#˖ ✦ ⋄ . REMEMBER MY FAMILY ❝ 1914 ❞

[blcsscdson]

The revolver on his hand feels heavy. The hat and jacket he's wearing feel even moreso. He'd begun having second thoughts the second after he shot Ross, had he really done the right thing? He told himself that he'd deserved that kind of ending, that he had it coming for what he did to his family. And yet, Jack can't help but feel empty. It'd been said many times, mostly by people close to Jack and the Marston family, that revenge often felt like that. He remembers Dutch saying that 'Revenge was a fool's game'... Is he a fool now? Dooming himself?

@ofsoul ❝ much has been promised to you, has it not? but what has been taken from you? ❞

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Her words strike true and strike close to home. So much had been promised to him. A better life, away from all the gunslinging and running away but it all got taken away with such ease. He'd lost all his family as well... Uncle Arthur, Uncle Hosea, Dutch, his parents. All gone. Only he remained. The last remnant of the Van Der Linde Gang and the Marstons.

"Miss, y'ain't got a clue how much's been taken from me. I could write a book about it and still not be done." There was an idea though... Write a book, like his Pa suggested once, put the whole story on paper. Maybe get a last, more permanent laugh at Ross and the Bureau.

[storywriter007]

Life or Death - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n realizes thomas shelby hasn't been good to her

warnings: character death, cursing, poverty, catcalling, mentions of sex,

genre: heartbreak

word count: 2.9k

-> peaky blinders masterlist

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Birmingham, 1900

"i'm starving." a young thomas shelby said aloud.

"have you not had anything to eat today?" a young y/n asked.

"money's been tight, i've had to skip meals." tommy explained.

the two ten year olds sat in silence for a moment.

y/n knew what it was like for money to be tight. her family's income had been tight, after the passing of her father. her mom went to teach children at a local school while making dresses on the side to keep the two of them afloat.

"it's almost suppertime, why don't you come to my house?" y/n invited.

"really?" he asked.

"of course." she nodded. "you're my best friend, why would i want to see you hungry?"

that evening, y/n and tommy walked home together and were given a warm welcome by y/n's mother.

"tommy! welcome!" she exclaimed. "come on in you two."

they sat down at the table and began eating supper. stew and dumplings. it was warm and delicious.

to tommy, y/n's house often felt more like home than his own. it was quite small, but it had home-like decorations everywhere. it was nice and toasty since it didn't take much fire to heat the place, and moreover y/n was there.

"you children cannot stay out in the cold during this time of year." y/n's mother scolded, putting her hand on tommy's cheek and seeing how cold it was.

"but we were playing a game-" y/n argued.

"play games inside. i don't want to see you to freeze to death." she continued.

"yes mom." y/n laughed, looking at tommy, knowing they were going to go outside the next day anyways.

it was getting dark out and tommy was full.

"i should probably get going. bye y/n, by ms. y/l/n!" tommy said, getting up.

"wait!" y/n said, running to the kitchen.

she came back with tupperware.

"here, take some home." she insisted.

"no, no, i couldn't-" he argued.

"take it! tell john, arthur, and ada i say hello!" y/n said, shoving the tupperware into his arms.

that night, tommy's siblings had a warm meal.

"this is delicious tommy! where'd you get this from?" arthur remarked.

"y/n. she insisted." he responded.

"you better marry her for this one." arthur laughed.

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Birmingham, 1904

"look at the body on that one." a classmate remarked as y/n walked by.

she just rolled her eyes and continued walking. this wasn't unusual.

"you'd make a ton of money at the whore house!" the boy yelled out again as laughter followed.

so would your mother, y/n thought of saying, but decided that it was best for her to not. this boy was twice her size.

"so would your mother." another boy's voice called out.

y/n turned around to see tommy and the other boy standing chest to chest, about to fight.

"what'd you say shelby?" the boy asked.

"so would your mother." he repeated, not an ounce of fear in his voice.

a teacher came and pulled the two apart.

"both of you seperate. if i see this again, i'll make sure to tell your mothers!" she scolded.

both the boys backed away from one another. tommy caught up with y/n.

"thanks tommy." she said.

"it's nothing, i've wanted to say that to him for a while now." tommy laughed.

"my mum's sending me to get groceries today? would you like to join me." y/n asked.

"of course." tommy agreed. "can't wait to eat apples out of the farmer's cart."

"don't do that! you got us chased down last time!" y/n scolded, remembering a set of angry farmers running after them.

they settled down after they were paid, at least. otherwise, who knows what could've happened.

"it was fun!" he argued.

"it was." she agreed.

as she watched tommy walk away, y/n realized that she had a crush on him. but it was just a crush, it wasn't that serious.

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Birmingham, 1914

"glad to see you dr." tommy smiled, opening the door to the pub.

"happier to see you mr." she returned the joke.

y/n had always wanted to save people's lives, so she entered the medical field. after gaining main patients, it became more difficult to see tommy as often as she used to. even tommy was on the rise in the business world. it was hard to hangout with one-another, but they always made time.

over the years, y/n's crush on tommy had turned into love, but she didn't know how to tell him. no time ever seemed right.

"there might be a war." tommy said, drinking whiskey at the pub.

"you think you'll get drafted?" y/n asked, wanting him to say no, but knowing what the answer was.

"yes." he answered. "unfortunately."

"it'll just be me and ada." y/n chuckled. "she's better company than you."

"oh really? go drink with her." tommy laughed. "you'll miss me when i go off."

"you know i will." y/n smiled.

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y/n realized her worst nightmare had come true as tommy stood at her front door.

"i have to go to france." he said.

she felt water fill up her eyes, but she stayed calm.

"i'll miss you." she smiled.

"i'll miss you too." he smiled back.

he turned around to leave.

"tommy, wait." she said, trying not to cry.

he turned around.

"i didn't know when to tell you this because no time ever seemed right and we were always so busy." she rambled. "but since you're going to france, and i might not see you again, i just want you to know i love you. it's no use for me to say i don't, because it's true. i've loved you ever since i've known you."

the tears started falling. he stared at her for a minute. did she ruin their friendship? did he not feel the same way? would he never talk to her again? did she have to do this before he left?

lost in her thoughts, y/n didn't realize tommy had leaned down and kissed her.

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Birmingham, 1918

y/n got down on her knees, that had already been bruised from how much she'd kneeled.

"dear god, please keep tommy, john, and arthur safe." she pleaded. "please keep tommy safe."

she'd done this every morning and every night since the boys were drafted.

"please make it end soon." she continued.

she looked at the couple of photographs her and tommy had together from years before. they used to love taking together, and writing the story on the back.

she got to their last picture. taken four years ago. it was hear and tommy making silly faces. on the back, it said, "tommy's going to france."

she felt a tear run down her cheek. what if he never came back? what if that was their last photo together?

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Birmingham, 1919

y/n was overjoyed when all three brothers returned, alive. she hugged tommy so tightly, glad he was alright.

but something had changed. tommy wasn't as happy as he used to be anymore. he didn't smiled as much, but he still did when they were together, and that was all that mattered to y/n.

y/n knew all about the shelby business, having grown very close to ada and polly, she was informed about everything. even when tommy was doing gang work before, he was never as gloomy as he was now. he was much more serious.

she tried desperately to comfort him, and it did work. he did talk about the war with her, and y/n understood he was traumatized. she didn't try to change him or tell him lighten up, she understood the mental toll it had taken on him.

countless nights would tommy tell her about the memories of war and they would end up falling asleep on the floor, in a mix of papers and books.

they were never officially together, they had never gotten then chance. but when tommy was ready, y/n hoped they could make it offical.

one night, they walked into the garrison. y/n had just finished with a long day of patients.

"dr!" arthur greeted y/n with a hug.

"arthur!" she laughed back.

however, there was a new face at the pub. she was pretty, with blonde hair and blue eyes. y/n came up to her.

"i haven't seen you around! are you new?" she smiled, asking.

"yes, i am new." the barmaid responded, quite curtly, y/n noticed.

"i'm y/n! what's your name?" she asked.

"grace. my name is grace." she said, briefly.

"well, grace, i just wanted to say, i think you're absolutely gorgeous." y/n smiled.

grace gave a brief smile back and went back to bartending.

odd, y/n thought, but assumed it was because of how busy the pub was, her mind was probably on working.

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"there's this new copper who's been on my ass." tommy said.

"that sucks. has he been sniffing around?" y/n asked.

"yes." he responded, taking a long drag out of his cigarette.

y/n noticed grace very clearly listening to their conversation.

"he's been asking me about, well, y'know." he continued. "they're taken care of, but still. he's onto me."

of course she knew. the guns. tommy had told her everything. his plan and why.

"that's enough about that." he ended. "how's your business, doctor?"

"it's going well." y/n chuckled. "i'm seeing entire lineages now."

"whiskey?" grace asked, coming over.

"no thank you." y/n smiled. "i should get home now."

tommy smiled and said goodbye. y/n thought that was odd, since usually tommy would've walked her out.

"thank you grace." she said, before leaving.

grace ignored her.

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y/n was sitting with the shelby's at the garrison. she noticed something about tommy, something odd. he straightened up whenever grace entered the room and he always smiled.

this wasn't the first odd thing tommy had done. since she came, he was at the pub more. he also took her to a horserace. not to mention, his eyes foretold a story between them. it had been a while since tommy looked at her that way.

but there was something odd about grace. she was always listening in and trying to get closer to tommy.

y/n asked to see tommy privately, and that's when she made her point.

"the barmaid, she seems suspicious. do you notice how she's always listening in and trying to get close to you? and how that copper start bothering you the same time she came here?" y/n said.

"her name's grace." tommy responded.

"yes, grace, seems odd." y/n corrected.

"what is it y/n? you can't stand there's another friend of mine?" he said, clearly aggravated.

"no, i don't care about that. i just don't want you to get hurt-"

"hurt? hurt is when i was in france." he interrupted.

"tommy, will you just try to listen?"

"to your bullshit? no." he said.

that hurt.

"you're free to leave." he said simply, taking a drag out of his cigarette.

y/n chuckled, and left.

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can y/n say it came as a shock when tommy told her grace had betrayed him and fled the country? not really.

"i told you so." y/n said, plainly. "it was obvious."

tommy seemed pissed at that comment.

"that doesn't mean you can talk down on her." tommy stated.

"well tommy, you can't really control what i say and what i think." she responded back, beginning to get aggravated at his blindness. "and what i think is that grace is a traitor."

"what i think is that you should leave." he said.

"always running from the truth, now-a-days, aren't you?" she smiled, leaving.

y/n would be lying if she said she didn't go home that night and cry, because she did. why was tommy so wrapped around grace? had he fallen in love with her? no, no. it was probably just attraction. it had to be. right?

the next day, tommy apologized for being so harsh to her, and everything was back to normal. no more grace, no more deception, and no more stupidity.

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y/n was still waiting for tommy to make it official, but he still hadn't. the war had been over for two years now. she had thought about tommy everyday for the past seven years.

she missed him, she missed what they used to have. it was almost midnight, and she decided she wanted to go see him. she couldn't keep waiting.

she called his number three times, but he didn't pick up, so she drove to his home, and knocked on the door. no answer. she was starting to get worried. she opened the door and walked in on something that made her stomach drop.

it was tommy with grace. and they were having sex on the sofa, and he whispered how much he loved her and how he thought of her everyday. it seemed they had finished, because now they were getting dressed. when tommy turned his head and saw y/n, his eyes grew wide.

y/n felt tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

he dragged her into his office.

"what the hell y/n! you can't just fucking barge into my house!" he yelled.

"i called you three times. i knocked on your door and waited outside for five minutes. with the life you live tommy, i got worried." she said, wiping her nose.

"y/n, you have to leave." he said. "i've got something here, and i can't lose it again."

again. y/n felt her stomach drop and her heart break into a thousand pieces.

"again?" she asked. "again! tommy, i have waited for you! i waited for seven fucking years, waiting for you to say you want to try something with me!" she yelled.

"do you not remember! do you not remember the night you got drafted, because i sure as hell do!" she screamed.

"y/n, calm down, you're going to scare grace-"

oh that sent her.

"grace! you think i give two fucks about grace! the one who deceived you, lied to you, manipulated you, and now comes running back!" she screamed even louder.

"i love her!" he yelled.

"you love her! you love her! than what about me!" y/n yelled, tears starting to flow. "what about every day and night i prayed for you during the war! what about every time i invited you to my house for supper! i have waited and waited for you to say that you love me and you just don't!"

tommy was silent.

"i have loved you throughout everything. i was always kind to you. i was good." she continued.

"i'm a bad man, y/n, we know this." he said.

"and i love you even though you're a bad man! you believed every one of her lies of all of my truths. and i still loved you! you kicked me out everytime i brought it up! and guess what? i still loved you."

tommy looked at her.

"who was there by your side when you were scared and alone? who was there every night when you got back from the war and had terrible nightmares? who was there taking care of finn while you were off at war, because i don't think it was fucking grace!"

"i'm sorry." he said.

"no you're not because if you were, you wouldn't have done this in the first place!" she screamed through tears.

"who was there thomas!" that was the first time she had said his full name. "i'm done. don't fucking call me, don't show up to my office, don't come near me. i'm done playing your dark and twisted games just for you to switch the rules so someone else wins. i'm done dealing with a different you every fucking night. i'm done."

thomas looked at her.

"who's it going to be?" y/n asked.

"so well." he responded.

y/n smiled and turned around to leave, but before she left, she said he final words to thomas.

"i'm never going to aid you again. whether it be in life or death."

that was the last conversation between y/n and thomas.

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Birmingham, 1924

"just have some soup and rest up, and you'll feel a lot better." y/n advised her last patient of the day.

work had become more of a thing for y/n after word of her spread all across birmingham, she was getting patients from everywhere. and for right reasons, she was a damn good doctor.

she walked them outside before sitting in the waiting room with her receptionist.

"thank you edward, you're free to leave." she said, smiling.

"see you tomorrow doctor." edward smiled as he exited.

y/n was left to close her office. she began putting files away and cleaning equiptment. the doors and windows were locked. the stationary was put away.

suddenly, she heard a loud knock on her door. she turned around to see a face she thought she'd never see again. she stared into his bright blue eyes for a moment, before realizing he was actually here, and that it was just a figment of her imagination.

y/n opened the small window on the door. she looked down to see him carrying grace. she had been very clearly shot.

"she might have a chance, please y/n."

"you chose her over me." y/n said, looking into his piercing blue eyes.

he froze.

"and i told you that very night, i would never aid you again, whether it be life or death." she reminded, shutting the window door.

he banged on the door, pleading. she shot him one last look before shutting the blinds, turning the lights off, and leaving out the back.

[girlactionfigure]

The Holocaust Whistle-Blower: Jan Karski

He tried to save the Jews of Europe.

Jan Karski was a Polish resistance fighter and diplomat who warned world leaders about the Nazi extermination of European Jews. Tragically, none of the leaders of Allied countries did anything to stop the atrocity – including U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt.

Jan was born in 1914 in Lodz, Poland to a devout Catholic family. His father died when he was a small child, and his mother struggled to provide for her eight children. They lived in a neighborhood of overcrowded tenements where most of the residents were Jewish. Jan attended military school where he trained to be a mounted artillery officer and graduated first in his class.

He then trained to be a diplomat, and between 1935 and 1938 he worked at Polish consulates in Romania, Germany, Switzerland and the UK.  At the beginning of 1939 Jan returned to Poland to work at the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In the fall of that year, World War II started when Germany invaded Poland. Jan – Officer Karski – was called up to lead a unit of the Krakow Cavalry Brigade. On September 10 the Krakow Army was defeated by the Germans in the Battle of Tomaszow Lubelski and Jan was captured as a prisoner of war. He managed to escape and went to Warsaw, where he joined the SZP, the first resistance movement in occupied Europe.

At that time, the Polish Government in Exile, overthrown by the Germans, was based in Paris. Jan organized secret courier missions to transport important information to the exiled Polish leaders. He traveled frequently between France, Great Britain and Poland, at great risk to himself. In July 1940 his luck ran out and he was arrested by the Gestapo while traveling through Czechoslovakia on his way to France. He was imprisoned and tortured so badly that he was transferred to a hospital. Fortunately Polish resistance leaders found out where he was and managed to smuggle him out of the hospital.

Returning to Warsaw, Jan served in the information bureau of the Polish Home Army, the main resistance movement in Poland. He and other Polish resistance leaders were horrified by the Nazi persecution of Polish Jews, and increasingly aware that the Germans planned to exterminate millions of them. Desperate to alert the rest of the world about the destruction of Polish Jewry, they chose Jan to gather evidence and then travel to Paris to report to prime minister Wladyslaw Sikorski, leader of the Polish government in exile.

Jan worked with Jewish resistance leader Leon Feiner, who smuggled him into the Warsaw Ghetto to observe conditions there. Jan later described the experience: “My job was just to walk. And observe. And remember. The odour. The children. Dirty. I saw a man standing with blank eyes. I asked the guide, what is he doing? The guide whispered, ‘He’s just dying.’ I remember degradation, starvation and dead bodies lying on the street. We were walking the streets and my guide kept repeating, ‘Look at it, remember, remember.’ And I did remember. The dirty streets. The stench. Everywhere. Suffocating. Nervousness.”

Jan also visited a transit camp for Jews on their way to death camps. He took photographs of what he saw there and in the ghetto, and carried them out of the country on microfilm. His testimony and pictures formed the first accurate account of the genocide of European Jews. Polish Foreign Minister Edward Raczynski published Jan’s reports in a pamphlet which was widely distributed. Jan traveled to several countries and met with high-level government officials including British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden, but they either didn’t believe him, or they feared the political consequences of helping Jewish refugees.

In July 1943 Jan traveled to the United States, where he personally met with President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the Oval Office. Jan vividly described the Warsaw Ghetto and the concentration camps where Jews were being murdered en masse. After telling his grim tale, Jan expected Roosevelt to be emotionally affected and want to learn more. Instead, Roosevelt displayed no reaction and didn’t ask a single question. The president heard first-hand about the murder of millions of Jews – and saw the evidence – but he refused to help in any way and showed Jan the door. Ironically, the majority of American Jews voted for Roosevelt, and many Jews still revere him.

While in the States, Jan met with other important personages including Jewish Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter. Jan told his story, answered a few questions, and then the great jurist said, “I am unable to believe what you have told me.” Like Roosevelt, he chose to ignore the inconvenient truth of what was happening to the Jews of Europe. A Polish diplomat later confronted Justice Frankfurter and asked if he thought Karski was lying. “I did not say that this young man was lying. I said that I was unable to believe what he told me. There is a difference.” The difference was likely not clear to the millions of European Jews being tortured and murdered while a Jewish Supreme Court justice chose ignorance over a difficult reality.

Jan Karski’s identity was discovered by the Nazi occupiers in Poland, and he was unable to return home. He stayed in Washington DC, and earned his PhD at Georgetown University. After graduating, he began teaching at the Georgetown School of Foreign Service. Jan remained at Georgetown for forty years, teaching generations of American political leaders about East European and international affairs and comparative government. Jan’s students included Bill Clinton and Madeleine Albright. Jan wrote several books about the Holocaust, and gave lectures around the world about the horrors he witnessed, and the tragic inaction of world leaders. He was determined to make sure the Jews of Poland were not forgotten.

Jan said that he had two missions in life. The first was to bear witness to the genocide of the Jews of Europe. The second was to reveal the tragic indifference of Allied leaders.

In 1965, Jan married Pola Nirenska, a Polish Jew who was an acclaimed dancer and choreographer. He adored her, but Pola was scarred by losing 75 (!) members of her extended family in the Holocaust, and suffered from mental health issues. Pola tragically killed herself in 1992.

Jan Karski was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem. He was made an honorary citizen of Israel and received many other awards and honors in Poland, the United States, and Israel. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize. In 2000, Jan Karski was formally recognized as a human rights hero by the UN General Assembly. Soon after, Jan died in Georgetown at age 86. Jan continued to be honored posthumously, and in 2012 President Obama awarded him the country’s highest civilian honor, the Presidential Medal of Freedom. He has been the subject of multiple books, plays and movies. There is a statue of Jan sitting on a bench on Madison Avenue in New York City.

For bearing witness to genocide and speaking truth to power, we honor Jan Karski as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[verdemoun]

Gonna ask about more Jack and John content pls sir. I dont remember if I said this before but I was in shock when you told that Isaac have dark hair, always imagine him a blondie like Arthur, but I fine with that. Also I think that Arthur can see that John is trying to get along with Jack, so when Jack ask if he can go with them to their father-son activits, Arthur have to unhappily say no, because it was suppost to Jack do that with John, and not use that as an escused to avoid John ( sorry about my bad inglesh, but I just relearned my art skills so I wanted to draw something of your AU) ❤

thank you! i thought it would be fun having a different isaac, considering eliza's reconstructed model had black hair very similar to mary it would be fun having a black haired isaac. also i always would've had isaac dye his hair black because he's emo and because physically i imagine he is really similar build to canon era arthur so they needed some obvious differences. just born ready to carry boundies over his shoulder.

Arthur can see John trying but he can also see how a lot of the time that trying backfires. Maybe John just has more daddy issues than Arthur but as much as John tried to change post 1907 for his family, the new John still wasn't quite the person Jack needed.

Because of this, there's a lot of things Jack would actually refuse to do with John but with Arthur he would happily go. Also spite. For example, if Isaac bullies Arthur into letting Jack come camping with them, Jack will just sit by the campfire reading while Isaac, Charles and Arthur go off for their usual father-son symbolic hunting of deer. He might join in campfire stories later or have a few swigs of beer but he actually hates hunting and fishing - which is what John associates with camping.

Maybe it's because Jack is just a gay little bookworm. Surely anyone who's ever spoken to him knows it, because Jack would never willingly admit it, but he's just - soft. He wasn't meant to be a gunslinger in every way. John knows that better than most!! He loves his son. John absolutely loves his son. All those times he sat there and listened to Jack ramble about books, completely overjoyed to see his son happy? But he never knew how to tell Jack it was because he loved seeing his son being himself, and happy! He knows his son is too soft and sensitive for his own good which is why he really believed Jack was safe FROM becoming an outlaw - yet he did.

Jack needs people so much. He's been isolated his whole life. He lost most of his family, the gang, in 1899. He got that diet child of divorce experience in 1907, lost his sister, the only other non-adult in his life, in 1910, his dad and Uncle in 1911, and mother in 1914. No one has ever just been there for Jack. He needs someone to be there for him, to understand how difficult it was for him, little gay bookworm Marston, to become an outlaw, how much he tried to be an outlaw because that's the only way he knew how to 'be a man' thanks to John.

John just. Can't be a boy dad. At least not Jack's dad. He has too many of his own issues, 90% of them are daddy issues. He doesn't know how to bond with a gay little bookworm. The days where he gets it wrong far outweigh the days he gets it right. He's fucked up too many times. Even when he tries to show interest in Jack's writing, Jack will snipe back with 'I thought they were just silly stories' because he remembers something John said in anger not even directed at him but about him in 1907. John knows how to bond with an outlaw, a bastard as rough as him - and it shows because he gets along with Isaac great. He doesn't know how to be friendly with his own son, and especially after timewarp Jack isn't willing to give him any more chances.

It's an everyone sucks. Jack knows he shouldn't have become an outlaw. He's ashamed of himself, deep down, for 'throwing away' the life so many people died to give him a change to. And John's ashamed of him for the exact same reason and it's really hard for John Marston to not wear his emotions. He might not be emotional but he's honest. If he's mad, you know he's mad.

Like god damnit Jack wants someone to be proud of him and say it's okay. That even if he thinks (or knows) it was a mistake, he did his best. He did what he thought was the right, what he was raised to think was right, because he saw John fall into the cycle of revenge and redemption over and over again so what else was he meant to do? But John - even if he said it, knowing how much Jack wants to hear it, it wouldn't be true and Jack would know.

Jack is a lot more sensitive than even modern era boys would let themselves be, let alone a 19th century outlaw, and John's judged him or let him down too many times, angsty teenage bullshit or not, for Jack to readily give him another chance. I say sensitive but I really mean Jack Marston is serving petty ass punk bitch.

Arthur would try very hard to help John out, try to give him tips on how to talk to Jack or offer to go on out father-son group things because Jack and Arthur? Great relationship! Arthur might be as emotionally intelligent as a lump of rubber, but he gets being creative and at least will give Jack the space to read and write without judging him. Sometimes it's nice, the strange days there's an activity they'll all enjoy (usually involving fire). Most of the time though, if Jack and John are talking without screaming it's because one or both of them are drunk.

[valsansretovr]

13 Books

Thank you @gellavonhamster ! This was really fun :)

The last book I read: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. A decade late to the party and my verdict is that I preferred the film. Sorry don’t kill me. 

A book I recommend: We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. I always reflexively call this my favourite book and I re-read it recently and it was as brilliant and as chilling as I remember. Merricat truly is a masterclass in writing unreliable narrators. 

A book I couldn’t put down: Anyone who follows me on my main blog knows I am deep in my hunger games era. I read the prequel over a week-end when I was in Berlin with work and now the whole trip is sort of a surreal blur. Highly recommend reading a book about violence and commemoration while walking around the haunted city that is Berlin.

A book I’ve read twice (or more): Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I read it every Christmas! 

A book on my TBR: Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire.

A book I’ve put down: Intercepts by T.J. Payne. It’s about an underground government lab that experiments with sensory deprivation. I love horror actually! but I get really upset when anything bad happens to pets and as soon as I sense that something may happen to a beloved animal I check out. 

A book on my wishlist: I recently read Scorched by Wajdi Mouawad, and it was incredible! So I would like to find the time to read the rest of his ‘inheritance’ cycle of plays.

A favourite book from childhood: La Douane Volante by François Place, which is the story of a young boy from 1914 Brittany who finds himself in a sort of parallel universe based on a fantasy Belgium / the Netherlands and trains to become a physician. 

A book you would give to a friend: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.

A book of poetry you own: Hm. Does my anthology of Middle-English lyrics count?

A non-fiction book you own: Chernobyl by Serhii Plokhy.

What are you currently reading: Betty by Tiffany McDaniel, a family chronicle about a young girl growing up in rural Appalachia. 

13. What are you planning on reading next: The new Julia Armfield novel, Private Rites! I love Armfield so I am so excited.

I tag : @persephoneprice @coryo @the-tenth-arcanum @readingloveswounds @hrimceald @laminacore

xoxox

[aralezinspace]

~Read It Here~

Based on asks sent to @gabessquishytum, now with more angst! This is definitely one of the fics I’ve written that’s dearest to my heart. CW rest of author’s note, mentions of genocide

My dad’s family is Armenian, and according to my grandfather, his father, and his father before him were all jewelers. Back in 1914, they fled the Armenian genocide, selling their pieces to make ends meet as they journeyed from Armenia to Istanbul to end up settling in a small town outside Paris, where my grandfather met my grandmother. They then married and immigrated to the states. It always warps my mind how easily I could have not existed, had my ancestors not had the means, courage, and luck to survive the genocide. If they hadn’t been jewelers, and hadn’t had those pieces to sell, would they have survived? Gives me chills every time I think about it. So you could say jewelry making is in my blood, it runs in the family- my grandparents had a jewelry store at one point, and when it closed they kept the tools. I remember sitting on my grandfather’s lap as a kid and him showing me how to use them. I’ve made a few crystal/wire pieces, and even though they’re not very good the act of making them helped me feel closer to them. According to family legend, the famous bulgari emerald necklace worn by Elizabeth Taylor was made by my great grandfather. This story will contain some elements of that history. And now for something completely different: Dream and Hob and their mutual love of Shiny Things. Enjoy! 6 chapters is a rough guess, may be more or less depending how wordy I get.

[thathoudinisimp]

Time Squad Houdini is a great portrayal

Somewhere while watching this… I kind of remember this show but I also don’t either. But I love it!

The way they portray him isn’t accurate but it’s inventive and interesting. I actually ENJOYED it.

Also THEY GAVE HIM AN ACCENT!

FINALLY!! The rest I’ve seen, he has an American accent.

guys! Harry was an immigrant, his parents never learned English. German was the language of the Weiss family.

the writer’s and casting crew had done their homework! They actually sat down and listened to the 1914 wax cylinder recordings

let’s goooooooo!

anyway I think I found my new favorite cartoon. I also like the characters as well they are funny and entertaining.

what I also love is that the background characters are actually in vaguely turn of the century clothing. *chef kiss*

also as a personal preference, out of all the eras of cartoons, I do prefer the styles of the early 2000s. There’s just something about them that makes it charming.

this version of Houdini’s design is okay too it’s not that bad. Slap a tuxedo on him and walla.

[scotianostra]

Charles Hamilton Sorley was born in Aberdeen on May 19th 1895, he became a soldier and lay dead in a field in France in his 20th year.

The son of a William Ritchie Sorley, a professor of moral philosophy, Charles was a precocious and academically gifted child. The family moved to Cambridge when he was five, and Sorley attended King’s College choir school and Marlborough College, with some study in Germany. He began publishing poetry in the school journal and won a scholarship to University College, Oxford. Sorley was in Germany in 1914 when World War I broke out, and he was interned for one night in prison at Trier.

Making his way back home, he enlisted in the Army and served in the trenches in France. Sorley was killed in action near Hulloch during the Battle of Loos, on 13th October 1915, shot in the head by a sniper. His last poem, When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead, was found in his kitbag, it is a heart-breaking piece of prose, and I admit the first time I read it in 2012 it brought a tear to my eye.

A collection of Sorley’s poetry was published posthumously as Marlborough and other Poems and went through six editions in the first year. Because of his time in Germany, Sorley’s attitude toward the war was deeply conflicted from its start. His small body of poetry is ambivalent, ironic, and profound. Sorley has been described as “one of the three poets of importance killed during the war,” the others being Wilfred Owen and Isaac Rosenberg. His other works include The Collected Poems of Charles Hamilton Sorley.

Millions of the Mouthless Dead.

  When you see millions of the mouthless dead Across your dreams in pale battalions go, Say not soft things as other men have said, That you’ll remember. For you need not so. Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow. Nor honour. It is easy to be dead. Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto, “Yet many a better one has died before.” Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should you Perceive one face that you loved heretofore, It is a spook. None wears the face you knew. Great death has made all his for evermore.

[kwebtv]

TV Guide  -  November 2 - 8, 1963

Wilfred Bailey Everett Bixby III (January 22, 1934 – November 21, 1993) professionally known as Bill Bixby, Film and television actor, director, producer, and frequent game-show panellist.

Bixby's career spanned more than three decades, including appearances on stage, in films, and on television series. He is known for his roles in the CBS sitcom My Favorite Martian as Tim O'Hara, in the ABC sitcom The Courtship of Eddie's Father as Tom Corbett, in the NBC crime drama series The Magician as stage Illusionist Anthony Blake, and the CBS science-fiction drama series The Incredible Hulk as Dr. David Banner.  He also worked with Mariette Hartley in his final series, Goodnight, Beantown,  (Wikipedia)

Herman Raymond Walston (November 2, 1914 – January 1, 2001) was an American actor and comedian, well known as the title character on My Favorite Martian. His other major film, television, and stage roles included Luther Billis (South Pacific), Mr. Applegate (Damn Yankees), Orville J. Spooner (Kiss Me, Stupid), J. J. Singleton (The Sting), Poopdeck Pappy (Popeye), Mr. Hand (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), Candy (Of Mice and Men), Glen Bateman (The Stand), and Judge Henry Bone (Picket Fences).

The success of My Favorite Martian typecast Walston and he had difficulty finding serious roles after the show's cancellation. He returned to character actor status in the 1970s and 1980s, and guest starred in such series as Custer, The Wild Wild West, Love, American Style, The Rookies, Mission: Impossible, Ellery Queen, The Six Million Dollar Man, Little House on the Prairie, and The Incredible Hulk, again with Bixby, in which Walston played Jasper the Magician in an episode called "My Favorite Magician".

In 1984, Walston played a judge on an episode of Night Court. Six years later, he made a guest appearance on an episode of L.A. Law. He later was hired for the role of Judge Henry Bone on Picket Fences; the character was originally a recurring role, but Walston proved to be so popular the character was later upgraded to a starring role.

He appeared in Star Trek: The Next Generation as Boothby, head groundskeeper at Starfleet Academy in San Francisco, and reprised the role twice on Star Trek: Voyager.

In 1988, he guest starred in an episode of the popular horror-fantasy show Friday the 13th: the Series, as a bitter, elderly comic-book artist who uses a demonically cursed comic book to transform himself into a killer robot and murder his erstwhile enemies. 

Walston received three Emmy Award nominations for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama Series for his work on Picket Fences, winning twice, in 1995 and 1996. CBS cancelled the show after four seasons in 1996. Walston made a guest appearance in an episode of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman entitled "Remember Me", in which he portrayed the father of Jake Slicker, who was stricken with Alzheimer's disease.

Walston played Grandfather Walter Addams in Addams Family Reunion (1998).  He appeared in the Touched by an Angel episode, "The Face on the Barroom Floor", which aired on October 15, 2000.

Walston made a cameo in the 7th Heaven episode, "One Hundred", which aired on January 29, 2001, four weeks after his death. (Wikipedia)

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

9 Lines 9 People Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @theprissythumbelina and @sarahlizziewrites! :D

This is a lot more than nine lines, but anyway. Behold, the prologue to Uneasy Money:

The funny thing is— and isn't that just the summary of my life. I could write my autobiography and use that as its title. The funny thing is, I'm the first to admit I'm not a good person. The funny thing is, I owe my existence to Gilbert. The funny thing is, I really did want to ruin them all. Well. In this case, the funny thing is that I never meant to kill anyone. I thought it was a game. Just a fun club to join after school. Somewhere to go when I didn't want to go home. Somewhere I belonged, when I've never belonged anywhere. It was silly and insincere and nothing but a social club. I continued to think it was a game right up until the bullets started flying that August evening. You remember the damnedest things afterwards. Someone dropped a cigarette and the smoke curled upwards in ghostly wisps. A quiet splash in the river where a fish had snatched a fly. Cows mooing in the distance. I didn't hear the gunshots. That's another funny thing. Jack fell back against me with blood spurting out of the hole in his forehead. My leg felt like it had caught fire. I looked down and saw my blood pouring out of my thigh. The other boys yelled a million miles away. But all I heard clearly was my own heartbeat. On the far side of the river I saw the reeds move when there was no wind. That was where the gunmen were. Hidden behind Jack's body, I pulled my gun from my holster and fired at each one. They hadn't expected us to fight back. They ran. I shot two in the back before they could reach the cover of the trees. Smoke, blood, dogs barking in distant houses. My leg hurt too much to move. I'd have stayed there for the rest of the night if Edmund hadn't come back for me. He dragged me back to his house. His dad looked at my leg, then at me, then at Edmund. "I fell on a stick," I said. "It was a very sharp stick." The bullet had just grazed me. Gone through the skin and out the other side. Bled like hell, though. Edmund's dad wasn't stupid. He must have known the truth. He said nothing. I told my mum the same story. She didn't believe me. That was why she kicked me out. That was why I was sixteen, homeless, jobless, and desperate. That was why I decided blackmailing my dad's other family was the best option. The funny thing is, I can trace almost everything that's happened since, in my life and everyone else's, to that terrible evening in 1914.

My name is Thomas McGeown. (Or Thomas Millner, a name which I have a moral right to — twice over! — but no legal right to. You'll hear all about that later.) This is only partly my story.

Tagging @blind-the-winds, @akiwitch, @akindofmagictoo, @antihell, @aether-wasteland-s, @rose-bookblood, @ahordeofwasps, @writingdeliberately, @chayscribbles, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

[blcsscdson]

Having Arthur back and living in Beecher's Hope was certainly not what Jack expected when he rode back to the ranch a few months ago but hey, he wasn't complaining. God knows he could use the companionship, and having someone who knew him and his family from before certainly helped. Arthur, much like Charles had been for his Pa, proved to be an unshakable pillar of strength and both of them were, slowly but surely, rebuilding their home.

Still, Jack had noticed that Uncle Arthur was missing a few things. He'd already given back his hat, pulled it straight out of his Pa's old chest that he'd kept in their room and handed it back with almost reverence. But there was something else missing. Something that Jack wore every day since he turned nineteen. He'd taken good care of that waxed canvas jacket, he'd sewn it back together when it tore, cleaned it to the point it almost shined and in return, that jacket had sheltered him from the elements. Almost like a guardian angel.

Jack cleared his throat to announce the fact that he was standing behind Arthur and, after a few seconds had passed, he spoke.

"Uncle Arthur? I been meanin' to ask, you want your jacket back? I've kept it in good shape these past few years. I figured you'd want it back, seein' how you're back an' all that..." He let that statement hang in the air. He was still a bit unsure on how to speak to the older man.

@redemn asked for a STARTER

[my-pjo-stuff]

(ask no. 11)

With the poem August 1914, why do you think it reflects Luke?

For context: This about this post where I talked abt ww1 poems I think ti PJO characters. The poem in question is August 1914 by Issac Rosenberg (mentioned here bc there are two poems with the title August 1914). And it goes :

What in our lives is burnt In the fire of this? The heart's dear granary? The much we shall miss? Three lives hath one life— Iron, honey, gold. The gold, the honey gone— Left is the hard and cold. Iron are our lives Molten right through our youth. A burnt space through ripe fields, A fair mouth's broken tooth.

So I think the best to way to answer this ask is to go through the poem to talk about why I see Luke in it- please remember that this is all just my personal interpretation of this ^^ So the first were, in my opinion- is talking/questioning how WW1 and it's battles would reflect upon the soldiers who fought in it. "What in our lives is burnt, In the fire of this" In my opinion refers to the war itself. "The fire" referring to the fire of the guns and shells that were used in ww1- while also reflecting the nature of the conflict that is like a fire in destroying things around it. The line "What in our lives is burnt" in my opinion asking how it changes the soldier. In the way of asking what the soldier would lose of themselves in the conflict. Be that abstract things such as their innocence or certain emotions or mindsets, or physical things like limps or friends. "The much we shall miss?" line is reflecting the years of youth many soldiers lost to the battles of the war and the trauma they carry from it. It asks how many of the things a normal man their age would experience are taken from them by having participated in ww1. I think Luke reflects that in two senses- the first part is talking about how he changed over the course of the book. Talking about how he lost a large part of his caring and kind personality, giving way to a desperate mindset. Luke, in a way, lost the person he was in the past.

"The much shall we miss", much like with the soldiers in ww1, referring to the things Luke missed in the life of a normal mortal due to being a demigod. Things like having a normal family, getting to do the typical kid stuff, going to school etc.

"Three lives hath one life—Iron, honey, gold." This part I thinks talks about different facets of like/someone's personality. The three lives being : Iron - the harsh side of someone, the angry and aggressive one honey - the sweet one, the kind and gentle side gold - the precious and beautiful side Each of these is described as a different "life", different parts that make up the life of someone and their personality that come together and unite into one. Meanwhile the line "The gold, the honey gone— Left is the hard and cold." talks- yet again, about the soldier losing part of himself due to the war. He loses the gold and honey lives- the beauty and gentleness of himself. Reflecting how many soldiers were hardened by the war and changed by it into an almost entirely different person.

"Left is the hard and cold" obviously referring to the kind of person the soldier would become. A battle-hardened war veteran who has killed and is not afraid of killing again. (As a mention- the harsh part being called "iron" could reflect the iron weapons of the war, showing the coldness and ruthlessness of it) Much like above Luke reflects this in the way he lost himself. His kind, and genuinely loving and caring side choked out by his determination to achieve his ultimately good goal. Adopting a "The Ends Justifies the Means" type of attitude.

"Iron are our lives" This talks about, in context with the verse above, how the lives of the soldiers became harsh. Unforgiving. Their lives became "iron"- much like the war around them is iron in it's weapons and machinery.

The line "Molten right through our youth" is yet again putting the spotlight on the fact that the lives should not be like this. This is not the normal state a soldier should find himself in. The poem is very obviously talking about the young soldiers of the war. The soldiers in their early twenties, and those that didn't even reach those yet. And it talks about how the war violently changed them, and stole their innocence.

"A burnt space through ripe fields, A fair mouth's broken tooth." further shows this theme. "A burnt space through ripe fields" and "a fair mouth's broken tooth" are both rather jarring holes or sorts in an otherwise "perfect" display. A broken tooth and a burnt space both represent something missing. They are an ugly spot in something wonderful- just like the war and the changes it brought to the soldiers reflects an ugly spot on an otherwise wonderful thing. A youth's life and personality. This theme I think fits with Luke very well, who as a character has a theme of losing the good parts about him and being driven mad by it.

Luke was a wonderful, promising youth. Who had great talent and love and care. Yet his environment "tarnished" him in a way- it robbed him of his innocence and caused seed of (justified) anger to grow. That combined with Kronos it swallowed him to some degree- fundamentally changing him as a person. TL:DR - I think the poem talks about how WW1 fundamentally changed the lives of the young soldiers thrown into it. Serving to make them more ruthless and cold while robbing them of their innocence and "normal" life. Luke in my opinion fitting this theme a lot as we see him developed over the course of the series.

[usmsgutterson]

The Axiom of Equality- T.S x gn! reader

all right! I don't know if there's much of an audience for tommy shelby fics here but I'm going to write this anyway because I've been daydreaming about it virtually daily since the idea first came up and if I don't get this out of my head I might just cry a little bit

Fic type- this is post-war hurt/comfort!!

Warnings- the war and being drafted into it are mentioned a fair amount

Dear Tommy,

This letter won't be the best thing to return to after the war, but it's what I need to do and I need in turn for you understand that. I know that you probably won't but I am asking you to and I have to believe that such is enough.

I probably won't be in Birmingham upon your return. You've been gone for six months now, and I miss you everyday, Tommy, but I just can't stay here.

Every time I walk through Birmingham, it feels as though you are all I am capable of seeing. It is inescapable and I am in dire need of an escape plan.

I love you, Tommy, and I have stood by your side throughout the course of our entire lives, but I just cannot do this anymore. Find me when you're home--Ada will know an address, but so too will Polly, and I guarantee I will want your company at some point. Even now, I yearn for your presence.

All the love in the world and the deepest apologies to accompany that,

Y/N

-

Tommy had read and reread the letter since Ada had given it to him when he returned from the war. He'd not yet asked her for the address, even a year after his return because all he could do was mull it over.

He kept thinking about you and about the fact that you'd left, how much he'd missed you and the reluctancy with which he approached the acknowledgement of that.

There was to be no denying it, though. He couldn't deny he'd missed you simply because he had. At the mention of your name, the remembrance of any singular part of you, Thomas Shelbys heart shattered, and he was left scrambling to put it back together and remain composed for the sake of keeping his family from shattering as he had.

Eventually, sometime in autumn of 1920, he found himself searching for Ada. He'd heard from Arthur that she was at the Garrison with Freddie Thorne and when he found her, she met his gaze and she grinned like she knew why he'd come looking, let alone at eight on a random weeknight.

"Let me guess," she said. "You want an address? Particularly to a neat little flat just a thirty minute walk away from the Eiffel Tower?"

Tommy gave a rather impatient nod in spite of himself--so much time had passed since he'd left for the war and you'd left Birmingham to escape him. All he'd been able to think about since he returned had been you, and he doubted you'd found yourself in a similar predicament, but he still hoped.

"I am indeed," Tommy said. Ada laughed.

"You two were together how long, exactly? Five years, six?"

"Eight," Tommy said. "From October 31st, 1906 to the day I left for the war."

"And you love them wholeheartedly?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Tommy said, running a hand through his hair. "Give me the address, Ada. Please--I've started to worry I'll go mad if you don't."

Ada grinned. "Yeah. Freddies got it on a slip of paper in his wallet."

Freddie took the slip of paper out of his wallet and passed it to Tommy, giving him a grin.

"They might be gone," Ada cautioned. "Maybe they remembered 'oh, yes! I fell in love with a criminal and left him in 1914. Don't want that life, so I'll leave him behind, move somewhere nice like...Canada, perhaps.'"

"I know," Tommy said. Ada could've been right, and you could've been gone, and Tommy could never have hoped to see you again, but the twenty-four year old who had helplessly loved you and couldn't wait to see you upon his return from the war had taken hold of his heart, and it was reaching out to yours, and there was nothing to be done other than to go. "But you've gotta understand, Ada. You, of all people."

"I do," she said. "Now, I'm sure you can buy a train ticket and make it to Paris in time to see them. Go."

And, in spite of himself and with the address from Freddie tucked into his palm, Tommy Shelby ran out of the Garrison like the eighteen year old boy who had spotted you approaching from the window and had felt his heart set itself alight with the joy he oh-so-rarely experienced.

Thomas Shelby was thirty, though. He was not the eighteen year old he had once been and you were not the eighteen year old who you had once been. Things had changed, and no matter for the giddy feeling in his heart that made Tommy feel like the boy he had once been, he was not that boy anymore. If you wanted to be left to your own, Tommy would respect that of you. If you had moved on, Tommy would respect that. He was not the person he had been before the war, and you weren't, either.

But still, Tommy went home. He packed as efficiently as possible, kissed Pollys cheek in goodbye and told Arthur to keep himself in check as he headed for the train station, his feet, his heart, and his mind dragging him on an impulsive trip to France.

-

The trip from Birmingham to Paris was a lot less difficult than Tommy had expected. Seven and a half hours on the train where Tommy read and made sure that his French sounded even slightly passable, and Tommy was at the train station in the heart of Paris for half past three in the morning.

The next hour was spent trying to locate a decent hotel to stay in for the week or so he'd planned to stay, and when he found one it was nearing five in the morning. He collapsed onto what turned out to be a bed that was almost decent but still a little off, and woke up at noon.

He showered to avoid smelling like cigarettes even though the smell of tobacco had never really bothered you and he knew he'd end up smoking one anyway, and then he was off to the address he'd been given at just after two.

What he found was not a flat. It was nothing of the sort--it was a quaint home by lakeside and one that was definitely a bit longer than a 30 minute walk away from the ever so infamous Eiffel Tower.

It was exactly the kind of home you'd described wanting to live in before Tommy left, exactly the kind of thing that you would've felt the most at home in from the outside. The acknowledgement of such made Tommys heart swell.

He was a very, very different person in 1920 than he had been before leaving for the war in 1914. He couldn't help but wonder just how much of a difference it would've made to you, the person who had once vowed to love him for the rest of your life, for the rest of his.

It gave him pause, made him hesitate as he walked up the front steps to your home and stopped him before he could knock on your front door.

What if you had remained unchanged and Tommy had done a full 180? What if you hated the person he'd become? There were too many variables, and, had he thought over it for more than approximately eleven seconds, Tommy would've done it all so differently.

He never lead with his impulse.

He never made rash decisions, not when it came to you.

But he supposed he could allow himself one rash decision a decade, and deciding to go to France on nothing more than a written address and a whim was definitely rash and impulsive enough to last him through to the 30s.

He approached your door. Knocked once, twice, a third and final time for the sake of politeness.

"Esmeralda? Is that you?" Your voice called. "I wasn't expecting you with the tea leaves until Sunday! Come in!"

Tommy didn't respond, only rested a hand on the doorknob, a rare surge of fear grabbing hold of his chest. It had been two years since he'd gone back to Birmingham. Six years since you'd last seen each other, with not a moment of contact through letter writing to bridge that gap. How much would you want to see him, really, if you wanted to see him at all?

"I'm going back to Birmingham this week! Esmeralda, darling, if thats you, please bring the tea in! Polly wrote that she wanted some and I figure I'll see her before I find Tommy. She'll be furious with me if I don't have them after I've promised to bring them along."

Tommy opened the door just a bit. It was unlocked--had you been expecting visitors?

"Esmeralda?" You asked for a third time. "Esmeralda Monroe, I don't care that you're in your eighties now, if you're playing a trick on me--" Tommy stepped into the house, tried to find even the slightest hint you were there outside of your voice.

The house was nice. It opened from a foyer into a lounge, one with a seemingly comfortable couch and a working fireplace. Through a small doorway, he caught your frame in what must've been the kitchen.

"My name isn't Esmeralda Monroe, but I would pity her if she were here," Tommy said. "What's this mess about you comin' down to Birmingham?"

"Come into the kitchen," you said. "I am unwilling to abandon my bread to see your face. Perfecting this recipe has taken Esmeralda and I weeks. She's eighty-six, so that time is precious time indeed."

Tommy gave a low laugh as he took off his coat and his hat, hanging them both on the coat rack to the right of the door. He walked through the lounge and into the kitchen, grinning the moment he saw your face.

"Hello," Tommy said. "Been a bit, hasn't it?"

You glanced up from the dough that had held your focus. "Quite a long time. I'm sorry I didn't go to Birmingham sooner--I wanted to the moment Ada wrote and said you were still alive, but I didn't. I couldn't get the time away from work, though I nearly did quit on the spot when I was refused."

"You would've come back sooner?" Tommy asked. "I came down here to tell you I'm sorry that you had to leave at all."

"It wasn't your fault," you said. "I was yearning terribly and I made a cataclysmic mistake. I would do it over if I could. I would've gone round to the Shelby home and asked Pol to talk a bit of sense into me."

Tommy laughed. "I'm apt to think she would've told you to go," he said. "Always did say I didn't deserve you or your love for french pastry."

You laughed, flouring the clean countertop in front of you and laying your dough on it so that it could be kneaded. "She might've, but I dunno that I would've listened. If I'd stayed, we could've resumed things. There wouldn't be a six year gap between our departure and our reunion."

"We wouldn't've become different people," Tommy said.

"The war would've changed you, Tommy. Seems like it did as is," you said. "But I don't fault you for that. Fighting in the war changes people--I've gotten to know a couple of people who were nurses. They don't seem right either."

"And you don't--the fact that I may have changed leaves you undeterred?"

"There's an axiom that Esmeralda introduced me to," you said. "The axiom of equality. It's a mathematical principle but I like it better as a statement."

"What is it?" Tommy asked. He'd not been much of a math person, and while he had no doubt that someone like Polly would've known what it was, he hadn't a clue. "I've been too busy legitimizing stuff back home to read up on mathematical principles and ideas."

"The axiom of equality states that x=x," you said. Tommy, in a bit of a mood to help, located a cabinet with a bread pan as you talked. "It states that x must always equal x. Esmeralda told me that the principle of the principle, when applied to people, is that the person you were in the past will always be the person you are in the present."

"Are you insulting me?" Tommy asked, grabbing the crisco shortening from the spot you kept it in the pantry. "I'm feeling rather insulted."

"That is, in fact, not my goal," you said. "If I were insulting you, I would doing so with an air of flirt in the hopes of winning a kiss. You still probably taste like tobacco, but I've never minded that."

Tommy greased the bread pan, shaking his head. If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask.

"The point of bringing up the axiom was just to tell you that it doesn't apply to everyone," you said. "We're human, Tommy. We're not a variable in mathematics, and as such, I'm pretty sure I would be able to learn how to love you if you came back someone completely and utterly changed."

"I have," Tommy said. "I am not the person I was in 1914."

"I'm not the person I was then, either," you said. "I've changed, even if it doesn't look it. I know I still look twenty four."

"Twenty six, at best."

"Thomas Shelby!" You shouted, placing the bread into the bread pan and grabbing a kitchen towel. Tommy dodged it as you thwacked it at him, laughing at the whole ordeal of the thing.

"I look a minimum of thirty-one, so you're better off than I," Tommy said. "And even as such, you're still the looker I fell in love with."

"Oh, if Ada were here, she'd have taken your head!" You laughed, and Tommy laughed, and oh, Tommy had never thought he'd have gotten so lucky as to heard the sound of your laugh again. "I would've watched--you are a real prick, Tommy!"

"A prick with whom you were once deeply in love," Tommy said. "One who you once kissed under a willow tree, and drank with, and sang with, and--"

You laughed, pressed your forehead against his shoulder. "I've missed you, Tommy."

"I've missed you more," Tommy said.

"How long are you to stay?" You asked.

"A week," Tommy said. "We can travel back to Birmingham together, if that sounds like an idea you fancy?"

You lifted your forehead from his shoulder. "That sounds wonderful," you said. "I'd really, really like that."

"Would you ever consider moving back?" Tommy asked. "I'm not asking you to if you don't want to, but if you'd consider..."

"If I were proposed to by a certain Birmingham native, I might consider it," you said. "Of course, this Birmingham native would have to fit six years of flirtations and kisses and casual signs of affection into just a week if such was his goal."

Tommy laughed. "I think he could manage that," he said. "Especially considering that he has a ring already--he bought it six months before he was drafted."

Your mouth opened in shock. "You were going to propose?"

"The plan was to do so the week I was drafted--sunset, perfect look out spot, everything was going to be amazing--but then I was drafted and proposing seemed to null itself out a little."

"You were going to propose and I left you in the dust? I am the worlds worst partner."

Tommy shook his head. "There are worse people," he said. "People who cheat on their spouses, namely. You only left because you missed me and it was so intense you couldn't handle the pain."

"When you put it that way, it sounds rather romantic," you said. "Less like one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made."

Tommy laughed, and he took your hand, and all he could think was that he was glad for the impulsiveness in his heart that'd dragged him onto a train for seven and a half hours, a shoddy hotel room for seven hours, and an additional hour spent trying to get rid of the scent of tobacco, chewing mint gum to rid it from his breath.

Tommy leaned in, and your arms found his shoulders as his found your waist. You closed the gap, and Tommy was kissing you for the first time in six years. He was kissing you for the first time in two thousand days.

He kissed you like a man starved and when you pulled away, wanted to kiss you again but managed to refrain.

"Missed that," you said.

Tommy gave a breathy laugh. "Ditto," he said.

Though the two of you were not the people you'd been before the war, you found it incredibly easy to love one another still.

"Well," Tommy said. "I would think I've got two weeks to cram six years worth of affection in to get you to come home, which means you'll probably grow sick of being kissed like that within the next bit."

You shook your head. "I would never," you said.

Tommy just laughed, pulled you in for another kiss and found his heart floating away from him, overtaken by love and joy and content, the rarely experienced emotions that always came into full effect whenever you were so much as in the same room as he was.

"I'll take your word for it, then," he said against your lips, laughing as you pulled him even closer, the both of you starved for one anothers touches.

And he would do as he said, let himself get lost in how you felt because the feeling of your touch was borderline intoxicating.

[myjewishjourney]

i’m feelin’ a lot of emotions right now and it’s for such a silly reason but i’m sharing anyway.

so here’s me talking about the rebecca american girl series

so i was having a tough day so i decided i would read an american girl doll book. i recently acquired the first three rebecca books (well, i had the first but i found the other two at a thrift store and wanted them so i got them)

for the uninitiated, the american girl books are children’s historical fiction that have dolls that go with each character. rebecca rubin was the american girl doll who’s story is set in 1914. she is a russian american jew from an immigrant family living in new york city. if you’ve never read an american girl book, they also have a section at the end explaining the real history of whatever the girl was dealing with in the book/her time period and a glossary that would have historical words a modern kid might not know and words in other languages if they were used (primarily yiddish in this case). anyway, that’s not the point of this post.

boy let me tell you that reading her first book brought back a lot of memories for me of reading it as a child. the first book has a big focus on shabbat. rebecca is nine and she really wants to be able to light the shabbat candles but her family won’t let her so instead, she seeks to buy her own candlesticks. and i just was flooded with a memory of reading this for the first time as an eight~ year old child and learning so much about judaism that i had never been taught before. i remember reading it and learning about shabbat and lighting candles every friday and thinking, ‘wow, that sounds so cool.’ i remember eagerly flipping to the glossary in the back to find out what each yiddish word meant. i remember reading it and yearning for something i couldn’t voice. i shared this with my mom and she was surprised and told me i used to go to shabbat dinner a lot at a family friend’s as a little kid but i don’t remember that. what i do remember is rebecca rubin and learning about judaism beyond just chanukah and bar mitzvahs for the first time in my memory. and so i read this book as a 20 year old who has now spent over a year of their life studying judaism and incorporating it into their life and imaging their fully jewish future and i just. i feel a kinship with a fictional rebecca, impatient to be able to light shabbat candles for the first time, despite the fact that i do light my own shabbat candles. i feel a kinship with rebecca as she taps on the challah to see if it’s finished. i feel a kinship with rebecca in book three as she struggles with being told that christmas is an american holiday and she should celebrate it, despite the fact it is not her holiday. and i know these books probably meant even more to the kids growing up jewish who got to experience reading it as a kid and saying “a character like me!”

things have come full circle; i no longer yearn for something i do not understood. i now have a word for it and a place in it. it was judaism i longed for and before i know it, i will proudly be able to call myself jewish.

thank you, rebecca rubin.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Μνάσεσθαί τινά φαμι καὶ ὔστερον ἀμμέων.**

- Sappho

**I think men will remember us even hereafter.

Men of the British Indian Army were heroes, some recognised but mostly unsung. Their stories and their heroism have long been omitted from popular histories of the first world war (and the second world war).

Approximately 1.3 million Indian soldiers served in World War One, and over 74,000 of them lost their lives. But history has mostly forgotten these sacrifices, which were rewarded with broken promises of Indian independence from the British government as well as inadequate post-war mental health care for those struggling with PTSD.

Khudadad Khan became the first Indian to be awarded a Victoria Cross, the highest honour a soldier can receive on the battlefield. He was a machine gunner with the 129th Baluchi Regiment. A total of 11 Victorian Crosses were won by Indian soldiers. Others are Mir Dast, Shahamad Khan, Lala, Darwan Negi, Gabbar Negi, Karanbahadur Rana, Badlu Singh, Chatta Singh, Gobind Singh and Kulbir Thapa. This is an incredible feat unknown to those unversed in military history. Next to the fearsome Gurkhas, the Indians, especially from the Punjab, have always been recognised as some of the fiercest, brave, and most loyal of fighting soldiers.

The Indian army played a vital role in the victory of 'allies' while India was under the British colonial rule. It provided in large numbers and distinctly to the European, Mediterranean and the Middle East halls of war, obviously from the British side. Whilst its soldiers were fighting in the muddy fields of the Somme and other bloody battlefields of northern France, India itself was struggling for self-rule and dominion status under British, if not for complete freedom.

Sir Claude Auchinleck, Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army once said "Britain couldn't have come through both wars if they hadn't had the Indian Army." This is painfully true. The myth we tell ourselves is ‘Britain alone’. Yes, that’s true but she wasn’t alone against the dark forces of evil. She had the nations within the empire (and later the commonwealth) standing next to her - the brave servicemen and women drawn from such countries as Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and of course British India. 

Having been raised in both India and Pakistan as a child I had always been aware of the sacrifices the past generations of brave Indians and Pakistanis had made for the British Empire through the deep friendships made with Indian and Pakistani childhood friends and their families, but also through the written words of diaries and private papers of my family that lived and served in India in the 19th and 20th Centuries.

The lack of recognition of the brave and sacrificial contribution of the British Indian soldier in both wars has been something that has always upset me as a travesty of justice and the truth of the historical record. Until recently no acknowledgement in the public consciousness has been widely shared of their bravery and courage in history. Happily things have changed, albeit slowly, with more books and films being produced. But more has to be done.

Lest we forget.

Photo: A French boy introduces himself to Indian soldiers who had just arrived in France to fight alongside French and British forces, Marseilles, 30th September 1914.

[judy1926]

Two old children

One of the memories that lingers in my mind, like a framed picture, is the meeting between two of my father’s cousins ​​who met again in Argentina in 1984, after a separation of seventy years. It is difficult to imagine how in those years it was possible to enter through the widest doors two great wars, other lesser wars, and with them mass migrations, fascism, dictatorships and the boom in the market economy, and even the Russian Revolution, in short, everything that happened from 1914, when Alfredo Bravi left… The eldest brother, with abundant offspring, asked his family to go to Buenos Aires (I don't know the motive behind this, but I like to imagine that he went in search of adventures). In those same years the city began to emerge as a fascinating spectacle of a new culture. These are the years in which Roberto Arlt wrote his great novels and his famous work, “The Etchings of Buenos Aires,” or the years in which Borges began publishing his first books of poetry, “The Fever of Buenos Aires” and “The Moon Opposite,” and in which Macedonio Fernández wrote his book “It’s Not All Vigilance.” Open Eyes", which is one of the texts that laid the foundations for an enchanting metaphysics, and they are also the years in which the city began the early twentieth century will later be attributed to it. It is certain that this uncle of my father knew Corrientes Street when it was still narrow, and who knows if he frequented milonga dance parties, or was a prisoner of his shell.

The shell of an Italian immigrant. The brothers were born in a rural town in Macharata, where they lived by farming the land. And I am talking here - as I said at the beginning - about two of my father’s cousins, about two brothers of my grandfather Nazareno, who died in 1962, ten years after leaving his hometown to go with his family to Buenos Aires, where he lived with them in a neighborhood near the river, to work there as a boatman.) .

As luck would have it, in 1984, Alfredo and Antonio met in a small house in the town of Leon Suarez, Buenos Aires. Seventy years had passed, as I said. And now, here they are, each with his own family and his own world, standing like two strangers in front of the other. I remember that someone helped Alfredo get up from his chair to greet his brother who had traveled to Argentina to see him. They embraced each other, leaving their sticks aside, and then they began to eliminate everything that would prevent them from rekindling the childhood moments of the past years that remained hidden in the glass of old pictures. Before the meeting, they imagined each other in their own way, and

I say “imagine,” instead of “remember,” because After seventy years, memories end up turning into pure fantasy.)

Hugging is more than a sign of knowing the other, it is to include a part of you lost yourself over time.

They speak two different languages ​​now

forgotten his mother tongue. One of them drank his hundred in the morning, and the other coffee. One of them loved neighborhood life with all its stories and gossip, and the other loved getting up early and going out to the fields.

And yet, despite everything, they understood each other, even when they were silent to stare at each Other Without saying anything.

In 1989, Alfredo's spirit overflowed into his home in León Suarez.Three years later, Antonio followed him, in Sambuquito, a small town between Macerata and Recanati.

@fredandginger64

Here's the story if you're interested