#harts pub

[wonderingwendy]

Well Sydney, you did not disappoint us today. Third (technically 4th) times the charm. We left our apartment hotel on foot and turned right down Kent Street towards the Rocks as we knew there’s an artist’s market on the weekends and maybe a lunch stop at our favourite pub “at the top of the stairs”(there are a lot of stairs as we found out).

Kent Street leads you right to the Sydney Harbour bridge so we took a left and stayed under the bridge on the city side. Epic sentry spot - they placed cannons and anti-aircraft guns here to protect the whole harbour because you certainly can see for miles who’s coming. Before the bridge foundations were built in 1930s, the house of Major General Finn and his wife stood here but now only the outline of the home remains. That would have been some expensive real estate by now. We also passed Dawes Point where an Englishman, William Dawes was thought to have met and “befriended” (their words not mine) an indigenous woman and recorded some of their language. This rumoured level of trust drew more Indigenous peoples to Sydney to avoid the devastation in their rural communities.

We passed by piers 2/3 and 4, finding new sites. We even had a glimpse of our Meriton hotel on the north side of the harbour which will be our home in 3 weeks time. The market in the Rocks was just as good as we remembered, lots of great stuff and Craig picked up some almond nougat. Then off to find the staircase leading to the pub. Always fun to climb lots of stairs in the heat of the day. Finally found Harts pub and downed a few glasses of water and then a Bertie’s organic apple cider (better than the other way around) while Craig enjoyed a Pickled Monkey lager. PS Ordering the vegan nachos was a bit of a mistake since we just wanted to avoid meat not real cheese etc.

Anyway recharged, we set off for the Royal Botanical Gardens and enjoyed the newly opened second building of the Art Gallery of NSW. Such a lovely way to escape the heat - beautiful building, beautiful art.

Our afternoon well spent, we set off to wander in the shade of Hyde Park. Oh yeah, and we knew the best espresso martini awaited us at the other end at Canopy cafe - arrived during happy hour, no mistake here.

Back to our room to cool off and then a Greek dinner. A refreshing evening breeze took us for a after dinner stroll home along Darling Harbour only to watch a surprise 9 pm harbour fireworks display. Amazing where 20k steps will take you in a day.

[babzyz]

[bahoreal]

sad truth of the "jackie tyler and ruby sunday drink at the same pub" joke is that there are more than 3000 pubs in london and not a single one has a unique name

[blackpoolhistory]

An incredible view of The Bowling Green Hotel at the junction of Waterloo Road and Bond Street, South Shore.

The building later became a Woolworths store and was more recently known as Hartes until it's demise around 2009 where it has sat derelict ever since.

The Bull pub and its chimneys can be seen in all photographs.

[virgo-dream]

The New Inn trough the ages ✨

circa 1901

during WWI

during WWII

circa 1960

october, 2022

After the wonderful @cuubism posted some photos of the New Inn (and pointed me in the direction of more) I ended up stumbling upon their instagram page, and they had these wonderful photos of the Inn through the ages! Other cool info:

The pub has existed since 1642 and it was originally called The White Hart! Here’s a transcript of the text on the plaque next to the entrance:

“In 1642 the original Inn was known as The White Hart, but when the present building was erected in 1756, it changed to The New Inn.

From 1780 to his death in 1822, it was called The Hobart Arms after the Hon. George Hobart who lived in Ham Common and was related to the Duke of Buckinghamshire.

It has remained The New Inn ever since, and was renowned as one of the best sites for both travellers and local traffic, always employing at least one ostler.

Today, our fine historical inn offers the warmest traditional hospitality.”

All photos were taken from their official instagram, which you can find at @thenewinn_hamcommon. Drop them a follow and visit if you can! ✨

[buckysegan]

how silly of me, to fall in love with you.

Summary: when one of the new pilots around base get's an idea in his head about a certain nurse john egan, is having none of it. john x she. Word Count: 1.1k A/N: i saw a prompt in the tags about john not being willing to give up his jacket. but i think our little possessive bucky would willingly hand it over to lay his claim....i also wrote this in 30 minutes with no edits forgive me. a little prequel look to this pairing.

there was two things about john egan that any one that had been around base for more than five minutes were sure of, the man couldn't sing, and he didn't share her or buck. it was unfair of him and irrational really, to the point that just for just a moment bucky wondered if all of this was moderately cruel of him. despite all the thoughts in his head though, he couldn't help himself.

they weren't at the pub today which meant for a change he didn't have to watch the usual british majors hit on his girl, that was where his usual source of anguish came from because the boys knew that despite the fact bucky liked to advise that the pretty nurse was too good for any of them, especially him, the way his eyes lingered on her was enough of a claim. especially after lil and dye. and john knew, he knew that he was around her just enough that he managed to keep the rest of the boys at bay. that was what was so cruel off him, he wouldn't take her. honestly he didn't think he could because a man like him couldn't taint something so pure.

he just didn't want anyone else having her either.

it seemed that the message that she was his though, hadn't reached a number of the boys that had piled in over the last week and john was pretty sure he was one wrongly placed hand away from loosing it all together.

not even the hand on his thigh and gentle mumblings of his best friend was enough to calm the frazzling of nerves that were building in him. bucky was pretty sure he hadn't smiled in at least an hour, that had to be a record and someone needed to be careful. "she's not looking at them bucky, you don't have a damn thing to worry about." brady offered from across the table where they were all propped, as if each of the men were waiting for their major to blow and ready to pull him back given they'd heard plenty of stories of just how many of them it would take should he decide to loose his temper.

the scraping of bucky's chair had everyone's eyes pulled in his direction, even hers though she had been trying to ignore the way the pilots baby blues had burned into the back of her skull all night whenever she had been asked to dance with one of the boys. she had simply been a welcoming host, every one that knew her knew she was blind to any of the attention that she had received throughout the evening. now she along with the rest of the party was left watching as john stormed in the direction of the door muttering something about being back soon.

barely ten minutes had passed when she felt the heavy fabric droop over her shoulders, the hands on her waist with such boldness confirming just who had appeared despite the fact she had been talking to lieutenant hart. "john..." she trailed, spinning in his grasp as she moved to look up at him, only to realise slowly just how quiet the room had gone. john himself, couldn't bring himself to care at the audience, he had never been shy of a performance and this might have been his best one.

"hi baby." he hummed, fingers cupping at her chin for a second as he looked down at his handy work, the light sheep skin now crowding over her favorite person. "it seemed a little chilly in here, figured that you should be taking care of yourself." he mused quietly and he made no attempts to wipe the smirk that had replaced the glare he had been wearing as he had stormed out of here.

she could feel her cheeks turn an unfortunate shade of red that no amount of powder was going to be able to help her with. this over grown, infuriating man the very cause. at some point in time, when now she couldn't remember, she had fallen immovably in love with john egan. not that he seemed to notice, or if he had, not that he seemed willing to do anything about. she had never questioned why either. she had looked at him plenty, looked at the other nurses following him around base, she knew the options he had which only furthered her confusion at the jacket now slunk around her shoulders.

"no one else is wearing a jacket bucky." she was quick to huff though she had made no move to rid herself of the damn thing, marvelled still at how small this man managed to make her feel. "mhumm, that's the point baby, i'll see you at work tomorrow?" he asked, a side glance at hart telling him that the majors message had been received loud and clear and he knew the message would have been accepted on a wider level too. not everyone had met her, the damn light of his life that wondered around base like his very own sunshine, but everyone knew the distinct jacket that bucky flew in, and now everyone had seen her in it.

backing away to his table john already knew the taunts he would be greeted with but fishing for his glass as he sunk back to his seat, he didn't even bother to hide how proud of himself he was. "jesus john." gale was the first to groan at him, the others soon joining in. "why don't you just piss on her next time, that would be less obvious." brady again, was quick to jab. bucky himself could only offer another shrug of his shoulders as he let his gaze fall to the bar, where he knew she was now watching him from where she was propped. john egan didn't deserve her, he knew that, and neither did anyone else here, he was protecting her, that's all it was.

one day, when her husband came along and she had someone else to love her how she deserved, someone that wasn't a changed man. he would let her go, he'd move on and someone else could keep her safe. just for now the jacket would have to do, it was better than his alternative plan, to grab her, kiss her in the middle of the room and tumble out some sort of confession - how silly of me, to fall in love with you.

[scotianostra]

September 2nd 1724 Maggie Dickson climbed the gallows in Edinburgh's Grassmarket, ready to take “The last drop”

Her downfall came when she got pregnant and tried to conceal the fact. Maggie’s husband had deserted her to work in the Fisheries in Newcastle in Northern England.

Consequently she had to leave Edinburgh and moved to Kelso in the south of Scotland. Whilst there she had an affair with an innkeepers son.

As the Innkeeper was her employer she felt compelled to keep the pregnancy quiet as she would lose her job. Tragically the baby died after being born prematurely and she decided to dispose of the body. She intended to cast it into the River Tweed but instead left it on the riverbank. It was soon found and the authorities quickly determined that Maggie was the mother. At that time such an action in Scotland contravened the 'Concealment of Pregnancy Act' of 1690 which made it tantamount to murder.

"Her reason for concealing the birth of the child was for fear of being made a public example in the church, and a laughing-stock to all her neighbours The legal and religious institutions were severe on women concerning matters of their pregnancy. Even the natural occurrences of miscarriage or still-born infants could incur the wrath of the law.

And so it was, Maggie was tried, convicted and sentenced to hang. The execution took place on the 2nd September 1724 in the Grassmarket area of Edinburgh. This was the favoured location for hangings at that time and normally took place on market day to ensure a sizeable crowd.

Her body was then taken in a coffin for burial to the town of Musselburgh which was east of Edinburgh. Apparently this was only after an unseemly scuffle between her family and local medical students keen for a young body to dissect. The corpses of the condemned were regularly passed to the Schools of Anatomy in the name of science in the 18th century.

The family had their way and took possession of Maggie's remains for burial. They set off on the journey and on the way stopped off at a pub for some refreshments in the Peffer Mill area. All of a sudden there came a knocking and banging on the coffin lid from the inside. Astonished, they opened up the coffin to discover that she was not dead.

Miraculously it seemed that Maggie Dickson had not succumbed to the gallows but had cheated death at the hands of the law. She was alive and well as confirmed by a local gardener on the scene who cut a vein to check for a flow of blood. After spending a night to recover Maggie actually walked back to Musselburgh the next day.

But what would happen next? As the death certificate had already been issued it was impossible to re-execute Maggie. This was because Scots Law is based on Roman Pandects and in this case it prohibited further action. Therefore the King's Advocate could not pursue the matter any further.

Instead he filed against the Edinburgh Sheriff in the High Court of Justiciary for not efficiently conducting the public execution. The ruling also meant that as Maggie was technically dead then her marriage was dissolved.

Furthermore, the prevailing opinion amongst people in Edinburgh considered her survival to be the result of divine intervention. Local people believed it had been 'God's will' that had spared her from an early grave.

Rumours persist that she actually seduced the ropemaker and convinced him to make the noose weak enough not to kill her. We will never know if that's the truth.

Whatever the facts of her hanging Maggie lived for another 40 years and had many children. Her husband remarried her despite that fact that she now sported rope burns and her neck was permanently crooked for the rest of her life. She is said to have ran an alehouse in Musselburgh for the rest of her life.

If you have ever visited Edinburgh’s Grassmarket you will have no doubt seen the names of the bars have a historical connection, The White Hart connects with King David I and his encounter with a White Stag, The Last Drop is of course a nod to the execution place and Maggie Dickson is for our erstwhile subject today, who the people of Edinburgh remember as “ Half-hangit Maggie “

[noxxytocin]

Just Peter Hart Annotations Chapter 3 🏴‍☠️

This chapter was incredibly touching. I really treasure it. 🫰✨ @the-golden-comet

"...paddled their rowboats to the sandy shoal, dragging their loot-laiden waveriders..." - The usage of words here is lovely.

Awww...Davey noticing that he looks like his father. 🥺

"We’ll reconvene for a few pints at The Olde Pub.." - A few pints, my arse. 👀 You scallywags.

"After all, Peter was the Golden Pirate; a crafty gentleman that was loaded to his knees..." - Loaded in more ways than one...? finger guns 😉

Wait the Duke (supposedly) pardoned his dad?! Whoa. If not, I wonder who forged the signature...

THE MOM HUG! 🥺

Oh heavens...Peter's stepdad is a cop? Oh boy...

Omg Pickpocketer!Peter...fitting. "Peter picked a peck of pickled...peckers?" (i'm sorry)

My heart. Peter protecting his mother and giving a white lie about his father's death.....😭 (and her asking Peter to stay)

"My heart belongs to the sea.” - And soon, to a twink in a bag. 🫴✨

"No, mother. I’m part of a fishing crew now." - PETER BE HONEST.

Not Ralph pushing the shame hahaha. Damn it Peter, haha...

Aww, the golden locket. I'd hug Peter and never let go.

"Still, nothing beat the mist of the sapphire ocean speckling his face on a brisk morning, right at the crack of dawn." - I adore the immersion in this line.

Wait- Benji was his childhood bully? OMG.

"Make sure to blow out the candles and wrap yourself in the wool blankets. It’s supposed to be a brisk one tonight." - Ralph is such a gentleman.

"The crew will ROAR at the story: “Ah Peter, you rascal! While we were out drinking, you stole from the crown? So bold~!” - Not Peter being a daydreamer for his accomplishments, haha. What a cutie.

[muiitoloko]

MISSION: HEARTBREAK

(The GIF belongs to: @blanchett )

Author's Notes: Greetings! I hope you're doing well. In this new narrative, we'll explore an alternative story within the Bedivere and Harry saga, set in an alternate universe. In this tale, Bedivere will be portrayed as an original character, and we'll embark on a separate storyline. So no "YOU" pronouns here, and remember this story is completely separate from the original Bedivere saga

Summary: Harry Hart had always professed his love for Bedivere, but she never took his words seriously. It wasn't until it was too late that she realized the depth of his feelings.

Pairing: Harry Hart ( Kingsman) × OC

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst and mention of death.

Word count: 3151

In the dimly lit pub, Harry Hart, code-named Galahad, sat at a corner table with Merlin, Eggsy (code-named Tristan), and Bedivere. The atmosphere was casual, and laughter filled the air as they enjoyed their drinks and shared stories of past missions.

Bedivere excused herself to fetch some drinks from Merlin at the bar, leaving Harry and Eggsy at the table. As they watched her move through the pub, Harry couldn't help but let his gaze linger on her. She was stunning, as always, with a charisma that drew people in effortlessly.

Eggsy noticed Harry's lingering stare and nudged him playfully. "Oi, Harry, you've been eying Bedivere quite a lot tonight. You should confess your feelings, mate."

Harry didn't look away from Bedivere as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "I've done that, Eggsy. Multiple times, in fact."

Eggsy raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You're joking, right, Harry? I've known you for ages, and I've never heard you confess to anyone."

Harry finally tore his gaze away from Bedivere and turned to Eggsy with a somewhat melancholic smile. "I've told her, Eggsy, but she always thought I was being charming or simply joking. She never took my words seriously."

Eggsy looked genuinely surprised by this revelation. "Bloody hell, Harry, that's impossible. You're not the type to joke about love."

Harry nodded, his eyes still reflecting a hint of sorrow. "I suppose she never realized my feelings, and I never pushed the issue further. I didn't want to risk our partnership."

The conversation was interrupted when Bedivere and Merlin returned to the table with drinks in their hands. And Harry took the opportunity to show Eggsy that he told the truth about Bedivere not taking his confessions seriously. He thanked Bedivere for the drinks and then turned to her, his voice sincere and full of emotion.

"Bedivere," Harry began, his gaze unwavering as he looked into her eyes, "I love you."

Bedivere, true to her flirtatious and mischievous nature, responded with a playful grin, sitting down next to Eggsy and leaning in closer to Harry. Her voice dripped with flirtatious charm as she replied, "Oh, Harry, keep talking sweet like that, and maybe I'll consider getting you another drink."

Harry's heart sank as Bedivere's response mirrored her previous reactions. He forced a smile, his disappointment hidden behind his usual composed demeanor. It was clear that she still didn't believe his words, despite his sincerity.

Eggsy couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He exchanged a bewildered look with Harry, who, in response, gave him a sad, resigned smile. It was clear that Harry's feelings for Bedivere were genuine, but she continued to treat his confessions as playful banter.

Meanwhile Bedivere was playfully flirting with Merlin. Her attempts to seduce the Scotsman became more of a running joke than serious flirtation. She insisted that she loved the Scottish accent, while Merlin, as always, rejected her advances.

Bedivere, undeterred by Merlin's rejection, leaned in closer with a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, Merlin, I love a challenge," she purred, her tone dripping with seduction.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice as he replied, "Bedivere, you've been trying to win me over for years. I'm afraid I'm not that easy to conquer."

Bedivere flashed a teasing grin, her charm irresistible even in jest. "Well, Merlin, I've never been one to back down from a challenge."

As Bedivere continued her playful banter with Merlin, another crack formed in Harry's heart. Despite his efforts to express his feelings, she still didn't take him seriously. He sipped his drink, his expression pensive and filled with longing.

Eggsy, noticing the pain in his mentor's eyes, decided to change the subject. He leaned in closer to Bedivere, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, Bedivere, didn't you mention something about an abandoned bulldog puppy on your last mission with Harry?"

Bedivere's face lit up with excitement as she nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes! I found the cutest male bulldog puppy during our last mission. He was all alone, and I couldn't leave him behind."

Eggsy grinned, eager to hear more. "What did you name him?"

With a proud smile, Bedivere admitted, "I named him Harry Jr."

Merlin, who had been quietly observing the conversation, looked between Bedivere and Harry, curiosity piqued. "Why Harry Jr., Bedivere?"

Bedivere snorted as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because he has Harry's face, of course." Eggsy chuckled at Bedivere's cheeky explanation.

Harry's disbelief was palpable as he questioned Bedivere, "Did you name a dog after me?"

Bedivere, without missing a beat, said as if stating the obvious. "Of course, Harry. We found Harry Jr together, so he's our son."

She then leaned in closer, her voice filled with humor, "And just so you know, next week is your turn to have Harry Jr. You can't run away from your responsibilities as a father, Galahad."

Eggsy couldn't contain his amusement and burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. He playfully teased, "Well, it looks like you two should get married soon since you now have a child together."

Bedivere pointed at Harry with a grin, adding to the jest, "See, Harry? Eggsy thinks it's a good idea. Maybe we should consider it."

Harry couldn't help but shake his head in amusement, the weight of his unrequited feelings momentarily lifted by the playful banter.

As the quartet continued to enjoy their drinks, Harry's thoughts occasionally drifted to the playful banter about marriage and Bedivere naming a bulldog puppy after him. He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have Bedivere as his partner in life, not just in missions.

Hours passed, and the pub grew darker as the early hours of the morning approached. Laughter and stories flowed freely, but Harry's mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of Bedivere. He couldn't shake the idea of what it would be like to call her his own, to wake up beside her every morning.

But then, in a fleeting moment, Bedivere excused herself, stating that she was going to the bathroom. Harry nodded, watching her disappear into the dimly lit pub. Minutes turned into what felt like an eternity, and Bedivere still hadn't returned.

An uneasy feeling settled in Harry's chest. He decided to discreetly get up from the table, making an excuse to Merlin and Eggsy about needing some fresh air. His true intention was to find Bedivere, making sure she was alright.

Harry moved through the crowded pub, glancing around for any sign of Bedivere. His heart pounded in his chest, worry mixing with the anticipation of seeing her again. He turned a corner and froze as he witnessed a sight that shattered his heart.

In a dimly lit corner of the bar, Bedivere was engaged in a passionate kiss with an unknown man. Their bodies pressed close, their hands tangled in each other's hair. Harry's world came crashing down as he watched Bedivere, even in her drunken state, sharing an intimate moment with a stranger.

It was as if a knife had been driven through his heart. The pain was excruciating, and his vision blurred with unshed tears. Despite all his confessions, despite all the missions they had shared, he wasn't even a consideration for Bedivere, not even for a one-night stand.

Harry turned away, his emotions in turmoil. He couldn't bear to watch any longer. He returned to the table, his face a mask of sorrow as he retrieved his coat, murmuring that he was calling it a night.

Eggsy, noticing the change in Harry's demeanor, asked with concern, "Harry, you alright, bruv?"

Harry's voice was heavy with sadness as he replied, "I'll be fine, Eggsy. Just need some rest."

As he left the pub, Harry couldn't shake the pain in his chest. He had watched Bedivere from afar, loving her from the shadows, but it was clear that he would never be more than a friend and partner to her. It was a bitter realization that would haunt him long after that night.

As Harry drove back to his house, the weight of his shattered heart bore down on him like a ton of bricks. The image of Bedivere entangled with that unknown man replayed in his mind, tormenting him with the harsh reality of his unrequited love.

Upon entering his impeccably decorated house, he mechanically poured himself a glass of whiskey, his hands trembling slightly. As he raised the glass to his lips, the bitterness of the alcohol couldn't compare to the bitterness in his heart. He downed the drink in one gulp, hoping it would numb the pain.

But the pain refused to dissipate. It swirled within him, threatening to consume him entirely. In a moment of despair, Harry hurled the empty glass at the wall with a vehement force he rarely exhibited. The glass shattered, and a framed painting of a stuffed butterfly met its demise, falling to the floor in a shower of glass and splintered wood.

The butterfly, a beautiful specimen that had once hung on Harry's wall, was now ruined, its delicate wings torn. Harry had always been fond of lepidopterology, even before his military and Kingsman days. Those butterflies had been his connection to a world he had dreamt of as a child, a world of beauty and serenity that contrasted sharply with the violence of his chosen path.

Now, as he stood amidst the wreckage, he didn't care about the ruined painting or the broken glass. All he cared about was the searing pain in his chest, the realization that Bedivere, the woman he had fallen so deeply in love with, would never return his affections.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he pressed his hands over them, as if trying to hide his vulnerability from the world. He wished he could hate Bedivere, wished he could erase these feelings that had taken root in his heart. But he couldn't. He was trapped, ensnared by emotions he had never experienced before.

In the dimly lit room, with the remnants of his beloved butterfly painting scattered around him, Harry felt utterly defeated. He had always been the composed and unflappable Galahad, but now he was a broken man, his heart shattered like the glass on the floor. And as he sank to his knees, a solitary tear escaped his clenched eyes, a silent testament to the agony of unrequited love.

Harry felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins as the speedboat roared through the dark waters, away from the dangerous island they had infiltrated. Bullets zipped through the air, impacting the water around them, but he and Bedivere had managed to take down the gang of criminals pursuing them. It was a mission that had gone south, but they couldn't afford to let the flash drive they had recovered fall into the wrong hands.

As they sped away from the mansion, Bedivere expertly maneuvered the boat, her skills as a pilot evident in every calculated turn. Harry kept his aim steady, providing cover fire to deter their pursuers.

The urgency of the situation was palpable. They needed to reach the extraction point where Eggsy, aka Tristan, would pick them up in a helicopter. Bedivere's voice filled with a mixture of adrenaline and triumph as she shouted above the deafening noise of the boat's engine, "We're almost there, Galahad!"

But Harry didn't respond immediately. Instead, a sudden, searing pain pierced his chest, causing him to stumble backward. His hand instinctively reached for the source of the pain, which he quickly realized was a gunshot wound.

Bedivere's voice called out in alarm, but it seemed distant as his focus narrowed down to the agony that consumed him. The world around him felt like it was moving in slow motion, and the urgency of the situation intensified.

"Harry!" Bedivere's voice finally broke through, and he watched as she abandoned the throttle to rush to his side. Her eyes were wide with alarm, and Harry could see genuine fear etched across her face.

Panic gripped him as he struggled to breathe. Blood stained his once-pristine white shirt, and he knew that he was in dire straits. Bedivere reached for her glasses, trembling fingers activating the communication system in a desperate attempt to contact Merlin or Eggsy. Yet, the interference from the island and their remote location made it impossible to establish a connection.

Desperation clawed at Harry as his vision blurred at the edges. He could feel the life draining from him, and his voice came out weak, filled with apology. "Bedivere..."

But Bedivere's voice, filled with determination, cut through his pain. She refused to let him give in to despair, and her words were a lifeline in the storm of agony. "Don't you dare die on me, Galahad."

With trembling hands, Bedivere unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the source of his injury. It was a gunshot wound that had torn through his chest, and blood continued to ooze from it. She tore off her own suit vest, pressing it firmly against the wound in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding, her fingers slick with Harry's blood.

As Bedivere worked to keep him stable, Harry couldn't help but admire her unwavering determination and strength. He knew she was fighting against time, just as much as she was fighting to save him. His breaths grew shallow, his strength waning.

But even in his weakened state, Harry managed to interject with words that held more weight than he could have ever imagined. His voice, though barely more than a whisper, conveyed the sincerity he had held back for so long. "Bedivere... I'm sorry..."

Tears welled up in Bedivere's eyes as she shook her head, her voice quivering with emotion. "No, Harry, don't say that. You're going to be fine. You hear me?"

Bedivere's hands trembled as she tried to stop the bleeding, her fingers stained with his blood. Desperation fueled her, and she attempted to contact Merlin or Eggsy once more, hoping for a response that never came. Panic gnawed at her composure, and she felt as though time itself was slipping away.

Harry, struggling to maintain consciousness, found himself drawn back to the present by Bedivere's voice. She was trying to reassure him, to keep him grounded in this desperate moment. His voice, filled with the weight of his emotions, broke through the haze. "Bedivere... Eggsy... won't make it..."

Realization struck Bedivere like a lightning bolt. She knew their extraction was on a tight schedule, and Eggsy might not arrive in time. Her gaze darted around the remote sea, her mind racing for a solution.

Harry felt the world around him blur as he struggled to stay conscious. The gunshot wound in his chest throbbed with excruciating pain, but what pained him even more was the thought of leaving Bedivere behind, alone on that speeding boat.

He could hear Bedivere's voice calling out to him, a desperate plea to stay alive, and it fueled his determination to hold on. He watched Bedivere desperately searching the sea for a solution, her face etched with fear and determination.

But he couldn't let this moment pass without confessing his true feelings. With a trembling hand, stained with his own blood, he reached out to Bedivere, gently touching her cheek to draw her attention. His voice was barely a whisper, a fragile thread in the cacophony of chaos around them.

"Bedivere," he began, his gaze unwavering as he looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you."

For a moment, Bedivere's frantic movements halted as she locked eyes with Harry. His words held a weight she had never heard before, a sincerity that cut through the chaos of their dire situation. But old habits and doubts still lingered in her mind.

Bedivere shook her head slightly, tears glistening in her eyes as she tried to respond, "Harry, please, don't say..."

Harry's grip on her cheek tightened slightly, his voice filled with urgency as he interrupted her. "No, Bedivere, listen to me. I've loved you for years. I'm not joking, not being charming. I mean it with every fiber of my being."

His eyes pleaded with her, begging for a glimmer of belief, for the affirmation he had longed to hear from her. He knew she didn't love him back, but in this desperate moment, he needed her to lie, to say the words that could bring him some peace.

"Please," he whispered, his voice trembling with the vulnerability of his confession. "Just... lie to me. Tell me you love me."

Bedivere's tears fell freely as she shook her head, her voice choked with emotion. "Harry, you're not going to die. You have so much to live for, more missions, Harry Jr..."

The mention of their bulldog, their shared "son," brought a faint smile to Harry's lips despite the pain. He was grateful for the memories they had created together, even if it was as unconventional as naming a dog after him.

"Harry Jr," he repeated with a soft chuckle, his hand still cupping Bedivere's cheek. "Our son."

But the pain was relentless, and Harry knew his time was slipping away. His voice grew weaker as he continued, his gaze never leaving Bedivere's. "Please, Bedivere, just once... say it. Say you love me."

Bedivere's tears fell onto Harry's hand, and her heart ached at his plea. She couldn't bear to lie to him, to give him false hope. But in this moment, as the speedboat raced through treacherous waters, she couldn't deny him the solace he sought.

With a trembling voice and a heart heavy with unspoken emotions, Bedivere whispered, "I love you, Harry."

Harry's eyes held a fleeting moment of peace as those three words finally reached his ears. It was all he had ever wanted to hear from her. As his strength waned further, he whispered back, "Thank you, Bedivere."

Harry closed his eyes, the world around him fading into darkness. Bedivere's voice sounded distant, echoing in his fading consciousness. He knew he was leaving her alone, and that thought pained him deeply. But at the same time, he couldn't bear to stay awake any longer, for he knew he was dying.

In those final moments, fear was absent, replaced by a profound sense of peace. Hearing Bedivere say those three words, even though he knew deep down they were a lie, brought him a happiness he had never known. It was enough to make him content, to let him die in her arms, in the arms of the woman he had always loved.

And so, with Bedivere's voice as his final anchor, Harry's world went black, his heart at ease, knowing that he had bared his soul and received a fleeting, beautiful lie in return.

..... Part two?

[topazadine]

🐎Story/WIP Tour Tag⛰️

Thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag! This one looks interesting and I am not sure I can do it justice, but I'll give it a shot. I absolutely loved Captain Hart taking us all around the world!

Our tour guide through Breme and Sina today will be Mordrek Willets, spy with the Sinan Intelligence Services. He doesn't appear until the fourth book in The Eirenic Verses, but you'll get a little sneak peak of him today.

Here, we're looking at his diary entries of the different places he has visted in Sina and Breme, which will be coded with the country color.

Kulniryi

Capital of Sina, home to the Royal Ocean Palace, Queen Alnan College, and of course, Thieves' Quarter, home to yours truly. Major international port, which would likely be the perfect place to launch an attack if the Fuarese Union gets sick of being Sina's vassal state. Kulniryi Harbor is one of the deepest and largest ports in the world - or so Queen Susuma says. Able to accommodate dozens of merchant ships at a time, it's no wonder that vessels from all across the globe come here. At least I can always be assured a beautiful woman to romance at one of the dozens of pubs. Loud, ugly, but perhaps the most beautiful city I've ever seen. So clean, and I must grudgingly admit that the black Royal Ocean Palace looks striking against the pale granite cliffs.

Santal

Suburb of Kulniryi. Most notable for Wet Cat Tavern, run by my good friend Ganbold. He's done me far too many favors over the years. Given that he was able to gracefully exit the Sinan Intelligence Services in a much more ... diplomatic way than me, it's always brimming with good intel. And Ganbold is more than happy to calmly and rationally persuade anyone who may not be behaving correctly to leave. Without any dangerous tactics, of course. Also home to the Haratshi family. I don't really want to talk much more about that.

Heretic's Way

This was the path that the heretical Princess Yiella took out of the future land of Sina with her lover, Seinn Luridalr Breme, who subsequently blocked their exit in quite a fantastical way. Anyway, Heretic's Way is perfect for those seeking a more discreet way to travel around Sina, given that everyone's terrified of the place. Not really sure why. Sinans aren't known for being particularly superstitious, but it seems the entire country has thrown away their brains when it comes to this one little path. Or maybe it's because they keep finding half-eaten bodies scattered willy-nilly about the premises. Briar bears, to be sure. I wouldn't know anything about that. Just secondhand information.

Eavelnen

Utter piece of shit town. Ugly, useless, and the one single pub is filthy. I was pretty sure I caught multiple diseases, but at least the alcohol's strong enough to burn away any parasites that might have got their hooks into me. Can't really say much more than that the air is perfumed with horse manure and body odor. You can smell the place from a mile away.

Traifalnar

What a strange little place - like one of those fairytales they read to children. It's built on a swamp, so there are dozens of little bridges that create a lacey network of streets. The buildings are sunk into the murky soil by heavy timber pylons that are probably rotted half to hell by now, so they're girded by strong wires that hold them all up, leaning against one another and distributing the weight. The townsfolk use these wires to send baskets or messages across the streets when they're too lazy to get out and walk. Its pub, Firefly's Rest, is pretty cute, I must admit. But god, the bugs. No wonder all the townsfolk wear citronella cloaks all year round.

Wieleiss

A forgettable town. It's one of the smaller military outposts but damn, do they take themselves far too seriously. The rolling foothills of the Rimuk Mountains - aftershocks of Breme's Saint Luridalr creating her fantastical barrier - start around here, so the town has a lovely view of the hills if you're staying at the Inn Wieleiss, the tallest building in town. I will admit that their inn is excellent: clean, with a well-stocked bar. The security leaves something to be desired, though. Probably because the soldiers themselves are not of the finest quality this far from Kulniryi. Of course they're taking bribes. The place has almost no industry. They're basically private security at this point.

Yunnoun

Spooky town. Butting right up against the Rimuk Mountains, it's the most fortified outpost in the entire country, always ready at a moment's notice to attack. Most of the populace is connected to the armed forces in some way, whether they're soldiers, military wives, or contractors. Their stables are enormous and maintained with almost neurotic precision. Of course, the Sinan army does not use horses in warfare - most of the soldiers have to go right up the Rimuk Pass to engage - but they are very useful for ferrying supplies, and most soldiers are accomplished in equestrianism anyway, as they may be asked to ferry messages to other outposts. Horseback riding is a good way to keep them from getting lazy, too. There are four entrances, each guarded by multiple soldiers who do not take kindly to those without proper identification. The military headquarters squats in the center of the town, with the barracks stretching out like spiders. Its training grounds is incredibly extensive and can accommodate hundreds of soldiers at a time.

Nyulinsk Defensive Tower

A tower hammered into the Rimuk Mountains, which has always been a sore spot for the Bremish. We stuck a military fortification on their most sacred mountain: Mt. Luridalr, so named after their beloved saint. Of course Queen Kulni did that just to piss them off, and it has worked marvelously for hundreds of years. More than a few soldiers have been picked off the top while trying to perform maintenance, so the poor tower is beat all to hell. There are singe marks from flaming arrows on the interior - it has always fascinated me how well the Bremish archers can get their arrows into those tiny slits. I imagine it has something to do with their precious High Poetry. I have not been inside so cannot speak much about the interior. Queen Susuma doesn't trust me enough, I suppose. As well she should not.

Rimuk Pass

This was supposedly where Saint Luridalr stood while bringing up the mountains: it's almost like an empty doorway in the middle of the enormous range that spans the length of the continent. Well, it used to be an open door. The Bremish have fortified it to hell and back with layers upon layers of brick; I imagine dozens of their soldiers have died attempting to protect their country by building a bigger wall. And, of course, during battles, which take place almost exclusively at the Pass. Our army has installed convenient footholds to climb up the side and drop down into enemy territory. Once they are beyond the Sinan border, most know that they are unlikely to return. Many have defected upon realizing how defenseless they will be on the other side - and how little Queen Susuma cares about getting them back unless they are somehow related to the royal family.

Dropbone Caverns

A strange, curving, and terrifying network of caverns buried under the Rimuk Mountains: impurities in the rock when it was wrenched from deep in the earth. There are at least two rivers that wind through it, having percolated from the very top of the mountains on their way into the groundwater. I can confirm that this long filtration process makes for very hard water. Delicious, though. The Bremish, being superstitious fools, refuse to use the Dropbone Caverns - or any caverns under the Rimuks - as points of attack. They believe that their dead reside in some mythical Cave of All Fallen, where Saint Luridalr waits with them for the end of the world. From there, they believe that their goddess Poesy will rewrite the world and they will reincarnate with their loved ones after a long "dream." Utterly ridiculous notion and very tactically unwise, but the taboo is so strong that the Bremish Army sporadically performs sweeps through a small section to ensure that none of their people have set up camp there. Being as they only check perhaps once or twice a year, and daren't traverse very far, most of the caverns remain unmapped. There are deep ravines that can easily become one's tomb if they aren't careful.

Vieleste

Beautiful Vieleste is a military outpost close to the Bremish entrance of the Dropbone Caverns. It is also home to the Vieleste Meronym, one of the High Poet Society's religious centers. An easy rule of thumb is that if there is a meronym, there is likely a military presence as well. The High Poets and the Bremish Army are closely entangled, given that the poets help enchant weapons for the military's use. I have never heard of anywhere in Breme where there is not at least the tiniest military outpost near an official meronym, though the High Poets have retreats throughout the country where their members can work in privacy. Anyway, Vieleste is a unique place in that some of the buildings have been erected atop the ruins of older homes that were crushed by boulders triggered by the Sinans. To think that they live atop the graves of their ancestors ... very disturbing, to be honest. I have been told this is because they believe though the boulders were sent from malice, they are hewed from the Rimuk Mountains, and thus they are sacred.

Gold Cascade

Oh, how can one even speak of the Gold Cascade without breaking down in tears at its beauty? It is born from a lake at the top of one of the Rimuk Mountains, which few have ever seen. The Bremish refuse to climb the mountains, and the Sinans rarely go for pleasure. I find myself deeply curious about what it may look like up there, at the top of the world .... This thunderous waterfall is so named because at sundrop, it is lit up in glorious golden hues, making it seem a stream of citrine pouring down the mountain. Some also believe that Saint Luridalr herself hid a treasure trove at its base, but I doubt it. She did not seem the avaricious type from what I have been told. At certain times, the Gold Cascade is wreathed in rainbows, while it steams during the summer. A unique ecosystem has grown up around it, including hardy fish and beautiful ferns. However, its strength has carved out underclings through the rock that surrounds it, creating vortices that could easily drown anyone who attempts to swim there. There are a number of superstitions about damned souls, and some believe that the Cave of All Fallen begins at its base.

Miskinint Lake

Technically a sinkhole, but I'm not about to argue with the Bremish about this. It is fed from the Gold Cascade further upstream, which then turns into the Great Gold River that nourishes most of the populace until it peters out into smaller rivers around the Windswept. I have been told this is a popular swimming hole and diving spot because of its steep cliffs and great width. There are specialized species that live here, including the Miskinint crayfish. Absolutely delicious with sheep's butter.

Caichaille

A very small, isolated town near the Rimuk Mountains, upways from Vieleste and its ilk. Perhaps 100 people live here, though it may be less. There is a cave entrance close by that has been firmly closed with a large iron door, and only the High Poets are allowed inside this cave to provide alms to the dead. The town itself is ringed with a defensive boulder wall, but there is a poet's retreats on its outskirts. A really ugly one, to be honest. It looks like someone just threw together a bunch of boulders and called it a day. I imagine it was probably a young High Poet forced to do this to prove her power.

Vercingetorix

Previously named Paulemaule, its current name is in honor of one of Breme's five saints, whose claim to fame was learning how to poison arrows and kill scores of Sinans through some incurable disease. Saint Vercingetorix was eventually caught and tortured by Sinan forces, and the secret to this poetry died with her. Some of her body parts were recovered by the Bremish and are kept as relics at the meronym. Given that she killed Sinans through an epidemic, Saint Vercingetorix is the patron saint of healing, and her meronym is renowned for its focus on the medical arts. Many desperately ill Bremish come here in hopes of finding a cure for their ailments. There is also a small military outpost, as expected, but I have seen that it is poorly maintained and ill-equipped to deal with an invasion.

Bewerian

The capital of Breme, it is the largest and most prosperous town. It is separated from its adjoining suburb, Goldnin, by Mermina's Bridge, which spans the Great Gold River. Mermina was one of Breme's five saints, who reversed a terrible drought of the Great Gold River through her poetry. Bewerian is home to the Bremish Council and the War Committee, which is their central place of governance. The War Committee is subordinate to the Bremish Council, and both are informally whipped by the High Poet Society, which works autonomously and could rescind its promise to help the military at any time. There is also a court here, where the most serious of crimes are prosecuted: sedition, treason, murder, child abuse, and assault. I have been told that the trials are mostly perfunctionary and that being convicted is a near-certainty. The punishments are brutal yet appropriate, such as castration for a serial sexual offender. Can't say I have many complaints about that.

Goldnin

The primary suburb of Bewerian, this is the home to Breme's principal marketplace and the Goldnin Meronym, where the most powerful High Poets train and perform their arts. I suspect that placing the meronym in the suburb was to demonstrate their independence from the government and military, forcing high-ranking officials from the Bremish Council to make the commute if they wish to consult with the poets. This is also the location of the War Academy, where soldiers train or wait for deployment. The training grounds are large and well-equipped, while there are numerous dormitories and barracks. One can see child soldiers here, as young as 11 years old, developing their bloodlust. There are also children they title "Future Boys," who can be thrown there by their parents when as young as 6 or 7. They are forced to perform manual labor until they reach the age of entrance into the Academy.

The Windswept

A vague and mysterious area of Breme set aside for the nomadic tribes: the original inhabitants of Breme, who were slowly pushed aside as more people turned to an agrarian lifestyle. While the nomads have representation on the Bremish Council and their own system of governance, they are often treated as second-class citizens by the settled peoples, who view them as backwards and archaic. In many ways, it feels like they are an enclave within the overall country, making their own rules and settling their own disputes through ancient processes. This area is less resource-rich than the settlements, yet carefully maintained by the tribes for maximum efficiency. Seasonal migrations help to cycle the soil and allow it to rest. There are large herds of feral horses, wolves, wild pigs, and even some strange, savage flightless birds that frequently cause problems. Large herbivorous creatures known as auraks live here and are hunted down using the fearless Bremish wolfhounds, domesticated from wolves and known for their indefatigability. Apparently the settled peoples think aurak meat is disgusting and prefer their livestock.

All these fascinating places will feature, at sometime or another, in the Eirenic Verses. If you'd like to get a good idea of what Goldnin and Bewerian are like, check out 9 Years Yearning, the first book in the series!

Tumblr tag list: @kuebiko-writing, @ryns-ramblings, @cain-e-brookman, @halfbit, @macabremoons,

@theverumproject, @aquadestinyswriting, @urlocalwitch555, @sarahswriting, @drchenquill,

@davycoquette, @mysticstarlightduck, @aalinaaaaaa, @gioiaalbanoart, @theaistired,

@somethingclevermahogony, @wyked-ao3, @avaseofpeonies,

[crazysandwichlady2p04]

Small town

Price x reader

This contains dark themes!

It's raining again but your more than happy to welcome the cold rain especially in a quiet house where your just enjoying the atmosphere and smell of the cooking in the oven. Lasagna was one of Price's favorites you made him even more of you paired it with a red wine you'd go get while grocery shopping for the house.

His little house wife he likes to say so obedient and submissives always ready to bring him a beer if he asked but not without a snarky comment from you or a stolen kiss before running off like you did something wrong.

What he loved most is knowing he's got a Mrs waiting at home for him after deployment, someone who's going to run up to him and kiss him like he's the one and only man on earth because to you he is...

Men have only ever caused you pain, hurt and uncomfortable feelings. It took Price a hole year to get you to go on a date with him. You still hide behind him if a man looks at you too long and you sill cry in his arms when the memory of your once best friend touching you and holding you down comes back to haunt you and your family taking his side when you went to them for comfort.

You ran away the night of graduation with a backpack full of clothes, hair dye, cash and the last of your pride that's hanging on a string being dragged behind on the rough street as you walked to a gas station and into a bathroom where you dye your hair, cut it and charged into something you picked up from a story before you ran.

Your goal was to look like a boy, maybe you'd get away with more, and while roaming the Isle for a bottle of water a man walked past you not bothering to stare at your ass.

You managed to hitch hike your way to another small town where you worked in a flower show an old lady owned and let you work in and live in the small apartment above it she used to live in before she moved in with her husband when she was young.

Eventually you felt save enough to be you again and that attracted an older man that you often see at a pub or grocery store. He was respectful and kind never stepping over boundaries and he stole your hart when he punched a man for following you home so after a year you said yes to a date and another year in the heat of the moment price asked you to marry him and in a little white sundress you happen to own you got married day of his proposal in the courthouse and to this day you regte nothing.

Especially as he comes up behind you as you set the table to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your shoulder to thank you for dinner.

[scatteredthoughts2]

LET'S BE ON OUR WAY.

I'm all alone now;

Everyone is gone away,

They wanted me to go,

But I told them I would stay.

I think they may be worried,

That I'll do myself some harm,

But I tell them that I'll be okay,

There's no need to feel alarm.

I just want to be alone with you,

Have some time for you and me,

Because when I walk away from here,

I won't be back, you see.

There is nothing here for me, my love,

So why should I stay around,

When everything I lived for,

Now sleeps beneath the ground.

When I left the house this morning,

I left the keys inside the door,

Because I knew when I was leaving,

That I'd be coming back no more.

I won't be leaving on my own,

You'll be travelling in my heart,

And I know that you will help me,

To make a brand new start.

Your name is on a tombstone,

But that's not where you lie,

I just waited here till our friends were gone,

To pretend to say goodbye.

They are waiting in the village pub,

And over drinks they'll talk of you,

But they'll be waiting there till closing time,

Because I'll keep driving through.

The open roads are calling,

So let's be on our way,

Let our friends do all the talking,

I have nothing more to say.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

[stephensmithuk]

A Study in Scarlet: Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor

"White Hart" is a very common pub name in the UK.

The Union Line was a steamship company whose main operations were one of the two companies shipping passengers, goods and mail to South Africa. It merged in 1900 with its rival the Castle Mail Packet Company to become the Union-Castle Line, running shipping operations until 1977.

A four-wheeler was a larger cab capable of carrying four or five people and a good deal more luggage; the driver sat on an open-air seat at the front. He could also lock and unlock the main doors with a lever.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

“An Enemy of the People” + Meeting Matt Smith a THIRD time(?!?!)

I saw Matt Smith last night in his play, “An Enemy of the People” in London and I’m still super overwhelmed by it all, especially as I was up at 6:45am for work before I went to the show AND I ended up not getting home until 5am, but to sum up my experience last night with Matt:

I was sat in row A, which is the third row from the stage behind AA and BB, so I was SUPER close to the stage

THEY HAD A REAL DOG (German Shepherd/Alsatian I think?) ON STAGE IN SOME SCENES OMG OMG OMG I LOVED THIS SCENE STEALER

Matt was absolutely incredible, he had a full on like 5 minute monologue where he was shouting into a microphone about capitalism and the rot of government etc, and there was utter silence the entire time

It then turned into an audience trauma dump of sorts because they had some microphones given to audience members to air their grievances with the government/system/society, it was incredibly powerful

The rest of the cast were amazing too of course

I was in the “splash” zone because there was a moment where the cast were along the sides next to the audience while Matt was on stage and then they threw paint-filled balloons at him, and when they hit him they exploded so we had to have tarp pulled up over us just before it happened because the paint would have hit us

Matt has a DILF belly and I am 100% for it, at one point he lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe the paint from his eyes and I nearly died

After the show, I went to stage door to try and meet him - but because it was a Saturday night in London it was a nightmare and so he could only do quick signatures and no pictures with people

I DID get my program signed by Matt ☺️🫶🏻

Also one of the other cast members (Zachary Hart) was talking a lot to my friend just before Matt came outside and he turned, saw me, looked me over and then went “I like your shirt! 🙂” (I was wearing a TNBC check shirt)

After the show, I was with some friends I knew from Twitter who were also huge Matt fans, and we went to a pub that was down the road from the theatre after they had changed clothes… and Matt and the cast were there?!?

Matt brushed up against me twice when he was going to/coming back from the bar and I nearly passed out like one of my friends had to take me outside because I was hyperventilating

(This is also an autistic thing though that’s unrelated to Matt because it was super packed and loud and hot in the pub)

After the pub closed, my friend said the bar in her hotel would be open until 2 so we went there, left our stuff in her room, and then we went down to the bar… and Matt and the cast were there too?!?

I’m genuinely not joking, we were NOT stalking him, we had talked about going to pub days ago and - as I said - one of my friends was literally staying at that hotel and the bar there was the closest one still open. To be honest, I was feeling anxious at this point because I was terrified Matt would see us and recognise us but also I was freaking out because I wanted to talk to him so bad as I didn’t get the chance at the stage door during the chaos

It’s a bar where they have music playing, like at a club, but there’s no dancing and they sit you at tables and take your drinks orders, and we were two tables away from the cast

Zachary walked past and said hello to one of my friends again, because he recognised them from earlier, and he grinned/shouted hello back when we waved and said hello

Matt walked past us and the friend mentioned above and I shouted hello at him and waved, but I didn’t want to bother him by going up to him because 1) it was nearly 2am, 2) I didn’t want him to be weirded out or think we were stalking him, and 3) I ’m 99% sure he was drunk because he’d been hanging about in the pub and then the bar for a total of four hours 💀 anyway, Matt smiled and shouted hello back

My friends went outside the hotel to smoke after the bar closed (I was the only one out of a group of 5 who didn’t smoke 😭) and the cast came out to leave, and one of my friends asked him for a picture but his co-worker Jessica Brown-Findlay apparently got mad at her and said “no, we are not doing that”. Matt was super nice to her though and said she looked great, and “know we love you!” before he left

(Side note: one of the other friends thinks Jessica was pissed off because when we were outside the pub earlier, her husband asked my friends for a cigarette and were chatting to him while they smoked (I was there under an umbrella absolutely freezing my tits off lol) and they said it might be a possessive thing? To be genuinely honest, none of us had any clue it was her husband even when he said “oh yeah my wife Jessie is in a play down the road”, like it genuinely didn’t click for any of us that he was talking about Jessica, and he approached us for a cigarette, not the other way around)

Unrelated to Matt but still relevant to understanding the night/my feelings:

I was very exhausted because I started my new job yesterday morning, was up at 6:45am because my dad insisted on dropping me off at 8am despite me not starting until 9, I was on my feet the whole day, I didn’t have time to run home and change so I had to do my make up on the train (luckily my uniform was given to me in the morning so I was able to wear my evening clothes, change into work clothes and then change back at the end of the day), my feet were super sore and blistered because I was wearing brand new trainers from work that didn’t fit properly… yeah. Anyway.

(Side note: I LOVE my new job so much, I am not complaining about it at all, it was amazing, it’s just unfortunate scheduling that I started on the same day I had the ticket for the play)

I missed my last tube and my last train home (last train was at 1am) and ended up having to borrow money to get a taxi to Piccadilly station from the hotel, at which point it was 3am and I was feeling very exhausted AND also emotional

There were issues with the tube because of the weather and so I had to wait an extra 30 minutes while also needing to pee and suffering from exhaustion, didn’t get on a tube until about 3:30? 3:40?

I think I was crying at one point after leaving the hotel because when I got to the tube station to wait for a train, a woman also waiting came to check on me and asked why I had been crying

I kept on dozing off on the tube between stops, and I’m very lucky I didn’t get robbed to be honest (probably because I had my bag on my lap and an arm resting over it)

I ended up in South Ealing at 4:15am, and I knew if I got a bus I wouldn’t be getting to the nearest town to me until 5am (and I still wouldn’t have been home) so I decided “fuck it, I’m spending £27 on an Uber I guess”

I fell asleep in the Uber and the driver was pretty annoyed about it, I ended up getting home at 5am - somehow I was able to remove the rest of my make up, message my friends to tell them I was home safe, get in my PJs and climb into bed

Here’s some photos of the stage before the play started, Matt at the end of the play (covered in paint), and Matt at stage door

(I did NOT take photos or videos of him in the pub or bar, because I want to respect his privacy 🙂🫶🏻 I am also NOT going to share the name of the pub or hotel/bar, not because I want to gatekeep or anything, but because of privacy and out of respect)

[lxve-and-lxght]

overture/and all that jazz

pairing: thomas shelby/ reader

warnings: afab! reader, jazz, booze, murder, all that fun stuff. eventual smut perhaps?? slow burn?? idk what i'm doing with this sorry

a/n: i'm going to attempt to make a chicago-esque fanfic all about thomas shelby falling for a jazz girl who's going to be a mix of velma kelly and roxie hart because truthfully if i try to write them as their own characters it'll just be chicago that you can read lmao. possible series if there’s any demand for it

birmingham 1921

it’d been a busy night, practical hell and yet you were rushing down the alley behind the garrison pub and it shouldn’t have been your first thought but the show had to go on. you pushed open the back door and ran inside shuffling upstairs before harry kent could see you and it’d almost worked till he did, in fact, see you.

“whereda hell ‘ave you been?!” he demanded to know, chasing you halfway up the stairs. “you’re supposed to be up there now! where’s your sister?!”

“she couldn’t make it!” you hollered from atop the stairs, slamming the door behind you. you froze against the door for a second and took a breath before you drew the gun out of your dress coat and threw it in a drawer. you rushed to wash your hands and undress for the show but you could hear harry banging on the door over the jazz band improvising as a means to stall the crowd.

the garrison was a popular spot for the remaining boys who’d fought in france and the working men in small heath. they were an unruly crowd that was for sure, and you didn’t know how much longer they could be held off before drunken boredom resulted in a fight. but despite that fact the garrison was always good for a decent show and they had been extremely good to you and your sister when you needed a quick check, after the peaky blinders had bought it out from underneath harry of course.

you pulled the flapper gown up your hips and the straps over your shoulders. taking an aspirin and shaking out your hair then going back in with a lip pencil to fix the smudges your ex husband had left on your face. you took a final look in the shitty mirror hung on the wall before you pulled the door back on harry.

“let’s do this.” you said pushing past him and running down the stairs. your heels clicked on the wood when you entered the crowd and stood center of the band and the other performers. the lights of the pub dimmed when the band quieted before your first number.

“ladies and gentlemen, the garrison pub is proud to present birmingham’s most dazzling dancing duo, two jazz babes moving as one.” the bandleader announced for the crowd.

the spotlight suddenly beat down only on you. not your sister. not the band. no one else. just you. there was a faint applause when the light hit but the crowd settled as the beat began to swing. thomas stood at the bar with arthur.

“come on babe, why don’t we paint the town?” you sang.

“didn’t we pay for a sister act?” arthur asked, taking a swig of a bottle.

“that we did, brother.” thomas said, his voice cold and gravelly, but still they watched as the single dancer began her act. thomas, like all the others, couldn’t help himself from staring. no one could. of course that’s what he was paying her and her sister for. something to distract the crowds from the over policing government growing in small heath, but she was quite the knockout act on her own nonetheless.

the trumpets sang in staccato when she stomped down and snapped her garter at the crowd, still singing and dancing for the drunken masses. her dress thrashing against her thighs when she spun around.

“where there’s a nightly brawl and all that jazz.” the crowd sang along. thomas watched solemnly as the showgirl leaned down to take a flask out of one of their patrons hand and drink it down on stage.

thomas had just barely looked away when the devil’s idle hand himself, inspector campbell, walked in surrounded by uniformed men. he approached tommy by himself.

“like her, do ya?” the inspector asked, nodding at you. there was a beat of silence shared between them before tommy addressed him at all.

“— she’s our headliner tonight.” thomas said, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“well then…” campbell chuckled, “it’ll bring me great pleasure to tell ya, she’s just shot and killed her husband and sister.” thomas looked away from the inspector and back to you, still dancing on stage, campbell patted a rough hand on thomas’ shoulder. “… she’s going hang before the year’s up. you really know how to pick ‘em mr. shelby.”

thomas didn’t offer campbell the satisfaction of any response. he just watched as he retreated back to his uniformed men. he watched them wait for her number to end so they could arrest her and when it finally did and the lights of the garrison came back on, the crowd was cheering her on as the police shoved their way through, manhandling her off the stage and into a pair of handcuffs.

pt. 2

[alicentsgf]

Let’s use my dusty knowledge of the Plantagenet era and talk about the white hart in HotD. I've had some really muddled thoughts and feelings about that scene and the way it framed Rhaenyra’s struggle for the throne to the general audience, but I also think there might be deeper meaning to it than what was initially obvious. If GRRM was as involved as he says, then at least some of this was likely deliberate; he's made no secret of taking inspiration from history, especially British history. The world of ASoIaF often rhymes with it.

The white hart wasn’t mentioned in Fire & Blood, and in my opinion its inclusion in the show seems to be not only foreshadowing Rhaenyra’s journey, but perhaps even commenting on the unreliability of F&B as a supposed “factual” account.

In our world the white hart is not just symbolic of royalty and burgeoning heroism, its much more specifically recognised as the heraldry of an English king; the deposed and disgraced Richard II. Though the only thing historians can agree on with Richard II is that he was considered physically beautiful by his contemporaries, modern historians at least somewhat unanimously write of him as a fair enough ruler, but for his belief in his own divine authority, as well as a lack of willingness or ability to play the political game, all of which facilitated his downfall. Simon Walker wrote of Richard II, "What he sought was, in contemporary terms, neither unjustified nor unattainable; it was the manner of his seeking that betrayed him." ...Sound familiar? Richard later died as the prisoner of his successor, the usurper Henry VI, a man whose expected inheritance Richard II had once subverted.

(There's also something to be said for the fact his rule and subsequent deposition has been argued as the groundwork for the War of the Roses; the real life inspiration for the events of A Song of Ice and Fire... maybe don't quote me on that to any historian though, it's heavily contested.) 

So, Richard II was supposedly a good enough man and ruler by contemporary standards, but he is remembered overwhelmingly negatively, most likely because of one very specific depiction; Shakespeare's Richard II. An unflattering depiction, steeped in exaggeration and a somewhat understandable need for drama. It's now the most widely-known representation of him. So is it possible that, through the white hart scene, we're being told Richard II and Rhaenyra run parallel to each other in one more way? How accurate is Fire and Blood truly, when it comes to its depiction of Rhaenyra? Does it meditate on her faults and exagerate her cruelty? Almost certainly. Is it any more accurate than Shakespeare's Richard II? Perhaps not.

My local pub happens to be called ‘the white hart’ (not even a weird coincidence tbh, it's just a very common pub name), and it has a framed copy of Richard II's heraldry (the image above) on the wall. I’ve spent a fair amount of time looking at that thing wondering about the symbolism of the crown sitting around his neck and the golden chain that trails from it. The implication of a crown as the thing that holds captive this noble animal… What better way to describe the claimants of the dance? It's not only Rhaenyra, but Aegon too, who is the stag with the crown at their throat, golden chains dragging them down.