believe you because, if it's true what you told me, about you leaving her for me, why didn't you act in the months after?! You proposed to Leta mere months after dating, but for the months you were single you didn't try to-"

"I was your boss, Y/N! I was trying to be a good man, a good friend!" He rakes a hand through his hair roughly.

"So I'm just supposed to believe that you left your fiancée to live a life as my friend? To continue working with me like-"

“I apologize if that’s too difficult for you to believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” His tone is brusque, almost business-like.

It's like a shot to the heart. His lack of understanding, lack of seeing.

“Too difficult for me to believe? Me?!” You’ve never raised your voice at him like this, every word is straining out of you, painfully. Any semblance of control you had is unspooling, rapidly. “Theseus, my second month here I was offered a position as an Auror, my dream job, what I’d worked so hard for at school, and I turned it down to keep being your assistant! I turned it down to keep living a life in your shadow. I thought that if I could make myself smaller for you I could-"

You can’t continue, the tears rise up in a saltwater tide in your lungs. You turn your head away, quick, so he doesn’t see your face break.

"Y/N," he says, gentle, broken. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Maybe you didn't want to know. I... I know you desire me, Theseus. I'm sorry, at one point I thought I could just sleep with you, and I wouldn't need anything more, but.... Oh, god, I'm sorry."

You rub at your eyes aggressively, even as the tears continue to fall, in a self-conscious and fruitless display.

He looks so lost, looks like he very badly wants to comfort you, to hug you, but no longer knows if he's allowed to.

"Y/N, I can recommend you for promotion, I can-"

"It's fine, Theseus. I made my decision and I've lived with it. There are no open positions right now anyway, the post was filled."

It's silent for long enough that the quiet no longer hangs there like an awful, third body between you. You regain your composure, the tears pass and give way to a hollow feeling.

"Y/N," Theseus speaks at last. He's standing across his office still, but the look in his eyes is so full of longing and yearning, he could've been across a train platform, a crowded room, a continent. "I have not been doing this right. I should've asked you to be my girlfriend a long time ago, I know. For that I am ashamed. But..."

He licks his lips and inhales sharply, trying to find the words.

"Y/N, please don't accuse me of lusting after you. What I feel for you is nothing so shallow as lust. Yes, I want to be inside you all the time, but that's because being close to you, this," he steps forward and places a cold hand against your chest demonstratively, below your neck, skin to skin, "This isn't close enough."

You look up into his seaglass eyes, your heart in tatters. Him, it's always been him.

"I miss you when I'm with you," he says. "I love you, I've told you before and I'll tell you again and again, but it's up to you to believe it, sweetheart."

When you still don't say anything, can't find the words, he looks crestfallen, closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks you, opening them.

And you can't answer. To love him freely? To feel held and chosen by him? To live your dreams and relinquish your past without shame or grief or hesitation? Before you begin to say anything at all, the words building and budding at the back of your throat like a flower about to bloom, a knock sounds at the door.

Theseus closes his eyes and sighs, pained.

"Theseus-"

"I have to go," he says tersely. "I've been gone with my brother for too long. The department heads have called me in for questioning. I don't know when I'll be out."

You nod, swallowing.

He looks at your face, a look of determination settling on his.

"I promise to make it right."

----

It's past closing time and Theseus still has not returned from the depths of whatever secret, dim-lit corner of the Ministry they took him to for questioning. All day you've spent heartlessly filling out paperwork, finishing up your research assignments, stewing in anxiety.

Please, keep him safe. You think to no one in particular. Please.

You reluctantly leave the office, hoping to find him in the Atrium. You sit there glumly at the edge of the fountain, shooting periodic glances towards the elevators and the staircases, hoping to see him emerging from the Department of Mysteries, maybe, or the Courtrooms. Even the paper missives, usually magicked into airplane and bird shapes, have stopped flying overhead in the Atrium. The Ministry is emptying out, there's hardly any foot traffic at all.

You feel as though you handled everything, your insecurities and emotions, so artlessly, so recklessly in your last conversation. You are aching to make it better.

Eventually, you walk back to level two in a daze, pushing through the heavy oak door to the Aurors Offices with all the attention of a sleepwalker, your mind elsewhere.

You nearly trip on the house elf in front of the door when you stumble into Theseus's office. The elf grumbles in discontent.

House elves? Your shared office is hardly recognizable. Half-cleaned out, three Ministry house elves are busy at work, boxing and taping and scrubbing the furniture and shelves clean. Your stomach lurches.

Theseus. Where are all his things? Was he found out? Arrested?

Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your ears, so transformed by sheer panic.

"Hello, excuse me!" You say to one of the house elves. He looks over in open disdain, though you can't blame him, seeing as you almost crushed him just now. "Hi, yes, what is going on? What are you doing with Mr. Scamander's things? I'm his assistant."

"Mr. Scamander," the elf drawls, setting aside his mop bucket with a melodramatic thunk and splash. "No longer works here."

The elf tries to turn back to his work when you lunge forward and grasp him by the shoulder. He looks at your hand on him in abject shock.

"Please!" You beg, falling to your knees to better convince the house elf. "I need to know what's happened to him, it's important."

"Nothing has happened to him, miss. He turned in his letter of resignation an hour or so ago!" The elf shakes you off of him, none too gently.

He gestures rudely to the two, untouched pieces of paper laid out on the desk. Everything else has been cleared.

You snatch up the nearest page with a shaking hand, eyes racing over the words.

It's from the heads of your department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it confirms what the elf told you. Theseus gave up his position and designated you as the one he desired to fill the post. The Aurorship is yours.

The letter requested that you complete a trial period of one month, as it was unheard of for a witch with no Auror experience to take up the Head Auror post. But they were amenable if the trial period went well. These were dark days, recruits were scarce and few other Aurors were jumping to fill the position. Your confirmation meeting with the department heads was to be after work, at 7pm.

It's nearly that time now.

You blink at the words on the page, astounded and a bit shell-shocked.

You're hardly thinking at all when you pick up the second letter, hands moving with an automaton, detached fluidity.

Dearest Y/N,

The questioning did not go well. I had to act quickly, darling. I was thinking only of you.

Take the Head Auror position and be safe and happy forever. Blamelessly, and knowing you are loved.

Or, meet me at King's Cross Station tonight, at 7:15pm. If you'll have me, if you love me. I'm joining the fight against Grindelwald, for good. I'm meeting my brother and the others at Hogsmeade.

I am horrified that you ever put me over your dreams, and that I gave you so little in return for it. If I could turn back time, I would've done it all differently. I would've made you mine.

My love, you couldn't answer me when I asked you what you wanted today, so I wanted to give you this choice now.

It did not make much sense for me to stay at the Ministry. They were suspicious of me from the start, war hero or not, because of my relation to Newt. You could do wonderful things, have so much more influence than I could. There were no other open Auror positions for you to take but mine, but I can give you this one part of my life, easily. God knows I'd give you the rest if you asked.

I cannot promise your safety, or your happiness, but I can promise to love you, as I do now, as I always have, no matter what you decide. My heart is yours alone. All you have to do is reach out and take it.

Yours,

Theseus

Reading the words on the page, feeling your own breath suck in and whoosh out of your lungs, hearing it, it's all so surreal.

Your heart flutters meekly, wounded at either prospect. But you want to choose yourself. Who has ever chosen you? You need to be on your own side this time.

You glance at the clock and curse. You shouldn't have spent so much time waiting in the Atrium, floating about the Ministry.

"I can't go, I won't go," you decide. "It's too late anyway."

Who knew if you'd even be able to have a real relationship with him? Even if you believed his love for you, and that he was over Leta, and somehow overcame the horrors and traumas of your life that you hadn't begun to confront... who knew if it would work? That would be its own, new, excruciating pain, having loved and it still not being enough...

"I'm staying," you think to yourself. "I am. He doesn't know what he's asking of me, he doesn't really know me at all. I'm staying. I'm taking the position."

At first you thought the words to convince yourself, reaffirm and reinforce. But they don't sound as improbable as you thought. This happiness doesn't sound too good to be true, it sounds as if it could belong to you after all.

You sigh, trembling, and begin to go through the empty drawers of Theseus's old desk, imagining your life, or trying to.

You reach for the bottommost drawer, pulling it open.

The sight of the worn little clothbound book snags your vision like a thorn. You pull it out in a trancelike state and read the title: Garden Parting by P. M. Kipling. The memory rises without you even having to reach for it, like a face in water.

-----

One Year Ago

It was only your fourth week at the office. This bloody idiot named Henry Ludgate somehow came to the insane conclusion that if he talked to you enough, or talked at you, more fittingly, you would like him back. So every one of your lunch breaks, without fail, he'd come searching for you in the Atrium to talk your ear off about nothing at all.

At the present moment, he was trying to strike up a conversation about women's shoewear, a hard topic for even far better conversationalists.

"I actually do like flat shoes, or 'flats,' are they? But I only like the ones with a bit of heel, all the other types of flats are terribly unattractive I think."

You were dimly aware of your boss, Theseus Scamander, watching this all unfold with a lackadaisical amusement. He was leaning against a newsstand of The Daily Prophet pretending to read it, but really you knew his sly smile at the front page was for you.

"So, not flats?"

"Sorry?" Henry always jumped at the excuse of poor hearing to lean uncomfortably close to you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if Henry saw or not.

"If the flats you say you like have heels, doesn't that make them not 'flat shoes'?" You asked curtly.

Henry stared at you dumbly. "Oh, right. So it's 'heels' I like then."

You flicked your gaze up to his, irritably.

"So how many pairs do you own, then?"

You thought you saw a rustle of paper in the corner of your vision--undoubtedly Theseus was choking back some fit of laughter.

Henry attempted to clear his throat but only seemed to choke, rubbing a half-fist on his chest touchily.

"What?! Pardon me, not for myself!" He was veritably red in the face, not pink or any subtle, healthy flush, but bright red. "I-I meant I like heels on women, on you."

You could barely tamp down your frustration. This was supposed to be a restful lunch break, a good hour of no-work, and yet you seemed to enjoy your actual work more than this (for many reasons, the first reason beginning with the letter T and the last reason being the way the first reason smiled at you whenever you said something bright, or funny, or kind. He had a smile like light cracking open the sky at dawn, it so completely transformed the rest of his face, always reaching his eyes).

"Henry," you sighed, indulgently, maybe a bit patronizingly. "As much as I am grateful for your... fashion tips, and your riveting conversation, I really do prefer to read on my lunch breaks. I'll have to excuse myself."

You turned on your heel before he could protest, finding another secluded corner of the Atrium by the fountain. You pulled out the book, Garden Parting, as more of a prop, or a shield, or a comfort object, like a teddy bear. You had no intention of reading it right now. Not when...

Just as you suspected. You saw the shadow come over your shoulder, the shape of his figure, his hands in his pockets. Even that, his outline or shadow, stirred up some feeling you couldn't name in your chest, in the cavity there, next to your heart.

"Mr. Scamander," you sighed. "I really don't understand what sort of sadistic pleasure you gain from watching Ludgate torture me with mind-numbingly boring conversation."

You said this without turning, already smiling. Theseus sat down beside you, gingerly, beaming.

"It's entertaining," he said. The deep rumble of his voice was pleasant. "The way you eviscerate him. It's my favorite part."

There was something so attractive about the tilt of his eyes, hooded, and the curl of his hair, a strand falling loose over his forehead. He brought his bottom lip under his teeth, bit down and squinted at you.

"Do you really prefer to read on your breaks, Y/N?"

You scoffed, mock-offended.

"Yes! Do you really read The Daily Prophet on yours?"

"No, not at all," he admitted, shamelessly and with a boyish smile. "What are you reading?"

You suddenly felt self-conscious. You almost didn't want to show him. Your book was soft and worn, the cloth corners frayed, the text on the front half chipped off.

Against your instinct and your nature, you found yourself reluctantly handing him the book. Your mortification increased tenfold when he didn't take it from your extended hand, he only stared at it unreadably.

"What-" you began.

"Wait," Theseus turned to his suitcase, set it down on the tiled floor beside the fountain and clicked open the latches. "Garden Parting by P.M. Kipling, right?"

He was speaking so excitedly, shuffling around in his suitcase.

'No way,' you thought, and then, because you couldn't help it:

"Oh, you're kidding," you gasped. "No, Theseus! You're kidding. I swore I was the only person in London with a copy."

Theseus pulled it out at last, victorious. A sleek hardcover, newer than yours, but creased from frequent reading.

"Oh, Theseus!" You brought your hands up to your mouth. You were always worried your emotions, especially excitement, would make it harder to be taken seriously at work. You endeavored to dampen and mute them, but you could not hide your girlish elation at this inexplicable commonality between the two of you.

He smiled at your reaction, a slow, warm smile.

"Who knew you had a secret affinity for muggle literature?" You tried to make your tone teasing and demeaning but couldn't commit to it, you were too surprised by the force of your own joy.

"My roommate at Hogwarts was muggleborn. He gave it to me."

"You carry it with you too?" You asked, still in disbelief.

"Everywhere!" It was a breathy admission, half a laugh, earnest. "I like to reread certain parts. It doesn't get old." He was smiling so big it was almost heart-wrenching, you did not think he had ever looked at you like that, eyes blazing with naked enthusiasm. Looking at you like you were holding some key, to what you didn't know.

"No one seems to know about it," he continued with a shrug. "I've been waiting for someone to talk with about this book since I was sixteen."

"Oh," you kept saying. You wondered if he thought you sounded stupid for it, or if he thought it was endearing. "There's this one part I think about almost every day. In the purple glass house, with the broken arm used to-"

"-To praise God and 'be done with it'?" He finished for you.

Then miraculously, he flipped his copy open, paper fluttering, to a sole, underlined paragraph. The very same.

"It's like we're speaking the same language," He whispered with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes were reverent.

You flashed him a smile, one that was glowing and real. You were holding his copy of the book between you now, like children with a shared toy, or like lovers reading a roadmap.

"What language? English?" You asked sarcastically, making a funny face.

But you had known what Theseus meant. What wavelength of sense that you two, alone, could access. How the world spoke to you both in the same ways, through the same channels of meaning.

Garden Parting was the only object you had from your deceased parents, the only thing that survived your childhood. It was a children's chapter book that your father used to read to you, quite a grim piece of magical realism about a lot of things, but mostly about a girl condemned to go back to her burning house and stay there, inside, until the flames went out. There's no question that it will be swallowed whole, that she will burn to death in the place she was born.

When Theseus spoke again his eyes were shining, perceptively.

"Is that you then?" His voice was subdued, made gentle, intentionally. His eyes looked strangely dark inside the black stone interior of the Ministry, blue like river slate, dim like rain. "The main character, that's you?"

It was the most you'd ever revealed. It was a single, quiet word.

"Yes," you said.

Theseus placed a hand on your forearm. You didn't dare move, react, for fear he would stop touching you. A bird on your windowsill.

"I'll be the great owl then," he said. "The one that takes her away at the end.... Or Reggie, the one that's her friend. Whatever you want."

You laughed, bleakly. You felt pressured to speak, nonsense, anything to cover up how much his words meant to you.

"Really," you said. "It's my favorite book, but sometimes I can hardly get through it, there's so much pain in her life. I get so anxious..."

"Here," Theseus plucked a ribbon from his suitcase and flipped open your copy of the book. He placed the ribbon strategically towards the back, surgically almost, his long fingers lining it up with the interior spine, right in the scene where the owl takes the girl away and there's happiness set aside for her in life, after all.

"I'll mark it with this," he said. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, the moment was too intimate to bear. But you were both thinking of each other, talking to each other. "So you can remember how it ends."

-----

The memory of that day by the fountain is so unexpected that it is the first time you're remembering it at all.

'Maybe he does know me after all, does see me.'

The thought is a shattering one.

'Oh, god.'

You check the time. It's 6:50pm. You pull on your coat and snatch your purse off the desk. If you leave now, right now, you can intercept him.

Theseus has to know you're coming. Even if you don't make it onto the train, he has to see your face on the platform, through the window, even. He has to know that you're choosing him.

You apparate as far as you're able and begin to run towards the station the rest of the way.

You're coming for him, each pounding step you're coming, heart soaring, this is that freeing love that grows and grows and stretches out into space like air. And you're going to tell him everything, every wish and every nightmare, you're going to--

A hand shoots out and pulls you backward by the neck. The grip is so hard that you taste blood, everywhere, in your mouth.

You yelp but the sound is lost as you are torn through the air, choking through space. Being forcibly apparated always feels like choking, like being pushed down a flight of stairs repeatedly. You can't catch your breath or your footing, you don't know where you're being taken.

Dark material whooshes and cuts around you. You hardly feel a thing.

Could someone at the Ministry have seen the letters left on your desk? Read them? Were you and Theseus positively identified at the gala in Berlin, or maybe outside the mausoleum? Before you've even arrived at your captor's destination, your mind whirls helplessly, to Grindelwald, to the situation at hand, and then, finally, to Theseus, who is waiting at Platform 9 3/4 for a girl who will never arrive, for a girl he will assume is telling him "no."

It happened so fast you didn't even have the time to turn around, to touch your wand. You were apparated away, stolen into thin air, before you could even set foot inside the station.

---

part four here

authors note: yeah i did watch the last letter from you lover on netflix and YEAH it did inspire this fic and rewire my brain at the same time. SORRY this fic ended on a cliffhanger and was so long!! we just had a LOT of ground to cover, but the subsequent parts should be back to the normal length!!

i like writing a mix of smut and romance plot but let me know if you prefer one to the other (also garden parting isn't a real book if that wasn't obvious) OK BYYEEE love you thanks so much for all the replies and feedback :))

also i have yet to read through this for typos so maybe! come back in a day or so for the final version?

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

[stitching-in-time]

Voyager rewatch s4 ep18: The Killing Game pt 1

I love this one!! This has always been one of my favorite Voyager stories, and I never get tired of it. It's just so much fun. The entire crew having holodeck shenanigans in 1940s outfits? Heck yeah!!! Historical dress up play time is one of my favorite genres of Star Trek story, so I'm not gonna be super critical of the plot here. But I actually do think it was a cool concept to use the Hirogen taking over the ship, and using the holodecks for simulated hunts, as a device to get the crew into a 'safeties off' holoprogram, without just saying "whoops another malfunction!"

At first it seemed a little far fetched that the Hirogen would do that, but as the story went along, they show more of this particular Hirogen leader being more thoughtful than the other Hirogen we've seen. I actually thought it worked to have this forward thinking leader wanting to find a way to bring his people into the future, and save them from being scattered nomads obsessed with the hunt. The conflict between him and his more traditional second in command set up the ending well too.

I think dropping us in in the middle of the simulations already running really worked here, it lets the audience piece together what happened as more context is revealed to us, and kind of mimics the disorientation the characters themselves experience when they later realize what's really going on.

I absolutely love having the crew be resistance fighters in WWII France, and having them all think it's real is an even better stroke of genius, it's a like an alternate universe fanfiction, and all of them fit their holodeck personas so well. (Maybe a little too well, idk how the Hirogen knew Tom and B'Elanna were a couple to write them their little romantic subplot, but I don't even care! It's cute and I love it!! Star crossed lovers fated to be together in every reality is one of my favorite tropes, so I'm totally here for it!!)

I also love the sets in this episode- the nightclub run by Janeway's alter ego is a gorgeously atmospheric little spot I'd love to hang out in. The French village set is very pretty, and actually outside on a backlot rather than inside a soundstage, so it feels a lot bigger, and makes the story feel a little more epic. Despite it being a holodeck environment, there's always an extra aura of authenticity when they actually film things outside.

And of course, the fashion- everybody is serving looks in their 1940s clothes and hair the whole time. These are hot people to begin with, but the entire crew just becomes 1000% more attractive in these outfits. I mean look at this:

Captain Janeway in this white Marlene Dietrich suit?! MA'AM!!!

And then Tuvok in this white suit?! SIR!!!

Seven of Nine in this silver lame dress with her hair down?! A gift!!!

Even Neelix looks cute AF in his little French villager outfit:

Then they have dapper daytime outfits that are also major slays:

Ugh!! So much gorgeous!! (Apparently, my sexual orientation is just: Voyager Crew in 1940s Outfits)

And then Seven of Nine shows up in a cute little beret, and convinces me that she's actually adorable:

AND THEN we get American GI Tom and Chakotay:

Good lord, stop with all the hotness!! (Who knew a little brylcreamed hair was all it took to make Chakotay seem hot to me??)

It's fun to see them all subtly change the way they speak and act a little bit to fit the period and the setting- Roxann was a little softer and more refined as Brigitte than as B'Elanna, Tuvok and Seven show a little more emotion as their French personas than they usually do, Chakotay using the old-timey American slang that usually only Tom would know or use. (Tom, meanwhile, looks and acts pretty much the same- he's the very model of a wholesome middle american guy whether it's the 1940s or 2370s lol.) Yet they all still maintain their core character traits and relationship dynamics, even when they don't know who they really are. It's fascinating to watch and very thoughtfully done.

Meanwhile, poor Harry is left out of the simulation to try to hold Voyager together while the Hirogen divert all power to holodecks, and the Doctor is in charge of fixing up crewman who get wounded in the simulations. Harry secretly tries to find a way to disrupt the neural interfaces that keep the crew from realizing what's really going on, so that they can retake the ship.

The crew's holodeck personas plan to destroy communications at the German headquarters, and once again, we have fabulous outfits where they dress up all in black to sneak in:

Illegal levels of hotness going on here!! Rude!! How dare!!

Also Tuvok in this newsboy cap weilding a machine gun is just, like, hot damn:

(In real life guns are not cool, but in the story he's using it against nazis, so go off king!!)

So then, I forget what happens exactly, but the safeties are off, so when a bomb goes off, it doesn't stay confined to the holodeck, and it tears a hole through the ship's walls and reveals four decks worth of exposed corridors. I honestly don't remember Voyager's holodeck being that tall, the ceiling of the set we've seen was only like two decks tall, maybe 3, max, but maybe holodeck 1 is meant to be the bigger one, and maybe they've only ever shown us holodeck 2 up till now? Idk, but honestly, I don't even care, because it looks cool and I'm having fun!!

So that's where the cliffhanger leaves us, with Harry and the Doctor only having disconnected Seven and Janeway so far. I remember watching this for the first time as a kid and being totally enthralled by it. I was already a history nerd, and I grew up watching old Hollywood movies from the 40s, so this was very much my jam, even as an eleven year old. And by golly, I've never gotten tired of it in all these years, despite it being one of the few I would always rewatch whenever it popped up on a re-run.

Tl;dr: One of the most fun and genuinely exciting holodeck adventure stories in all of Trek, featuring the whole cast looking hot as hell in 1940s outfits, and shooting nazis. What more can you ask for, really?

[look-sharp-notes]

Tankers from the 9th Company of the Second Panzer Division of the French Army took part in the liberation of Paris. They fought in the battles on the Moselle and, supported by American infantry, were the first to enter Strasbourg.

The oldest tankman was Jean Alexis Moncorger, who fought in North Africa and later took part in the Normandy operation. For his heroism he was awarded the Médaille Militaire and the Croix de Guerre.

The name of Jean Alexis Moncorger is practically unknown. The whole world knows him by his stage name - the great French actor Jean Gabin. Gaben did not want to film in occupied Paris. He went to the USA, acted, met Marlene Dietrich... In her memoirs, she writes: “Once he and Gabin heard on the radio how de Gaulle called on the French to resist.” And she accompanied Gaben to the war.

Jean Gabin returned to Paris as a liberator. They say that Marlene Dietrich was in the crowd of welcoming Parisians and, seeing Gabin driving into Paris on a tank, rushed to him. Whether this is true or not, God knows. But already in old age, the great actress wrote in her diary: “My love for him has remained forever.”

[maximumtalewonderland]

Paris is liberated after four years of Nazi occupation

After more than four years of Nazi occupation, Paris is liberated by the French 2nd Armored Division and the U.S. 4th Infantry Division. German resistance was light, and General Dietrich von Choltitz, commander of the German garrison, defied an order by Adolf Hitler to blow up Paris’ landmarks and burn the city to the ground before its liberation. Choltitz signed a formal surrender that afternoon, and on August 26, Free French General Charles de Gaulle led a joyous liberation march down the Champs d’Elysees.

Paris fell to Nazi Germany on June 14, 1940, one month after the German Wehrmacht stormed into France. Eight days later, France signed an armistice with the Germans, and a puppet French state was set up with its capital at Vichy. Elsewhere, however, General Charles de Gaulle and the Free French kept fighting, and the Resistance sprang up in occupied France to resist Nazi and Vichy rule.

The French 2nd Armored Division was formed in London in late 1943 with the express purpose of leading the liberation of Paris during the Allied invasion of France. In August 1944, the division arrived at Normandy under the command of General Jacques-Philippe Leclerc and was attached to General George S. Patton’s 3rd U.S. Army. By August 18, Allied forces were near Paris, and workers in the city went on strike as Resistance fighters emerged from hiding and began attacking German forces and fortifications.

At his headquarters two miles inland from the Normandy coast, Supreme Allied Commander Dwight D. Eisenhower had a dilemma. Allied planners had concluded that the liberation of Paris should be delayed so as to not divert valuable resources away from important operations elsewhere. The city could be encircled and then liberated at a later date.

On August 21, Eisenhower met with de Gaulle and told him of his plans to bypass Paris. De Gaulle urged him to reconsider, assuring him that Paris could be reclaimed without difficulty. The French general also warned that the powerful communist faction of the Resistance might succeed in liberating Paris, thereby threatening the re-establishment of a democratic government. De Gaulle politely told Eisenhower that if his advance against Paris was not ordered, he would send Leclerc’s 2nd Armored Division into the city himself.

On August 22, Eisenhower agreed to proceed with the liberation of Paris. The next day, the 2nd Armored Division advanced on the city from the north and the 4th Infantry Division from the south. Meanwhile, in Paris, the forces of German General Dietrich von Choltitz were fighting the Resistance and completing their defenses around the city. Hitler had ordered Paris defended to the last man, and demanded that the city not fall into Allied hands except as “a field of ruins.” Choltitz dutifully began laying explosives under Paris’ bridges and many of its landmarks, but disobeyed an order to commence the destruction. He did not want to go down in history as the man who had destroyed the “City of Light”—Europe’s most celebrated city.

The 2nd Armored Division ran into heavy German artillery, taking heavy casualties, but on August 24 managed to cross the Seine and reach the Paris suburbs. There, they were greeted by enthusiastic civilians who besieged them with flowers, kisses, and wine. Later that day, Leclerc learned that the 4th Infantry Division was poised to beat him into Paris proper, and he ordered his exhausted men forward in a final burst of energy. Just before midnight on August 24, the 2nd Armored Division reached the Hótel de Ville in the heart of Paris.

German resistance melted away during the night. Most of the 20,000 troops surrendered or fled, and those that fought were quickly overcome. On the morning of August 25, the 2nd Armored Division swept clear the western half of Paris while the 4th Infantry Division cleared the eastern part. Paris was liberated.

In the early afternoon, Choltitz was arrested in his headquarters by French troops. Shortly after, he signed a document formally surrendering Paris to de Gaulle’s provisional government. De Gaulle himself arrived in the city later that afternoon. On August 26, de Gaulle and Leclerc led a triumphant liberation march down the Champs d’Elysees. Scattered gunfire from a rooftop disrupted the parade, but the identity of the snipers was not determined.

De Gaulle headed two successive French provisional governments until 1946, when he resigned over constitutional disagreements. From 1958 to 1969, he served as French president under the Fifth Republic.

[livsunit2]

The 1920s

The glamour of the 20s has influenced many brands such as, Ralph Lauren, Gucci, Maria Grachvogel.

classiq. (2011). ralph-lauren-spring 2012. [Online]. classiq.me. Last Updated: 16 September 2011. Available at: http://classiq.me/ralph-lauren-spring-2012 [Accessed 3 December 2023].

fashiongonerogue. (2011). Gucci Spring 2012 | Milan Fashion Week. [Online]. www.fashiongonerogue.com. Last Updated: 21 September 2011. Available at: https://www.fashiongonerogue.com/gucci-spring-2012-milan-fashion-week/3/ [Accessed 3 December 2023].

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gatsby was a novel written by American author F. Scott Fitzgerald that follows a cast of characters living in the fictional town of West Egg on prosperous Long Island summer in 1922.

The story consists of the young and mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and his obsession for the beautiful Daisy Buchanan.

The Great Gatsby explores themes of decadence, idealism, resistance to change, social upheaval, and excess, creating a portrait of the Roaring Twenties

Adam Kullman. (2016). Nostalgia in The Great Gatsby: The Green Light and Nick's Struggle with Nostalgia ADAM KULLMANMAY 11, 2016 2:49 PM EDT. [Online]. owlcation.com. Last Updated: 11 May 2016. Available at: https://owlcation.com/humanities/Nostalgia-in-The-Great-Gatsby [Accessed 3 December 2023].

The look of the 20s

Barry Samaha. (2022). Shop the Looks from the 1920s That Continue to Inspire Today. [Online]. www.harpersbazaar.com. Last Updated: 29 November 2022. Available at: https://www.harpersbazaar.com/fashion/trends/g35335543/1920s-fashion-photos/ [Accessed 3 December 2023].

The Designers

Lucien Lelong 1889-1958

The man who saved Paris!!

Lelong saved Parisian couture in the face of the hostile takeover by the Nazis in WW2 has overshadowed his creative legacy.

Lucien Lelong is one of the most important French designers of the year 1920-1930. He was born into a family of designers, destined to make his own path within the industry. Unfortunately, his career was put of hold due to WW1, he was sent to the trenches, where he served as an intelligence officer.

wikipedia. (2023). Lucien Lelong. [Online]. en.wikipedia.org. Last Updated: 28 January 2023. Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucien_Lelong#/media/File:Lucien_Lelong_in_1925.tif [Accessed 3 February 2023].

After the war he resumed his career at the same as Coco Chanel’s fashion house was taking off. Besides this Lelong was the one who showed the sharpest business acumen by offering discounts to society women who agreed to be photographed in his dresses. Some of his main costumers were Marlene Dietrich and the Duchess of Windsor.

The business was very successful. By 1926 he employed 1,200 staff and had moved to 16 rue Matignon, off the Champs-Elysées.

Lelong’s style much like Chanel was influenced by sport and the idea of the body in motion. The word for clothes’ capacity to move with the body was kinétique. He said he wanted them ‘to be constructed in such a way that their true shape would emerge in movement, not at rest’.

In the 1920s in Paris Madeleine Vionnet was associated with draping, Jean Patou and chic, Lelong with fluidity. Dressmaking, in his hands, became engineering. He evolved dresses with narrow pleats that moved with the garment but fell back into place when the wearer was still.

Lecien Lelong Party Frock

The dress and over blouse of grey georgette, the dress was finely pleated, sewn with rows of rhinestones, the waist defined with a band of rhinestones and central crescent shape, the over blouse was sleeveless, sewn with regularly spaced rhinestones and rhinestones band at the bottom

Lucien Lelong was one of the first designers to consider the fashion on more than one level, and by creating clothes as well as accessories and fragrances.

From 1925 to 1950 he created approximately 40 perfumes

His muse was his second wife, Natalie Paley, she was a Russian princess of the Romanov family, she had a natural elegance that inspired many photographers such as Horst, Beaton , Man Ray.

After the Wall Street Crash, Paris lost much of its American market and the ‘Garçonne’ style of the 1920s died. ( Patous 1929 collection killed the look by lowering the hemlines to mid-calf)

Natalie was the new look of the 1930s with a slim figure, she would visit his salon to try on clothes and acted as his consultant.

The Evening dresses that Lelong produced in the 1930s still look modern today, as they were influenced by neoclassical drapery, at the time French fashion was entering a decade of crisis, America saw a 90% import tax on French couture. The effected was a flood of cheap copies made in American factories, and many women stopped shopping in France and turned to inspiration of the Hollywood fashion.

Lelong opened his own fashion salon in 1918, he brought in upcoming designs such as, Pierre Balmain, Christian Dior and Herbert de Givenchy. During the famous Dior show in February 1947 at the beginning of the New Look, Lelong was sitting front row to cheer on his disciple.

For nearly 30 years of the House of Lucien Lelong epitomised Parisian elegance. He was known for his beautiful fabrics and understanding of dresses and evening wear. For heath reasons he closed his atelier in 1948, but he continued his production of perfumes until his death in 1958.

Jean Patou 1886-1936

Jean Patou was born in Normandy, France and he inspired from a young age to enter the world of fashion. His father, Charles Patou, owned a successful business as a tanner, despite being inspired by his fathers brilliant use of colourful feathers in book binding, Patou only worked with him for a short time before going out on his own.

exhibitions.fitnyc.edu. (2014). Jean Patou: Innovator. [Online]. exhibitions.fitnyc.edu. Last Updated: 21 March 2014. Available at: https://exhibitions.fitnyc.edu/1930s-fashion-blog/2014/03/21/jean-patou-innovator/ [Accessed 4 january 2023].

After a few failed ventures into tailoring, Patou opened his dress shop in Paris, Maison Parry in 1912. Two years later he gained some popularity and thanks to a generous American department store buyer, who purchased his whole collection, WW1 halted the fashion in paris and Patou fought for 5 years on the war.

After the war he came back into confidence and leadership and started the House of Patou on 7 rue St. Florentine in Paris. His sister Madeline Patou was his first muse and his brother in law Raymond Baras, who was a important business partner throughout Patou’s career.

His collection in 1920 and 1921 represented his worldly influences from his time in the war. He drew from Russian influences and his use of scarves as girdles was published in Vogue on October 15 1921 as one of his signature designs.

One was Patous signature looks was his sportswear for women, which was similar to Chanel. He used jersey, which was originally used for meanswear, to design silhouettes that were easier to move in and for more modern and active woman that emerged in the 20s.

He designed for famous tennis player Suzanne Lenglen, setting a new scandalous trend, calf length skirts and a sleeves cardigan. The new silhouette created lots of press for Patou including a spread in Vogue featuring Lenglen (“ Fashion: Suzanne Lenglen shows how to Dress for Tennis.” Vogue Dec 01 1926).

Speakeasy News. (2021). Time for Tennis at Wimbledon. [Online]. www.speakeasy-news.com. Last Updated: 28 June 2021. Available at: https://www.speakeasy-news.com/time-for-tennis-at-wimbledon/ [Accessed 4 january 2023].

weebly. (2013). 20TH CENTURY DESIGNERS. [Online]. iraheta20designer.weebly.com. Available at: https://iraheta20designer.weebly.com/jean-patou.html [Accessed 4 january 2023].

Thanks to Patous bold designs, modern women can now appreciate what he did for them, he opened the door to a sportswear industry that was just as much as looking incredible and showing odd a designer label as about being comfortable and active.

James Dawson. (2017). Andy Murray Shuts Down Reporter For Ignoring Female Tennis Players In Post-Match Conference. [Online]. www.ladbible.com. Last Updated: 20 March 2018. Available at: https://www.ladbible.com/now/sport-andy-murray-shuts-down-reporter-in-tense-post-match-conference-20 [Accessed 4 january 2023].

The free mind-set of the 20's influenced Patou from all directions. He saw a need for simple and functional women's clothing but also saw trends like cubism and art deco as excellent inspirations.The freedom women began to demand during the "Roaring Twenties," including exercising, showing their legs and sunbathing, created a gap in the fashion industry that Patou knew how to fill. It has been said by historians that Patou was known for being a playboy who never married and may have had such a great understanding of the modern woman because he was with so many of them. He objectified them in a way that allowed him to view their needs as well as create designs that appealed to men.

weebly. (2013). 20TH CENTURY DESIGNERS. [Online]. iraheta20designer.weebly.com. Available at: https://iraheta20designer.weebly.com/jean-patou.html [Accessed 4 january 2023].

Much of Patou's success came from his boldness in marketing and in his lifestyle, balanced with the simplicity and expert tailoring in his designs. He is often credited as the Inventor of Haute Couture Sportswear. He created press frenzy when he was the first European designer to bring American models to present his collection in 1924, because of how appealing he found their "slender American Diana" body types to be.Much of Patou's success came from his boldness in marketing and in his lifestyle, balanced with the simplicity and expert tailoring in his designs. He is often credited as the Inventor of Haute Couture Sportswear. He created press frenzy when he was the first European designer to bring American models to present his collection in 1924, because of how appealing he found their "slender American Diana" body types to be.

Jean Patou also created many perfumes that helped continue his legacy through to the present, his most successful was ‘Joy’ stated the most expensive sent in the world. Each bottle contained 10,600 jasmine flowers and 336 roses.

In the 1930s his extravagant lifestyle and love of gambling led to his decline in 1936 and he suffered with a apoplectic fit and passed away.

However the label Jean Patou continues with young designers creating collections such as Karl Largerfeld, Christian Lacroix and Jean Paul Gaultier, and with this the story continues

CoCo Chanel 1883-1971

Gabrielle Bonheur Chanel was born in 1883, but later claimed that this wasn’t true and that she was born 1893 making her 10 years younger. She also used to disguise her birth place, but CoCo was born in a workhouse in the Loire Valley where her unmarried mother worked, although she would say she was born in Auvergne.

Viktor Milevski. (2016). The Inspiring Life Of Coco Chanel. [Online]. fashioncorner.net. Last Updated: 1 September 2016. Available at: https://fashioncorner.net/lifestyle/coco-chanel-inspiring-life/ [Accessed 4 january 2023].

Her mother died when she was only six years old, this left her father with five children who he quickly send off to other relatives. Chanel was sent to an orphanage of the Catholic monastery of Aubazine, where she learnt the trade of a seamstress.

During the 1920s, CoCo Chanel became the first designer to create a loose women’s jersey, which traditionally was a piece of men’s underwear, this created a relaxed style for women ignoring the stiff corseted look at the time. They soon became very popular with many clientele, and the postwar generation of women now saw the corsetry old-fashioned and impractical.

By the 1920s, Maison Chanel was established at, 31 rue Cambon in Paris ( which is still is today) and became a powerful fashion force to recon with. Chanel became a style icon herself with her striking bob and tan,placing her at cutting edge of modern style.

The Chanel Jacket

The Chanel jacket is undeniably one of fashion’s chicest most enduring pieces that can be worn in multiple ways each unique and stylish. First created by the labels founder, Coco Chanel, this item was undeniably intended to free women form the constraints of the silhouettes of the Fifties.

Icon-Icon. (2013). The Chanel Little Black Jacket. [Online]. www.icon-icon.com. Last Updated: 5 December 2013. Available at: https://www.icon-icon.com/en/the-chanel-little-black-jacket/ [Accessed 4 january 2023].

Sarah Barnes. (2014). A Brief History of the Iconic Chanel Jacket. [Online]. stylecaster.com. Last Updated: 18 April 2014. Available at: https://stylecaster.com/coco-chanel-jacket/ [Accessed 4 january 2023].

Facts about Chanel

she quoted “Fashion fades, only style remains the same.”

The perfume Chanel No.5 is the worlds best selling

The interlocking of the C’s in the logo remains one of the ultimate brand insignia

Since 1983, Karl Lagerfeld has been the designer of Chanel

Her apartment in Paris that was bought by Chanel in 1920 is still the ground floor shop, haute couture workrooms in the attic and now is Karl Lagerfeld’s study.

Art Deco (1920-1935)

Art Deco first appeared after WW1 and had a huge effect on the culture of industrialisation and was one of the main attributes to embracing technology.

Art Deco represented many things for different people, it was the style of the fantasy world of Hollywood.

There was different looks of art deco from Art Nouveau style that was often recognised by rich colours, bold geometric shapes, and lavish ornamentation. Art Deco took over many forms of design from the fune and decorative arts to fashion, film, photography, transport and product design. It was seen everywhere.

(arrange alphabetically by the authors' surnames) theapollobox. (2020). What Is Art Deco? An Overview of the 1920s Style. [Online]. blog.theapollobox.com. Available at: https://blog.theapollobox.com/2020/09/02/what-is-art-deco-an-overview-of-the-1920s-style/ [Accessed 4 january 2023].

Fashion was becoming relevant and more important, many women were becoming more feminine, this was mostly all happened in the centre of Paris, European fashion was born style "art deco".

Many things were also inspired by Art Deco such as ;

Michelin Building, London (1905-11) This building was created between the two art movement of Art Deco and Art Nouveau.

South Beach, Miami (1930s)

MI6 Headquarters, Vauxhall Cross, London (1988-93) Built by Terry Farrell who used the clean lines of the Art Deco style as inspiration for the building and capturing the essence of the elegant era.

Lacquered Dressing Table (1930) Paul Folloy created beautiful furniture in light wood and with rounded edges to create modern furniture.

Silver Tea and Coffee Service (1934-39) (H.G.Murphy)

Posters by Cassandre, luxury and decadence.

[shanewrites]

[MOVIE] 06/365 "To Have and Have Not" directed by Howard Hawks

I have seen a document about Lauren Bacall the other day and I got the impression she might also be insolent on screen like Marlene Dietrich. i decided to give it a try and watch a movie with Bacall to check it out by myself.

Spoiler alert: no, she was not.

The impression I took from one scene only. I saw this scene in the forementioned document but I also know it from somewhere as I believe it is quite common. Probably the scene which is the most popular one from "To Have and Have Not" - with smoking and teaching Harry Morgan how to whistle.

Story takes place during the WWII. Frigate owner from the United States decides to help the French Resistance and agrees to transport the leader and his wife to Martinique. At the same time, he meets a singer and flirts with her. The plot is based on the book of the same title written by Ernest Hemingway.

For me, the most beautiful part in this movie was the aura. I enjoyed looking at it from visual perspective. Unfortunately, I did not feel engaged in what was happening on screen. I watched it solely to see Bacall's acting however it did not impress me as I initially expected it could.

However, I could not say it is a bad movie. It is a solid one, well produced, worth giving it a go especially if you read a book on which it is based.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆ / 10

[kvetchlandia]

Exiled Spanish Anarchists, Who had Joined the French Army in Exile in order to Fight the nazis, Leaning on Their Tank, Which They Had Named “Guadalajara,” France     August 24, 1944

The tank called “Guadalajara” was the first tank of the French army to enter Paris on 24 August,1944.  They did so around a week after the French Resistance had rebelled against fascist occupation and captured sections of the city, including the Paris Hôtel de Ville, or City Hall, which had served as Nazi headquarters during the occupation.  How did a tank bearing the Spanish name “Guadalajara” come to lead the Gaullist Free French Army into Paris?  The answer is actually quite fascinating.  After the collapse of the Spanish Republic at the end of the Spanish Civil War and the victory of Franco’s Fascists in early 1939, many Spanish Republicans and Spanish Revolutionaries fled over the Pyrenees Mountains into neighboring France.  Once in France, many of these anti-fascist refugees were imprisoned.  However, World War II started very soon thereafter.  In the chaos of the war and the collapse of the French government, many of the exiled Spaniards fled to England, following de Gaulle and those portions of the French establishment and military who fled with him, knowing from bitter experience in Spain that the Nazis would be even worse than Franco’s religiously fanatical barbarian followers.  In Britain, many of the exiled Spaniards volunteered to serve in the Free French military, hoping for a chance to fight fascists.  This included many of the Anarchists, Socialists and Communists who had been the heart of the anti-fascist militias in Spain.  Since most of the French military brass supported the collaborationist Vichy government in France and few members of the official French military had followed de Gaulle into exile, he and his officers weren’t turning anyone down and they accepted the enlistment of the same Spaniards they had recently guarded in prison camps, even those who were leftists.  Many Spaniards became the 9th Company of General Leclerc’s 2nd Armored Division.  Of the 160 men in the 9th Company, 146 were exiled Spanish Republicans, most of whom were anarchists.  The presence of Spanish Republicans was so strong that although a fully integrated part of the French military, the 9th Company was allowed to wear the Tricolor flag of the Spanish republic on their uniform, to speak Spanish and the 9th Company was known throughout Leclerc’s Division, as “La Nueve,” or “the 9″ in Spanish.  The reason la Nueve, led by the tank Guadalajara, were detailed by Leclerc to be the first to enter the rebelling city was because he knew of the experience of many of the soldiers of La Nueve in urban warfare when they were fighting against Franco’s fascist troops.  In fact, Lieutenant Amado Granell, the Spanish officer who was second in command of La Nueve, was the first “French” officer to relieve the besieged French Resistance fighters who had occupied the Hôtel de Ville and was the first “French” officer to meet with the National Council of the Resistance when the siege of the building was lifted.  La Nueve then went on to liberate and occupy the Hôtel Majestic, formerly the Nazi military headquarters in Paris and the Place de la Concorde, where much street fighting between Resistance fighters and Nazi occupiers had taken place.  Finally, when General Dietrich von Choltitz, the Nazi governor of Paris, initially surrendered, the soldiers he surrendered to were exiled Spanish Republicans.

[brooklynmuseum]

Soon after Christian Dior opened his fashion house in 1947, glamorous stars like Josephine Baker, Marlene Dietrich and Brooklyn-born Rita Hayworth were shown to great advantage, both onscreen and off, in @dior’s creations. For her 1951 tour of America Baker wore several signature Dior designs including the “Mexique” gown which is on view in Dior Designer Of Dreams. Earlier this year, Dior’s new global brand ambassador Yara Shahidi wore a haute couture gown by Maria Grazia Chiuri which was designed to evoke and honor the legendary performer.  ⁠ ⁠ Today, November 30, 2021, following a multiyear campaign, Josephine Baker will become the first American-born woman, the first Black woman and only the sixth woman in total to be interred at the Pantheon, Paris, a mausoleum for distinguished French citizens (Baker became a French citizen in 1937). Originally buried in Monaco in 1975, Baker will join fellow members of the WWII French Resistance Genevieve de Gaulle-Anthonioz and Germaine Tillion, as well as Nobel prize winning chemist Marie Curie. 

Michael Ochs. Josephine Baker, 1951. © Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Image⁠

[i-dont-write-as-often-as-id-like]

I’m going to write a little New Years blurb for The French Resistance :)

[historical-nonfiction]

The End of the Paris Occupation

On the 19th of August, 1944, German tanks roared down the Champs-Elysees and the first clashes began between the occupying German forces and French Resistance fighters. In the two months since D-Day, the combined British and American forces had slowly but steadily advanced. Everything had fallen before them, and now, it was time to take Paris. Hitler's orders were clear: if the enemy attacked Paris, it "must not fall into the enemy's hand except lying in complete debris." In other words, the Germans were ordered to hold Paris or destroy it.

We all know Paris was not destroyed. At 3:30 pm on August 25th, the German governor Dietrich von Choltitz surrendered. von Choltitz later wrote that he thought Hitler was insane and so he deliberately disobeyed Hitler's orders. It now appears more likely that he was persuaded by the municipal council chairman Pierre Taittinger, but whatever the reason, Paris was liberated with no further bloodshed or destruction.

[qqueenofhades]

Hilary, my brainy queen, do you have some historical deets an any badass bisexual ladies? In a shocking twist, American education is lacking on the subject.

/shrieks because I obviously love this question

We mentioned Julie d’Aubigny and Christina of Sweden in the earlier post, who were both openly bi in the 17th century, but have a few more:

Catalina d’Erauso (1592-1650), a Basque Spanish ex-nun who dressed as a man and joined the army, had a long and adventurous military career, and was known for her love affairs with women, as well as (possibly) some men. She later wrote her own autobiography. 

Aphra Behn (1640-1689), an English dramatist, poet, and playwright who had relationships with men, but whose poetry often contained female homoeroticism and explorations of female same-sex desire. She is a shadowy figure and may have been a spy, as well as other things. There is now a scholarly journal founded in her name that deals with women, gender, and sexuality in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Ellinor Butler and Sarah Ponsonby (1790), two women who ran off to get married and live together in Wales, where the St. James’ Chronicle wrote an article on them: “MISS Butler and Miss Ponsonby, now retired from the society of men, into the wilds of a certain Welch vale, bear a strange antipathy to the male sex, whom they take every opportunity of avoiding.” They had also had proposals of marriage from men before, though they may be lesbian rather than bi, but I loved that quote too much not to include it. (Also, Rictor Norton, the authority on 17th/18th/19th century homosexuality in England, has a website with oodles of primary sources, so I also had to include that.)

Mary East (1766) was another bi woman from the same period. After the man she was intending to marry died, leaving her heartbroken, she eventually disguised herself as a man named James How and married another woman. They lived together happily for 34 years and retired as rich and honest citizens.

Josephine Baker (1906-1975), familiar to Timeless fans, was an accomplished African-American actress, singer, supporter of the Civil Rights movement, and a French Resistance agent during WWII. France became her adopted country, and she received the Croix de guerre and was named a Chevalier of the Legion d’honneur for her efforts in the war. She was also bisexual. 

Colette (1873-1954), another famous French author and writer of the early 20th century, who was known for her relationships with both men and women. A prolific novelist, she was nominated for the Nobel Prize in literature in 1948, and was the first French female author to receive a state funeral when she died.

Tallulah Bankhead (1902-1968), the Old Hollywood leading lady, was known for her uninhibited sex life; she had many, many lovers both male and female, with the latter rumored to include Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich, and Billie Holiday. She was from a famous Alabama political family, and often broke with their views, as an outspoken advocate of the Civil Rights movement and other liberal causes.

Ruth Ellis (1899-2000) lived through parts of three centuries, was acknowledged as the oldest African-American LGBT activist. She was a lesbian rather than bi, but once again too awesome not to include; she came out in 1915, and had one love in her life, Ceciline Franklin. They were together for over 30 years, and lived together in Detroit, where their home was a hotspot of LGBT society and activism.

[jazzicology]

The ‘one hit wonders’ of jazz

This month's Jazzicology blog is contributed by Sid Thomas, UK jazz musician, author - and my dear friend and musical mentor. Sid writes about the lesser-known composers of some well-known jazz songs. 

-Nance Wilson

Great individual jazz songs

The body of standard twentieth century songs on which jazz is built, sometimes called The Great American Songbook, is dominated by a relatively small number of brilliant composers – Jerome Kern, Richard Rogers, Harold Arlen, Cole Porter, George Gershwin and so on. These giants are noteworthy not only for the quality of their work but also the sheer sustained quantity. For example, it’s said that, every day of his life, Irving Berlin wrote at least one complete song (words, music, verse, chorus, coda), more than 900 of which are in his published catalogue. But alongside the creations of the familiar songsmiths are many individual songs, usually by relatively unregarded composers, standing alone and carrying sometimes unexpected backstories. Here are a few tales of such orphan songs.

Sweet Lorraine (1928) is a charming song by Cliff Burwell, pianist with the Paul Whiteman and Rudy Vallee bands. I haven’t been able to find anything else he wrote.

S’posin’ (1929) by Paul Denniker is in the tradition of few-note popular songs, like Whispering and I cried for you, that were hits in the early decades of the century. The lyricist was the prolific Andy Razaf, who wrote more than 200 songs with many composers, including such classics as Ain’t misbehavin’, Honeysuckle Rose, Gee baby ain’t I good to you and Stompin’ at the Savoy.

Kay Swift was a classically trained musician who had a long-lasting affair with George Gershwin. She wrote the revue song Can’t we be friends (1929) and Fine and Dandy, the title number from the hit 1930 musical.

Another songwriter with a Gershwin connection was Ann Ronnell, whose Willow weep for me (1932) is thought to be a personal statement of unrequited love. Although she wrote several other songs during her time in Tin Pan Alley and Hollywood, perhaps the one she’s best remembered for (and about the greatest imaginable contrast with the deeply personal Willow weep for me) is Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf (1933).

Just friends (1931), a song much favoured in the bebop era (Charlie Parker’s version with strings is a classic), is one of very few compositions by German-American pianist John Klenner.

George Bassman’s one notable song is Getting sentimental over you (1932), familiar as the theme tune of the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. Bassman worked as an arranger before falling foul of the McCarthy purge and his career and personal life dwindled to a tragic end.

Bernice Petkere was a productive writer (called at one time the ‘Queen of Tin Pan Alley’), best remembered now for two songs from the early 1930s – Lullaby of the leaves and Close your eyes.

Friedrich Hollaender was primarily a film composer. While in Berlin he wrote the score for The Blue Angel, which includes Marlene Dietrich’s celebrated Falling in love again (1930). After leaving Germany for the USA he composed many film scores and songs, one of which – You leave me breathless (1938) – became a jazz standard on the strength of a tour de force performance by John Coltrane.

Another favourite of Coltrane (and Charlie Parker too) is You go to my head (1938), by the marvellously named J Fred Coots. Coots was prodigiously productive (more than 700 songs and a dozen broadway shows) but unless you count Santa Claus is coming to town (1934), he only once matched the heights of You go to my head, with the poignant For all we know (1934), which conjures up visions of young WWII pilots dancing romantically with their girls the night before flying off to who knows what fate.

Bob Haggart was bass player and arranger with the Bob Crosby Band. He’s known for a few jazz numbers (Big Noise from Winetka, South Rampart Street parade) and one or two songs including the groovy What’s new (1939), which was originally a solo piece for trumpeter Billy Butterfield but later had lyrics added by Johnny Burke.

That old bebop warhorse How high the moon (1940) was composed by Morgan Lewis (could he possibly be of Welsh extraction?) who wrote a number of Broadway show tunes, including the novelty number The old soft shoe (1946).

Carl Fischer was a self-taught Native American pianist who composed just two enduring standards - but what songs they are: We'll be together again (1945) and You've changed (1942).

Moonlight in Vermont (1944) has been performed by most of the great jazz singers and instrumentalists. It’s an unusual song in that its lyrics (by John Blackburn) do not rhyme and take the form of two haikus (for an analysis, see https://www.jazzstandards.com/compositions-1/moonlightinvermont.htm). It was the best-known composition by Karl Suessdorf.

David Raksin (1912-2004) was the foremost composer of film and television scores of his time. His theme music for the film Laura (1944) was conceived as an instrumental piece, and a complex one at that, and the story goes that he was resistant to its becoming a song. However Johnny Mercer’s beautiful lyric changed everyone’s mind and it became a big hit and one of the most recorded songs of all time.

The story behind Nature boy (1947) has often been told. The composer, eden ahbez (no capitals, by request), left a copy of the song backstage at a Nat King Cole performance and the following year it became a hit for Cole as well as Sarah Vaughan and Frank Sinatra. The song was subject of litigation by Herman Yablokoff who claimed that the melody was a copy of his Yiddish composition Shvayg mayn harts (Be still my heart). The action was settled out of court. eden ahbez was a mystic, pursuing the classic Californian hippy vegetarian sandal-wearing alternative lifestyle and was said to have lived for a while with his family under the L of the HOLLYWOOD sign. Nature boy is his only significant composition and apart from some recordings of poetic chanting in the 50s and 60s, he pretty well disappeared from the music scene. He died in a car accident in 1995 at the age of 86.

And finally, perhaps the greatest one-off standard jazz song of all – and it’s Hungarian/French.

Autumn leaves(1946) was written by Joseph Kosma, who moved from his native Budapest to Paris via Berlin and composed the scores for several films, including such classics as La Grande Illusion and Les Enfants du Paradis. Kosma set to music the poem Les feuilles mortes, by poet and screenwriter Jacques Prevert, for the film Les Portes de la Nuit, in which it was performed by Yves Montand. Some accounts of the song’s origins state that the music was originally composed as a pas-de-deux for the 1945 ballet Le Rendez-vous. The English lyrics for Autumn leaves were written by Johnny Mercer in 1950 during a short train journey to New York. The song’s repetitive structure and basic harmonies have made it one of the most widely taught introductions for elementary jazz students, and the foremost non-American popular song, having been recorded at least 1400 times.

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Sid Thomas is a UK jazz composer and multi-instrumentalist who leads a parallel life as emeritus Professor of Biology at Aberystwyth University. He is author of numerous books on plant science, and is author of ‘Confessions of an Accidental Jazz Pianist’.

[rudolfmuehland]

Reposted from @redblacknotesaus On the 25th of August, 1944 “La Nueve” the 9th Armoured Company liberated Paris from the Nazi regime. Unlikely as it sounds, the company was made up of 120 Spanish Anarchists and CNT exiles. On August the 24th the 9th Armoured company were the first allied soldiers to enter Paris, heading straight to the Hôtel de Ville. They would combine with the Resistance and the next day, more Allied forces. The 9th Armoured was almost entirely composed of Spanish anarchists under the command of Captain Raymond Dronne. Due to their experience in the Spanish civil war, the anarchists were considered the best in their army for fighting in towns. They could fight guerrilla style, house by house, street by street. Their commander Leclerc had the Spaniards enter the capital first. The exiles of the CNT lead the charge on a tank named Guadalajara. The vehicles following had names like Ebro, Teruel, Brunete, and Madrid, after battles of the Spanish War. One was named Don Quijote, and another was called Durruti, for the famous anarchist militant.  By 4 o’clock p.m. on August 25th, General Dietrich von Choltitz, the German Governor of Paris, signed a document surrendering Paris in front of the Allied Commander Leclerc. Paris was officially liberated in front of vast crowds of cheering French. #antifa #antifascism #onthisday #onthisdayinhistory #anarchist #anarchism #socialism #resistance #paris #france #liberation #spain #durruti - #regrann (hier: Paris, France) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEUo8g7K1J5/?igshid=kf0vxkr5bvh7