#British Home Secretary

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1972 – Bloody Sunday Aftermath.

The day after Bloody Sunday, British Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling announces a tribunal of inquiry ‘into the circumstances of the march and the incidents leading up to the casualties which resulted’. After being denied the right to provide an eye-witness account of what happened, an emotional Bernadette Devlin, the 24-year-old MP for Mid-Ulster who had been on the speaker’s platform in Derry…

[starfleetwitch]

What they say: "I'm fine"

What they mean: THE HOME SECRETARY OPENED HER MOUTH AGAIN AND NOW DATA'S LINE FROM STAR TREK ABOUT 2024 IRISH UNIFICATION MAY END UP BEING ACCURATE.

[kropotkindersurprise]

March 8, 2024 - A Palestine Action activist destroys a painting of Lord Balfour at Trinity College in Cambridge, UK. Lord Balfour, as the UK foreign secretary signed the Balfour Declaration on November 2nd 1917, which was a public statement issued by the British government which promoted "the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people". The British obviously had no right to give the land away to anyone. [video]

[moontyger]

U.K. orders Apple to let it spy on users’ encrypted accounts

Security officials in the United Kingdom have demanded that Apple create a back door allowing them to retrieve all the content any Apple user worldwide has uploaded to the cloud, people familiar with the matter told The Washington Post.

The British government’s undisclosed order, issued last month, requires blanket capability to view fully encrypted material, not merely assistance in cracking a specific account, and has no known precedent in major democracies. Its application would mark a significant defeat for tech companies in their decades-long battle to avoid being wielded as government tools against their users, the people said, speaking under the condition of anonymity to discuss legally and politically sensitive issues.

Rather than break the security promises it made to its users everywhere, Apple is likely to stop offering encrypted storage in the U.K., the people said. Yet that concession would not fulfill the U.K. demand for backdoor access to the service in other countries, including the United States.

The office of the Home Secretary has served Apple with a document called a technical capability notice, ordering it to provide access under the sweeping U.K. Investigatory Powers Act of 2016, which authorizes law enforcement to compel assistance from companies when needed to collect evidence, the people said.

The law, known by critics as the Snoopers’ Charter, makes it a criminal offense to reveal that the government has even made such a demand. An Apple spokesman declined to comment.

Apple can appeal the U.K. capability notice to a secret technical panel, which would consider arguments about the expense of the requirement, and to a judge who would weigh whether the request was in proportion to the government’s needs. But the law does not permit Apple to delay complying during an appeal.

In March, when the company was on notice that such a requirement might be coming, it told Parliament: “There is no reason why the U.K. [government] should have the authority to decide for citizens of the world whether they can avail themselves of the proven security benefits that flow from end-to-end encryption.”

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Brendan O'Neill

The lawyers have submitted a 106-page legal application to the home secretary. It wails about how unfair it is that Britain brands Hamas a terror group. Yes, how dare we use the word terrorist to describe a movement that sent thousands of armed hysterics to slit the throats of Jews on 7 October 2023? Hamas is a ‘resistance movement’, the application says, whose aim is to ‘liberate Palestine’. The trouble is, Hamas, that those of us still in possession of a moral compass know what this means: you want to ‘liberate’ the Middle East of its Jews. You want to banish, with savage violence, the Jews from their homeland. And that’s terrorism. Actually, it’s worse: it’s the dream of genocide wrapped in the lie of ‘resistance’.

Hamas’s military wing, the Al-Qassam Brigades, was proscribed in 2001. Its political wing was proscribed in 2021, when the then Tory government decided that the distinction between the two was ‘artificial’. The proscription means it’s a criminal offence for anyone here to be a member of Hamas or to drum up support for it. Waving the Hamas flag and wearing pro-Hamas clothing is a crime, too. Hamas – brace yourselves for this – is now citing the European Convention on Human Rights against the UK government. Your proscription of our lovely resistance movement is an assault on our British supporters’ ‘freedom of speech’, it says.

Look, I am such a free-speech fundamentalist that I even think people should be free to say they like Hamas. Join it? Absolutely not. Fundraise for it? No way. But spout bollocks about it being a ‘resistance movement’? Yes. Such speech is surely better dealt with in the free and rowdy public sphere than in the courts. My preference would be for Cable Street-style fightbacks against Britain’s witless armies of bourgeois and Islamist sympathisers with Hamas’s neo-fascism. Instead of us phoning the police, they should be phoning ambulances – as Mosley found out, that’s the risk you take when you hit our streets and sing the praises of Jew-killers.

Yet this case – of course – is not a plea for free speech. It’s a demand that we buy into Hamas’s vile lie about being a ‘liberation and resistance movement’ that just wants to ‘confront the Zionist project’. It’s a call not for liberty but for submission – the submission of the British government, and by extension British citizens, to Hamas’s frothing hatred for the Jewish nation that it perfidiously disguises as a political challenge to Zionism. This case is of a piece with the punishingly illiberal ideology of ‘Islamophobia’, in that it seeks to ringfence Islamist extremism from our moral judgement. In this case, our moral judgement that Hamas is a terrorist group and that its war on Israel is anti-Semitic barbarism.

Here’s the thing, though: it isn’t only Hamas and its weird lawyers who think the t-word should not be applied to this murderous movement. Polite society is packed with people who refuse to call these terrorists terrorists. Remember when the BBC published that smug, pious explanation for why it doesn’t call Hamas ‘terrorists’? It’s because it’s a ‘loaded word’, it said, and it isn’t our job ‘to tell people who to support and who to condemn’. Who do they think they’re kidding? The Brexit-bashing, Trump-hating BBC has suddenly discovered impartiality? It published that piece just four days after Hamas raped and butchered the Jews of southern Israel. Reith spins in his grave.

[drgnflyteabox]

Malewife Gaz comes back from deployment desperate for his mean, office siren gf <3

MDNI / dub con-ish / public sex / overstim / anal play / grinding / Kyle is kinda gross lol I luv him / he eats it from the back :D / they're both switches / squirting

Reader works in an office, but it's not clear what she does. She does have her own private office though ;) you go girl!

You're ignoring him.

Your phone isn't turned off, it's not even on silent, but you haven't flipped it right side up despite the near constant buzzing. Kyle has been texting, calling, but you're cross at the moment and don't feel like having it out with him on a work day.

You should turn your phone off. It's distracting, and a little inappropriate to have it making so much noise even through the walls cushioning your personal office.

The thing is, it's a little gratifying that he's desperately trying to reach you. Part of it is the satisfaction that he's a little anxious and wants to make it up, and part of it is wanting him to be extra sorry when you gets home.

Kyle had been able to call you all through the past month despite being on deployment. At least twice a week, you'd be laid up in bed or tucked away on lunch in your office telling him about your day. A rare treat for someone of his vocation, and something you appreciated greatly. The expectation you always set for yourself was zero contact - something to keep you from being hurt or placing more stress on him. Truly, your workaholic tendencies made you perfect for somebody that spent so much time deployed. When he came back, he made you take a break. There was a balance.

Typically you'd get a window of time for when he'd be back home. Your favourite thing to do was to cook a British classic for the occasion, usually bangers and mash - his favourite. You always had his preferred beer too, a brand you noticed he copied from Price. So cute. Yesterday morning he'd sent you a message that he'd be home for 9pm, a little late for dinner but the boys wanted to catch up at their favourite pub before they separated.

Only last night you'd sat at the table waiting for two full hours by yourself before giving up. His meal was packed in the fridge while you'd eaten yours by yourself on the couch with a glass of wine, texts going unanswered.

The worst part wasn't that he hadn't shown up. Sometimes that happened, when missions ran long or he'd gotten too into his cups with his team. It was annoying, but your tradition was to spend the day together when he got back, and you didn't mind having breakfast with him instead. You just didn't appreciate that he didn't even call or text about it, and that in the morning you found him sprawled on the couch with just his boxers and a mess of clothing tossed on the ground from the door to the living room couch. Socks, pants, his tank top.

So, petty as you are, you go to work and forego the tradition. Ignoring him. You dressed nice, too, black stockings and as tarty as you could without getting a call from HR. He hadn't seen you leave, but you wanted to get home and remind him what he was missing.

Your office phone rang once, twice, "hello?" The secretary at the front of the building was a nice enough lady, but she rarely called you directly. "Your lunch is here - the deliveryman is just waiting."

"Deliveryman?" You say skeptically. You hadn't ordered lunch. You'd brought Kyle's leftovers.

"Yep. Should I send him up?" Though you probably know who it is, you tell her you'll be down in the lobby instead. You'd prefer to be safe than sorry, in case it isn't Kyle.

It is.

He looks like a kicked puppy, holding some kind of takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. He knows you love Los Vaqueros, the little coffeeshop next door. It's probably a macadamia nut latte, your favourite.

"Babe," he starts, sounding a little rough. Probably battling a hangover. He's wearing your favourite shirt, a tight black compression shirt that shows off his tits. Grey running sweats. Oh, he's good. "Is your phone dead?"

"I've got a pretty busy day today, Kyle," you're a little snotty about it. Your hip is cocked to the side. You want him to work a little. "I was in the middle of a meeting."

"You can't be that mad at me. I brought you macadamia and a caesar wrap. Come on, baby." He shifts the bag into the same hand as the coffee, using the other to show you his palm in apology.

You peer at him a little warily. It's times like this you wish he wasn't so tall, so that you could look at him all judgemental secretary like. You settle for arching a brow and squinting. "Go away now, I'll see you at home. I better not see any dirty socks on my floor, either."

"I cleaned them this morning, I swear."

"Good. Now scram, and give me that coffee." You reach for the coffee, but he intercept and grabs your elbow. Pulling you closer. "What- kyle--" his hands slides up to your upper back, making you shiver. When you don't pull away, he grins like a schoolboy and starts steering you down the hall. "I have work -!"

"I know, baby, but I really wanna make it up to you. Let me make it up to you." He's speaking quietly as to not alert the secretary a few feet away. He's leading you to the bathroom.

"No! Kyle, I'm at work. Goddammit, I have things to do-"

"No you don't." When you've turned the corner and are out of sight, he slides his hand from your back to your ass, squeezing hard, making you squeak. "And I need you. I woke up so hard. I need your pussy." He's close to whining, tucking his face close to your ear, smelling your hair.

Your voice goes high pitched, flustered, not expecting him to try and cajole you into fucking in a public bathroom. At your workplace no less. "We can't!"

He used to do this when you first started dating; get needy, corner you in some barely secluded place and get you both off one way or another. Quick and dirty. He swore he never fucked anyone else while deployed, and if it wasn't the trust you had in him it was how desperate he seemed to get when he got back that assured you of his faithfulness. Sometimes it was your favourite, just how whiney and flustered he would get. As a treat, if he'd been very good during dinner, you'd wake him up by sucking him off the morning he got back. Surely he had missed that this morning, what with how fast he'd led you to the employee bathroom. Good.

He locks the door behind you, and you let him kiss you a little. You don't see him put your food down, but he must because both his hands squeeze your waist. You rub your thighs together to soothe the pulsing arousal building in your belly.

You hand goes to his chest, pushing him. He's so strong, it takes you slapping his chest and shoulders to move back, panting. "We can't, I'm serious. Do you want me to get fired?"

He licks his lips, not even looking you in the eye. "You won't get fired, baby. Just be quiet. Let me take care of you-" you interrupt him by grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks hard, making his lips pucker up.

"Can you not think with your cock? Couldn't you have dropped lunch off and waited for me back home like a good boy?"

He slides his big hands down your waist to your hips, tilting his hard cock so its pressed against you. Despite you holding him, he walks you both forward until your back hits the wall and he can grind against you hard. "Kyle- I'm not kidding," you say sternly, but don't move away. His cock rubs deliciously against your mons, not quite where you want it, but a good enough tease that your breath shudders out in a moan.

"Please, please, let me," he begs, grinding. Pressing his body right up to yours. You acquiesce a little, moving your hand from his face to down his pants and into his boxers. "Hrmmn-nn fuck, fuck," he whines. Bypassing his dick, you feel him start to hump desperately, like a dog. He shudders hard and you're squashed against the wall as you palm his balls, playing with them a little. You feel wetness drip down your wrist.

"Did you just come?" Honestly, you're delighted, but you make sure your tone is disappointed. Mean. Your pussy squeezes, wets your panties a little more. "Bad boy. I thought you were going to make it up to me?"

"Oh fuck, thank you baby. I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you still. Just give me a second."

"No way. Get to work." It's easy to bully him a little when he's so fresh from his orgasm. You push him onto his knees and lift a heel to rest it on that big, muscular thigh.

Your tits feel squashed in your bra as you breathe hard, looking down at him. He pushes his forehead against your stomach, pushing your skirt up while murmuring something into the fabric. You palm yourself, pinch your own nipples through the fabric. Feeling empowered, your hand goes to his hair and you grind your panty covered pussy right on his nose.

"Go on."

He licks you through the fabric, long laps of his tongue. Sucks on where your clit is, wetting the fabric. Kyle grips your thighs and pulls them wider apart, making you teeter dangerously on one heel, the other digging into his leg. He mouths at your panties and bites gently at you while your scratch his scalp and neck.

He moans, and finally pushes your underwear down. You clench as your wetness is exposed to the air, cooling you. Your clit stands up, peeking out of your hood. He gives it a little lick, directly on the underside where you're most sensitive. It makes you jump, not expecting it. He doesn't let you move away, instead wrapping his lips around you and sucking, hard.

"Oh Jesus--" your knees buckle a little, "Kyle, fuck," he pulls back and turns you around forcefully, making you arch. His hand finds your ankle and lifts your leg up and out, tongue finding your cunt once again. He eats you out like he's making out with you, like a sloppy kiss. His other hand squeezes where your ass and thigh meet, spreading you open.

"I missed you so much," he says. "I missed this pretty little cunt. Oh, jesus, I'm hard again." Of course he is - his refractory period has always been quick. This is a new record, though. "Can I fuck you, baby?"

You have to really force your words out, with how he spreads your asscheeks and licks your other hole. "Nn- no. You haven't - haven't earned it yet."

Kyle doesn't say anything to that, just curls his tongue in your ass and let's your ankle go to pinch your clit between two fingers, twisting it. You shout, then go still, remembering where you are. "Kyle --!" It sneaks up on you, how fast your orgasm comes. From your toes to your nipples, electricity shoots through you and tightens your skin. You tremble violently, soaking his fingers and his face. He stands up while you go through the aftershocks, hands stroking your belly and holding you from behind, crowding you and making you feel safe.

Kyle kisses your nape, sucks your earlobe a little. Waits like a gentleman. You lean back against him and squeeze his fingers.

"I'm gonna fuck you now." He's not asking anymore, and you're boneless, so you just spread your legs and let him push his cock into you slowly, enjoying the stretch. It makes you rise onto your tiptoes, letting him take your weight. He rocks into you slowly at first, hands roaming from your stomach to your tits to your throat. Pinching and squeezing, having earned your submission.

"I missed you too," you admit finally, breathily. "I love you, big boy."

Kyle hums, sucking a mark into your neck, picking up his pace. "I love you too." He nibbles on you a little. His thumb finds your asshole again, pushing in, making you whine high and thin. "You gonna be a good girl and come all over my cock? I've been waiting for this, you know. Your pussy feels like home."

Your cunt drips on him, making wet little sounds while he fucks you hard against the wall. You're still sensitive from coming earlier, so you squirm on his cock, squeezing around him. "Come inside me, please," you beg. You need to feel it. He uses his free hand to push your face into the wall, bucking into you once, twice, then holding himself taut as a bowstring. His hips grind minutely against your ass while he comes, flooding your pussy.

Kyle doesn't let you go, just pulls his cock and thumb out quickly, taking advantage of your stupor to cup your pussy and roughly squeeze your clit. You yelp, jumping, but keep your legs spread. Your peak is building again, and he knows it. Two of his big fingers find your stretched hole and push in, curling and rubbing viciously until the pressure builds and builds and your pussy contracts, pleasure slicing through your abdomen painfully. You cover your mouth with your hands just barely in time to shout, knees buckling with your orgasm.

If not for Kyle holding you up, you'd have fallen down to the floor. You shake, feeling cored. He nuzzles you sweetly, licking your ear. His hand pets your pussy gently until you push him away, way too sensitive.

"Can I take you home, babygirl?"

"Yes please," your voice is a croak.

Kyle is a little inconsiderate in this but I hope it didn't read as angst and more playfulness between established partners <3<3 I feel like Kyle is a very noble character and he puts a lot of pressure on himself. Always worrying about what the right thing is. I figure with reader he can let go a little :') reader is a little miffed but she's soft for her man <3

Also I wrote this on my phone between shifts during a 13 hour day so please forgive any typos or grammar mistakes

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1882 – Phoenix Park murders | The British chief secretary of Ireland, Lord Frederick Cavendish, and his under secretary, T.H. Burke are murdered.

Arriving in Dublin on 6 May 1882, the Chief Secretary for Ireland, Frederick Cavendish (who was married to the niece of British Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone), attended to some formal business in Dublin Castle, the seat of the British government, before walking home to the Viceregal Lodge in the Phoenix Park. Joining Cavendish in his walk, was his under-secretary, Thomas Henry Burke, the…

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

[r4vn]

—LATE BLOSSOM (cont.)

farleıgh x reader 【2/3】

w.c: 4,251

part ¹: here.

disclaimers: sensual tension, dilf!farleigh, secretary!reader, mentions of drugs, farleigh has a kid, fluff??, filler episode, company AU!, hot and bothered, no smut (patience young padawan), cutesy,

—synopsis: youre babysitting your boss's kid for the day in his mansion of a home. as interesting as mr.start was, couldnt help but wonder more about him and his son. maybe something blooms between the two of you by the end of the evening.

a/n: i enjoyed writing this one sm! you guys know i enjoy my intricate details of describing things. i rlly like to paint the picture. i will eagle-eye proofread again later..lol all love! enjoy! as always, sorry for typos!

– part ³: here.

「divider by @/ cafekitsune 」

you walked up to the grand entrance of farleigh's estate. you were nervous, but also severely curious. before you could even knock, the big mahogany door opened to reveal a farleigh start in a half-done suit. his shirt was half buttoned and his tie was undone. he looked even more attractive in tousled clothing and you had to stop your mind from wandering anywhere else but the present. farleigh smiled welcomingly towards you and stepped to the side for you to step in.

"good afternoon, [y/n]." he greeted tenderly. you walked in with a smile, chuckling. you could feel your face gain color at the sight of him.

"good afternoon, sir." you replied. farleigh scoffed playfully, waving a hand in the air.

"farleigh is just fine [y/n], we aren't at work." you didn't know how to respond, only nodding bashfully. you made a mental note to try your best to remember to call him by his first name outside of work. your eyes finally ripped away from your boss who was leading you through the main open room, the sight of the home's interior nearly taking your breath away. the marbled, checkered tiles complimented the rest of the renaissance aged home, decorated with velvet tufted chairs and couches. throughout the hallways you walked with your boss, some had beautifully trimmed pieces of wall tables edged with baroque, golden-plated trims, along with nearly all the furniture in the rooms.

"i take it you're a bit starstruck, [y/n]." the brunette chuckled softly as you could only stare in awe at everything. you nodded, following closely as he continued to give you the tour. as he showed you rooms such as the common area, guest rooms, the kitchen, the library and even his room. you made sure to take a mental snapshot of his room. you didn't know why, but it was a gorgeous room with elegant pieces of furniture.

"not to be stereotypical sir, but how does one like you, inherit such a company?" you inquired, almost immediately regret asking after hearing your words aloud.

"as in how does an american like me take over a british estate?" farleigh corrected you. it made you mentally cringe. you felt like a slight bigot for such a question. farleigh smiled at you again, buttoning his shirt as he walked.

"don't worry, i'm not offended, heh." you didn't know how he knew the topic made you tense, maybe your poker face wasn't as good as you think. "i am related to the family. my mother is the sister of sir james catton, and so i am nephew to lady elspeth and cousin to sir felix. after mr. and mrs. catton passed, venetia did not want it and felix left to pursue his own dreams in life, i was the closest to the family. therefore, it was passed down to me.”

you 'ohh'ed' and nodded understandably. you didn't know he was so close with the catton's. of course you could have done research, but it is always more interesting to hear from the source itself.

"if your mum is related to sir james, does that mean your dad is from the states?" you asked, half knowing the answer. farleigh turns and nods to you, tieing his black tie swiftly as he walked.

"yes, my father is american and my mother is british. the life of a mutt." farleigh grinned playfully. you playfully rolled your eyes at the cheeky brunette, loving that he always has a refreshing sense of humor.

"we are headed to the tv room, where my son is. are you nervous to meet him?" mr.start asked, glancing at you.

a shot of anxiety filled your chest like a small heart attack. you were very curious to meet the son of your boss, but what if he didnt like you? anything could happen, and you didn't want to jeopardize your job in any way.

"i must say i am a bit nervous, sir." you laughed sheepishly, farleigh stopped treading only a couple steps from a cracked open door. you could hear faint sounds from the room, sounding like a tv. farleigh placed his hands on your shoulders, the action not helping your fast heart rate in any way.

"i promise, you will do great. he's a good kid so don't worry." farleigh flashed another reassuring smile before heading into the room. "benji? i'd like you to meet someone bud." you followed farleigh into the room, seeing a nearly much smaller miniature version of your boss. the kid was a near spitting image of his father and had turned to you from the tv, giving you a big toothy smile.

"hello miss! i’m benjamin." he greeted. you nearly gushed at the sight of him. he had his father's skin tone and tight curls, along with prominent features such as his nose and eye shape. though his eyes were a shade of a lighter, honey brown.

"well hello benjamin. i am [y/n]. i'm going to be your babysitter today." you greeted, smiling sweetly. farleigh smiled at your interaction with his son. he checked the time, wincing audibly before kneeling in front of benjamin.

"now benji, i do have to leave. but i will be back tonight to put you to bed. please be good for the maids and for miss [y/n], alright bud?" the miniature brunette nodded vigorously, giggling as farleigh kissed his forehead. farleigh stood and turned to you, clasping his hands together.

"thank you so much for doing this [y/n], you have no idea how much this means to me. i will see you two tonight, alright?" you nodded at him, waving him off as he exited the room.

°°°

within the first two hours, you and benjamin sat in the tv room simply chatting about whatever a 6 year old boy likes to chat about. from dinosaurs, to race cars, to kid shows and even academics, benjamin was quite the intelligent kid. you weren't as nervous as before, and enjoyed the little runt's company. he was very well reserved for a child his age and was not as overstimulating as you thought he would be. one quirk you noticed was that he knew a lot about dinosaurs, and it was the most adorable thing in the world.

"did you know the name triceratops is greek for three-horned face miss [y/n]?" benji asked, playing with his dinosaur figurines on the low wooden table.

"no i did not. isn't that kind of crazy? imagine having three huge horns on your face." you grinned and poked both of benji's cheeks before poking his nose last. the boy giggled at the pokes, retracting from your hands from most likely being ticklish.

"they also weight like, 13 tons! thats like how much a building weighs or something!" the small brunette exclaimed while holding his arms out wide to demonstrate the 'size of a building.' you couldn't help but giggle at his actions, finding it too cute. he had more of a british accent than farleigh did, most likely from school.

getting a bit bored from the tv, benjamin asked the maid in the room for his coloring books. he had asked you if you wanted to color with him, of course not denying the request. he had 3 different books; a dinosaur one, a racecar one, and an overall educational one. benji colored in the dinosaur book while you colored a page in the racecar one.

"miss [y/n], are you my new mommy?" the boy quieres. you nearly choked on the crisps you were snacking on, having to clear your throat for a handful of seconds before answering.

"uhm– no sweetheart," your face had gathered warmth quickly, glancing at the maid who clearly held back a smile. "i actually work with your father. i am a secretary, someone who helps him with things like lunch and scheduling meetings."

"ohhhhh ..like a maid?" benji continues. you pause for a moment and think about his words. he wasn't technically wrong. it sometimes felt like that but you never minded it. it was quite literally your job.

"i guess you could say that, only i don’t clean and cook. i hope you behave for the butlers and maids here, benji." benji nods with another big grin while giggling.

"yes i do! i promise! but i was just wondering. i haven't seen my mom in ...i dunno, whats 3 years? a thousand days?" your heart dropped at the sudden turn in topic, forcing a small smile as you watched him continue to color.

"something like that," you responded more gently. "do you remember her?" benjamin hummed. he was thinking of an answer but clearly was more focused on the t-rex on the piece of paper he was coloring. he shrugs and picks up a green colored crayon. "brown hair, brown eyeballs, uhh thats all i sort of know hehe.." you nod, feeling a sudden wave of melancholy gently wash over you as your mind wanders to your own family.

"i get that, i can't remember my dad much." you shrugged. you picked up a green crayon and began making it the accent color of your red racecar, making sure to stay in the lines.

"i love my dad!" benji suddenly exclaimed, causing you to smile again. you gently rubbed his head full of curls. they reminded you of his fathers. you always wanted to touch farleigh's curls.

"mommy left after a big loud argument with daddy. they were using words i can't say until i graduate college, that's what daddy said at least," you paused your coloring, looking at the boy who still seemed bothered at speaking about such a topic while drawing on some dinosaurs.

"they were yelling about things like daddy's job and how mommy was always sad all the time and uh...doing lines on tables?" your breath hitched, trying not to look shocked in front of the housekeeper. you did sneak a glance to her, who averted her gaze.

"i also draw lines on tables but only with my fingers hehe. then one day mommy kissed my head and left with a suitcase. she told me to grow up big and strong aaaand look at me! big and strong!!" benji smiled, holding up his arms. your smile was slowly turned into a sad one. you couldn't help it. hearing such an innocent kid talk about a topic only you can fully comprehend sets an achy feeling in your chest. you decided it was time to change the atmosphere.

"hey, i'm feeling some homemade pizza. what about i go start in the kitchen while you finish up here with your drawing okay?" benjamin's eyes lit up like a starry night in the sky as the mention of pizza.

"okay!! i want to cut out this after im done and miss margaret will walk me into the kitchen!" you give a thumbs up to the boy and a silent agreeing smile to margaret before exiting the room. you admit you did slightly wander the halls for a minute or two and took the longer way to the kitchen just to adore the home itself. you loved the old yet elegant feeling of the entire place. you felt like sort of royalty, wondering how it would be like to even live in a place like this.

eventually you made it to the kitchen and noticed how it looked untouched. you turn to the butler who was dusting off a painting on the wall, hoping to not seem like a bother.

"sir? are there ingredients to make a homemade pizza in this kitchen?" you asked in a more polite tone than usual. the man stops what he is doing to turn to you. he wore an almost neutral expression but even then, you felt your presence was merely enough to annoy him.

"there are two kitchens, madam. this is the front kitchen, where they keep beverages, sweets and snacks in the cabinets and refrigerator. the back kitchen is where the chef and cooks keep most of the ingredients when they cook for sir farleigh and sir benjamin." you nodded, thanking him for the information given before leaving him alone quickly. you wandered to the back of the kitchen where many cooks were prepping food, probably for the following days. you spoke to the chef and told him how you wanted to simply make homemade pizza using the front kitchen stove, and he happily helped you. he brought out the ingredients and placed them on the granite island in the front kitchen. the finest kneaded dough, marinara sauce, 3 varieties of cheeses and several fresh pizza toppings.

while finishing up, you heard a noise from the hallway. it was a brief noise, but what it had sounded like alarmed you. you briskly shuffled into the hallway to see margaret coming to you with benjamin, who has tears running down his face. you immediately ran to his aid, kneeling down toward the boy's height.

"margaret what happened?" you gasped out. there was blood on his small hands along with margaret’s who was holding a wet gray cloth to his hand to stop the bleeding.

"i-im sorry madam. i had looked away for just a moment while he was cutting his drawing out and he nicked himself. there is first aid in the library." the women spoke frantically. you immediately picked up benji and rushed to the library. when the three of you arrived, margaret immediately grabbed the first aid from the shelf. you sat benji down in one of the chairs, speaking to him reassuringly to calm the scared boy down.

"i-it hurts [y/n]." he cried. you continued to press the wet rag to his wound and cupped his small face.

"i know sweetheart. it's okay, you're going to be alright. c'mere." you hushed and cooed the boy reassuringly, holding him in your lap as you rocked him. you silently told margaret to hold off for a moment, just to get him to calm down. you knew hand cuts tend to bleed for a bit before the wound would clot itself and so to distract benjamin, you hummed a small lullaby to soothe him. as you held the rag securely to his hand, your other hand held his head to your chest as you hummed quietly into his ears. within a matter of minutes his cries slowed to small sniffles and hiccups.

the tension in the room lifted and you finally let margaret treat his wound while he sat in your lap. when you finally removed the rag, the cut was as expected a small nick on his thumb. benji sat calmly as margaret gingerly cleaned his cut with a q-tip, placed a then layer or ointment over it and wrapped a blue bandaid around his finger.

"you did so good benji. i think you deserve a treat." you praised. benji looked up at you with his glassy hazel eyes, finally showing a cheeky grin.

"like pizza?" he questioned. you laughed at the unexpected guess but simply nodded. your eyes glanced over at margaret who mouthed a small 'thank you.' your chest warmed and you accepted it, finally taking benjamin to the kitchen to make pizza.

°°°

"[y/n]? benji? im home!" farleigh yelled through out the home whilst walking through the door.

"daddy!!" benji yelled, running towards his father across the main common room. farleigh immediately smile and picked up his son, kissing his head.

"hey buddy, were you good for miss [y/n]?" benjamin nodded excitedly, giggling as his father tickled him. you arrived seconds later after benjamin and beamed at the sight of your boss.

"hello sir. i hope the event was nice." you started. farleigh sighed deeply, painting on a smile. past the smile you could see he needed a lending ear.

"it was surely eventful. let's get this little kiddo to bed first." you agreed and followed farleigh to benjamin's room. the tall brunette helped his miniature copy into his pajamas and laid him down in bed. you sat farther to the end of the bed to let them have their moment.

"daddy i had a really good day. i watched tv, drew dinosaurs, talked about dinosaurs, and i made pizza!" benji exclaimed.

"oh you made pizza?" farleigh questioned, a hint of genuine surprise lacing his tone as he briefly turned to you. benji confirmed again and suddenly showed his blue bandaid, making your heart drop.

"yes. i also hurt myself while trying to cut out my drawing. but miss [y/n] helped me calm down as miss margaret placed the bandaid on it hehe." farleigh held up his sons hand, gently kissing the wounded finger with a smaller smile as he glanced over at you.

"i was wondering what happened when i walked in. but i am glad youre okay, bub. get some sleep, okay?" just as farleigh was about to tuck him in, benjamin protested and sat up quickly. suddenly he crawled over to the end of his bed where you were and gave you a big hug. as you were slightly taken aback, you wrapped your arms around the child, blushing as he kissed your cheek before he climbed right back into bed. farleigh kissed him goodnight before the two of you left his room quietly.

the air seemed to thicken as you walked just seconds short behind farleigh. he walked back into the kitchen, where he had seen the wrapped leftover pizza on the island. you had made sure to clean up as you cooked, so there was minimal mess in the end. you didn't have time to put leftovers up since farleigh was pulling up to the estate at the time. farleigh opened the aluminum foil and took a slice of pizza, humming in approval at the taste.

"so," he started. "what happened?" you swallowed thickly. you couldn't read him. anyone knows if a parent came home to their child wounded they would be livid.

"i went to set up the ingredients for making the pizzas while margaret watched him for a handful of minutes and– and i heard the noise of a cry of some sort and i had seen margaret with a cloth to his hand.." you pause your words, watching as farleigh's fingers undid his tie silently. he rolled up his sleeves before opening the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of red wine. the bottle read 'la ruine. pinot noir.'

"we took him to the library where first aid was and as i calmed him, margaret treated his cut. im really sorry sir it was an honest mistake and i shouldnt of left him alone when he was usin–" you cut yourself short when farleigh suddenly walked up to you and placed his hands on both your shoulders.

"[y/n], sweetheart, its okay. he is a big boy, things happen. i'm not mad at you and its clear it was just an accident. benjamim was clearly fine also, yeah?" you stare up at your boss, nodding slowly at his words.

did he just call me sweetheart?

"y-yes ...sir." you stuttered out. your body temperature increased at his voice calling you a pet name and his touch. you didn't know how to react. farleigh felt your tense arms relax under his touch and he smiled. he opened a higher cabinet, grabbing two crystal glasses and placed them on the island.

"have a glass of wine with me. i think it will ease both of our nerves." the brunette suggested, pouring you both half a glass. you thanked him and sipped the red, the taste immediately making you smile. you looked at farleigh, who had already down his glass with a slight groan at the end. work must of stressed him out today, because he filled his glass halfway again and downed it quickly once more. this time in 2 gulps instead of one.

"heavy day, sir?" you hummed, chuckling sheepishly. farleigh sighed in response, nodding as he poured his third glass. instead of downing it, he kept it on the granite island and placed the bottle to the side.

"i apologize for downing those glasses in front of you like that, wasn't very gentlemen-like of me. but yes today was simply, very overstimulating." farleigh groaned, rubbing his temples at the mere thought of the business event. he went into the pantry and grabbed a half opened bar of chocolate, breaking off a piece to eat. he sipped his glass after with a hum of content.

"may i ask just a summary of your day?" you continued. you took a larger sip of your glass to catch up with farleigh, who was already 2 drinks in.

"it was a beautiful venue and all. some men had their secretaries doing their bidding which made me wish i had you there. not to do everything for me, like you normally do, but to have company. thank you again for babysitting benjamin for me." farleigh tipped his glass to you before drinking from it again.

"it was merely just a lot of conversing about business, laughing at– excuse me but –shitty jokes and poorly made horderves. the live music was beautiful though." you chuckled at hearing farleigh swear. you had never heard him use such language besides the less stronger phrases like 'damn' or 'pain in the ass.' it was nice to see him loosen up.

"i would have loved to have joined you. but i must say, benjamin and i did have fun making pizza and coloring together. i think i can say i definitely had more fun than you, sir." you stated with a cheeky tone. you giggled as farleigh attempted to protest but clearly couldn't, agreeing with you.

"i would choose my son over rich old white men any day. here, try this. dark chocolate is good with red wine." farleigh handed you a small piece of dark chocolate broken off the bar, coaxing you to eat it. you rose a brow but did not question the man, popping the candy in your mouth. the chocolate almost immediately melted against your tongue and you followed the candy with a swing of red, not holding back your pleased expression from the taste. the fruity and spiced flavoring of the wine complimented the savory and slightly sweet piece of chocolate. you made a mental note to try it at home.

"good yeah?" mr.start teased, chuckling as he knew you were doing to enjoy it. you nodded at his words, pointing to the bottle for a refill.

"may i?" you queried. farleigh waved a hand, signaling for you to grab the bottle and you poured yourself another glass. farleigh felt his body becoming warmer, his first 2 glasses finally catching up to him. he casually leaned against the island while you were up against the counter directly across from him. there was maybe a space of about a yard between the two of you as you sipped your glasses, speaking of miscellaneous topics now. but there was no denying the tension in the room. you weren't going to acknowledge it and farleigh seemingly didn't mind it.

"yes i think tony's cafe has better coffee than the cafe on 63rd. it's also less busy and their mocha is much more, well, chocolate-y." farleigh hummed, scratching his scruffy jaw as he finished off his 3rd and final glass.

"tony's black coffee also isn't as bitter. it has that hint of floral notes, like hawaiian coffee. and– oh, hold on.." farleigh paused his words and leaned off the counter to enter your space. your breath hitched as he loomed over you, his hand raising towards your face. the pad of his thumb gently swiped over your cheek a couple of times and farleighs eyes never left your face.

"you had a little bit of flour on your face.." he murmured, making you laugh under your breath.

"probably from the pizza dough." you replied, the volume of your voice automatically decreasing at the close proximity. farleigh, who seemed to be in a daze, was finishing wiping the flour off but didnt move. his fingers simply stayed gently on your face. you didn't know how tipsy you were till you had subconsciously leaned into farleigh's hand, allowing him to cup the side of your face. though when you opened your eyes to see farleigh gazing at you with such eyes, you had realized the alcohol had gotten to you both, and it was time to leave. you swiftly cleared your throat which brought farleigh out of his daze, the man taking a step back for you to breathe.

"ah– ahem ..its getting late farleigh. i should get going–" you started.

"i can take you home." he suggested quickly. you laughed awkwardly, shaking your head at his request.

"sir, you are 3 drinks in. i don't think that's best." you mentioned. farleigh mentally slapped himself for the suggestion. he would never put your life in danger like that. he didn't push any further and simply nodded.

"i will tell margaret to let the chauffeur know. you have a nice evening, [y/n]. i'll see you tomorrow, and thank you again." farleigh flashed one last smile at you, grabbing the bottle and the chocolate to put them up.

"have a goodnight, sir." and with that, you turned your heel and made your way to the front door, not daring to sneak one last look. because you already felt his eyes watching you leave.

© r4vn ²⁰²⁴, do not repost my work.

pls stay tuned. the next one will be spicy ;)

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Winters’ favorite employee at Nixon Nitration was Blanche Blaine, the middle-aged, former live-in lover of Stanhope Nixon who was offered the job of being his personal secretary after he dropped her to marry the blonde. Now married herself, Blanche and Winters developed a close friendship. Many times she invited the young man to her home for dinner.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” she told him one day. “You’re funny as hell. You don’t run around with women and you don’t drink. You just don’t fit in with the Nixon crowd.”

“Is that bad?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “It’s refreshing.”

When he wasn’t at Blanche’s having dinner, he was at Lewis Nixon’s home in Princeton, where Nix and his wife, Irene, the British woman from Swindon he had brought to the States and married shortly after his discharge, would wine and dine him. Sometimes these little get-togethers involved just the three of them and other times Nixon invited other friends as well. Either way, it always ended up the same, with everyone except Winters sitting around drinking.

“Nixon and I always remained good friends,” Winters reflected years later. “But our relationship after the war was tough. The thing that kept us together was the bonding that we had from the war, because to visit with Nixon was to sit there and watch him get drunk. That’s no fun when you’re sober. So I’d sit there until I got tired, then I’d get up and go to bed. It was the only thing I could do.”

~ Larry Alexander

[wdwdiotr]

Epilogue Sara, she becomes a flight attendant instead! Muther says shes too reckless to become a pilot.

Moreeee info beloooooowww. Kinda! I suck at writing so I'll draw these random blurts someday instead (Someday). Beware, it's super long, and super ramble-y

Oh Sara, how did she become a FLIGHT ATTENDANT of all things?

WELL! She was asked by Pete if she could drive them to this convention for nerds cuz he knew she had a driver's license, she was fine with it as long as she could drive on her scooter

But the scooter couldn't handle all their weight combined. So she had to instead borrow her mom mum's car

When she drove the boys to the comic convention, she didn't. She instead drove into a random tree. (Almost! It's not her fault she's a left hand side driver, it comes with being british!) She was able to hit the brakes fast enough before they could all die, but of course the boys were angry (Jerry less so becuz he's the word simp personified)

Bill went on a rampant about it to her, and told her basically that she was stupid enough to nearly crash a car, how was she going to drive a whole plane?! And that set something off in her, so after the drive back home (And getting in trouble) she asked her mum if she could drive her to her office on the weekends, her mum was hesitant so she resorted to begging. It worked.

Sara is basically trained once more how to drive by american standards by her mum, so she eventually got better! She asked Pete a second time if she could drive them, Bill cuts him off by telling her to fuck off. A week of begging ensued before Jerry caved and asked if she could drive him to magiccon at _____, Sara beamed with delight.

This caused a slight commotion in the club, cause on one hand, they could die, though on the other hand.. their gross minds wandered, what if Jerry is left alone with a female, in a CAR. What would've happened?? What if he gets some action before they do?! I mean they might as well die when that happens. This was one of the only times Jerry was stubborn enough to do what he actually wanted, so they couldn't convince him to just not go. (Damn.)

Jerry is sad because he genuinely did expect to get some action and some time alone with a girl. But instead he's in the backseat again with his good ol' pals. (Nothing would've happened whether they were alone together or not, Sara is as sex repulsed as a 7 year old boy who thinks cooties are real.)

OKAY ANYWAYS, after a finally peaceful and slow drive and day to magiccon, Sara huffs with pride as they got back home without crashing into any trees.

Without her notice, she got into the club! The title, Secretary of having a driver's license Aircraft was bestowed upon her. She actually did get giddy over it though.

They become friends, sort of. They're still degenerates at the end of the day. (THEY CAN'T HELP IT OKAY?!? (They can)) They treat her better after This fan, This monster.

Speaking of that! After news got out that one of her 'friends', Bill, arson-ed the only comic book shop around, her mum became stricter on her and threw out most of her stuff that sorta related to being in that club, including her scooter, helmet, and goggles!

Muther: I'm taking all these and throwing them out! I knew those boys were up to no good, they never are! (Hoo boy, projection much? But she was right, you know)

OH THE HORROR

She did feel bad for Bill, sort of.

They moved to NYC after a while so she wouldn't have a 'relapse moment and try to go back to her degenerate friends.' -Muther's words. The only way she stayed in contact with the other three were by phone booths and a dream. After turning into an adult she was able to independently get a phone of her own without her mum blasting her.

(Jerry attempts to pursue a long distance relationship with her, she ghosts him for a while because divorced child ptsd. But now they're friendly again, she's very fond of Mandi! Red haired girls!)

When college came by, she got forced to take a tourism course and become a flight attendant as her mummy thought it'd keep her on her toes. The End.

'I should've went with dad instead..' - Famous last words of Sara Calloway.

[balrogballs]

in the illustrious history of balrogballs making a joke on Tumblr and then writing a whole ass fic around it, from breakfast blowjob productions, comes a new instalment:

balrogballs joking about a Bollywood Silmarillion adaptation where the Fëanorians are South Asian coded and Elrond, due to his kidnap fam upbringing, has the FUNNIEST colonial hangover known to mankind…

… and then a month later working on a period-AU oneshot set 20 years after the fall of the British Raj, where Surrey-based Elrond returns to India for the first time since he and Elros - the lost children of two British colonial officers - had been taken away from the notorious freedom fighters who found them and raised them.

enjoy an excerpt!

When he and Elros were eight years old, Maglor Fëanorian had told him about the walls of the West. Well, he didn't tell him but Elros had read it in a diary Maedhros kept during his days as a student in London, because Elros was the kind of child who shamelessly used other people’s diaries as storybooks.

So that was where Elrond Peredhel read about the walls of the West. How the bitter water from their seas runs through all the rivers on earth, how high they can rise to keep out outsiders, how they flow from the heart of London and twirl out across the world like barbed wire, propelled by the sea. The walls of Maglor’s house in Kozhikode, Elrond used to think, must have been too high on the cliffside for the sea to reach. As pockmarked as they were, they had always welcomed him and Elros with open arms and a kiss.

On most weeks, when Maedhros got home from another Congress meeting or some revolutionary circle or the other (it goes without saying that none of Maedhros’ comrades knew that he and his brother had taken in not only two grey-eyed British children, but the grey-eyed British children of the sisterfucking chutiya Viceroy’s sisterfucking chutiya secretary), he would always bring them a bag of hot, roasted peanuts.

A bag each! A bag each, because Maedhros just knew things like that, just knew that twins treasured every little thing they didn’t have to share. Even nothing-things like bags of peanuts. On those nights, when Maedhros put down a cushion and sat against the wall, spine to stone, Elrond would lean into his carefully-guarded, coiled-tight body and fall asleep to songs about the walls of the west. They had been very young. They had been young enough to call Maedhros ‘Baba’ and Maglor ‘Abbajaan’, and persist until it meant something.

The house was near the sea. The house that once would have been breathed in, had the sea yawned: these days, it is enveloped by the petrol-diesel-tar of the apathetic Sand Banks Road. Elrond can, had he wanted to, walk to six phone shops, even though he only has one phone. He tries to be content with the knowledge that Kunjiraman Vakeel Palam still exists: that he has to cross it every day to get to his house. The house by the sea. The one in which he and Elros and Maedhros and Maglor had lived and loved with no expectation of being loved back. Two violent freedom-fighters, and the left-behind spawn of the sisterfucking chutiya Viceroy’s sisterfucking chutiya secretary. The setup to a bad joke, the bones of a little life, wrapped in the cloying, earthy red around the house. At some point, a slow, jagged cat had wandered in and never left. He was the thinnest, reddest cat the fourteen-year-old Elrond had ever seen, half an ear missing, and mean for the sake of being mean.

He and Elros had taken half a year to name it. Were you supposed to give an Indian cat an Indian name? It was Maglor who put his foot down in the end. He didn't think he could live with a cat called Ramachandran. That’s simply “too Orientalist, Elrond, even for you. Someone would probably beat you up in school if you and your grey eyes went around telling people you owned a cat named Ramachandran, and I am telling you now I will not just turn a blind eye to it, I will be personally sending sweets to the child’s house”.

So they named it Rusty, and Rusty it was to everyone except Maedhros, who called it nothing, because “a cat that runs away from small rats does not deserve a name.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

Many on the right have sought to depict the protesters as extremists, but the sheer scale and regularity of the protests and actions are in fact a sign of how mainstream pro-Palestinian feeling is within British society. The question, assuming the movement succeeds in ending the Israeli assault, is where does it go next? What becomes of movements when they stop moving? Traditionally, social movements went through phases of emergence, coalescence, institutionalisation and decline, followed by dissipation and co-optation by mainstream parties. This usually took decades, the classic case being the US civil rights movement. Yet the era since “Occupy Wall Street” in 2011 has been one of so-called “flash movements”. From Black Lives Matter to the gilets jaunes, movements have coalesced around hashtagged slogans with astonishing celerity, producing deep political crises – and then subsiding. The Gaza campaign resembles a flash movement. It didn’t come out of nowhere. Palestine has been a cause of the international left since the six-day war in 1967, and the UK has seen repeated protests over Israel’s flattening of the West Bank, invasion of Lebanon and serial bombardments of Gaza. There is a network of organisations doing the groundwork, such as the Palestine Solidarity Campaign and Stop the War. But the turnout for these protests shows the virtues of the flash movement: it can rapidly mobilise masses of people, tolerate a diversity of tactics and keep focus on a simple, morally obvious demand. In many respects, it is succeeding. In the UK, despite efforts to demonise the protests as “hate marches”, and the then home secretary Suella Braverman’s inept provocation of the far right against the protests, the demonstrations brought up to 800,000 people to the streets on 11 November. This was the largest such demonstration since the invasion of Iraq. Nor was the UK alone. There have been mass protests everywhere from Tokyo and Kerala to Cairo, Washington DC and Rio de Janeiro. In France and Berlin, protesters have defied official bans. In the US, the Jewish left has led the movement and often engaged in the most militant tactics,including blockading Manhattan Bridge. The embattled Israeli left has also staged protests, despite a climate of police repression and mob violence. The movement has done what successful movements do: win over public opinion, catalyse cracks in elite consensus and expose divisions in the state. These splits were visible in the form of staffer dissent in the US state department, frontbench resignations in Labour over Keir Starmer’s refusal to support a ceasefire, protests by Dutch civil servants and EU employees, Macron’s ceasefire demand, and recently the call from Canada, Australia and New Zealand, three of the Five Eyes intelligence-sharing coalition countries, for an “immediate humanitarian ceasefire”. Only the US now vetoes UN ceasefire resolutions.

[queer-scots-geordie-dyke]

Article here

At least 250 people who were detained at Manston asylum centre during a period when it was dangerously overcrowded and grappling with outbreaks of infectious diseases are suing the government for unlawful detention and other breaches of their rights.

They include a woman who had a miscarriage, a child whose age was recorded as five years older than he was, classifying him as an adult, and a teenager who was a victim of torture and trafficking.

The claims arise from a time when the Home Office’s site in Kent for processing people who had crossed the Channel on small boats was described by a senior union official as “a humanitarian crisis on British soil”.

The former independent chief inspector of borders and immigration, David Neal, said the poorly managed and insanitary conditions there were so bad he was rendered speechless.

Andy Baxter, the assistant general secretary of the Prison Officers’ Association, raised the alarm about conditions on the site in response to concerns from members of his union who worked there. After visiting, he described an unprecedented situation which more closely resembled a refugee camp in an unstable country than a Home Office temporary staging post for new arrivals to the UK in a tranquil corner of Kent.

At the time that Baxter said Manston was in crisis, marquees that were supposed to be used for a matter of hours before asylum seekers were moved to more permanent accommodation were used for more than a month in some cases. People slept on the dirty ground on pieces of sodden cardboard. There were outbreaks of diphtheria, a disease rarely seen in the UK thanks to vaccination, and scabies. One man died after contracting diphtheria while claims of guards assaulting asylum seekers were investigated by Kent police.

But it was only in the months after this bleak period – between June and November 2022 – that the full details of what happened there began to emerge.

Those bringing claims against the government include a 19-year-old from Sudan who was a victim of torture and trafficking, although his vulnerabilities were not recorded while he was detained at Manston for 33 days. He said he was often hungry and was only allowed one shower the whole time he was there. He was not given any change of clothes. He said that some of the officials he encountered at Manston told him to “go back to your country”.

Another claimant, a 17-year-old Kurdish boy from Iraq, was given a birth date five years older than his actual age, despite insisting he was a child. He was detained for 12 days.

A Syrian woman had a particularly difficult time. She arrived in the UK with her husband and their five young children, but when her husband complained to guards about the conditions at Manston he was removed from the site and placed in an immigration detention centre.

She did not know where he had been taken and feared he had been deported. She and the children spent 11 days in a freezing, filthy tent, and were only allowed to leave it to go to the toilet. When her children contracted a sickness bug that was circulating at Manston, she had nowhere to wash their vomit-stained clothes as there was a shortage of running water, so she tried to wash them using bottled water.

She herself vomited every morning and later discovered she was pregnant. She was unable to access medical care while in Manston, and when she was released and could seek treatment, it was discovered that the baby had died inside her. After she and her children were released from Manston, she was finally able to reunite with her husband but says that the impact of being detained in Manston continues to affect them all.

Emily Soothill of Deighton Pierce Glynn, who is representing some of those bringing legal action relating to their time at Manston, said: “We consider that our clients were falsely imprisoned and that the conditions in Manston were such that their human rights were breached. People seeking asylum are more vulnerable to physical and mental illness; they have the right to be treated with dignity and should not be detained in this way.”

Jed Pennington of Wilsons solicitors, representing others legally challenging their time in Manston, said: “The humanitarian crisis that unfolded at Manston in the autumn of 2022 is not what you would expect to see in a country with well-developed systems for accommodating refugees. Our clients want the truth about how it happened, who let it happen and how to prevent this from happening again.”

[ask-the-hws-immigrants]

Did Russia ever try to come and take Tolys back ‘home’?

"Someday I know I'll be called back, likely when he finds some reason Alfred can't care for me - or some problem he needs distraction from emerges. As of yet, he places a trust in Alfred that doesn't threaten that... or his national security."

**Historical Note: During this time period the Russian Empire maintained a relatively positive relationship with the United States government. By the 1830s, the relationship between England and Russia, which had once been strong during the Napoleonic Wars, began to deteriorate due to conflicting interests in Eastern Europe and toward the Ottoman Empire. By the 1850s relations had turned outright hostile, as in the Crimean War (1853-1856) and popular British support for Polish uprisings within the Russian Empire. This hostility continued throughout the 19th century, culminating in "The Great Game," where Britain and Russia competed for influence in Central Asia (particularly Afghanistan).

Although Russia had maintained friendly, but distant relations during the 18th and early 19th centuries, the United States' growing power both in the Western Hemisphere and on the world stage positioned it as a potential counterbalance to the power of the British Empire, and therefore a potential ally. By the 1860s, Russia made more explicit overtures of friendship, such as expressing public support for the Union during the Civil War and wintering its navy in American ports. This culminated in the Alaska Purchase in 1867, in which Russia sought to rid itself of Alaska but feared upsetting the balance of power by selling it to Canada (and by extension England). The United States, particularly Secretary of State William Seward, took an interest for the opportunity to expand trade in Asia (though until gold was discovered several jeered the purchase as "Seward's Folly").

Lithuanians began to immigrate to the United States as early as 1861 after serfdom was abolished in the Russian Empire, but 1867-1868 saw a rise in Lithuanian immigration to the United States due to a famine. This steady pace continued until the outbreak of WW1, despite some Russian attempts to stop this. Between 300,000-600,000 Lithuanians emigrated, though we'll likely never know for sure due to errors in immigration records and name notations.

The immigration of Lithuanians and Poles, particularly Lithuanian, Polish, and Russian Jews, as a result of political suppression and violent pogroms began to change popular opinions of Russia in the United States. Many American civilians began to view Russia in a negative light. Despite this, relations between the two governments would remain favorable until the establishment of the Soviet Union after WW1.

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Thomas Jefferson

Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826) was an American lawyer, statesman, philosopher, and a Founding Father of the United States. A prominent figure of the American Revolution, he wrote the Declaration of Independence and later served as the first secretary of state, the second vice president, and the third president of the United States (served 1801-1809).

Early Life

Thomas Jefferson was born on 13 April 1743 at Shadwell Plantation in Albemarle County, Virginia. He was the third of ten children born to Peter Jefferson, a wealthy planter and land surveyor, and Jane Randolph Jefferson, a daughter of one of Virginia's most influential families. When Peter Jefferson died in 1757, 14-year-old Thomas inherited 5,000 acres of land as well as 60 enslaved people. From 1758 to 1760, he was privately tutored by Reverend James Maury before going on to the colonial capital of Williamsburg to attend the College of William & Mary. In his first year at college, he spent lavishly on parties, horses, and clothing, but he would soon regret this "showy style of living" (Boles, 18). His second year, therefore, was much more studious; he would apparently spend 15 hours a day at his studies, pausing only to exercise or to practice his violin.

The studious Jefferson soon became the protégé of mathematics professor William Small, who he would fondly remember as "the first truly enlightened or scientific man" he had ever met (Boles, 17). Small introduced Jefferson to the two other great intellectuals in Williamsburg – law professor George Wythe and Lt. Governor Francis Fauquier – and, at their weekly dinner parties, the four men would discuss politics and philosophy, greatly influencing the young Jefferson's political and intellectual development.

After completing his formal studies in 1762, Jefferson remained in Williamsburg to study law under Wythe and was admitted to the Virginia bar five years later in 1767. In 1768, he was elected to the House of Burgesses, representing Albemarle County. That same year, he began construction of a new home atop an 868-foot-high (265 m) mountain that overlooked his plantation. Called Monticello – Italian for "little mountain" – the house became the passion of Jefferson's life, and he would spend the next several decades designing and renovating it. The actual labor, of course, was mostly performed by his slaves; over the course of his lifetime, Jefferson owned approximately 600 enslaved people, most of whom were born into slavery on his property.

In 1772, after several failed romantic pursuits, Jefferson was finally married to the beautiful young widow Martha Wayles Skelton. Five years his junior, Martha shared his passions for literature and music; indeed, they often played music together – she on the harpsichord, he on the violin. The couple would have six children, only two of whom – Martha 'Patsy' (1772-1836) and Mary 'Polly' (1778-1804) – would survive to adulthood. When Jefferson's father-in-law died in 1773, he and Martha inherited 11,000 acres of land and 135 more enslaved people. By then, Jefferson had become involved with Virginia's struggle against Great Britain. Parliament's attempts to tax the colonists without their consent were vehemently opposed by the American Patriots, who saw such taxes as violations of their 'rights as Englishmen'. In 1774, Jefferson argued as much in his A Summary View of the Rights of British America. In it, he asserted that the colonies had the right to govern themselves, that they were tied to the English king only through voluntary bonds and that Parliament had no right to interfere in their affairs. This work earned him recognition as a Patriot leader in Virginia and led to his appointment as a delegate to the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia in the spring of 1775.

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