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writers-hes · 1 year ago

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The Blind Man

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, abusive marriage)

They finally meet.

PART 1 / PART 2

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BIRMINGHAM, 1919

There was nothing discreet with how you dressed. You were in all black, a black veil shielding you from the onlookers. Simon sent some money to Johnny’s wife, Beth, for a proper wake. His house was filled with white flowers and proper food. It’s the least he could do, that’s what he said. You were sitting beside the widow, trying to console her.

“Johnny used to talk about you alot,” she weeped. “‘That’s my girl! That’s my daughter and she’ll go places!’ That’s what he always said. He told me how you grew up in the brothel and how you were always willing to listen to his lessons in arithmetic.” Her eyes were red from crying and all you could do was console her. “Thank you for taking care of him…for taking care of us,”

“It’s nothing, Beth,” you assured her. “He let me into his bunker when my mum died,” you recalled. “He protected me from…from…as much as he could, you know?”

God. Just how many people could you lose in this fucking lifetime? First, your father but you’ve never really weeped for him. You never knew him. Second, your mum. She took care of you with how little she had. Third, Tommy. You never heard back if he was alive or not. Your protector. Fourth, Big Johnny. He’s always been the male figure that you considered as your father. Who’s next?

“I’m grateful for him,” you managed to choke out. You asked your security guards to go somewhere else, maybe a few feet or metres from the house. You wanted privacy. “I’m just so regretful to never have seen him and now he’s gone…”

Johnny died because of a rumble with some of the newer gangs in Small Heath. Some young lads mugged him on the way home and killed him. They threw his body by the docks where they thought no one would ever see him.

Your body suddenly fills with rage. Was this the work of the Blinders? Fuck. Why would they fucking do that? Beth excuses herself from you and you nodded. Picking on the rings on your fingers, you didn’t notice who sat beside you.

“Seems like we only see each other at weddings and funerals,” You gasped, looking at the source of the familiar voice. How could you ever forget? She told you what you needed to do to survive.

“Polly,” you gasped, extending your shaky hands towards her. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” she replied. “Who would’ve thought, huh?” she asked. She lets you clutch her hand for support. “Where’s Simon?”

“He has business in Camden Town,” you replied. “He allowed me to go but there’s security around us right now. We can’t really talk, Poll—he’s going to, he’s going to—“

“I’ve handled it,” she said. “You can talk to me as freely as you would like, okay?” You nodded.

“I’m sorry for…for leaving,” you whispered. Your voice wavers and you feel the wetness in your eyes. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Darling…”

“He threatened to kill Tommy, Arthur, and John if I didn’t obey,” you confessed. “During the…the war,” You shut your eyes to hide from Polly. Her heart aches. You’ve always been reluctant to show your emotions but you are visibly hiding now. Cowering from the fear of rejection and of humiliation from Polly Gray. “He said that-that he knew people who could finish the job.”

“Don’t hide,” she coos. Your obedience was not in vain but she’d never tell you that. She didn’t want Tommy to act impulsively and she didn’t want you to lose what you already have. “How are you? You don’t need permission from a man, you know,”

“I know,” you nod. “You always told me but…Simon is all I have now. He trusts me and I don’t want to break that trust that I’ve worked so hard on. You told me to take advantage of everything and I am,”

“What have you been doing?”

“I have trusts, bonds, and investments to my name now. Simon couldn’t take them away from me. All sealed with a document that my lawyers reviewed,” you told her. Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.

“Johnny and I taught you well then,” she nods in approval. “That’s good. We miss you,”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Where’s Ada? I’ve to thank her for the house,”

“If anything, she has you to thank. She’s been going there a lot since you left. She said she feels more at peace there,” Polly replied. “When are you leaving?”

“After the burial,” you replied. “I have to leave and go to uh, Italy with Simon,”

“For what?”

“Some…business thing.” you replied.

“He’s showing you the world?” she asked, gesturing to your clothes. You knew it. It was too much for a funeral.

“Yeah. It’s too much isn’t it? I can-I can change into something else but, he likes these clothes,” you told her. “But can I—“

“No, you look good,” she says, stopping you from your worries. “You look like who you’re supposed to be,”

You look like who you’re supposed to be. If it was any other person, you’d be offended; but this was Polly. She always told you that you didn’t belong in Small Heath. “You’re too pure to belong here forever.” She’d always say. It’s funny, you felt like you never belonged in Simon’s world no matter how hard he tried to put you in it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about Tommy and his brothers. How could you? You were too scared to know the answer. If Polly didn’t mention it, it’s probably for the best.

“I do wish you’d visit us more but I know your circumstances,” she said. “I received the letter from Simon along with a cheque of a few thousand pounds,”

“Did you encash it?” you asked.

“No,” she replied. Somehow, that gave you comfort. She couldn’t be bought. “I did it because I was so worried about what could happen to you. It didn’t have any details. It just said that he’d appreciate it if we cease all contact. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No,” you shook your head. Not yet. “As unimaginable as it all is, he has never. I truly believe that he loves me, Pol. He tells me every day. He heeds everything that I say or do and has never had a mistress but I feel so terrible because I don’t love him that way,” you confessed, feeling like the weight of the world just lifted itself on your shoulders. “I’m terrible,”

“You’re not,” Polly said. “I told you to take advantage of everything but I never told you to love him, did I?”

You went home that day feeling lighter. You could always confide in Polly whenever you needed. You were just so heartbroken to know that that could probably never happen again. Your servants have left now. You told them that you didn’t need them during the night because of how small the house was. They stayed at a lodging for labourers nearby; except for the guards. They came with you wherever you go, even if it was only at a distance.

You were putting away the heavy gold earrings in the vanity in your room. It was dark, except for the lamp that you opened by the bed.

“You should really change your locks,” Your head whipped, earrings falling on the ground.

“Tommy?” you asked, rushing towards him in your most comfortable clothes. It was a long sleeved pyjama shirt that Simon owned. Tommy didn’t like it. “Oh my God. You’re here,” you breathed, shaky hands touching his arm. “You’re here…you’re here,”

“And you’re here,” he says, his voice void of emotion. He looked for the pressed flowers in the frame that usually sat on your vanity. It was gone. “You left,”

“I didn’t want to,” you said, removing your hands from him when you felt how cold he was.

“Did you plan on coming back? At all?” he asked. His rage blinds him. Why was he so cold and cruel? Why couldn’t he tell you how happy he was to see you again? He didn’t know how to handle his emotions. Years of longing…of heartbreak…of wondering if he could ever be good enough came down on him.

“Tommy?”

“It’s just a funny thing, isn’t it?” he chuckled, lighting up his cigarette. “You leave, make your way into the world, and then expect things to be the same.”

You frowned.

“It’s a funny thing. You promised to wait for me and you didn’t,” he spat. “All I ever looked at was your photo in those four years and you—“

“I didn’t want to leave, Tommy,” you whispered.

“But you did!” he exclaims. “You left me! You…you left me and married someone else. You decided that I could never grant my promises and fucked someone else. Like a…like…”

“Like what, Tommy?” you asked, stepping away from him. “Like a whore?” He’s never thought of you like that before.

“I never said that,”

“But you thought it!” You sit on your bed. “You see me like how everyone sees me. Fuck,” you shook, shielding yourself away from him. “How could you ruin this for us?”

“No, I’m—“

“Then, what? What is it, Tommy? You come in here to my house and pick a fight. You can’t blame me for the choices that I made! I had no idea if you were coming back. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Wait for me,” he demanded. “I told you to wait for me. I’ve been building us everything that we ever wanted but you were just so impatient,”

“How could I if you never wrote back?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes. You finally gave him the chance to look at you. You looked older, despite the garb that you were wearing. The sparkle was gone. You looked up at him. He’s different. Detached, cold, and emotionless. The blue eyes that used to convey so much emotion were gone. He wasn’t letting you in like he used to.

You both changed.

A shimmer on your neck catches his attention. It was his mother’s locket. You catch his eyes casting down on it.

“I forgot,” you croaked, looking away. “I’m supposed to give this to you.” He wasn’t your Tommy anymore.

“No, you should keep it,”

“It’s okay,” you nod, removing the locket from your person and putting it on the bed. It was the first time you’ve ever removed it and it felt like you were removing a leash. “You own it. You should give it to someone else. Someone that’s…that’s not me,”

“Y/N…love,” he tried but you shook his head. “It always belonged to you.”

“We’re not the same people anymore, Tom. You look at me and-and it’s how everyone else does,” you cried. “Like a whore. I’m selling my body and my future for a life like this. Right? I don’t want to have this anymore,” you said. “We grew apart and we’re older now. We’re not the same people,” You don’t love me anymore.

There was hell and there was a place below hell. It was where he was. How could he be so cruel to make you cry? How could he insinuate that you were all the same? How could you hint that he doesn’t love you anymore?

“I waited for you, Tommy. Waited for you to write back and at first, I felt…sad. Then, angry. You think I’m so disposable. So replaceable, right?” you asked. “I sent you letters every week. You always told me you’d protect me but you couldn’t even send me a letter telling me that you were alright. You couldn’t even protect Johnny!”

Maybe if he told you that it was Polly who intercepted those letters, you wouldn’t be so mad at him. Maybe you wouldn’t think that he’d abandon you so easily. Maybe you’d know that you were the only face that got him out of the tunnels. Maybe you’d know that it was your name that made him feel good. Like your name was some prayer he’s worthy enough to say every time that he felt like he was underground again. But how could he hurt you more than he already did?

“You were the one who replaced me,” Maybe you’d finally know that he loves you and that, if you could have just waited a little bit longer, you’d never have to worry if your hair was out of place.

“There was nothing to replace.”

Tommy brews in anger. To Polly, to you, and to himself. He couldn’t tell you that Polly intercepted your letters. He didn’t want to cut your relationship with her too.

“Fuck!” he roared. The barmaid comes in and asks Tommy if he was okay. He shrugs her off but seems intent on staying.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked. He leans back, uninterested.

“Sure,”

“Happy or sad?” she asked.

“Uh, sad,”

“It’ll break your heart,” she says, smiling softly.

“Already broken,” he muttered. Already broken.

He sits there, unmoving. To be honest, he didn’t know why he was so mad at you. He was truly, utterly, and irrevocably alone now that you were gone. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to being alone. He prefered it sometimes. Maybe it’s because he always expected for the two of you to be alone together. Like you always were.

The fear of being unknown to you scares him. You’ve always known him—his whole heart and his whole soul. You’ve always known him but now, you’re gone. You’ll never know him the way you knew him. You were too different now and it rips through him like nothing else. You’ll never be there for him like you did. He’ll never know you like he did once. He could never pinpoint it but he hates how he was never enough for you. If only he could provide, if he could only protect, if only…

Here he thought he’d finally have a wink of sleep after four years.

You were on the phone with your husband after Tommy stormed out in anger last night. You needed to be comforted, to be told that you were right and that everyone else was wrong. It was one of the few luxuries you allowed yourself when you were with Tommy but you were positive that you’ve lost him now.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “I can always come down there, you know,”

“I know,” you nodded. “I just miss you,”

“You do?” You could tell that that inflated his ego. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you too,”

“Do you think…do you think you can be here for the funeral?” you asked before you could even stop yourself. Why were you bringing him here when Tommy was around? Were you bringing him here out of spite? To make Tommy what? Jealous? But then again, was it a sin to ask for comfort from your husband? Tommy would never understand. He was quick to tell you what he thought of you yesterday. It was the first time he did it but you couldn’t get it out of your head. If to him, you were a whore, then a whore you’d be.

It was the only thing you were good at anyway.

“Of course,” he nodded. “This thing with Solomons is just shit work anyway. I’ll be there the day before. Will that be alright?”

“Yes,” you whispered. Are you really willing to let him inside the fort you’ve built with Tommy? “I lost my mom’s locket today and I…”

“You did?” he asked. He knew how important that locket was to you. You begged him to not take it off during your wedding. If only he knew. He bought you jewels but you never wore another necklace. “We can get you another one. Something that’s even more beautiful than the one you had.”

“I suppose so,” you sighed. “I love you,”

“I love you too.”

And you weren’t sure if you were still lying.

Simon arrives at your house sometime in the morning, before the sun rises. It was his first time seeing your house—being in your house. It was a small, shabby home with flowers. Have you always liked flowers? One of the servants opened the door for him and he entered. Poor you. Did you always live like this?

He spots you reading a book on the couch when you look up at him.

“How was your trip?” You close the book and sit upright. “I hope it wasn’t horrible,”

“I’m here now,” he sits down, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “You’ve been on my mind since you left. Is there anything I have to know?”

“I…I talked to Polly,” you confessed. The grip that he has on your waist tightens. “But we only talked about Johnny. She said that the police aren’t doing anything to know who killed him.”

“I see,”

“But I left after that. I’ve never seen her since,” you said truthfully. “I told her that we couldn’t meet again,”

“Thank you for not breaking my trust,” he said, removing his grip on you. “You know it’s for us, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you nodded. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Why were you understanding him more? Are you only agreeing with Simon because you hated Tommy at that moment? What’s the sudden change?

You were all gathered at Johnny's funeral. Simon was beside you, holding your waist protectively. Beth was a wailing mess by the coffin. They were putting him six feet under. Last night was the last time she’ll ever see Johnny’s physical body again. You were bowing your head down, trying to keep your tears away. Johnny had been the father figure and now, he’s gone too.

The ceremony ends soon enough with Simon never letting go of your body. The Shelbys have noticed. Simon was basically hounding you so you wouldn’t have to talk to others.

“I sometimes wonder if she stopped talking to us because she wanted to or if she was forced to,” Arthur said, looking at you and your husband. Ada was looking at Polly. They were the only ones who knew. They both agreed to never tell a soul because of how messy things could be. Tommy would wage a war if it concerned you. “The question is why is she letting him?”

Tommy walks to where you were. He clears his throat to make himself known. He watches your figure become rigid. Simon was looking at him, his hand still on your waist. If he could shoot this prick’s hand for even laying a hand on you—

“I’m Tommy Shelby,” he starts. “I just decided to come by and offer a quick greeting to your wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” Simon replied, his voice was strained and you were scared. Terrified. “Y/N didn’t tell me about you. Have you, darling?” There was a threat in his voice.

“Oh,” you nod, licking your lips. Your voice was wavering. “Mr. Shelby i-is someone I knew when I was a child, darling. He left for the war and…and…”

“We haven’t seen each other since,” he finishes. “I wish we could talk more,” Tommy added, confirming what he already thought. He didn’t spare you a glance and if he did, he didn’t make a show of it. “Mr. Coventry. Y/N,” he bowed, taking your gloved hand and kissing your knuckles. He walks away, leaving Simon’s anger and your anxiety behind him.

Simon didn’t speak to you on the way back. You tried but he only dismissed you with a cold shoulder. When you arrived home, he dragged you by the arm to the living room. You watched while the servants dispersed to give you some privacy. It was funny how they always pretended that they knew nothing.

“Do you really think I’m fucking stupid?” he roared, his loud voice vibrating the walls of your home. “You talked to Polly Gray but didn’t meet Tommy. At all,”

“You have to believe me, Simon. I never…it’s my first time seeing him again!” you pleaded, scared for Tommy’s life—scared for yours. Your arm hurts but you have bigger problems right now. What was a little bruise anyway? “I didn’t even know if he was still alive,”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he asked. “It’s like everything that you’re saying are…are lies! I gave you everything,” he spits. “I gave you and your friends money. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in that fucking brothel fucking some twat who could never afford everything that I’m giving you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”

“Simon,” you tried. “I swear, I didn’t know he was still alive. Polly never told me. I—“

“Liar!” he says, stepping closer to you. He grasps your chin tightly, your head unmoving at the pressure. “I bought you. Don’t you dare fucking disrespect me. I own you,”

“Simon, please…” you cried. “I swear to you I didn’t…”

“Shut up,” he spits. “You’re fucking disgusting,”

He shoves you to the floor and you cry. He leaves without looking at you. He didn’t apologise for what he did. It was the first time he showed you what you were to him. A property. You didn’t sleep that night; you were just on the balcony, looking at the docks, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just waited.

The morning comes and you are tired. Simon just woke up and decided to stay with you on the balcony.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “I’m sorry for doing that. I promise to never do that again. I was just…so angry because Tommy Shelby came to us. Do you see why you’re not allowed to be here? Why I hate it when you’re in Birmingham? These fucking rats have no respect,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Simon, you said things,” you whispered, looking up at him. Tears stained your cheeks. Everything that he said replayed inside your head over and over. What right did you have to demand his apology if he owned you? “You…”

Defeated, Simon sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You know that I’m doing this for us. I’m sorry,”

You could only nod wordlessly, blinking away the tears before they fall again. You didn’t notice the bruising on your jaw yet. You weren’t at the brothel anymore but up to what extent are you truly free? At the end of the day, you’re still weak. You still have nothing. At the end of the day, buttering him up doesn’t matter.

BIRMINGHAM, 1912

“One day, we’ll be able to buy those fancy, black cars and drive around London as much as we want.” Tommy said. He was in his work clothes, a greasy white shirt and his shaggy hair falling in different sorts of places.

“We will?”

“Yes,” he nodded, his shoulder touching yours. You were just about to work when he pulled you away. He asked if you wanted to come with him to The Cut for a little while and you agreed, finding it hard to say no to him. “I’ll get you one and then, I’ll get you a horse.”

“Don’t forget the house with a big lawn,” you giggled.

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I’ll buy that first,”

“Would you hate me if things don’t work out the way we want them to?” you asked. “I’m just wondering,”

“Why wouldn’t it? We’re staying together,” Tommy said, casting you a confused look.

“I mean, you’ll get a wife. I can’t live in the same house as her,” you said. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary problems for the two of you. I want her to be my friend too.”

“I’m not marrying,” he said. “Why should I marry? We come as a pair. Never one without the other. We won’t need anyone else,”

“That would be nice.”

“I get it,” he nodded. “You’re always my main priority. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about all that yet. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine,”

“And if I’m not?”

“I won’t,”

“How are you going to do all this?” you asked. You always believed in Tommy.

“I’ll do everything,”

“You’re a man of ambition, Tommy. Did you know that you can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous?”

He ponders. He’ll deal all of his cards and fold if it came to you.

There were a million things you wanted to tell him at that moment. He does, too. He looks at you so…lovingly and so naturally that it doesn’t seem like anything anymore. Tommy really didn’t fear anything, except when it came to you. He’s scared to tell you the truth because he might change the course of things. He’s scared to never fulfil all of his promises to you. He’s scared that he’ll never amount to anything other than a greasy boy that you took care of.

He doesn’t say any of this, though, so he just smokes slow.

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

“I have to do something about it,” Tommy told his brothers, taking a swig of his Irish whiskey. He was composed but his mind was running at a speed that he couldn’t quite catch up on. Were you happy in your marriage?

“Tom, it’s better if you could just let her go,” Arthur replied. “It’s not my place, hm? But we saw them yesterday. Maybe it’s for the best,”

“It’s not,” Stoic as ever, he looked ahead.

“It’s a bad idea…” his older brother tried. “You’re fighting against a king. You’re not—“

“Why is everyone telling me that I can’t do anything? Why?” he asked. “I hardly recall asking for your permission, Arthur. You and Polly have been telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“Tommy, think about it. With the fucking guns and taking on this whole…thing with her. It’s too big. So, just let it go, eh? You’ll get yourself killed,” John added. He knew of Tommy’s affections for you. Hell, he knew what Tommy meant. John discreetly watched you and your husband. You couldn’t maintain eye contact, you couldn’t speak freely without a stutter. It was so different from the Y/N that he used to know but Tommy couldn’t be persuaded. He was living on the edge of life in the war that it didn’t matter to him if he died or not. He’s free from the fear of death; he could do whatever he wanted.

“I’m a man of ambition. You can’t have ambition without being a little dangerous,”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Tommy feels like the world was caving in. Fuck. He always hated sleeping, no matter how much he craved it. The darkness of his room and his closed eyes reminds him of the darkness of the tunnels. The walls and the tightness of the closed spaces; the unknown waiting on the other side. The lives he lost, the blood that his comrades spilled. He sits up, he hates how he couldn’t sleep because he’s always hearing the gunshots and the bombs in France. He hates being weak. Things were never the same and he so desperately wanted it to be. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. He couldn’t see the faint lamp that burned on his bedside table. The ringing in his ears doesn’t subside. It was just fucking dark.

He looks over his bedside table and reaches for your picture. You always seemed to calm him no matter where he went. No matter what he does, you always seem to ground him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, taking a swig of his whiskey. As if that would just conjure you. He was sometimes convinced that your picture was an apparition of the time when everything was quieter. When his world had no guns and bombs. When you two were together. He frowns, taking his head in between his hands and cries.

If only he was stronger. If only he was rich. If only he could fulfil all of the promises he gave you. If only.

If there was anything he regretted, it was how angry he was when he went to your old house for your first meeting. He’s been waiting to be graced by your smile for years but he couldn’t control the anger that brewed inside him. He was so guarded after the war. But those guards seem to crumble around you, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable like a child.

A knock on his door arouses him. It was currently just before the sunrise; that hazy blue period that calms him before everyone else wakes. He checked from his window outside but there was nothing. Another knock comes and he sighs, going downstairs to check. He puts his gun behind him. He opens the door and it reveals you.

You were shaking like a leaf when his eyes landed on your figure.

“I don’t know…where else to…to go,” you whispered. He goes out and looks around to make sure that no one’s there. When the coast is clear, he takes your hand and guides you to the living room. He was hoping that no one heard anything.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“Just…water, please,”

“Did you walk all the way?”

“Yeah,” he hears you say while he pours you a glass. “Sorry for disturbing you,”

“It’s alright,” he tells you, giving you the glass.

“Yeah,” you replied, drinking the water to avoid any sort of communication with your old friend. “Tommy?”

“Hm?” he asked, sitting in front of you and it’s so different it hurts. He used to sit beside you, knee to knee. He had to blink multiple times to clear his vision—to make sure that you were actually there. “What brings you here?”

“I…I…” you couldn’t say a single word before you broke into tears. It was then when Tommy actually looked at you, the bruising on your chin, your defeated stance. He trembles in anger but forces himself to let it subside and comfort you. “S-sorry,”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, love,” he whispers, sitting beside you this time and rubbing circles on your back. “You don’t have to talk about it,”

“Would you still…would you still protect me?” you asked and you were aware of how selfish you sounded. “You’re right. I’m a-a whore,” you chuckled, looking away from him. “I know I’m being unfair…marrying Simon and then coming here…”

It appals him for you to think that he’ll ever stop protecting you. It disturbs him for letting you think that way because of one argument.

Your chin was quivering as you tried to form a coherent sentence.

“I thought…I thought I was free but he laid a hand on me,” you tried. “Gripped my chin and called me his property,”

You told yourself that it wasn’t Tommy’s fault.

“All because you talked to me during the funeral,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from the emotions that linger. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that you loved him.

“Let’s run away,” It’s all his fault. All his fault that he loved you.

“Tommy…” you whispered, shaking your head. “Did you know…did you know why I stopped talking to you?” you asked him. He didn’t. Maybe the reason why he’s so angry with you was because he didn’t know. “When you were in France, he told me that if I continue any form of communication with the Shelbys…he’ll locate you and your brothers and have the three of you killed.” You reveal to him. “You always said you’ll protect me but I wanted to protect you too.”

Your broken voice was something that he’ll never forget. Your fragile figure was something that he’ll never remove from his brain. You were…miserable. How could you let yourself be miserable for his sake? How could Simon let you cry? How could he break you? You were so strong, the strongest he’s ever known.

“I will kill him,”

“Tommy, no,” you whimpered. “I’m here to tell you that…that the best way to protect me is to forget about me,”

“You can’t do that to me,” Tommy replied, his voice stern. He was trying so, so hard. “Not when I waited to come home for four years.”

“It’s the best way,” you pleaded. “You can go start a family or…or do something else but if you really want to protect me, you’ll forget about me,”

You were so defeated, your figure curled to your heart like you were protecting yourself from everyone. Tommy could see the stutter of your body while you tried to control everything.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he tried, blinking the tears away but failing. His resolve was crumbling; popping the joints on his knuckles to ground him. It was then he noticed your nail beds, peeled and crusted with dried blood. You must have been thinking about it for so long. “You’re not giving me a choice here, love,” You must have been hurting.

“He’ll kill you, Tom. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I am the reason why your body’s thrown at The Cut.” you told him. “I let you go once without knowing for sure that you’ll come back alive. I’ll make sure that this time, you are.”

“So that’s it, eh?” he asked. “Your bastard husband threatens my life and you let him control you.” he licks his lips.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you told him. “That's all I could do. You’re a man…you could have the world. I’m a woman and I can’t have anything unless I make it. This is me making it.” This is me making sure that I’ll never have to think about you.

You left in the wee hours of the morning and Tommy lets you go without a fight. He thought that he was the one doing the protecting, when you’ve been protecting him all along. You were his most tender wound. Battle scars from France don't compare to the pain he’s feeling in the darkness of the house. Should he run after you? Should he heed your advice? What if he kills Simon? Will you be free then?

“Her husband’s dealing with Alfie Solomons,” he tells everyone during a family meeting. “I’ll deal with Solomons myself,”

“You’re waging a war that is bigger than all of us, Tommy,” Arthur said.

“I’m not asking for approval,” he only replied, his voice was monotonous; suppressing his emotions as much as he could. He swallows. “Information about Y/N’s home life has reached me. She told me that the best way to protect her is to forget about her.” He confessed.

“Well, shit,” Ada replied. “Surely…”

“Surely, I won’t.” he said, voice stern and determined. “I’ll deal all of my cards if I have to. Do you get that?”

“Tommy, it’s a bad idea. She’s right. With the fucking inspector on our throats and Simon Coventry…you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have decided,”

“Then, what’s all of this for, then?”

“Just letting you know.” he says, looking at everyone’s face of disapproval.

When he exits the Garrison, Polly runs after him. She was determined to let him let you go for your safety. It was a sticky situation that Tommy was putting himself in. A semblance of power doesn’t mean that he’s powerful but he couldn’t seem to understand that.

“Tommy, do you want to save her because you want to or is it because you have to prove yourself to you?” she asked him, grasping his arm.

“Polly—“

“Do you love her because you do or do you only think you do because you need her? It’s alright to let her go, Tom. You have to realise that maybe she’s correct,” she reasoned. “The more you move, the more she’s constricted—“

“You took her away from me, Polly,” he spits. “How can I not love her when I need her beside me to even get a wink of sleep? Her picture was all I looked at in France. She is the reason why I’m alive—why I’m here. You took her away from me and I am taking her back. Does that look like love to you?” he demanded, shaking her arm away.

“You want to know what blinds a man as smart as you, Tom? Love,” she says. “You’re making things—“

“So I am blind,” he shrugs. “I vowed to protect her and that is a vow that I’ll take to the grave with me, Pol. You could help or not. It wouldn’t matter either way but you owe it to me to try. At least,”

A beat passes, Polly doesn’t speak. He nods to excuse himself, walking away as the blind man.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m so glad you’re still here.

Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it!

PART 4

TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #protection!tommy

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galleryofart · 2 months ago

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Time and Sleep

Artist: Evelyn de Morgan (English, 1855-1919)

Date: 1878

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Description:

Location: Wightwick Manor, Wolverhampton, England

Night floats through the evening sky, his red robes reminiscent of the sunset, and his billowing cloak darkening the sky behind him. He floats arm in arm with Sleep, who gently scatters poppies onto the earth beneath, from the armful of flowers that he has taken from his girdle. (The Victorians used laudanum as a sleeping draught, which was made from tincture of the opium poppy.) Both figures appear relaxed, with closed eyes, as if already half-asleep. The composition for the painting was inspired by Botticelli’s Birth of Venus where Zephyr and Chloris fly with limbs entwined as a twofold entity: the ruddy Zephyr (Greek for “the west wind”) is puffing vigorously; while the fair Chloris gently sighs the warm breath that wafts Venus ashore. All around them fall roses–each with a golden heart–which, according to legend, came into being at Venus’ birth.

#oil painting #evelyn de morgan #night #sleep #floating #nightime #evening #sky #red robes #poppies #english painter #19th century painting

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nkirukaj · 5 months ago

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Our Renaissance

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem! OC (Human!Voe)

Warnings: Swearing; 1920s Slang

Genre: Slight Angst (& Humor!)

Word Count: 1.8K

Voe and Alastor are lying on the grass in the bayou of the latter’s room, staring at the man-made stars above. Voe sighs and smiles warmly, Alastor’s eyes dart towards her.

“What is on your mind, my dear?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just my silly brain wandering”

“Do tell, I love to hear what your mind can do.” He leans on his arm and stares down at her with a smirk

She rolls her eyes “I was just staring at these stars and wondering if this is what real stars in New Orleans look like.”

Alastor tsks “Oh no, absolutely not. I couldn’t capture the beauty of the Louisiana night sky no matter how hard I tried.”

She looks up at him “I figured. But then, after I thought about how I’d never been there, and thought about what it would have been like if I had ever gone to New Orleans. Then I wondered what it would have been like if we’d met each other when we were alive.”

“We are from two different periods my dear, that would not be possible.”

“I know, but I just wonder, what if we weren’t? Like, what if I was around in the 20s while you were still in your prime? I wonder how you looked then.” She reaches up and caresses his face

Alastor grins at his partner “Oh I was quite the lady killer.” He said, his tone full of arrogance

“In more ways than one,” Voe offered, and they both laughed to their heart’s content.

______________________________

The year is 1919.

“Alastor!”

The hunting grounds he had become so familiar with were just the right distance from his home. Far enough that no one would think of him here, and close enough that he could always hear his mother’s call. Alastor decided there was enough dirt over the hole and started returning. He left the shovel out back and entered the house, anxious to know what it was his mother needed. He entered through the back way, pretending he was there the entire time. He entered the kitchen, his mother’s back to him

“Alastor! Alas- Oh! There you are!” She caresses her son’s face “Please try to come when I first call you alright? I get worried,”

“Of course Maman,” he gives her a tiny smile

She turns her back to him and he walks around to face him “I just wanted to tell ya that I’ll be out ’til dark so please don’t wait up for me. Mr. and Mrs. Hebert want a whole lotta suits and dresses for the entire family tonight. Cook yourself some dinner and please finish that yardwork today, Mr. Doucet wants them delivered first thing in the morning.”

He nods, leaning on the table “Which flowers did his wife order again?”

“The lobelias,” she answers while slipping on a jacket “But only the white ones,” she pulls her purse over her shoulder “Have them cut, trimmed, and potted before I get home because I know you’ll forget if you don’t and it would be really helpful if I didn’t have to do it myself, okay?” She kisses his forehead

“Okay,”

“Have a good night sweetheart! Be safe!” and out the door she was

Alastor looks through the kitchen cabinets to see what he would be able to cook for himself as well as for his mother to eat when she got home. Perhaps he could treat her to a dessert as well? If he could find the right ingredients. His mother was a huge fan of Bananas Foster, but never splurged on ice cream for herself. Alastor cut up meat and vegetables as he thought of all the tips he had been collecting from the deliveries he’d made with the intent of using them to buy something special for his mother. Nothing big, since he knew she wouldn’t ever allow him to spend that much money on her, but maybe some ice cream just to make her favorite dessert. As he mixed the chopped foods and let them cook on the stove, he retrieved the tips from under his clothes in his drawer.

A carton of ice cream was 20¢ and when he went to count the coins he’d collected, he came up with only 10. He could go and buy his mother a banana split, but he wanted to make this gift with his own hands. The anger made him warm inside, the heat rising from his fingers and spreading throughout his body, all the way to the top of his head and the tips of his toes. He spins around and flings the useless change around his tiny bedroom, hearing the coins clatter on the floor. Leaning on his dresser, the scent of burned food hits his nose and he looks up in shock and worry.

His fear is recognized when he gets back down the stairs, the food he had so carefully prepared had burned on the stove, which meant that neither he nor his mother would be eating tonight, seeing as they would be getting paid tomorrow morning and only then would they be able to buy more groceries. Alastor angrily throws out the burned dinner and slams himself down in one of the kitchen chairs dramatically, hearing the wood creak. He held his head in his hands, silently waiting for the stove to cool down. Was it so wrong to want the luxuries that he so often saw people like the ones they sold to take for granted?

Alastor enjoyed potting plants, he’d roll up his sleeves and get caught up in the dirt, which may have been why he was so good at digging holes. It helped that he took an interest in the flowers they grew. Lobelias, Magnolias, Irises, Azaleas and much more. It may not have seemed like the most ‘manly’ way to spend one’s time but his mother took her time to teach him, so Alastor couldn’t care less. Getting covered in the dirt made him feel like he was doing something like he was earning his way.

20 white lobelias cut, trimmed, and potted, ready to be delivered. Alastor wiped the sweat off of his forehead, some of the dirt on his forearm wiping onto his face. He stood to look at his work before bending to pick them up and carry them inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a young lady in the street. She’s bent over, picking up a pocket watch. When she stands she continues examining the watch, a trolley approaching her fast. He didn’t know if she was deaf or dumb but she wasn’t moving. It’s as if she had no idea that vehicles drove on the road, Alastor looks back and forth between the woman and the flowers. he rushes toward her.

He launched forward, grabbing her wrist, yanking her out of the street, and holding her waist to keep her stable. Her hat had fallen over her face, but he could still see the plump lips under it.

“What were you thinking?”

She breathes out through her mouth “Who are you, my father?”

“I believe thanks are in order,”

She tilts her head up “I suppose they are,” her voice smooth and soft “Thank you,” she says, clear that she didn’t want to

He lets go of her waist, letting her hands free to readjust herself. Alastor clears his throat, looking down at the girl’s expensive and neat clothes.

“Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you.” His breath was stolen as he gazed at the girl before him “Quite a pleasure.” he sticks his hand out

“Vera,” she responded, lifting her hat with her other hand while looking upwards at the man who saved her “Vera Bates.” she takes and shakes it. She looks down, seeing dirt spots on her arms and dress, she does her best to dust them off.

“What brings you to this area, bunny?” Alastor questions

She continues dusting herself off “How do you know I’m not from here?”

Alastor crosses his arms “To pale kreyol?” he raises his eyebrow smirking

“What?”

“Exactly,”

She scoffs “You did not know that when you forcibly yanked me out of the street,” she huffs

“Well, now I do,”

She rolls her eyes “If we all stuck to English, I could fit in,”

“That’s a load of applesauce,” he rolls his eyes

“Why?” She looks somewhat offended

“Look at how you’re dressed, does that look like you belong here?” he pulls on her sleeve “Around here we ain’t afraid to get dirty,”

Vera crosses her arms “Fine, I’m visiting with my family and I might have wandered a bit, are you happy?”

Alastor looks the girl up and down, his tongue rolling over his teeth “Where you from?”

“New York City,” she puffs out her chest, “The city that never sleeps,”

“And I bet you’re proud of that aren’t you?”

She looks taken aback “Of course I am! New York is so advanced! It has the skyline, Central Park, amazing food, music, and of course…Broadway,” her eyes sparkle “It’s practically the cultural center of the world,”

He scoffs “I beg to differ, we have much better food and music. Plus we got theaters too,”

“But not Broadway,”

“What does it matter?

“I want to be an actress!”

Alastor sniggers at the thought, barely able to contain his amusement

“What on Earth is so funny?”

“Doll please, everyone knows that radio is the future,”

She tilts her head to the side “Radio?” she scrunches her brows “Well I have nothing against radio, but it has nothing on the stage,”

“The stage is entertaining. But radio is life-changing.”

“You can’t even see people on the radio! The stage can take you to a different world!”

He leans down “So can radio. And being on the radio isn’t a useless pipe dream,”

“At least there already is someone like me on the movie screens. You think they would let a boy like you on the radio?” Her words are filled with venom, and it’s enough to immediately stop Alastor’s chortling.

“And what exactly is a boy like me?” he leans forward

“You’re weak!” she spits at him “You’re thin, like you haven’t eaten a day in your life, and you hardly sound like a man at all. Nobody wants to hear some little sissy yappin’ on the radio!” she grins as she knows that her hurtful comments have landed

“Says the girl who doesn’t know that cars drive on the road,”

“Oh dry up, ya rag-a-muffin!”

“You’re on my property, dollface! So get a wiggle on! Wearing your glad rags in the middle of the week,”

“These are my regular clothes!” She tosses over her shoulder and storms away from him

“Whatever you say doll,” he calls after her. She flips him the bird as she walks off. He pretends to be offended, “Oooh, rude doll.”

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romanceyourdemons · 5 months ago

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the toll of the sea (1922), featuring anna may wong in her first major role, certainly deserves a place in discussions of east asia in american cinema. from a technical perspective, the film is a triumph; its lushly colored visuals take full advantage of its very early technicolor film, anna may wong, a master of the silent film acting style, lends a deep empathetic gravity to the emotional arc of the story. the story, however, merits closer discussion. adapted from puccini’s madama butterfly, albeit transplanted from japan into china, the film reflects and encapsulates a number of contemporary stereotypes about and biased attitudes toward china, despite its sincere efforts to humanize and sympathetically portray chinese women. the chinese woman at the heart of the story is an extreme paragon of loyalty and innocence. she yearns for the freedom american women have, and yet, in her infantilized sweetness, she willingly binds herself to her american man and sacrifices herself for his sake. this instance of the demure, innocent asian girl trope is central to madama butterfly and at the center of any discussion thereof. more specifically to this film, the film’s narration frames it as a fairy tale despite its modern setting; “the far-away land of china,” with its whirling rainbow of funny clothes and its stiff, made-up traditions, allows an ancient legend to take place in 1919. this fundamental “time-displacement” of asia—a key tenet of orientalism, which frames asian culture as the ruins of a great ancient civilization lying half-dormant for the exploring white man to discover and make use of—also manifests itself in lotus flower’s comical attempts to dress herself up as a proper american wife. the lipstick-on-a-pig spectacle of lotus blossom prancing about proudly in clothes forty years out of date reflects and reinforces the then-accepted concept that asian-americans in general and chinese-americans in particular are intrinsically incapable of assimilating to american society. anna may wong’s subsequent career was also shackled by this mandatory exoticism, with racism and anti-miscegenation laws separating her onscreen roles as lotus flowers and daughters of the dragon ever more from her offscreen flapper persona. the attitudes behind this phenomenon are on display in the toll of the sea (1922), for all the care and empathy it tries to put into its story; the film has earned its place as a classic, and i would definitely recommend it

#ryddles

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100gayicons · 2 years ago

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GAY ICONS ANNA MAY WONG

As a young child living in Los Angeles during the early 1900s, Wong Liu Tsong dreaming of being an actress (Liu Tsong meaning "willow frost"). At the age of nine she pestered film crew to hirer her… so much so that she gained the nickname "C.C.C." or "Curious Chinese Child". Two years later she came up with her own stage name (Anna May Wong) - a combination of her original Chinese name and the Angelisized name used in school.

Despite her father’s objections, she was cast as an extra in The Red Lantern (1919) - her film debut. Soon, this and other extra roles motivated her to quit high school and pursue acting full time. She later said of her decision:

"I was so young when I began that I knew I still had youth if I failed, so I determined to give myself 10 years to succeed as an actress."

Her first screen credit came in 1921, when Wong was cast as Lon Chaney’s wife in “Bits of Life”. The next year she appeared in “The Toll of the Sea”, one of the first movies filmed in color. Variety singled out her performance as being “extraordinary”.

But unfortunately, despite her talent, Wong was primarily cast in stereotypical Asian roles. And if a film with a well rounded Asian character was available - Hollywood cast a Caucasian actress in “Yellow Face”.

For a time Wong had better success when she movie to Europe. There she befriended Marlene Dietrich and (pre-Nazi Propagandist) Leni Riefenstahl.

When Wong returned to Hollywood, she costarred with Marlene Dietrich in “Shanghai Express” in 1932. Although it was a supporting role, she played an important and heroic character.

During WWII, Wong focuses her efforts on raising money to help the Chinese cause against Japan.

In 1951, Wong starred in “The Gallery of Madame Liu-Song”, a 10 episode TV series where she played an art dealer turned detective - a major breakthrough as the first US television show starring an Asian-American.

Wong had planned to appearing in the film musical “Flower Drum Song” (1961) but died of a heart attack before production began.

The United States Mint announced in 2021 that Anna May Wong would be one of the first women depicted on the reverse of the quarter coin. This made her the first Asian American depicted on American coin.

Anna May Wong never married. When asked why not, she would answer:

“I am wedded to my art.”

She lived in an era when gay men and lesbian women dare not reveal themselves. But rumors persist that Wong was a lesbian. She has been linked to Marlene Dietrich, Leni Riefenstahl, Alla Nazimova, and Cecil Cunningham.

Whether Anna May Wong was a lesbian or not, her story deserves to be told.

UPDATE: Mattel released an Anna May Wong Barbie doll in May 2023!

#gay icons #Anna May Wong #Asian American #secret lesbian #marlene dietrich #shanghai express #stereotypes #Leni Riefenstahl #us mint #flower drum song

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irenethewoman · 1 year ago

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Mrs. Shelby- Chapter four- First Kiss

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In January 1919, Martha passed away. Even though I had expected it and had witnessed my parents being buried, I still couldn't accept it calmly. Little Maria clung to me, silently crying. I comforted her as I listened to the black priest's eulogy and looked at Martha's life summed up on her grave. I was in a daze at the funeral.

Afterward, little Maria and I walked together on the cemetery path. She greeted Uncle Tommy, who had arrived, but I couldn't make out their conversation. Ada took Maria away, and Tommy and I decided to take a walk.

Ever since I shared my life story with him that night, Thomas had been awkward around me. He thought I couldn't accept the gap in our status, but he was wrong. Chelsea's greenhouse flowers can't survive in Birmingham's mud, but I didn't feel like arguing with him now.

We walked in silence through the cold January wind in the cemetery. "Maria really likes you," Tommy said. "She's a lot like Martha, always seeing the best in this sad world." Talking about Martha made my heart ache. From a lively person to a cold grave, maybe Maria, Ada, and I would meet the same fate.

"What are you afraid of?" Tommy asked.

"What?" I didn't believe his blue eyes could read my thoughts.

"Our mother is buried here too." He pointed to a nearby tombstone with unclear engravings. It was all Shelbys around. I didn't ask about his father.

"Is your mother the same?" I asked.

"What?" He looked puzzled, a rare expression on him that made me proud.

"I was thinking, the women here all seem similar. They marry honest factory workers or knife-edge gangsters, have children, and care for the family until they die. A few lines on the tombstone summarize decades of life, only mentioning their father's surname, husband's surname, and children, but not themselves."

"I'm afraid I'll share the same fate," I admitted, placing a white lily on Mrs. Shelby's grave.

"Are you scared?" Tommy found this interesting.

"Of course. Do you think my privileged background means I'm not afraid of running away alone? Or is it cowardly to admit fear? I think it's brave to admit fear and still do it. I was afraid when I left home, when I lived penniless on the street, when I faced Polly, and when I shot 99 people. I said proudly. I don't know if my tombstone will someday read 'The brave and fearless Miss Diana Turner'—sounds more exciting than 'Mrs. So-and-so.'"

"Do you know how to use a gun?" I showed him the pistol Polly gave me and removed the bullets. "Don't underestimate women, Mr. Shelby."

"Thomas, or Tommy."

"What?"

"You can call me Tommy." His blue eyes, usually gloomy, now held a gentleness that I wished was meant for me.

After the funeral, my relationship with Thomas changed. We played chess and discussed business. I became concerned about him, especially when he woke me up to warm milk for the children.

One night, Thomas woke me up again. "For God's sake!" I sat up, frustrated. "Is there something you have to say at night?"

"That's not a motorcycle. This afternoon, my men stole motorcycles from the factory. I was there."

"That's a gun! Diana, it's munitions!"

I was stunned, listening to him list his trophies. "So many arms... Where are you hiding them?"

"Charlie's yard, where you were today."

I realized that with so many arms lost, London would investigate. But these arms could be a bargaining chip. We looked into each other's eyes and then kissed.

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #cillian murphy #fanfiction #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby smut

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haveyoureadthismgyabook · 7 months ago

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Series info...

Book one in the Dear America series

A Journey to the New World

The Winter of Red Snow: The Revolutionary War Diary of Abigail Jane Stewart, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, 1777 by Kristiana Gregory

When Will This Cruel War Be Over?: The Civil War Diary of Emma Simpson, Gordonsville, Virginia, 1864 by Barry Denenberg

A Picture of Freedom: The Diary of Clotee, a Slave Girl, Belmont Plantation, Virginia, 1859 by Patricia McKissack

Across the Wide and Lonesome Prairie: The Oregon Trail Diary of Hattie Campbell, 1847 by Kristiana Gregory

So Far from Home: The Diary of Mary Driscoll, an Irish Mill Girl, Lowell, Massachusetts, 1847 by Barry Denenberg

I Thought My Soul Would Rise and Fly: The Diary of Patsy, a Freed Girl, Mars Bluff, South Carolina, 1865 by Joyce Hansen

West to a Land of Plenty: The Diary of Teresa Angelino Viscardi, New York to Idaho Territory, 1883 by Jim Murphy

Dreams in the Golden Country: The Diary of Zipporah Feldman, a Jewish Immigrant Girl, New York City, 1903 by Kathryn Lasky

Standing in the Light: The Captive Diary of Catharine Carey Logan, Delaware Valley, Pennsylvania, 1763 by Mary Pope Osborne

Voyage on the Great Titanic: The Diary of Margaret Ann Brady, RMS Titanic, 1912 by Ellen Emerson White

A Line in the Sand: The Alamo Diary of Lucinda Lawrence, Gonzales, Texas, 1836 by Sherry Garland

My Heart Is on the Ground: The Diary of Nannie Little Rose, a Sioux Girl, Carlisle Indian School, Pennsylvania, 1880 by Ann Rinaldi

The Great Railroad Race: The Diary of Libby West, Utah Territory, 1868 by Kristiana Gregory

A Light in the Storm: The Civil War Diary of Amelia Martin, Fenwick Island, Delaware, 1861 by Karen Hesse

The Girl Who Chased Away Sorrow: The Diary of Sarah Nita, a Navajo Girl, New Mexico, 1864 by Ann Turner

A Coal Miner's Bride: The Diary of Anetka Kaminska, Lattimer, Pennsylvania, 1896 by Susan Campbell Bartoletti

Color Me Dark: The Diary of Nellie Lee Love, the Great Migration North, Chicago, Illinois, 1919 by Patricia McKissack

One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping: The Diary of Julie Weiss, Vienna, Austria to New York, 1938 by Barry Denenberg

My Secret War: The World War II Diary of Madeline Beck, Long Island, New York, 1941 by Mary Pope Osborne

Valley of the Moon: The Diary Of Maria Rosalia de Milagros, Sonoma Valley, Alta California, 1846 by Sherry Garland

Seeds of Hope: The Gold Rush Diary of Susanna Fairchild, California Territory, 1849 by Kristiana Gregory

Christmas After All: The Great Depression Diary of Minnie Swift, Indianapolis, Indiana, 1932 by Kathryn Lasky

Early Sunday Morning: The Pearl Harbor Diary of Amber Billows, Hawaii, 1941 by Barry Denenberg

My Face to the Wind: The Diary of Sarah Jane Price, a Prairie Teacher, Broken Bow, Nebraska, 1881 by Jim Murphy

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? The Diary of Molly MacKenzie Flaherty, Boston, Massachusetts, 1968 by Ellen Emerson White

A Time for Courage: The Suffragette Diary of Kathleen Bowen, Washington, D.C., 1917 by Kathryn Lasky

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: The Diary of Bess Brennan, Perkins School for the Blind, 1932 by Barry Denenberg

Survival in the Storm: The Dust Bowl Diary of Grace Edwards, Dalhart, Texas, 1935 by Katelan Janke

When Christmas Comes Again: The World War I Diary of Simone Spencer, New York City to the Western Front, 1917 by Beth Seidel Levine

Land of the Buffalo Bones: The Diary of Mary Ann Elizabeth Rodgers, an English Girl in Minnesota, New Yeovil, Minnesota, 1873 by Marion Dane Bauer

Love Thy Neighbor: The Tory Diary of Prudence Emerson, Green Marsh, Massachusetts, 1774 by Ann Turner

All the Stars in the Sky: The Santa Fe Trail Diary of Florrie Mack Ryder, The Santa Fe Trail, 1848 by Megan McDonald

Look to the Hills: The Diary of Lozette Moreau, a French Slave Girl, New York Colony, 1763 by Patricia McKissack

I Walk in Dread: The Diary of Deliverance Trembley, Witness to the Salem Witch Trials, Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1691 by Lisa Rowe Fraustino

Hear My Sorrow: The Diary of Angela Denoto, a Shirtwaist Worker, New York City, 1909 by Deborah Hopkinson

The Fences Between Us: The Diary of Piper Davis, Seattle, Washington, 1941 by Kirby Larson

Like the Willow Tree: The Diary of Lydia Amelia Pierce, Portland, Maine, 1918 by Lois Lowry

Cannons at Dawn: The Second Diary of Abigail Jane Stewart, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, 1779 by Kristiana Gregory

With the Might of Angels: The Diary of Dawnie Rae Johnson, Hadley, Virginia, 1954 by Andrea Davis Pinkney

Behind the Masks: The Diary of Angeline Reddy, Bodie, California, 1880 by Susan Patron

A City Tossed and Broken: The Diary of Minnie Bonner, San Francisco, California, 1906 by Judy Blundell

Down the Rabbit Hole: The Diary of Pringle Rose, Chicago, Illinois, 1871 by Susan Campbell Bartoletti

#books #middle grade #historical fiction #journey to the new world #dear america #poll #kathryn lasky

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poetryandbloods-blog · 10 months ago

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Rosalie (1936 - 1975)

Harrison (1919 - 1979)

Petúnia (1957 - )

Vernon (1955 - )

- They were Irish, so they suffered prejudice in England due to their origin.

- Harrison served in the exercise during the Second World War, as did several men in his family, the name "Harry" is a tribute to him who died when Lily was pregnant.

- He worked in the same factory as Tobias, but in the administrative part.

- They were not rich, but working class.

- He and his wife adored Severus, although they found his and Lily's friendship too codependent and worried about what it would be like when they both grew up.

- He taught Severus many things, about personal care, fishing, camping, he loved watching action movies and always took Severus with him because the girls didn't like it. Some of Snape's best memories involve the Evans family.

- They were a very religious Catholic family, but they never treated Lily differently because she was a witch.

- All the women in Rosalie's family are named after flowers, if Lily and Petunia had a daughter they would follow the tradition.

- Petunia looks a lot like her mother, but she inherited her father's blonde hair.

- Petunia was always jealous of Lily, because as she was the youngest she ended up being more spoiled and less scolded by her parents, when her friendship with Severus emerged she felt even more replaced.

- Rosalie died of cancer when Lily was 15 years old, which led to their separation, Harrison died when Lily was pregnant with Harry after a heart attack.

#harry potter #vernon dursley #petunia dursley #evans family #lily evans #portraits #dursley family

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vintagedreamsofsennett · 3 months ago

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Eddy & Louise

#louise fazenda #edgar kennedy #fatty's tintype tangle 1915 #bombs! 1916 #hearts and flowers 1919

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scotianostra · 2 years ago

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Adam Archibald was born on 14th January 1879 at Leith.

Archibald was awarded the Victoria Croos for an act of bravery during Worlad War One near Ors, France.

Adam was the son of Rennie Archibald, a Plasterer, and Christina Archibald, of 24 Shaws Street, Edinburgh. He lived at 53 Balfour Street with his wife and four children, and before he joined the Army in 1916 he had been Outside Foreman with Stewart’s Granolithic Co Ltd of Duff Street. In his younger days he had been a keen footballer and had had a trial with StBernard’s FC, an early Football club that rivalled Hibs and Hearts during the Victorian era. Adam aws also a bowler and at the time of his enlistment he had been President of the Eastfield Bowling Club. Another of his hobbies was gardening and he had won prizes at local flower shows. He was a freemason belonging to the Elgin and Bruce Lodge at Limekilns in Fife,

b. 14/01/1879 Leith, Edinburgh, Scotland. d. 10/03/1957 Leith.

Adam Archibald (1879-1957) was born on 14th January 1879 at Leith, Midlothian, Scotland. He was the son of Rennie Archibald, a Plasterer, and Christina Archibald, of 24 Shaws Street, Edinburgh. He lived at 53 Balfour Street with his wife and four children, and before he joined the Army in 1916 he had been Outside Foreman with Stewart’s Granolithic Co Ltd of Duff Street. In his younger days he had been a keen footballer and had had a trial with StBernard’s FC. He was also a bowler and at the time of his enlistment he had been President of the Eastfield Bowling Club. Another of his hobbies was gardening and he had won prizes at local flower shows. He was a freemason belonging to the Elgin and Bruce Lodge at Limekilns in Fife.

He enlisted with the 7th Durham Light Infantry before transferring to the 218th Field Company, Royal Engineers during the second battle of the Sambre. At the age of 39, he was awarded the Victoria Cross for action while his unit was attempting to bridge the Sambre–Oise Canal.

On 4th November 1918 near Ors, France, Sapper Archibald was with a party building a floating bridge across the canal. He was foremost in the work under a very heavy artillery barrage and machine-gun fire. The latter was directed at him from a few yards distance while he was working on the cork floats. Nevertheless, he persevered in his task and his example and efforts were such that the bridge which was essential to the success of the operations was very quickly completed. Immediately afterwards Sapper Archibald collapsed from gas poisoning.

He received his Victoria Cross from King George V at Buckingham Palace in May 1919. After his discharge he returned to his job with Stuart’s Granolithic Works in Edinburgh, eventually rising to a position as manager of their Duff Street works. He passed away at his home in Leith on 10th Marrch 1957 at the age of 76. He was cremated at Warriston Crematorium, Edinburgh. His name is on the memorial there. His medals are on display with those of Major Waters at the Royal Engineers Museum, Gillingham, Kent.

#scotland #scottish #leither #soldier #world war one #heore #victoria cross #act of bravery #history

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hookedonapirate · 2 years ago

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Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!

Based on Lady Chatterley's Lover for @captainswanmoviemarathon

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Also on: AO3

Chapter Seven

Killian traces Emma’s nipple with a blue forget-me-not before drawing the hard, pink bud into his mouth. Her breath catches as he sucks firmly, swirling his tongue around her areola as the beautiful naked goddess lies there, her gorgeous legs going on for days, her green eyes as luminous as the grass underneath her. He gives her abandoned nipple the same treatment, following the silky petals with his tongue.

Emma softly moans above him, her hands running through his hair, her breaths shallow as he kisses her nipples. Guiding the petals through the valley of her gorgeous breasts and down her stomach, he follows the smooth slope of her abdomen and the lovely dip of her belly button until he reaches the sacred place between her legs.

He plucks off the stems and places a flower on each nipple and one on her navel. Soon the hair below her waist is covered in flowers.

They’re both naked from head to toe, and he enjoys the freedom of being with her like this out in the open. Well, not completely in the open. Of course, no one can know about them, but he’s okay with that. As long as she’s his when they’re in the forest, that’s all he cares about.

Killian leaves a kiss on every inch of smooth, delicate skin; there are some areas where he has left love bruises, his fingertips pressing too firmly around her hips, her thighs and her breasts. She enjoys when he grabs her roughly, when he’s not gentle. Emma’s breaths thicken with every kiss he leaves, especially when he gets closer and closer to her glistening center.

He presses his lips to her thigh and her folds, but she’s too impatient and grabs him, pulling him up. She pushes his back into the ground so she can climb him, straddling his lap, the flowers falling away from her body. But he’s not complaining. There’s something very pure about Emma’s naked body against the pale blue sky, her long, golden hair cascading down her back. He grabs her hips firmly in his hands, lifting her up so he can enter her.

She rides him there in the grass, the birds fluttering around them as she descends upon his length, her clenching walls pulling him in further, her breasts softly bouncing above him.

As Emma reaches her climax, her body arches, her breasts round and golden in the sunlight, her pink nipples protruding as she dips her head back, moans spilling from her lips, making his heart soar. It’s such a glorious sight to behold, and his own release follows, euphoria flooding through him as he succumbs to his radiant goddess. He groans as her warm, shuddering walls milk him for all he’s worth, every last drop of his seed filling her up.

Her shuddering eventually ceases, along with her whimpers. Killian admires the beauty still gaining her bearings above him. Amidst her sweet, flushed features, Emma’s face shines radiantly in the sun. He has never seen something so beautiful and enchanting in his life.

She collapses onto him as he waits for his heart to slow and his breathing to normalize. As they bask in their bliss, silence settles between them for a few moments before they’re able to speak again, and they eventually fall into easy conversation.

Emma’s chin is propped up in her palm as she traces his nipple with a flower, the petals soft on his skin. “Tell me about your brother. What was he like?”

Killian’s heart aches at the mention of Liam, but he doesn’t mind the question. In fact, he is always pleased when she asks him personal questions. After she never showed up at his cottage, he had been afraid he wouldn’t get to see her again. Or spend time with her. So he is beyond grateful for every second he gets with her. “He had risen through the ranks and became captain. He was a good man and a very clever officer. He was five years older than me and raised me after our parents died, and I aspired to be like him. I let him sort of run my life, and I don’t regret it.” He brings his hand to her arm, his thumb caressing her supple skin. “Tell me about your sister.”

“She lives in Scotland with her husband, David. They’ve been traveling a lot since the war, and we write to each other all the time.” She circles his other nipple with the flower as she peers down at the movement. “I told her about you.”

He arches a brow, surprised, as he props himself up on his elbows. “You did?”

With a small smile on her lips, she returns her gaze to him. “I didn’t mention your name or that you’re Neal’s gamekeeper. But I told her I was opening my heart up to someone.” She glides the flower over his chest, her eyes following the movement. “At the wedding, she told me I needed to open up my heart. Neal and I rushed into marriage, and she knew I didn’t love him.”

Killian’s eyes widen as he looks at her. He couldn’t imagine marrying someone he didn’t love. “You didn’t?”

She shakes her head, her eyes jaded. “I cared for him, and I wanted to love him, but I just couldn’t.”

“You don’t now?”

“No. He’s not the man I thought he was.”

“But you feel your heart opening up now...because of me?” His heart thumps at the possibility.

She nods and looks up at him, her luminous green eyes meeting his blue ones. “Yes.”

Killian takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “I was afraid you wouldn’t meet me today.”

“How come?”

“Well when you didn’t come to the cottage, I didn’t think I’d see you again. Or at least get to spend time with you.”

Regret clouds over her face. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what, love?”

“There are a million ways to get hurt in this world, and I was afraid if I opened my heart up, I’d be exposing myself. I was afraid to get hurt like I did when my mother died. I didn’t want to go through that pain again.”

Killian’s heart constricts. “I know what you mean. I was afraid too. Which is why I keep to myself mostly. After Milah, I didn’t want to take a chance to expose myself again.”

“But you took a chance on me?”

“Aye.” He grins and leans in to kiss her lips. “And I’m glad I did.”

“I’m glad too. Now I couldn’t stay away if I wanted to.”

Killian smirks. “Well I am devilishly handsome.”

Emma laughs. “True, but it’s more than that.”

He studies her for a moment. “How about we make an oath?”

“An oath?”

“Aye. That no matter what happens or how many times you have to leave me, you’ll always come back.” He picks another flower and plucks off the stem, taking the ring finger of her right hand in his. She gives him an odd look, wondering what he’s doing as he ties the stem around her finger.

“I, Killian, take you, Emma, in strength and in freedom…and in ecstasy.”

Emma giggles and does the same, taking the stem off and wrapping it around the ring finger of his right hand. “I, Emma, take you, Killian, in strength and in freedom…and in ecstasy.”

He takes her hand in his, staring deeply into her eyes. “I now pronounce us husband and wife in the forest.”

Emma giggles again, the sound making him grin as he leans in to kiss her lips.

“There. Now it’s official.”

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

Emma lies her head on his chest and he wraps his arms around her, his heart thumping underneath her head as silence falls over them again. She cards her fingers through his chest hair, breathing softly against his skin. “Did you know you have four different kinds of hair?”

Killian arches a brow as she lifts her head and brushes a hand through the hair on his head. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” Emma picks up a forget-me-not and tucks it behind his ear. “You have dark brown on your head.” She drags her fingers over his beard. “You have ginger on your chin and cheeks.” Then she picks up another flower and drags it down his chest hair, tracing each of his nipples, the petals soft and cool on his skin. “Your chest is darker than the hair on your head, almost black.” She traces the trail down to the root of his stomach, following the path with her lips, kissing his navel and continuing below his waist. He melts underneath her, enjoying the feel of her warm, silky lips on his skin.

She threads a few flowers into his hair and takes his balls in her hand, giving them a gentle squeeze, his cock hardening among the brownish red curls. “And your hair here—your love-hair—is like a little bush of cinnamon mistletoe. It’s the loveliest of all.”

He looks down and sees the forget-me-nots in the hair on his groin as she smirks up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.

When she rises to her knees and leans over him, her lovely arse sticking out up toward the sky, she drags her tongue up his length. He groans, sinking his head back into the ground as she gently massages his balls and wraps her plump lips around his velvety tip, softly sucking the bead of precum into her mouth.

She peers up at him, those luminous green eyes locked with his blue ones as her tongue slides up and down his length. She wraps her lips around him, slowly devouring him whole, his cock disappearing into her warm, wet mouth.

She moans around his length, tasting the saltiness of his pre-come and the tanginess of her own nectar on his shaft. He enjoys the softness and warmth of her mouth as she bobs her head up and down, drawing groans from his throat, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he slides his hands through her golden locks.

He moves his hips toward her every time she draws him into her mouth, seeking more friction. She quickens the pace and takes him deeper, as deep as she can until the tip of him is hitting the back of her throat. That coupled with her hand cupping his balls has him coming in record time, groaning loudly, his muscles convulsing as he explodes violently into her mouth. She swallows his offering down her throat and falls next to him as he regains his bearings and waits for the world to stop spinning. But honestly, he doesn't want it to stop.

“Bloody hell…”

~*~

Over the next few weeks, Emma meets Killian every day, either in the morning after breakfast or in the afternoon before supper. Sometimes they go to the hut, sometimes to a clearing in the forest. She wants to go to his cottage, but she knows if she does, she’ll want more time than she’ll be afforded. Unless she spends the night with him. Which she desperately wants. They both want to but it’s a risk. One she’s willing to take. So when he invites her over for a night, she gives him an affirmative yes and this time, she doesn’t plan on backing out like the first time he invited her to his cottage.

Emma goes upstairs as early as she can without giving Neal a reason to be suspicious and slips on her nightdress. Half-past nine, before the house is locked up for the night, she gets out of bed and goes outside her bedroom to listen. There is no sound, so she sneaks quietly downstairs. Neal and Mrs. Bolton are playing cards like they do most nights and will probably go on until midnight.

She returns to her room and puts on boots and a light coat. If she runs into anyone, she’ll just say she’s going out for a few minutes. And in the morning, when she returns, she’ll just claim to have gone for a little walk as she fairly often does before breakfast. The only danger is that someone might go into her room during the night. But unless there’s an emergency, chances are very slim.

Emma slips out silently and unseen. There is a half-moon shining in the sky, enough to light her way, but not enough for her to be seen in her dark-gray coat. She skitters across the park, her heart racing at the prospect of meeting the gamekeeper. They’ve been together many times now, but this is the first time she’ll be meeting him at his cottage.

When she approaches the park gate, she hears the click of the latch. He’s there, waiting for her in the darkness of the forest. Emma throws her arms around him, kissing his lips, her heart fluttering with excitement.

“You’re early,” he murmurs against her mouth, bringing his free arm around her waist, his other hand holding a lantern. “Did everything go alright?”

“Perfectly easy.”

He shuts the gate after her and shines the lantern, his other hand grabbing hers as they make their way through the forest.

Once they arrive at his cottage and go in, he locks it behind them. The kettle is singing by the fire, and there are cups on the table.

He sets down the lantern and helps her out of her coat, hanging it on the door. Her shoes are wet, so she removes them and sits in the wooden armchair with her stockinged feet, warming herself in front of the fire.

“Would you like some cocoa or tea or coffee to drink?”

“I’ll have some cocoa, thank you.”

He makes it for her and hands her a cup of the hot beverage before taking a seat in the chair, which is placed against a wall as he unlaces his heavy boots. Emma sips her cocoa and looks over at him, noticing an enlarged photograph in an intricate gilded frame above his head. It shows a married couple—a young, clean-shaven man in a uniform and an older raven-haired woman in a wedding gown. Emma is pierced with jealousy, even though she has no reason to be jealous. Killian is no longer with his wife. They are separated and he wants nothing to do with her ever again. He has expressed that sentiment many times.

“Is that you?”

Killian twists around in his chair and looks up to see what she’s referring to, and to her joy, he frowns, his face clouding over with hatred at the photograph as he turns to look back at her. “Aye. Taken on our wedding day. I was twenty-one.”

“Do you like it?”

He shakes his head, his nose twisting with revulsion. She almost regrets bringing the photograph to his attention. “No. I never liked the bloody damn thing.” He pulls off his boots and looks up at Emma. “She carted off everything that was worth taking from the house. Except for that hideous thing.”

Emma knits her brows together. “Then why do you keep it? For sentimental reasons?”

“No, I never look at it. I hardly notice it’s there. It’s been there since we came to this place and I never cared enough to bother with it.”

“Why don’t you burn it?”

He glances up at the photograph again and ponders that thought. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it?” He pulls on a pair of slippers, rises and stands on the chair, lifting the large frame and setting it against the wall. The photograph leaves a pale rectangular spot on the green wallpaper.

He goes to the scullery and returns with a hammer and pincers. Sitting back in the chair, he disassembles the frame until he has the photograph out on its solid white mount. He studies it in amusement. “Shows me for what I was, a young curate, and her for what she is, a bully.”

“Let me see.” Emma rises from her chair and goes over to get a better look.

He did indeed look clean-cut and straight-laced, but the woman doesn’t look like much of a bully. In fact, she has an appealing face. But she supposes Killian can no longer look at Milah’s face without seeing the woman he knows her as now.

“One should never keep things that bring sour memories.”

He agrees, breaking the photograph and cardboard mount asunder over his knee, and she helps him throw the broken pieces into the flames, watching the picture of a younger and briefly happy Killian and Milah disintegrate and turn into ash just like their marriage.

When she looks over at him, she’s afraid he might feel sorry for burning the photo, but there’s not a hint of regret or compunction on his face. Instead, he looks relieved. She is too. The burning of the wedding photograph signifies Killian leaving the past in the dust and looking forward to the future. A future with Emma perhaps? She wishes she could burn her own wedding photograph.

He stores the now empty frame, along with the glass and backboard upstairs and returns, sitting in the chair.

Emma goes over and sits in his lap, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck as he holds her. “Did you love her?”

“I did. Once.” His eyes are sullen as he looks up at her and brushes some stray hairs from her face. “But that doesn’t matter to me anymore.” He cups her cheeks in his hands, bringing her lips to his, murmuring against them. “You matter to me. This matters—what we have together.”

“But what if she comes back?”

He shakes his head. “It would make no difference. I would not take her back.”

Emma’s eyes sting with tears as she thinks about what could happen if Killian ever resented her for having an affair with him. Would he hate her just as he hates Milah? “Do you look down on me for being with you while I’m a married woman?”

His brows furrow as if he’s not sure why she would ask such a thing. “Of course not. If I did, I wouldn’t be with you.”

Emma looks away as a tear falls down her cheek.

He takes her chin in his hand, tips it toward him and gazes into her eyes. “You’re nothing like Milah. She hates me, and you…I know you cared for Sir Neal. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stayed with him and taken care of him. And I cared for Milah...I gave her everything I had, and she took it all...except for that bloody photograph.”

Emma laughs at that, relieved Killian does not think less of her despite his own situation. She rests her forehead on his, brushing their noses together. She captures his lips slowly and tenderly, her heart fluttering as their tongues collide.

Killian rubs her back in soothing circles as she strokes a hand along his chest, both getting lost in the kiss. “I want to take this off.” He gathers her nightdress in his hands, pulling the batiste over her head and tossing it to the floor, his eyes coasting over her naked curves as hotly as the heat of the flames behind her. He brushes a thumb over her bare nipple, teasing it to hardness before drawing it into his warm mouth. She moans, arching herself into him.

“You must take off your clothes too,” she murmurs, her voice wrecked.

He secures her in his arms and rises, bringing them both to the hearthrug in front of the crackling flames. He removes his clothes and settles between her legs. The fire casts a ruddy light over him, every curve of muscle sharply delineated by the shadows.

When he leans in to kiss her neck, her hands slide over his back and cup his ass, her fingers curving around the firm globes to pull him closer. Her eyes slide half-closed as she feels his hard cock pressed against her center, and she squirms slightly underneath him and wraps her legs snugly around his waist. She’s so incredibly wet for him.

His lips tip into a smirk as he swipes some stray hairs from her face, his fingers lightly grazing her skin. She raises a hand to his head, tangling his fingers in his soft, thick hair, and pulling him into a kiss.

Their tongues mingle frantically as he enters her, their mouths parting only briefly to gasp in air, then resealing. Emma’s hands are clenched around Killian’s biceps, anchoring herself as she gets lost in the kiss and the feel of his body against hers. The feel of his thickness inside her as he rocks into her. It’s so different from every other time, it’s tender and slow and so much more than primitive fucking. So much more than a physical act of lust and more like an expression of affection and feelings.

“Come for me, Emma,” Killian urges softly, fighting to hold back his own orgasm. “Let me see you come, feel you...”

Emma cries out his name, her body trembling, driving him over the edge at almost the same instant, pleasure raging through both of them.

Moments later, they lay on their sides, Killian behind Emma, holding her, both facing the now blazing fire.

They eventually go upstairs to bed, for it’s getting chilly. She nestles up to him under the blankets, so warm and enveloped and basking in the feeling of his naked skin against hers. It’s been a long time since she slept with a man. And it’s the first time she and Killian have shared a bed. They have been together a countless number of times, but it’s always been in the hut or outside in the forest. Never in his cottage. Never in his bed. And so they lay in each other’s arms, never moving until the sun rises, its warm rays seeping through the forest.

She’s still wrapped in his arms and can feel him stroking her skin. She opens her eyes, smiling against his face.

When she looks at him, he smiles and kisses her lips. “Good morning, love.”

“Good morning.” She looks around the little bedroom with its sloping ceiling and gable window where the curtains are closed. The room is bare, save for a chest of drawers, a chair and the small bed in which they lie.

When she turns her eyes to his, he’s watching her, his fingers stroking her breasts under the blanket.

“Shall I draw the curtains?”

“Oh, yes, the birds are singing. Let the sun in.”

He slips out of bed, his back to her, and goes to the window, drawing the curtains and looking out for a moment. Emma can’t help but stare at him, his back long and muscular, his butt round and beautiful and his thighs thick and powerful, the muscles in his arms and legs rippling as he moves, his skin bronzed by the sun. He is piercingly beautiful, just as he was when she saw him that afternoon washing himself.

When he turns around, his eyes roam over her naked body as she lays on the bed, his cock fully erect.

She catches her lower lip between her teeth, her center heating up. “Don’t tease me.” She crawls toward him on her hands and knees, wrapping her arms around his waist and drawing him to her, breasts touching the tip of his cock, nipple catching a bead of come as she kisses his stomach.

He growls that heavenly growl of his, blue eyes surging with heat. “Lie down.”

She does as she’s told, he climbs atop her and they make love once again, unspeakable pleasure washing over her as he quickly brings her to the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing over her, carrying her away.

Afterward, they lay spent and satiated in the aftermath, his face pressed against her soft breasts. “You must get up, mustn’t you?” he groans in protest.

“What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.”

She sighs, running her fingers through his disheveled hair. “I suppose I must.” She is resenting the time, as she always does, when she has to leave him.

After a while, he reaches for his shirt and puts it on, dressing himself and gazing at her wistfully, the sunlight shining through the window.

He goes downstairs, giving her time to get up and dress.

But it is very hard to leave and takes every ounce of willpower. Outside the window, she sees Jolly roaming around. It’s a clear, clean morning, with birds flying and triumphantly singing. If only she could stay. If only the other dreadful world of smoke and iron didn’t exist. If only this could be her world.

Finally, she gets out of bed.

She descends the steep, narrow wooden stairs, the fire burning, the smell of bacon wafting through the cottage. They eat breakfast together, and he walks her to the park gate, both of them bitter about having to kiss each other goodbye at their tree.

Knowing she’ll be back is the only thing that makes her feel better about leaving. It’s the only thing that keeps her going back to Goldby.

~*~

The next morning, at the first vestiges of consciousness, Emma is afraid to open her eyes. Because she knows if she does, he won't be next to her. He'll be in his cottage or at the hut, and she'll be here, in her room at Goldby, living another day as the wife of a baronet. Trapped within the walls of this place, and only free once she passes through the park gate where her husband in the forest will be waiting for her.

But for now, she is alone. No strong arms wrapped around her, no fingers or lips tracing every inch of skin, no piercing blue eyes gazing at her with adoration. Just the cold emptiness of her room.

Emma groans as she turns on her side, not wanting to get up. But turning on her side is not comfortable because her breasts are sore, so she returns to her back, but it does little to alleviate the—

Her eyes fly open, her hands cupping her breasts. She squeezes them gently to test their tenderness, and she throws off the covers, scrambling out of bed and hurrying to the mirror. Her nightdress ties in the front, and she unfastens it to pull her top open and examine her breasts. They're swollen and tender, the nipples a bit darker, a salmon pink as opposed to their normal pale pink.

In normal circumstances, she'd blame it on her monthly cycle, but she hasn't had her period in quite a while. In fact, she hasn't had her period since before she started having sex with the gamekeeper.

Her face pales when she does the math in her head, and the realization crashes over her.

She's pregnant.

#cs ff #captain swan #lady cassidy's lover #captainswanmoviemarathon

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e-m-p-error · 1 year ago

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Ostello And Family

Oscar Lawrence was born to Ruth and Timothy Lawrence in 1899. On December 25th, 1910, Timothy died in the line of duty as a firefighter. This left Ruth to raise her son and navigate a blossoming romance with Marty Nichols, a friend of the family. While he never harbored any bad feelings for Marty, he never did grow to see him as his father.

When he was 20 (August 3rd, 1919), he met 17 year-old Olivia Fairchild at a church choir meeting, who became almost instantly infatuated with him. He was not really looking for a relationship, but his mother insisted that he try dating, and Olivia was earnest about gaining his affections. They married in July of 1921, just a few short months after Oscar became a famous pop-jazz singer.

When Oscar was 33 and Olivia was 28 (March 15th, 1932), they welcomed Gertrude Rose Lawrence into the world. His one-sided emotional affair with Alastor (@ritzy-cervidae) was what prompted her middle name to be rose, as those were his favorite flowers. It was his crush on Alastor that spurred the making of Gertie in the first place.

He was an absentee father, touring and doing movie shoots in Hollywood a lot of the time while his wife and daughter remained in Nebraska. In the long run, he was a better father to Shirley Temple than he was to his actual daughter. He knew her so little that he didn't remember her full name was Gertrude and not Gertie.

After falling into Hell when he died of a combination of liver failure and a heart attack at 45 (May 3rd, 1944), Ostello sunk into his work. He did not date from 1944-1972, until he met Valentino at one of his infamous parties. He was instantly infatuated and they married two months later. While he wanted a child with Valentino, it never actually happened for them.

#HEADCANONS ➽➽➽#I Love You Oh So Madly But I Don’t Stand A Ghost Of A Chance With You (σѕтєℓℓσ)#But The Best Story That I Could Ever Tell Is The One Where I Am Growing Old With You (Ostello ♡ Valentino)#cw death #cw chronic illness #cw liver failure #cw heart attack #cw cheating #cw religion mention

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 2 years ago

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When the Longing Returns (Phantom of the Opera 2004 Fanfiction) || Erik x Christine

Chapter 4 Author's Notes

Read the fic here on Tumblr, or on AO3

◇ Raoul was started rather rudely awake by Mme. Giry rapping her stick against the leg of his chair, and made to leave the immediate vicinity.

Abbreviation of the French title "Madame". "Mademoiselle" being "Mlle." And "Monsieur" being "M." (Plural "Messieurs" being MM.)

◇ Her parting wish was also affectionate. She couldn't help that, though he was older than she, he was still the soft-hearted boy who had retrieved her red scarf from the surf

Exact ages are always of some debate in this story. We know that in the book (and presumably the play also--although given musical theater casting conventions, its understandable why they keep it vague) Christine and Raoul are about the same age (twenty at least).

However this fic is based on the movie, in which Christine's age is sixteen. Whether you choose to accept this exact age in my story is entirely up to your discretion--the birthdate that confirms her age appears on her gravestone in the 1919 tag on the film; which doesn't exist in my canon because I've altered the timeline. So I'm also keeping it vague--Christine could be as old as nineteen in this story.

Patrick Wilson was thirty during filming and, though a very fresh-faced thirty, he most definitely is not passable as being near Christine's age. Raoul would have to be, at the very least, three or four years older than Christine (so 20-24). This would make Raoul ten or eleven during their summer in Brittany.

An even more believable scenario to me, however, is that Raoul was fourteen (seven years older than Christine, making him now 24-28) when they met, and he took the trouble to keep her company when her father was engaged as his music tutor (not something many fourteen year old viscounts would do, even those lacking for company their own age), which caused her to develop a crush on him. This age gap might explain why Raoul is so patronizingly overprotective of her.

It's notable that in the film, Raoul does not share Christine's experience of growing up without parents (unlike in the book), while Erik (though not orphaned, presumably abandoned) does. This not only removes any potential for Raoul and Christine bonding over that trauma as they do in the book, it also puts them on more uneven footing in terms of maturity. Christine's circumstances have put her in a position in which (though still sheltered and relatively innocent) she has matured faster, while Raoul's petted and privileged life as a rich only child with both parents still living has allowed him to stagnate in his rather charmed youth a good while longer.

◇ She opened it, and withdrew a beautiful pair of ivory silk slippers embroidered with blue and yellow flowers.

It has always bothered me that Christine goes to the lair in her stocking feet in the movie. The idea that Erik would allow that—ludicrous. So I’m indulging a little bit here by having him specifically make sure Christine’s tootsies are warm and dry. Victorian evening and bedroom slippers were less sharply defined than you might think. It was common for both to have heels or to be flat. Christine’s slippers here have only a small heel, as that would be more comfortable for her.

◇ She debated whether to tie her hair back... she seemed to recall it somehow coming undone the last time she traveled down into the tunnels below the opera.

I am not above meta references, as you will see. I noticed that the exact moment when Christine's hair is first seen completely loose is when she is riding César.

Here is Christine as she is when she steps through the mirror with her perfect neat halo and smooth curls

Here we can see they've changed to the more voluminous style. Sexier, but still up...

And this is the next shot as they round the corner, and her hair is now completely loose.

My Watsonian (ie in-universe) explanation for this is that Erik snatched whatever ribbon was tying her hair back when he helped her mount the horse.

◇ She picked up the black ribbon she'd used to tie her hair that morning, pulling it through her fingers thoughtfully, and then suddenly remembered exactly how she had come by it: tied around a red rose.

Christine's hair is tied with a black ribbon in "Twisted Every Way"

It's probably too wide to be the ribbon from Erik's rose, but this is what gave me the idea.

I'd love to know exactly what Christine's state of mind was between the First Lair and Il Muto. My thought is, probably confused. Erik clearly jump-started her repressed Victorian sexuality with Music of the Night, but then they both mucked it up with the unmasking and the aftermath, so then those wonderful new feelings she experienced because of him are tainted with negativity and fear, as I explored in the first chapter. But it seems possible to me that when the rose withered, she kept the ribbon and has been subconsciously using it to tie her hair all this time.

◇ But Mathilde Giry knew that Christine would never swear on her father's grave unless her conviction was entirely sober.

I'm very annoyed that in the novel we learn the name of Mme. Giry's late husband ("Jules") but not hers.

So I made this up--this name has no basis in canon, nor in any other off-shoot properties. I don't know why, but Miranda Richardson's Mme. Giry just seems like a 'Mathilde' to me.

Perhaps it's because whenever my dog Matty, who we nicknamed 'Matilda', does something particularly annoying I have a tendency to call her "Mathilde" with a very Miranda Richardson-esque hissy French accent.

I put this to a vote here on Tumblr, with the other option being "Julie" (a play on her husband's name in the book) and this won by quite a margin.

Quite by coincidence, after finishing this chapter, I learned that the name of the victim in Gaston Leroux's acclaimed locked-room mystery story The Mystery of the Yellow Room (who also appears in its follow-up, The Perfume of the Lady in Black) happens to be "Mathilde". I swear I had no knowledge of that fact until after the chapter was finished. This is a complete coincidence. I mean, "Mathilde" isn't an uncommon name in France, but at the same time it's not one you pull off the top of your head either. I was very taken aback to find that my chosen name had ties to Leroux's works.

◇ He'd gone out the previous night and scanned the shop windows until he found those exquisite confections of ivory satin, and blue and yellow silk thread. Christine loved blue.

This is a little headcanon of mine; that Erik knows Christine’s favorite color when Raoul doesn’t. Raoul thinks that her favorite color is red, because of her red scarf, but actually, it’s blue.

◇ Her mouth was rather broad, which he understood was not considered the ideal of beauty by Tout-Paris. It was no demure bud fit only for petty conversation, but a rose in full bloom, made to open wide and pour out the hallowed tones of music… and other sacred tones which he hoped, soon, to draw from her.

Emmy Rossum (who is the basis for this Christine), though undeniably gorgeous by modern standards, very much bucks 19th century beauty ideals. The ideal Victorian beauty had a small, round face; graceful, sloping shoulders; large eyes, and a tiny, rosebud mouth. Contrast that with Emmy’s high shoulders and broad mouth and you can see that, though perhaps “pretty”, her Christine would likely be considered somewhat scrawny and gawky.

Tout-Paris is a French expression: literally translated, it means “All of Paris”, but it specifically refers to Paris’s fashionable elite, similar to the concept of “The Ton” in England. This expression is used by Leroux in the novel when he first introduces the character “Known by all of fashionable Paris as ‘The Persian’”.

◇ "The stone is Alexandrite," he explained.

Finally the last details on the ring! The stone is, as Erik says, Alexandrite.

You'll forgive my terrible photo editing skills. This is exactly how I imagine the ring, and the setting runs very close to Ramin Karimloo's ring in the 25th Anniversary at the Royal Albert Hall.

Alexandrite was a relatively new gemstone in the mid-nineteenth century. It was discovered in the Ural mountains of Russia in the 1830's. As it was noted to shift colors between red and green (the national colors of imperial Russia) it became the national gem and was named after the Czar. Because of its novelty it became very much in demand for jewelry throughout Europe and Asia minor.

As with all gems, symbolism was attached to it; in this case the symbolism shifts with the color. Appearing green in natural light, it became associated with decisiveness and clarity of thought, as well as hope and resolution; in firelight the gem takes on a hot red tone which symbolizes passionate emotion and romantic love. Given these two sides of the stone, those who attribute certain powers to gemstones believe the use of Alexandrite to be beneficial when making important decisions regarding matters of the heart. (In Ch. 3, Christine notes that she feels clear-headed when she holds and looks at it 😉)

Though I don't put sway in such ideas myself, it seemed fitting to me, given the magnitude of the choice Christine made in the cemetery, that the ring Erik gives her should have such symbolism as would encourage and validate her resolve in her decision.

Interestingly enough, I actually made the choice of Alexandrite for the ring simply based off of its neutral smoky teal-gray color before I even checked the symbolism.

The smoky teal-gray neutral tone above mentioned. You can imagine the ring like this if you're more into the John Owen-Jones style

As you can see, Erik's ring in the musical is usually a polished black stone, probably onyx or maybe jet (though some have had red stones). I decided not to use either of these because their association are generally not very positive, given the context. Jet is associated with healing and grief, and, while onyx is apparently sometimes meant to ward off unwanted romantic attentions, it usually just represents death or mourning--hence my choice to swap it for an alternative dark(ish) stone. (Although maybe the onyx would be useful for putting Raoul off lol!)

◇ "I acquired it in Persia"

I am genuinely trying to stick to movie canon as much as possible for consistency. However, though Madame Giry says that since she helped him escape he has known nothing of the world outside of the Opera house, this is a movie specific change I can't quite truck with.

Having read the book, I can't imagine Erik without having made the disastrous life-choices that Persia presents to his character. I think it's essential to his character development, gives his proficiency with assassination context, and is probably the root of his sense of grandeur. So this, like the ring, is another way that I'm deviating from the movie canon, even though it's still the primary basis for this fic.

◇ Christine and Meg went often to the stables to feed the horses, and had fed César treats from their very own hands almost daily.

This is a nod book canon:

I was startled to hear a joyful neighing and I murmured, "César!" The horse quivered... I'd recognized César, the white horse from Le Prophète. I used to pamper him by feeding him delicacies. One night there was a rumor backstage that he'd disappeared and been stolen by the Opera Ghost. [Trans. Lowell Bair, 1990]

Like, how was I not going to include references to this? Leroux makes it clear earlier in the book that César is the smartest horse in the stable, so of course that's the horse Erik would steal to be their steed, but then Christine confirms that she is familiar with César and often went to visit him and feed him!? And César recognizes her, too?! Like hello?! Could I just let that slip by?

◇ M. Lachenal, the head groom, was even more upset. He was certain the Opera Ghost had been the culprit. And he had been right.

Book character! M. Lachenal is the head groom in the novel, and he absolutely delighted me:

"We don't have need for more than four stablemen for twelve horses!"

"Eleven," said the head riding master, correcting him.

"Twelve," repeated Richard.

"Eleven," repeated Lachenal.

"Oh, the acting manager told me that you had twelve horses!"

"I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Cesar was stolen."

And M. Lachenal gave himself a great smack on the boot with his riding crop.

"Has César been stolen?" Cried the acting manager. "César? The white horse in Le Prophète?"

"There are no two Césars," said the stud-groom dryly. "I was ten years at Franconi's and I have seen plenty of horses in my time. Well, there are no two Césars. And he's been stolen." [Trans. Alexander de Mattos, 1911]

What a character! I had to include him, even if it's just a mention.

◇ They didn't speak, because the Phantom had begun to sing from Roméo et Juliette

Either Gounod was a very popular composer at the time, or Leroux just really loved his work because he's he most referenced composer in the novel. Primarily Faust, but Romeo et Juliette is also frequently mentioned.

After the masquerade, when Erik comes to meet Christine in her dressing room, he is singing the "Wedding Night Song" from Act IV of this opera.

I could easily have used that duet, but I thought even Erik, under the circumstances in my story, would consider that too forward. So I opted for the iconic confession scene on the balcony from Act II instead (here is the performance I used as reference while writing this scene). It seemed appropriate given that Christine is elevated, and Erik is singing up to her.

What really sold me were a Romeo's opening lines:

"Ô nuit ! sous tes ailes obscures

Abrite-moi!

(O night, beneath thy dark wings,

Shelter me!)".

The dance around identities and names also seemed apropos; and the comparison of Juliet as a "bright and enchanting star" I thought tied in nicely with Christine's "Star Princess" aesthetic for the masquerade in the play.

◇ His rendition would ruin this song for her forever; not even the most mellifluous of lyric tenors would ever be able to do it justice.

I'm half meta dunking on Raoul here: Romeo is traditionally a lyric tenor, but Patrick Wilson also happens to be a lyric tenor.

◇ "My father's surname was Vachon, but I don't remember if my mother ever gave me a Christian name," he said

Erik's surname: the eternal poto white whale.

So many adaptations have attempted to give him one, but none have ever quite satisfied me. By far the most successful, I think, was "Destler" from the 1989 film with Robert Englund.

I could easily have used that name, but while reading M. Grant Kellermeyer's 2018 annotated, restored version of the 1911 translation, I came across this name, "Vachon", as the name of the [unsubstantiated] supposed inspiration for Erik. While Erik Vachon (a purportedly real disfigured architect who was employed in the building of the Palais Garnier) is likely a mere figure of urban legend, the name has its roots outside of Fandom spaces and extra-canon, and so I feel most comfortable using it.

It apparently means "Cow herder", and I additionally think that's a nice contrast to the rather lofty name he chose for himself, "Erik", which has multiple possible meanings including "eternal ruler", "sole/singular king" and "ever powerful"

◇ A few silent moments later, she glanced up at him and observed: "Erik is a Scandinavian name..."

Leroux reference: in the novel, Christine questions Erik about his name and origin over dinner, wondering if perhaps he is of Scandinavian descent, as the name Erik is originally Scandinavian, especially with the "k" spelling.

Here the tone is obviously different: while in the novel Christine is awkwardly casting about for conversation to fill the silence while he watches her eat (without eating anything himself, a very awkward and uncomfortable situation for anyone), here, Christine is testing the waters, feeling buoyed by the fresh sense of trust she feels from him.

#author's notes #when the longing returns #poto fanfiction #phantom of the opera fanfiction #phan phic #erik x christine #eristine #poto e/c #erik the phantom #christine daae #poto 2004 #emmy rossum

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fredborges98 · 1 month ago

Text

Various ‎– De-Lovely - Music From The Motion Picture

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May your heart and your brain take time to listen to each other.

May your beautiful mind remain a kind place to be.

May your smile arrive at it's own pace on its own terms.

May your eyes rain as often as they need.

May your body feel nourished.

May your soul feel well rested.

Wherever your feet are planted, there in that space may you be present.

May all your decisions be guided by love and light instead of fear.

And may you know that wherever the wind blows you, I am right here.

~ Sophie Diener

Tradução: Fred Borges

Que seu coração e seu cérebro reservem um tempo para ouvir um ao outro. Que sua bela mente continue sendo um lugar gentil para se estar. Que o seu sorriso chegue no seu próprio ritmo e nos seus próprios termos. Que seus olhos chovam quantas vezes precisarem. Que seu corpo se sinta nutrido. Que sua alma se sinta bem descansada. Onde quer que seus pés estejam plantados, nesse espaço você poderá estar presente. Que todas as suas decisões sejam guiadas pelo amor e pela luz em vez do medo. E que você saiba que onde quer que o vento sopre, eu estou bem aqui. ~Sophie Diener

Cole Albert Porter (Peru, Indiana, 9 de junho de 1891 – Santa Mônica, 15 de outubro de 1964) foi um músico e compositor norte americano.

Seu trabalho inclui as comédias musicais Kiss Me, Kate (1948 - baseada na peça de Shakespeare The Taming of the Shrew), Fifty Million Frenchmen e Anything Goes, bem como as músicas "Night and Day", "I Get a Kick Out of You" e "I've Got You Under My Skin". Ele é notório pelas letras sofisticadas (às vezes vulgares), ritmos inteligentes e formas complexas. Ele é um dos maiores contribuidores do Great American Songbook.

A América do Norte e os Americanos nunca mais foram os mesmos após sua morte!

Sua genialidade musical nunca foi superada, talvez igualada por dois ou três também gênios musicais americanos, mas a sua produção e produtividade artística é inigualável, observem aqui está uma lista parcial do total de suas obras ou composições:

"A partially complete list of songs by Cole Porter."

Songs written at Yale University's Archive:

“Antoinette Birby”

“Bingo Eli Yale”

“Bull Dog”

Cora (1911 college musical)

And the Villain Still Pursued Her (1912 college musical)

"We are the Chorus of the Show"

"Strolling"

"The Lovely Heroine"

"I'm the Villain"

"Twilight"

"Llewellyn"

"That Zip Cornwall Cooch"

"Charity"

"Queens of Terpsichore"

"Leaders of Society"

"Submarine"

"Barcelona Maid"

"Silver Moon"

"Dear Doctor"

"Anytime"

"Come to Bohemia"

"Dancing"

"Fare Thee Well"

The Pot of Gold (1912 college musical)

"At the Rainbow"

"Bellboys"

"Longing for Dear Old Broadway"

"When I Used to Lead the Ballet"

"My Houseboat on the Thames"

"She Was a Fair Young Mermaid"

"What's This Awful Hullabaloo"

"What a Charming Afternoon"

"Since We've Met"

"Exercise"

"We are So Aesthetic"

"Scandal"

"I Wonder Where My Girl Is Now"

"My Salvation Army Queen"

"It's Awfully Hard When Mother's Not Along"

"I Want to Be Married (To a Delta Kappa Epsilon Man)"

"Ha, Ha, They Must Sail for Siberia"

"I Love You So"

"Loie and Chlodo"

"So Let Us Hail"

"That Rainbow Rag" (cut)

"If I Were a Football Man" (cut)

The Kaleidoscope (1913 college musical)

"At the Dawn Tea"

"We are Prom Girls"

"Chaperons"

"In the Land Where My Heart Was Born"

"Meet Me Beside the River"

"Beware of the Sophomore"

"Rick-Chick-a-Chick"

"Good-bye My True Love"

"On My Yacht"

"We're a Group of Nonentities"

"Flower Maidens"

"Absinthe"

"The Absinthe Drip"

"Maid of Santiago"

"As I Love You"

"Duodecimalogue"

"Oh, What a Pretty Pair of Lovers"

"A Member of the Yale Elizabethan Club"

"Moon Man"

"My Georgia Gal"

Paranoia (1914 college musical)

We’re All Dressed Up and We Don’t Know Huerto Go (1914 college musical)

See America First (1916 stage musical)

Hitchy-Koo of 1919 (1919 stage musical)

“I Introduced”

"Old-Fashioned Garden"

Hitchy-Koo of 1922 (1922 stage musical)

Greenwich Village Follies (1924 stage musical)

"I'm In Love Again"

La Revue Des Ambassadeurs (1928 stage musical)

"Pilot Me"

Paris (1928 stage musical)

"Let's Do It, Let's Fall in Love"

"Let's Misbehave" (written for Paris, but cut and then recorded separately)

"Which?"

Wake Up and Dream (1929 stage musical)

”I Loved Him, But He Didn’t Love Me”

”I’m a Gigolo”

"What Is This Thing Called Love?"

Fifty Million Frenchmen (1929 stage musical)

”Find Me a Primitive Man”

”The Tale of the Oyster”

"Why Don't We Try Staying Home?"

"You Do Something to Me"

"You've Got That Thing"

The New Yorkers (1930 stage musical)

”I Happen to Like New York”

"Let's Fly Away"

"Love for Sale"

"Take Me Back to Manhattan"

"Where Have You Been"

Gay Divorce (1932 stage musical)

”After You, Who?”

"How's Your Romance?"

"I've Got You On My Mind"

"Night and Day"

Nymph Errant (1933 stage musical)

"How Could We Be Wrong?"

"The Physician"

Anything Goes (1934 stage musical)

"All Through the Night"

"Anything Goes"

"Be Like the Bluebird"

"Blow, Gabriel, Blow"

"Buddie Beware"

"I Get a Kick out of You"

"Thank You So Much, Mrs. Lowsborough-Goodby" (written for the musical but not used in production)

"You're the Top"

Jubilee (1935 stage musical)

"Begin the Beguine"

"Just One of Those Things"

”A Picture of Me Without You”

"Why Shouldn't I?"

Born to Dance (1936 film)

”Goodbye, Little Dream, Goodbye”

"I've Got You Under My Skin"

"Rap, Tap On Wood"

”Swingin’ the Jinx Away”

"Easy to Love"

Red, Hot and Blue (1936 stage musical)

"Down In The Depths"

"It's De-Lovely"

"Ours"

"Ridin' High"

Rosalie (1937 film)

"In the Still of the Night"

You Never Know (1938 stage musical)

"At Long Last Love"

"By Candlelight"

"From Alpha to Omega"

Leave It to Me! (1938 stage musical)

"From Now On"

"Get Out of Town"

”Most Gentlemen Don’t Like Love”

"My Heart Belongs to Daddy"

“Tomorrow”

Broadway Melody of 1940 (1939 film)

"Between You and Me"

"I Concentrate on You"

"I Happen to Be in Love"

"I've Got My Eyes on You"

Du Barry Was a Lady (1939 stage musical)

”But in the Morning, No”

"Do I Love You?"

"Friendship"

”Give Him the Ooh-La-La”

"Katie Went To Haiti"

"Well, Did You Evah!"

Panama Hattie (1940 stage musical)

”Make It Another Old-Fashioned, Please”

”I've Still Got My Health”

You’ll Never Get Rich (1941 film)

"Dream Dancing"

"So Near And Yet So Far"

Let’s Face It! (1941 stage musical)

"Ace in the Hole"

"Ev'rything I Love"

”Farming”

"I Hate You, Darling"

”Let’s Not Talk About Love”

”Rub Your Lamp”

Something to Shout About (1943 stage musical)

"You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To"

Something for the Boys (1943 stage musical)

"Could It Be You"

”The Leader of a Big-Time Band”

Mexican Hayride (1944 stage musical)

"I Love You"

Seven Lively Arts (1944 stage musical)

"Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye"

Around the World (1946 stage musical)

Kiss Me, Kate (1948 stage musical)

"Always True to You in My Fashion"

"Another Op'nin', Another Show"

"Bianca"

"Brush Up Your Shakespeare"

"From This Moment On"

"I Am Ashamed That Women Are So Simple"

"I Hate Men"

"I’ve Come to Wive It Wealthy in Padua"

"So in Love"

"Tom, Dick or Harry"

"Too Darn Hot"

"We Open In Venice"

"Were Thine That Special Face"

"Where is the Life That Late I Led?"

"Why Can't You Behave?"

"Wunderbar"

The Pirate (1948 film)

"Be a Clown"

"Love of My Life"

"Mack the Black"

"Niña"

"You Can Do No Wrong"

Out of This World (1950 stage musical)

"Cherry Pies Ought To Be You"

"From This Moment On"

"I Am Loved"

"Where, Oh Where?"

"You Don't Remind Me"

Can-Can (1953 stage musical)

"Allez-Vous-En"

"Can-Can"

"C'est Magnifique"

"Come Along with Me"

"I Am in Love"

"I Love Paris"

"It's All Right with Me"

"Live and Let Live"

"Montmart"

Silk Stockings (1955 stage musical, 1957 film)

"All of You"

"As On Through the Seasons We Sail"

"Fated To Be Mated"

"Paris Loves Lovers"

"Satin and Silk"

"Siberia"

"Silk Stockings"

"Stereophonic Sound"

High Society (1956 film)

"High Society Calypso"

"I Love You, Samantha"

"Little One"

"Mind if I Make Love to You?"

"Now You Has Jazz"

"True Love"

"Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?"

"You're Sensational"

Les Girls (1956 film)

"Ca, C'est L'amour"

"You're Just Too, Too"

Aladdin (1958 television musical)

Other songs:

"Don't Fence Me In"

”Farewell, Amanda”

"Hot House Rose"

"Miss Otis Regrets"

"Once Upon A Time"

"Weren't We Fools?"

Uma das maiores intérpretes de suas músicas foi Julie London.

Julie London (Santa Rosa, 26 de setembro de 1926 - Encino, 18 de outubro de 2000) foi uma cantora de jazz e atriz norte-americana.

Nascida Gayle Peck, iniciou a sua carreira artística no cinema nos anos 1940, bem antes de se tornar famosa como cantora.

Com uma beleza singular, atuou em mais de 20 filmes e fez grande sucesso contracenando com Gary Cooper em O Homem do Oeste (1958). Sua carreira de atriz de cinema e televisão durou mais de 35 anos.

Em 1955, gravou seu primeiro disco, Julie Is Her Name, que foi seguido de muitos outros. Célebre por sua voz sensual, foi a primeira intérprete da canção Cry Me a River, foi uma das artistas mais populares dos anos 1950, sendo considerada a melhor cantora dos Estados Unidos em 1955, 1956 e 1957, pela revista Billboard. Ao longo da sua carreira, gravou 32 álbuns. Entre os seus maiores sucessos, figuram as canções Cry Me A River (que fez parte do seu primeiro disco, gravado em 1955), Sway, Desafinado e Fly Me to the Moon. Intérprete versátil, gravou também Light My Fire, dos Doors e Yummy Yummy Yummy do grupo Ohio Express.

Em meados da Década de 1990,London sofreu um derrame,o que levou a metade da Década com saúde debilitada,e contribuiu para a sua morte em 18 de outubro de 2000. Foi sepultada no Forest Lawn Memorial Park (Hollywood Hills), Los Angeles, Califórnia nos Estados Unidos.

Call Julie Porter in London.

Por: Fred Borges

Nunca houve uma harmonia tão divina , tão celestial quanto a junção da composição de Cole Porter e Julie London.

Ambos com talentos virtuosissímos de uma virtuosi magnífica é parar e ouvir, harmonia, lirismo, letrismo, simplicidade e humildade de ambos que só revela suas respectivas genialidades, um com cada talento e junto que verdadeira maravilha!

Marcos de um tempo que não retorna, podem ser revividos , reavivados,revisados, ensinados, aprendidos, mas nunca sentidos historicamente pelo contexto cultural, social e econômica de uma época.

Portanto, agora é só assistir o filme De-Lovely de 2004, o filme biográfico do compositor, cantor, arranjador e tudo o mais que ele significou e a músicas eternizadas na belíssima voz de Julie London em "Call Julie Porter in London" uma chamada para arte da música!

#cole porter #julie london #Youtube

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