#heavy on the canterbury

[eemoo1o-animoo]

Alois and the triplets: an analysis (to some regards)

Firstly, this fic’s summary:

Claude Faustus is dead. Hannah killed him. And the Triplets are -- unwillingly -- in charge of damage control.

I barely wonder about the triplets, so this is interesting. To me they’ve always just been there, merely written in as to counteract The Phantomhive Servants, not ‘respectively’, but rather as one.

The triplets and Alois, especially without Claude, is something I never would have put together. And it’s done so wonderfully in this fic that it feels natural. Even for an AU, this feels almost canon compliant.

I’ve wondered to myself what the triplets actually are. In my own fics I’ve only briefly touched on the matter (as well as their status, as the wiki claims them as “dead” and yet in the show we’d never seen them officially die—suppose the same could be said for Hannah, but the triplets were merely… discarded like paper).

I’ve speculated that they are but one entity, one demon, spliced into three either through want or necessity. Seeing as they seem uninterested in Alois’ soul like Hannah and Claude, I’ve wondered if they are demons at all, but rather imps. (If I remember correctly, Null has also done a comic on how they and Hannah met, where Null themself depicted them as “imps”.) But, more on them later.

He barely ate. He barely even left his bed- except to retrieve the pillows he had fitfully thrown across the room.

This is important for two reasons—one: Alois’ depression highlights just how hopelessly devoted he was to Claude, showing how much he’d put into the demon, and two: it shows that none of the other servants were let in.

His only knowledge of the passage of time were through the (…) steady progress of a spider in the corner of his four poster bed, knitting herself a home,

This feels intriguing to this scene. Claude doesn’t have a literal appearance in this work, and yet his impression is ever imposing—in the back of Alois’ mind, making others’ work sub-par. In a way, it feels like Claude used spiders as a means to leave an impression, even when he is no longer there, like a reminder of what was once his.

And beyond this bleakness, we will slowly progress to why I wanted to make this reaction. It was not because of Claude, or Alois, or Claude and Alois, or even Hannah. Don’t get me wrong—alone, the premise is interesting enough, I do not go out of my way to search for fics with them—but what made this fic so interesting out of all else that I have read, is the triplets. Specifically, the triplets and Alois.

Hannah was gone, off to lick her wounds. (…) She killed Claude. He knew she did.

Hannah, as always, is given uncouth animal imagery, just like Broken Birds in which she is described as a “she-cat”, an analogy that has stuck with me for months on end.

Her three tributes - Thompson, Canterbury, and Timber - had been tasked with making sure he didn’t kill himself in her absence.

This is the heart of the work, in my opinion.

As Claude, and later Hannah, were the main focus of the writing team in season two, the triplets very much felt like something included to fill a quota. And, naturally, they go unnoticed by even the fandom (unless it’s for awkward x readers, but that’s beside the point).

“Parallels to the Phantomhive household” must include The Servants, right? Automatically, you’d think the three are Tanaka, Bard, and Finny if it means that Hannah is Mey-Rin, correct?

To me, in more detail, Hannah seems like a blend of their Tanaka and Mey-Rin—with the triplets fully being Mey-Rin, Bard, and Finny.

Who’s who, exactly? Who’s to say, because in canon the three are played off as almost one entity. Even in the Spider OVA, which I love for expanding on the Trancy manor’s inner-workings, the three are essentially one being.

For a while—and you can see it in the aforementioned works of mine, Dear Claude and, more minutely, Regurgitative—I believed them to be one demon spliced into three parts, because unless they are stated to be of lower-class than Hannah or Claude (or Sebastian), like imps, for example, I just don’t know why they exist… as demons, who are each identical, and therefore “brothers”, or “triplets”.

He saw the way her demeanor changed,

…Proving that Hannah’s demure demeanour was always a facade. Yes, Alois!

See? He’s learning.

He was a smart boy, a near indestructible child (…) and rotting away in his bedsheets just wasn’t the way to go. It was beautifully tragic, like Juliet and Romeo,

This is minuscule. But, being so incredibly apt at reading (I say, lying through my teeth), I picked up on this:

Null—and Alois, I suppose, but more subconsciously on his behalf—used “Juliet and Romeo”, not “Romeo and Juliet”. Not only are we, as educated people, well-trained as to always refer to the play as “Romeo and Juliet” (it sounds neater, plus it’s its canon name, so, yes), but we are quick to pick up on anything inherently “wrong.”

This—“Juliet and Romeo”—is, as minuscule as it seems, is a demonstration of not only Alois’ mindset when it comes to himself and Claude, but it shows that he’s got it backwards. It also shows how unconventional their relationship was, with “Juliet and Romeo” sounding wrong over the ‘correct’ “Romeo and Juliet”.

Perhaps this terminology could be brought further. In the play, Juliet was the first to “die” (technically), and so—while the go-to would have been to compare Alois to Juliet and Claude to Romeo—putting Juliet first over Romeo could perhaps suggest that, in a way, Claude is Juliet (who, in the play, is also significantly less compulsive by emotion, and therefore love, over Romeo—it’s so apparent that many years were given it as an essay question in school).

Physically, Claude has died first (his presence and ‘shadow’ has not)—but the fact that Claude could have been described as “Juliet” over Romeo could suggest that Alois is hoping that, like Juliet, Claude is going to ‘wake up’ from his poison—Hannah’s poison—but, as we know, he… will not.

(“Claudey, wake up”)

The halls were empty.

The loss of just one being has made the manor halls ‘empty’. It isn’t much—we only really get a sentence on it—but it is enough. It’s a lonely place when the one person you long for most is not there.

He followed them and, when he reached the bannister, considered throwing himself down the stairs. He didn’t, walking instead at an unstable gate.

Subtle, again, but in a way, this right here is what foreshadows hope.

(And, eventually, it will come in the shape of Canterbury. We just don’t know it yet.)

(the triplets didn’t know how to take care of a person, so after sticking their heads through his door a number of times, they resorted to methodically cleaning. Their sort left no footprints).

The reasonable response to this would be to inquire about what exactly the triplets are, but the better one is analyse how this symbolises that they go unnoticed.

But just before that, it also shows how Claude (and Hannah) had the reins on Alois and the triplets were always just present, both in canon (well, “canon”) and fanfiction.

There were fresh flowers in vases - not the regal, romantic rose, or Hannah’s nostalgic bluebells, but daisies. New beginnings.

This demonstrates what is told: “New beginnings”. But, now each of the demons have their own flower, and if Hannah was still in charge then there would be bluebells in those vases.

She, for now, is completely gone. She is to return, but for now she is gone. And the daisies show that, while she is, the triplets have been thrust into charge, a role which has never been given to them, before.

He touched one and, for once, couldn’t bring himself to crush it.

This is good. Again, with the foreshadowing, this is good. It shows hope, yet again.

Breakfast was alright. Just alright. Eggs and soft bread -- none of it inspiring any dramatic monologues.

Ah, yes. Claude did it for flare, for reaction—whereas the triplets just want to adhere to Hannah’s ‘loose’ orders, and keep Alois looked after. Not well looked after, either. Really, they’re doing the bare minimum, most likely because they have no interest in Alois’ soul.

They don’t want to upset Alois—they only adhere to his orders because they’re adhering to Hannah’s, and the same could have been said for when they listened to Claude’s—and so they do the bare minimum. They aren’t as adept in tending to Alois as Hannah is, nor as driven as both she and Claude, so (again), they do the bare minimum.

In a way, because they expect nothing in return, it’s a much cleaner plan than even what Hannah’s would be.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel interested in eating, (…) poking it with the blade of too-polished utensils.

Did they… all polish the utensils? Why not stick to one type each? Canterbury to knives, Timber to spoons, and Thompson to forks?

The triplets whispered amongst themselves and, after a few minutes of quiet chewing, he finally snapped,

Knowing what happened in the Spider OVA, this can’t possibly go well.

“Okay, well, no one else is here to speak to me, so you might as well raise your voices!”

Hannah and Claude barely every spoke to you! But, I can see why the whispering is grating when there isn’t anyone else (i.e. Claude or Hannah) to help drown it out. Like a private club you aren’t allowed into.

And, suddenly, they had nothing to talk about, and so they just watched him.

Oof. Felt that. In a way, they’re treating Alois like Claude now. Kind of.

But didn’t Claude kind of bully them? After all, the whole reason as to why they stick to whispering is because Claude told them to do so, long before Alois had told them to talk once again, in the OVA.

Now, onto the three parts to the right ventricle of this work:

Canterbury - the one with the even hair, the most orderly of the bunch, not that Alois had ever cared enough to pay attention to that -

(Ah, yes—denial. The strongest symptom of grief and teenage tsunderes!)

Timber - the right leaning, sort-of-rude-one

Thompson, left-leaning, emerged in the doorway. He was about the most basic of all of them, with no notable features or qualities.

It’s interesting to note that, without the Making Of Kuroshitsuji II OVA, we’d never have known who was who (let alone their names, I don’t think).

But I wanted to put focus on the distinguishing characteristics between the three. Now, the prime focus will be Canterbury—he’s Alois’ favourite, after all, and I think that’s actually stated in the wiki, somewhere, too—not only in the fic, but also in this response, but I’d like to briefly note on the other two, if not all three.

The differences established between the three are subtle and noteworthy to naught but the story—to Alois, specifically. It isn’t like an x reader, where the differences seem extreme, like “oh, Canterbury likes art, Timber likes music, and Thompson likes none at all”—that isn’t referencing any particular work that I have read, it was merely hypothetical, but my point still stands.

To me, the differences set up are subtle enough to be regarded as canon. It’s enough to separate them, and yet they are kept perfectly the same.

Then, when the story progresses, more emphasis is put onto Canterbury, and Timber and Thompson are kept the same. ‘Sameness’, I suppose, could be put to ‘blandness’, and when one is bland, Alois pays them no real mind. Emphasis is put onto Canterbury, because he will be the next Claude. At least, he could be. (But better.)

As opposed to whatever Claude was, Canterbury—and, to an extent, Timber and Thompson, as well—would be like a brother, of sorts.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Canterbury, out of the three, is Alois’ favourite over Thompson and Timber. After all, one could argue that Canterbury is the odd one out out of the three because of his name, because it’s the only one that begins with C, just like Claude’s.

It’s a little detail that I find interesting, international or otherwise.

Now, I’d like to refer back to the triplets being the Servants’ Trancy counterparts. I’m actually convinced that, if season two was made during or after BoM/BoA, there’d be four* of them.

(*Oh, my god, what is Alois/Claude went out and hired Doll just to increase their rivalry with Ciel and Sebastian? Anyway. That’s a post for another day. I still like the triplets better, anyway.)

But, luckily for us, there’s only three. And three is enough.

I think the triplets were the Snake before Snake, because while they’re there to represent the Trancy version of Bard, Mey-Rin and Finny, a large portion of their character (and, in some regards, design) is reminiscent of Snake.

In a moment of thought, I suppose my ideology for Canterbury and Alois starting to bond would be paralleled and/or memorable of Snake and Ciel, typically how Snake was in the Book of Atlantic (that arc made me love Snake a lot, actually).

In Book of Atlantic, Snake makes Ciel a plate of food—which is quickly discarded and Snake is told that he can eat it, which he does—and I can’t help but think that this could work with the triplets (Canterbury, most probably) and Alois.

Anyway, now I resume:

After a long pause, Canterbury (…) asked, “Is it to your liking?”

Canterbury is the first to acknowledge/confront Alois—to talk to him, now that he is able. This comes into play later, where Timber and Thompson are silenced, and he is not.

He shouted and, after another beat, went back to eating. His back felt oddly exposed, though their pointed gaze glossed over him.

And so, the three stare at their highness, waiting either in patience or expectancy.

He was far from the most interesting thing in the room.

I think this is the one thing that, even during my second reading as to write this analysis, confuses me. Perhaps not thusly, but confuses me nonetheless.

I suppose the only thing I can think of for this is if Alois is trying to humble himself or make himself seem smaller under their perceived scrutiny.

Invisibility. Freedom. He decided not to get dressed that morning and they didn’t bother him about it,

This feels like a contrast—albeit subtle—to Claude, which I suppose, in some regards, backs up the “brother” idea (like Snake is to Ciel). It also backs into their skittish but otherwise more passive behaviour around Alois as opposed to, say, Hannah.

They do not expect anything from Alois (other than sporadic outbursts), so unless he outright orders them to change him, they will not do so.

In fact, the only resistance was Timber (…) who caught him at the front steps of the garden and piped up a half-hearted, “If you don’t put on shoes, you’re going to step on a splinter and cry.”

This line of dialogue is immediately after Timber’s new insight as “the rude one”. It’s of course in Alois’ perception, therefore marking him as rude for being the one to speak out the most in a way that could be seen as “against Alois’ grain”, perhaps.

I’d be much quicker to call Claude rude, for example, rather than Timber, but to Alois, it’s the opposite. Claude can do no wrong, I suppose. But, while I suppose it’s somewhat reminiscent of Hannah (most likely picked up from her and her concern over Alois, or perhaps picked up, coarsely, from how they’ve seen Alois generally act), it’s also reminiscent of Claude. See the next prompt:

“I’m done crying.”

“That’s a shame,”

“The hell does that mean?”

The conversation between the two—not four, two, which, to me, as someone who’s tried to characterise the triplets briefly in one of their own works, seems quite important to note—is in quick succession, like a trill.

I feel like, to a lessened degree, each of the triplets (Timber and Canterbury, specifically—I guess Thompson was just the prototype) displays a characteristic of Claude in relation to Alois, whether that would be in action or in character, with potentially paralleling scenarios to Claude and Alois, irony of which is just barely not-lost on me, as a virtually incompetent reader.

The next scene is the fountain scene, which, to me, doesn’t seem all that important to note other than great Alois character inception, plus Claude, because the basis of this analysis/response post is to discuss Alois and the triplets (more specifically, Canterbury, but do I really need to keep saying it?).

But, digressing:

I bet the mark is gone.

This raises the question as to where Hannah’s mark now is. And, did Claude’s mark only disappear now that Alois is finally letting go? Hm.

“Would you like tea?” Thompson, left-leaning, emerged in the doorway.

At first, to me, it doesn’t make sense that Thompson—the one least worthy to note, as mentioned by Alois—asks this. But, then, I realised that: they’re taking it in turns.

As they often do, the three each take their own turn in trying to communicate, especially with Alois. We saw it in the OVA and now we see it here. It’s a good idea—one so good and subtle that it highlights how that soon will be knocked out of balance when Alois silences Timber and Thompson, and not Canterbury, for talking out of turn. The one instance in which they don’t take turns talking evenly (with Timber and Thompson talking out of turn, upsetting Alois, perhaps even emphasising Canterbury’s alleged “orderly-ness”). More on that in a minute.

Thompson stood there, legs apart, looking about as bewildered as a goat, “What kind should I make?”

I think that analogy is actually perfect for how the three usually act around him.

“Usually when a servant asks his master if he wants something, he has it all ready to go.”

“Yes, but.”

Timber emerged, poking his head in. (…) “You’re kind of picky and difficult to please. It’s better if you choose, so we don’t disappoint you.”

Thompson nodded, “We’d rather not clean spilt tea off the carpet.”

This is the start of the two not taking it in turns as a three—this is the start.

This also feels like a neat addition to their character. And Alois’, in some respects. He’s holding them to Claude’s usual role, and knowledge as the contracted demon, and they do not care.

Well, they do. Sort of. They don’t want an outburst. They just want to do their job under Hannah’s new orders. It’s frustrating, now… currently, because I’m getting to the point in the fic where it gets “good”—in my opinion and so to speak—and I’m losing all importance in my vernacular to articulate what I wish to discuss, because this is also slowly coming up to the part(s) of the fic that inspired me to write this response and also my obsession over the fic as a whole.

Frustrating. Anyway.

His slightly more rude demeanor shone through as he added,

What Timber then adds is reminiscent of Claude, as I said. I can easily imagine Claude (starting out in their contract) in the place of Timber, an irony or which feels lost on Alois to therefore annunciate the feelings of which he, well, feels.

“All you do is clean the goddamn carpet. You’re good for nothing else, you know!” Alois heard himself yell, (…) They just stood there, squinting at him like he was yammering in a completely different language. Which he was - it was the language of fools, mortals, and frustrated children, something they would never understand.

And this officially shows/states the disjunct between the two (four, technically) sides.

The last bit, specifically, is interesting, because it—to me—suggests that all the frustrations that Alois might have held towards Claude, he is now attempting to take out on the triplets (whether they share the traits or whether Alois is embellishing the fact out of anger, his new stage of grief over Claude, aside).

and he wasn’t entirely sure why he did that, because unlike Hannah, the triplets didn’t whimper or wilt.

Which is an interesting development, as they often stand about with their proverbial tails tucked between their legs, but in a way demonstrates their emotional resilience over social.

“Is that a yes to tea?” Thompson asked again.

“Yes!” He was turned around, watching them in the corner of his mirror.

(…)

“So. What do you want?”

“God, I don’t know!”

Frustrated.

“Well, at this rate, we’ll make you hot water,” Timber added in, his brows lowering and his tone flat.

“No! I don’t want hot water, I want tea, so-”

Just before we delve into the next development (as well as the part with the mirror), I’d like to rescues the hot emotion rising in this scene:

Alois is lashing out, and there’s a new apparent disconnect from Claude and the triplets, now, where we were just previously faced with similarities. Whereas Claude would not react so hotly to Alois’ new tantrum, it’s evident that the triplets are getting somewhat agitated, as well.

It may not be much, but it’s especially apparent with Timber’s last line in the quote. Timber seems the most aggravated by Alois’ new assault, whereas Thompson (as we’ll soon see) is keeping a more level head.

In a way, Timber shows something similar as to what we see in BoA, at the beginning of Ciel and Sebastian’s contract, with that bath.

As I see them as two ends of a spectrum (even their hairstyles and their description of being “[right/left]-leaning”, respectively, highlight this fact), I can imagine Canterbury (being the middle-grounded of the three, both shown in his hairstyle and his description of being “orderly”), despite his current absence in the scene that is now occurring.

He was turned around, watching them in the corner of his mirror.

I like this. It shows how Alois is now unable to look at them directly. In terms of symbolism it could also imply that the triplets (well, Timber and Thompson) are reflections of something bigger—aka Claude.

It’s a nice, simplistic touch to the scene. It’s fleeting, and I like it.

(His teeth were crooked - in that vague vain way where he knew it would be hard to tell at a glance, but if you stared for too long, you’d see two of the lower ones were battling it out, bending each other the wrong way).

This is also important. It shows how Alois’ time spent as the former Lord Trancy’s “pretty little thing dot com” still resonates with him, and always being around demons—each so visually perfect, each on another plane of being higher than your own, therefore every time you try putting yourself in their perspective it’s always looking down on yourself—doesn’t exactly help.

It’s sad, actually. And I hate it.

“Can you give us a hint? Do you want a strong flavor, or a mild flavor?” Thompson attempted, posing a strange peacekeeper of the two. “And, after that, how much sugar do you like?”

This is nice—it doubles back on Alois’ original statement that Thompson is a “prototype”. It shows how his judgement isn’t always correct and it now gives him a viable reason, for himself, to move on from Claude.

Plus, it gives me an idea of what his dynamic with the triplets (all of them) could now be beyond just “Canterbury”.

Say Alois is upset—he is on his bed surrounding by the triplets (I still don’t see him giving into Hannah all that easily)—he lashes out about it, too, perhaps insulting them, and Timber fires back (he could be a good source for banter, for Alois). Canterbury listens and attempts solace while Thompson mediates. I like it a lot, actually.

Before Alois could answer, Timber cut in. “He likes sugar, he just doesn’t like taking it in front of others. Sometimes he kicks Hannah so we look at her and don’t notice his hand in the china cup.”

I feel pedantic and condescending the more I turn to “and this means…” but to an extent that’s all I can do, especially at this stage in the work, because it’s riddled with double meanings and underlying devices.

So, Timber notices things that Thompson sometimes doesn’t, but otherwise all three tend to pick up on little things that Alois does while maintaining a “we don’t usually care” ideology. How cute. How… innovative.

(It also drives the IC-ness of it all, with Timber’s outright manner being the trait most displayed in the OVA, which helps the fic feel quite canon again, despite its AU-y nature.)

God, he spoke those words so plainly and openly, with so little regard, Alois saw himself freeze.

I like that the mirror thing is still going on. It gives Alois this sort of mental disembodiment. This isn’t him lashing out right now—no, if can’t be. Is this how he always feels when he starts to argue? Is it because of his grief over Claude?

It also continues the point of Timber being more abrasive than the other two. It feels like something Claude used to do, but Claude sometimes held his tongue unless Alois demanded he spoke or elucidated.

Augh—the scenes to come with Canterbury is still what drives me onwards with this, but it’s nice to pick up some pieces for Timber and Thompson along the way. After all, we can’t just isolate Canterbury from his brothers in favour of Alois. It’d make all of this great IC characterisation suddenly OOC, and we can’t have that.

“Hoh. He does do that,” Thompson nodded, eyes only on his brother. He tilted his head, seemingly mildly curious, “I think that’s because he doesn’t like seeming like a kid.”

And so the “reason” as to why the three were silenced to begin with returns. Again, it gives the fic this fresh, canon-like feeling, demonstrating that nothing is going to go smoothly, especially with Alois involved. And how the triplets (mostly Timber and Thompson, as we now so learn… perhaps Canterbury is the eldest of the three), canonically, easily lose hold on their own tongues when given the right to speak so freely.

While the concept isn’t so, the usage of it is just so well-written and used and it’s just lovely. It also works in alienating Canterbury from the other two as Alois’ “favourite”—and we learn why because he’s the last to ever speak “out of line”. Though, he isn’t entirely innocent of it (hence why all three were silenced by Claude and then later Alois himself, in canon), it’s a nice touch, and it doesn’t force the alienation to be too broad, instantly making all IC characterisation stale and moot and therefore unachievable.

It’s just so well executed and it’s a think I must gush about because Null’s characterisation of each of the triplets is just so commendable, because they are able to keep each of them subtly diverse and yet still the same.

Ugh—perfection, honestly.

“Kids like sugar.”

“And Faustus doesn’t like kids.”

“Flies also like sugar. Attracts them - honey stickers.”

This demonstrates both the rift and attraction between Claude and Alois—Claude to Alois, and Alois to Claude—and the spider motif here is well placed.

I mentioned previously, that Claude’s spider motif is plentiful because he’s unable to separate his demonhood from his butlerhood in his contract, whereas Sebastian can and therefore has no need for so many bird motifs.

I don’t want to go into Claude too much, for too long, but I must follow my nature: the only way I see Claude ever willingly contracting with children (there is a very specific way I had to word that, by god) is if age evaluates to the taste of a soul (I always figured that youth and innocent would equate to sweetness, and while Claude often mentions ‘spice’, I headcanon him with a sweet tooth, but perhaps that’s just me), because they’re right: Claude hates kids, or at the very least doesn’t know how to handle them (Sebastian, on the other hand, does).

And that’s sad because I want to know why he chose to contract with one to begin with if that’s the case. It’s also sad because Alois is trying to prove himself (by ‘not liking’ sugar, for example) to Claude, when he doesn’t need to, because Claude will always be the same, resulting in an endless cycle.

The opposite is also sad, but in a more sadistic and dark kind of way—it’s far more twisted. The writing team for season two seemed to try that from the beginning. It’s almost like Claude is the manga’s version of Sebastian (at least in the beginning of their contract). Hm. Interesting.

“Shut up!” He found his voice again, “Shut up! Both of you! Stop talking! Only listen - you only listen to me, and I’m telling you, shut up!”

They both stared. Then glanced at each other, as if asking silently, has he gone mental?

And just like that the two are silenced. Without protest. Something about this is just so perfect, but in this work and in canon. Because, again, they’re listening to Alois’ order as per Hannah’s orders. It’s just… such a complex and yet easy motive for them to be there, as a part of the Trancy staff.

Love it.

Catching his breath, Alois started, “Look…”

They looked.

“I…didn’t do that…and if I did…it was not…to please Claude. Alright?”

They exchanged another knowing glance and at that point, he gave up,

This is also perfect as a reflection of canon. They listen to his commands, and yet when he asks of them in a social manner, they have no obligation to agree or disagree (like that line about Slim from Of Mice and Men, only… not)—which I suppose is reminiscent of Claude once more, only in a less cold way.

This line from Alois could show his sudden retreat. He’s been progressing through the stages of grief—depression, then denial, and then anger—and now he’s backtracked back to denial.

Timber and Thompson, currently, are not helping.

They exchanged another knowing glance and at that point, he gave up, storming off to one of the side couches by the window and falling down on it.

Alois has also parted from the mirror (and thus his reflection). One could argue that the reflection was where he was most vulnerable, but I’d like to disagree, as he could see the triplets still behind him, and now he cannot as he’s gone to a comfier location in the room and become more tame and coy.

Alois has also parted from his reflection and now his mental separation is no longer, giving the scene a more meek and earnest atmosphere, which is at first lost on the triplets (Timber especially).

Eventually, Canterbury came tottering in. The most mild of the two, he leaned over the armrest of the couch and cleared his throat.

There’s nothing to say about this other than:

Yayyy! Canterbury!

“There was a miscommunication. The other two say you want tea, but they aren’t allowed to talk to you. That’s my duty now, so I’ll do it. What kind do you want?”

(…)

“What kind do you think?”

“I don’t-” Canterbury’s peculiar face hardened, “I don’t think particularly often about you or what you want, so I wouldn’t wager a guess.”

And this is the point that I’ve stated previously—but the demon triplets not thinking much of Alois is a fascinating touch. And so IC, too.

In an underlying manner, it also shows the control that Claude had over the manor and Alois, but not his fellow staff. In fact, the only control he ever had over Hannah was feigned, and all control he had on the triplets was through Hannah.

Really, it shows how manipulative Claude is and how he falls back on that (and perhaps brute force if need be, but his threats are otherwise empty) as opposed to focussing on social bonds, like Sebastian with the Phantomhive servants.

Finally, he said. “But you talk about me all the time.”

And so Alois’ insecurities are revealed.

They are pretty intimidating, actually. And they’re pretty. And there’s three of them. They’re like Mean Girls.

“We talk about the things we see you do. There is a difference.”

“Is there?”

Oh, but these powers could be used for good, though…

In all seriousness, I don’t think I can ever tire of saying how much I love this.

(…) and then he relented, huffing and patting the cushion beside him, “Sit down. I want you to do that.”

And, Alois is slowly admitting defeat, which brings us to one of the few lines that I have been thinking back to since first reading this fic:

Canterbury did, but it was less with the obedient solemnity of a trained dog (Claude, Hannah) and more with a catty, I’ll-see-where-this-is-headed indifference. He could get up any time. There was no contract to bind him to his will.

Catterbury.

This just tells us so much about the triplets’ (focussing wholly on Canterbury in this case) intentions and motives. It spins around in my head and I just adore it thoroughly, wholeheartedly—it’s incredible.

It gives this image of Canterbury simply sliding into his assigned seat with perhaps slitted eyes, this proverbial tail curling, waiting for something to tilt in his favour but not in the type of favour that would result in his material gain.

It also shows that Canterbury has no intent if ever forming a contract, either, as up until very recently, Hannah and Alois were not bound by contract, but rather, Hannah was awaiting a chance to overthrow Claude and claim her place at Alois’ side like this screeching harpy, digging her claws into his shoulder.

(When referring to the “early days of Sebastian and Ciel’s contract”, the scene from this post keeps coming to mind for me, but here the first gif of that aforementioned post feels quite adequate to refer back to. Canterbury, in my head, is giving something along the lines of that expression. And I love it.)

Alois realized he was sitting side by side with a predator, and his only line of defense were the flimsy orders of the woman he hated.

And while he is aware that Canterbury isn’t contracted to him, Alois still feels distrust to the otherwise enigmatic demon, and doesn’t know exactly what he wants.

After all, with his experiences with both Hannah and Claude, he has every right to be wary of demons. And it’s a touch that keeps the scenario from feeling OOC and amiable.

These two are on new terms after never interacting properly in all the time that they’ve known one another. It’s wonderful.

“What do you see me as?”

Canterbury blinked, slowly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Describe me. Who am I?”

For so long Alois has been “Claude’s master” or “Lord Trancy”, and Claude has defined the majority of his identity, it seems, until now. It feeds into the symbolism with the daisies, for the triplets (aka. ‘mostly Canterbury’) are Alois’ new beginning.

It’s also good that all three aren’t sharing the same experience, in the same scene, because it would make the scene feel packed, and using Canterbury as a “stand in” for all three, not only as “Alois’ favourite”, but also to keep it feeling natural and a one-on-one experience as not to overwhelm Alois or to make him (or us, as the reader) feel ganged-up on.

Good decisions were made with this fic. It’s definitely a fic that I’m going to enjoy revisiting now and then.

“Well. A human boy of fourteen. Oddly attached to the demon Claude Faustus.”

The way that Canterbury’s answer is posed makes it feel like he should be grinning. But he isn’t, and that makes it awkward for all the right reasons.

And, again, Claude pops up even as he’s to slowly be forgotten. I’ll repeat a previously stated point: his presence is everlasting, even as he’s gone. He’s like a shadow cast over the estate; an eclipse on their everyday life; an undustable cobweb, etc., etc..

The answer was so hollow, it made him want to die. (…) “More than that. C’mon, please? And subtract Claude…” (…) Alois impulsively took one of Canterbury’s hands, “Can you see me as something outside of him?”

Perplexed, Canterbury studied his grip, “Um. Alright.”

Alois and Canterbury share what potentially is the first ounce of physical touch between them. Alois had initiated it, and Canterbury does not reject it.

I doubt he wouldn’t have gotten this far with Claude (who would have either ignored or rejected the gesture), or Hannah (who’d have been rejected herself).

Now, for another interesting detail:

(His hands were soft, unworked. A demon has no need for manual exertion, so they are kept perfectly uncalloused. However, there is a rubbery feeling to them, like taught leather. No warmth radiated from him - that was normal)

Canonically, Canterbury (nor the other triplets) doesn’t wear gloves. Neither does Hannah, but Alois—unless it was to break one of her fingers, or something—would never have initiated a gesture such as this with her.

Because Canterbury, and Alois, are both currently barehanded, and so this gesture has gotten them skin-to-skin.

If this was Claude, not Canterbury, this gesture would not be warm and it would not be as personal or significant (unless it was to signify the distance between them) as what this is.

While the gesture isn’t friendly or an apparent custom between them, it is neither warm nor is it cold. The only thing, currently, that is cold is Canterbury’s hand, but cold skin does not equate to cold gesture (just like in humans—if grandma’s hands are cold, that doesn’t mean she loves you any less… okay, bad analogy, but my point still stands), but it is still something more personal and raw than anything between Alois and Claude could ever honestly be.

The coldness of Canterbury’s hand is also to remind us of him being a demon, but to me it highly differs from Claude’s coldness, which had been both emotional and physical. And Canterbury’s current stand-offishness does not equal emotional coldness.

I think this will inevitably be something good for Alois, even if we never got it in canon.

Alois nodded, beginning to squeeze the cold hand. Canterbury looked on the verge of pulling away from him, but he resisted the temptation. God bless him.

Reading this initially made me want to redact my previous points, but then I realised something better:

Notice how Canterbury is only tempted to pull away when Alois squeezes his hand. Canterbury is so accustomed to Alois’ sadism over Hannah (sweetness and vulnerability suddenly turning into twisted offence, usually with violence that results in a grim wound), and so for a moment he is reluctant to let things proceed the way that they are.

And then there’s that last line from Alois’ POV. He thought that Canterbury would pull away, too, and in that moment of belief, he didn’t blame him.

On the other hand, Canterbury’s apparent change in mind could be a smaller symptom of what sliver of a relationship could be between him and Alois—with him only half-recognising what is happening (if even ‘half’ at all) and then choosing not to back away from it, but… I prefer the former theory, because I just do. It’s more big-brain that way.

“(…) You like talking to other people and get upset when they don’t listen to you. But you hide that anyway, even if you have a fit in your room about it, later.” That was rude, but it didn’t hurt too badly. Alois gritted his teeth, knowing there was worse to come.

This bit is interesting. It’s another feature that helps reassemble the triplets as the same, after they’ve been lightly disconnected and differentiated.

“You can be cruel towards Han-”

“Forget Hannah! Who am I outside of Hannah!” He ordered, and Canterbury’s eyes widened a little.

This is an interesting bit—it makes me wonder if Canterbury is now to ignore Hannah once she finally returns. It feels too far-fetched, though, but at least this (the quote) establishes a new rule that Canterbury is not to mention Hannah, again.

It also shows that Alois now sees Claude and Hannah as one in the same (differing emotional attachment aside), which is always fun to see, because in a way, they very much are.

Canterbury’s eyes widening is also a neat touch—because it shows how unexpected and how scary Alois’ outbursts can be, even to a demon. (It also again implies the dissonance between them, as Claude—for example—wouldn’t have reacted, even if said reaction from Canterbury was minute.)

“Alright. You don’t sleep well. —

(Oh, my goodness—a concept for Alois and the triplets?: Alois is sleeping against one, or two, of them, and they talk quietly amongst themselves whilst mentioning how they cannot move, otherwise they’ll wake ‘him’.)

— You do illogical things sometimes, and are driven mostly by emotion. Which is odd, because I have seen you be logical before. You just choose not to?”

“I do! Keep going: More specific. C’mon, what kind of a description is that?”

Canterbury seemed even more confused. After a long second, he asked, “Are you trying to make me point out everything I find wrong about you?”

I’d just be repeating my most recent points, here, but I can’t help it. Each point is validated with each passing line, which shows just how good the writing and plotting of this is, and I just love it.

That being said: Claude would have told Alois that he was foolish for his implicitness and then proceeded to list all of the things “wrong” with him without any further qualms.

So, while infuriating, it must be a fresh change of scrutiny for Alois. I can’t wait for any future expansion on this universe, because I love it oh-so-much.

“I just don’t know who I- who I am. And if you…if you told me, maybe, I could figure it out. Maybe I could-”

“Fix what is wrong?” Canterbury’s perfectly symmetrical face skewed to the side, as he tilted his head, doglike.

“Yes! You get it!”

And, as Canterbury suddenly catches on, there is a lapse in Alois’ (or the author’s, but let’s just pin it all onto Alois for now) wording.

Canterbury was previously mentioned to be catlike over doglike (the former being used to compare Claude and Hannah, identically), and I find it intriguing that it’s now used for Canterbury, although the “-like” suggests something not entirely committed to the comparison.

Canterbury is slowly changing in Alois’ mind—now that he “gets it”, Alois is seeing as something like Claude or Hannah, but not entirely. Dogs are also used to describe something as loyal or understanding, especially over cats (stereotypically), so I can imagine that this is what is happening here.

And, again, I love it.

“Now that Claude’s gone, I’m going to be a whole new earl. I need to… to reinvent myself.”

“Why?”

“Because --” he had a reason. He tried to explain that reason.

“Why?”

“Because--” And to that, he had another excuse, another reason, another explanation.

“Okay. But, why?”

And at that point, he just burst into tears.

I’ll admit, here I don’t know whether Canterbury is doing this on purpose or not. It’s hard to tell, and literary/narrative choice or no, I love it.

It’s the one air of mystery that this fic holds, and to me it just adds to the appeal.

Claude would not entertain the “because, why” banter to-and-fro, and I doubt he would feign an understanding, whereas Hannah would. I am in firm belief that Hannah herself would not fully “know” what Alois is feeling, but rather Luka, who is inside of her, would lead her to believe that she does.

Canterbury, on the other hand, does not understand these emotions and does not entertain the idea that he does. Because he doesn’t. But beside this, I’d like to opt that he knows what he’s doing in regard of this repetitive “because, why” dialogue, perhaps feeling the need to press further in an attempt to gather an answer.

From what we’ve seen of Thompson, perhaps he and Canterbury together (if not Thompson on his own) would be better suited to this task than just Canterbury, who is present as “Alois’ favourite” (emotional support, maybe, once their relationship progresses?).

This again differentiates Canterbury from Claude and Hannah, and honestly it’s for the better. I think it’s exactly what Alois needs.

And now, my favourite act of the fic, the ending and its lead-up:

Canterbury carried him up to his bedroom. It was a bit awkward, the two being about the same size.

Null establishes that Canterbury (and the other triplets, alike) has never picked Alois up, reminding us of the daisies in the beginning establishing “new beginnings”.

Claude could so easily lift him up and sweep him off his feet,

This is reminiscent of the “Juliet and Romeo” idea, the wording of this particular bit shows how hopeless Alois was for Claude, and now that he’s gone everything is different—i.e.:

so being carried by someone smaller and scrawnier - even if he was an extraordinarily powerful demon, underneath it all - was a new and awkward feeling.

And this may be a feeling he is to get accustomed to, as the triplets (and Hannah, but mostly the triplets, not out of probability but out of subject of this analysis) will be carrying him to bed far more often, now that Claude cannot.

He tucked his legs in and held himself close to his vest, and Canterbury cared so little that, if it was up to him, he’d drag Alois across the floor by the ankle.

This fic is based entirely in Alois’ POV—so whether Canterbury actually feels this way or not is completely subjective and therefore a mystery, as I’d previously mentioned.

(If he doesn’t and Alois is merely assuming, that could also be interesting because it would be quite sad, because he’s applying what he remembers of Claude onto Canterbury.)

Eventually he was deposited back in bed,

The phrasing here, mostly the use of “deposited”, makes the action seem rough, as though Canterbury had actually dumped Alois in bed. Because, most definitely, Claude had never allowed him (and he’d never offered) to put Alois to bed before.

This is the first time, and it all circles back to the daisies, one way or another.

He hated how the sheets smelled (…) so he ordered Canterbury to replace them. Canterbury did, as he stood to the side, shaking and picking at the buttons of his nightgown.

This reminds me of when Alois would undo his buttons just after Claude had done them up.

But now, he isn’t doing it out of mischief or for attention, he’s doing it because he’s anxious. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep and he’s thinking about everything that’s happened (presumably).

They were half undone by the time the demon turned around and, in a silent communication, Canterbury helped him out of it and into another, fresher shift of nightwear.

I don’t have much to say about this part, other than the fact that this is cute. (And Claude would have sighed or asked, dryly, if he needed a new nightgown before changing it.)

“Do you hate me?” Alois asked.

“No,”

“Do they hate me?”

(…)

“No.”

This is another tender moment between the two. It’s slowly becoming more saccharine, because it feels like it’s night time, now (although it’s only eleven in the morning) and I love it, dearly.

It’s sweetening because it’s slowly wrapping up, and it feels so IC and therefore quite natural. There’s not much to really comment on besides that.

“Claude used to tuck me in.”

“Did you ask him to do that?”

He pulled his own covers up.

Canterbury doesn’t reject the idea of tucking Alois in, but he’s waiting for Alois to ask him to—for Alois to take the initiative—and Alois doesn’t.

Because he isn’t ready.

Alois pointed at the foot of the bed and, reluctantly, Canterbury slunk to his side, sitting on the edge with his feet planted on the wood floor.

And yet he gestures for Canterbury to remain close, for now. Honestly—this fic is incredible, and the direction that it goes in is phenomenal. It is such a delight to read and reread, by god.

(“Slunk” also brings a quick and subtle return to the cat imagery, which is nice.)

“So… do they hate me?”

“No.”

(…)

“Why not?”

“I can bring them in and have them answer.”

“Can you answer for them? One of you is enough,” Alois sunk a bit deeper into the blanket, —

(Alois “sinking” into his blanket can imply how he’s slowly easing in Canterbury’s presence.)

— suddenly feeling faintly ill. “I don’t like them…you’re my favorite.”

This was a recent development. It reflected in Canterbury’s face as his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Alright. Well… Timber, as curt as he is, thinks you look cute. More so when you cry. We all do.”

And while it is ordered of him, Canterbury starts telling Alois what he and his brothers think, which helps thin the original insecurity that caused their vow of silence in the first place.

“Okay. What does Thomspon think?”

This continued for a bit. Alois was cute, small, pathetic. He cried loudly. He was painfully unstealthy, at least the trained eyes of three bored demons.

And the barrier of insecurity proceeds to recede, ever so slowly, steadily, the two—at least, I assume—begin to bond. Slightly. It’s a start. A new beginning.

He wore his emotions and didn’t, once, not question Claude’s authority, even if he was the prince of the house.

“That was kind of strange,” Canterbury stood up from the side of the bed. Not because Alois told him to, but because he was done entertaining,

And this brings us back to the cat imagery and the subtle Claude parallels (to subconsciously keep Alois comforted in familiarity).

“I didn’t trust Claude. He was painfully lazy, he made us do his work for him. And most of that work was pleasing you.”

“So… why don’t you remember what makes me happy?”

On the way out, Canterbury, for no reason in particular, decided to just kill Alois with his next statement, “Do you?”

And like that, the “because, why” banter is recollected, and I’m led to believe that, yes, Canterbury knows what he’s doing to some degree.

Alois thinks about this for a bit. He gets up, later (after a few hours, I’m led to believe), and things seem to look up, because he gets up. And then he calls for the triplets, with the closing line of the fic being:

Thompson emerged. Not as rude as Timber, nor as patient as Canterbury, but he would just have to do.

Which finally shows us that Alois is making peace with the triplets being there instead of Claude.

———

Overall, I think this work is incredible. Immaculate, actually. It’s premise is something I never would have thought up on my own, and I’m now in love with the triplets and Alois together—it’s given me a new affinity, just like how the first work in the series, Broken Birds, made me realise my affinity for “Good Claude CharacterisationTM”.

I think that shows how inspiring Null’s works actually are. They’re certainly works that are each worth revisiting (something that I don’t often do), and I think that’s a talent in-and-of itself.

Thank you, Null, for this wonderful fic. I’m sure whatever happens next will be a captivating read, regardless—and I hope we get to see more of these four, soon <3

slams this on the table ITS DONE

[spilladabalia]

For Breakfast - Heavy Horse Museum

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written. 

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

[volklana]

Everything I Do. I Do It For You

Alfred's Daughter x Sihtric

Title Comes From This Song:

Fic Idea Curtesy of the ever amazing @whitedarkmoonflower : 💖💖

I was just dreaming of a story like Aramis und Anne just with Sihtric where Uhtred's pretty boys are tasked with safeguarding a princess (Alfred's daughter) and they are attacked and have to hide and ... you know what happens with Aramis and Anne in the monastery...

Warnings: Themes of domestic abuse. Violence and unwanted sexual comments/advances.

*Not as proof read as I would have liked*

The news from Kent left Aethelfaed reeling.

There had been a Danish incursion on the city of Canterbury, and the Lord, your husband had been too weak to banish them and was forced to concede some of his lands to the Danes, but to make matters worse it was being entirely blamed on you, her little sister.

“They are calling her Royal Whore,” she cried, pacing around the room and Uhtred reached out a hand to try and steady her, “What are we to do Uhtred?” she begged, biting the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit she had since she was a child.

“There can be no truth to it, Lady,” Uhtred reassured, “Y/n would never conspire with the Danes, she would never threaten Edward’s rule this way. She would not dishonour the memory of your Father.”

“We must go to her, we must do something!” she cried.

“You cannot Lady,” Aldhelm begged, “Mercia cannot be seen to interfere in this matter, it would be an attack of Kent’s autonomy, it would bring their fyrd’s upon us, it would mean war.”

“And so it should. They intend to put her sister to death,” Uhtred insisted and her face softened at him.

“Does my father’s name mean nothing?” she despaired, “She is a daughter of Alfred. Sister to the King of Wessex. My little sister,” her tears were flowing freely and both men wanted nothing more than to reach out and console her.

“I will go to Kent and I will retrieve her,” Uhtred promised and Aldhelm wilted,

“Uhtred you are too recognisable, and you are Edward’s man, this would be seen as Wessex interfering, and not on Edward’s orders.”

“He’s right,” Athelflaed cried, burying her head in her hands “She is lost to us.”

“I will go Lord,” Sihtric’s voice cut through the tension and everyone turned to face him “I will go and I will take her back safely Lady, upon my word, I will return her to you.”

“Sihtric,” Atheleflaed cried and sprung forward, not caring for etiquette or order and pulled him into a strong gripped embrace.

“You will be killed if you are caught,” she all but whispered to him.

“If you please, the Lady Y/N has always been kind to me and I would not see her abandoned to this fate,” he replied and she smiled sadly at him through her tears.

“There is an abandoned monastery along the old Roman road,” Uhtred instructed as Sihtric was readying his horse “If you can get to her we will meet you there,” Uhtred promised, grasping the young Dane by the back of his neck in affection.

“I will not fail you, Lord,” he promised.

“You never have!” Uhtred confirmed and the two embraced in promise that they would see each other soon. 

It did not take long for him to find you, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you when he slit the throat of the man standing guard outside your room of confinement, pushing the heavy door open to find you, hair down in loose curls, not plaited in the way he was used to seeing you and in nothing but your night shift, your lip was split and your cheek was marked red where you had been struck. Your hands were tied, your eyes wide and wild as if you were expecting someone else, another tormentor he thought distastefully. 

“Sihtric,” you gasped, frozen in place, taking him in as if he were an apparition of the Holy Ghost before you.

“Can you walk my Lady? We do not have much time.”

“Yes, yes!” you promised, running towards him, and you ran around corners, pressing your backs against stone walls whenever you heard voices, and continuing down countless stone steps until you were out into the freedom of the night air, down into the courtyard and Sihtric led you through a crack in the wall where he had left his horse, hoisted you up and kicked off into a gallop, away into the night.

The bells began to ring in the city behind you and Sihtric rode his horse for as long as could until the horse threatened to collapse from exhaustion.

It killed him to do it, because he loved the mare and she had been nothing but loyal to him but he knew he had to set her loose as soon as he deemed he was far enough away to maintain the lead, to avoid being tracked. 

He led you into the forest and filled his water pouch and pressed it to your lips, which you gulped gratefully.

He took his dagger and sliced at the ropes binding your hands, sighing when he saw the angry red skin where the rope had burned your wrists. 

You stood facing him for a moment before you thrust yourself into his arms, crying freely as his strong arms held you in place.

“I knew you would come for me. I knew it would be you.” 

“I promised I would always protect you,” he whispered into your hair and you pulled away to look into his mismatched eyes.

Sihtric had saved your life once, years ago, before you had been sent off like a brood mare to marry that Lord in Kent, when you and the Lady Aelswith had been set upon by a hungry mob, he had picked you up, your gown in tatters and carried you to safety, and he still wore the silver chain you had given him as recompense. It was the Christian Cross, he did not believe in your nailed god but when you had placed it around his neck and promised him it would keep him safe he did not have the heart to deny you.

And throughout the many battles he had survived since then, he would never admit to the amount of times he had pulled the chain from his undershirt and held it tightly until the sharp edges of the cross hurt his palm. 

“It will protect you as you have always protected me,” you whispered to him, looking up at him through your lashes and his heart had all but stopped in your chest. 

There had been something between you since then, some unspoken, unacted upon ‘thing,’ but it was there nonetheless, and you knew that Sihtric would lay down his life for you if it came to it.

He had watched you from the shadows for years, all those times Uhtred spent around your Father, around Aethelflaed, he was always there watching you with those huge beautiful eyes and the ‘thing’ had always been there. 

Sihtric would have walked through the night, following the river and the bright light of the full moon, until it led him to the old Roman road but he could see that you were exhausted and you were beginning to shake. He had ridden for hours and he suspected that those searching for you would be heading towards Winchester, not expecting you to be heading towards Aylesbury and especially not along the old Roman road. Or so he hoped so least. 

“We will rest here,” he finally whispered into the night, you had come along a little creek in the river and you both climbed down the bank where the overgrowth of roots and brambles allowed the perfect hiding spot, and he parted the thorns with his sword for you to crawl in and he followed behind.

He shrugged off his riding cloak and wrapped you up in it, rubbing his hands along your arms to try and warm you up, but your teeth still chattered.

“May I?” he asked and you nodded your head as he pulled you onto his lap and closed his arms around your body.

It was inappropriate and it was brazen, but it would be of no use if he carried your body back to Aylesbury because you had frozen to death in the night.

Your bare feet were like blocks of ice to touch and he fumbled with his sheepskin boots, pulling them off to get to his yarn socks, that he pulled off his feet and placed on yours, pulling his boots back on over his bare feet.

You thanked him profusely and he understood that you were ashamed of your predicament, you had lived a life of privilege and you were not adapted to the elements, Sihtric on the other hand had slept outside both willingly and as punishment more times than he could count. 

You were fighting sleep and he squeezed you lightly “It’s alright Lady, close your eyes and rest. I will keep watch and you will need your strength for the journey tomorrow.” 

Your head finally slumped against his chest and your breath evened out indicating that you had finally given in to sleep. 

When you woke in the morning, Sihtric was absent, so you ventured out to find him standing knee high in the flowing waters of the creek, catching fish with his bare hands and throwing them onto the bank. You stood for a moment watching him in silence, his naked torso gleamed under the morning sun and you watched his muscles contort and move with his efforts , until a glint of silver caught your eye.

“You still wear it?” you said softly, referencing the silver cross chain around his neck, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Yes, Lady,” he replied, taking it in his hands, and looking at you with such honesty it made you want to cry “It keeps me safe.”

“Sihtric, you do not have to call me Lady. Please call me by my name.”

He looked at you shyly for a moment before nodding and continuing his work.

He deemed it safe to light a little fire in the morning sun, and you watched him gut and cook the fish, gladly eating what he provided for you, and when the fire was safely put out, you once again began your travels towards the old Roman road. 

The sun was its highest peak and you were beginning to lag behind him a little when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of hooves.

“Quick, quick,” he ushered, grabbing your hand and breaking out into a sprint pulling you behind him, down into some marshes and he pulled you down.

You were distraught, “Please. Please Sihtric don’t let them take me back there.”

“On my life, I will keep you safe,” he promised and you buried your head in his chest as he shushed you, your breathing was quick and ragged and he placed a gentle hand over your mouth, and he squeezed his own eyes closed at the voices on the road, he begged his gods and your nailed god to let them pass on. 

“I get first go of her when we catch her,” one of them shouted obnoxiously. “If she’s good enough for Danish cock, she’s good enough for mine.”

His friends roared with laughter and you felt the blood rush to your face, you would have recognised that voice anywhere, the head of your husband’s house guard, you were still carrying the marks to your face from his last visit to your chambers.

“Do you think her brother will interfere?” another voice asked.

“Edward is an aresling. Alfred would have had our Lord’s head on a spike for ever accusing his daughter of such a thing.”

“Well maybe Edward knew she was a whore, that’s why he gave her away so willingly.”

A chorus of laughter rang out, but Sihtric sighed in relief as it moved out of earshot, they were moving onwards.

But he was startled to feel his hand was growing wet and only then did he realise that you were crying, and your teardrops were splashing onto the gentle hand he still had over your mouth.

He cupped your face gently until your ashamed eyes met his, “I will never, ever let them have you or hurt you, ever again,” he whispered earnestly and you cried a few more moments before you gathered yourself enough to nod.

The road was no longer safe and so you would make the rest of the journey through the marshes and trees following alongside the road. 

You hadn’t said a word since hearing your husband’s men’s taunts earlier and Sihtric had no idea how to break the silence, so he opted instead to make sure to share his water with you, and because you were only in socks, he carried you over the heaviest parts of marsh or mud and you thanked him profusely each time but said no more than that..

As darkness was beginning to swoop in, Sihtric was relieved to see the monastery's large presence begin to come into sight.

“We’re almost there my Lady,” he told you and you smiled weakly at him, and accepted his outstretched hand as he pulled you over some brambles. When he went to take his hand back, you held it tighter in yours and so he let you keep a hold of his hand in yours as you walked the remaining distance.

He had caught a rabbit earlier in the day and immediately set about lighting a small fire to cook it upon.

He called you for food and you were ringing your hair out, you had gone down to the stream behind to bathe and he wanted to scold you, tell you how dangerous that had been, but seeing as you were safe in front of him now, it would have been pointless. 

He tried not to laugh as you scoffed down your food, but he had known just how hungry the day’s travel had been for him and he was used to it, you on the other hand had lived a privileged life and never known real hunger.

As it came time to hunker down for the night you came and stood before Sihtric, who was adding more wood to the fire.

“Those men were right earlier,” you told him, breaking your hours long silence, and Sihtric shook his head in disagreement.

“Not about me being a whore. But, about Edward giving me away.”

Sihtric moved closer so he was standing directly in front of you. He too had gone to bathe in the stream and his curls were loose and damp.

“I was given to Godwin as a consolation for the death of his brother Sigebriht at the battle of Bendanford. If the men of Kent had not shown up when they did- Edward’s men were outnumbered, who knows what would have happened.”

Sihtric had fought in the battle of Bedanford and remembered all too well the lines breaking before the men of Kent turned up.

“But he was kind to you, before all this? The Lord Godwin?” he asked softly.

You smiled sadly and in the glow of the flames Sihtric could see the tears in your eyes.

“Not once. From the moment we married he was heavy handed and cruel and on our wedding night I was sure I would die, but Athelflaed assured me that was a husband’s way and that I must endure it for the sake of Wessex, and so I did.”

Sihtric scrunched his hand into a fist in rage with what you were telling him but he let you continue.

“None of it is true, what I am accused of. I never lay with another man except my husband in all my life. I never conspired with the Danes. I found correspondence between the Lord Sigebright and my own uncle Aethelwold who were conspiring to seize the throne from Edward when he was Edward Rex, before the battle of Bedandord, and my own husband has intentions of doing the same, and so he discredits me with these lies so nobody will believe the truth of what I have uncovered and once I am dead he will be free to marry his mistress. She is the one he has always loved, who has carried the children he refuses to denounce, and who sleeps in the Lord’s bedchambers, while I was confined to the room you found me in.” 

Sihtric could feel the tears in his own eyes as he watched you helplessly.

“Tomorrow Lord Uhtred will arrive and we will take you to your sister and you will never have to go back there again,” he promised, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Then it is our last night together,” you whispered sadly and he nodded.

“My whole life I have been honour bound to serve my duty. To serve Wessex. It is true I have lived a privileged life, but I have never been free. I have never known love. Sihtric you are a kind and gentle man and any woman would be privileged to be loved by you, please,” you begged, taking his hand in yours. “If tonight is to truly be our last night, let me be loved by you, as I have loved you from afar for all these years.”

Sihtric’s face crumpled with emotion and he surged forward to capture your lips with his.

He worshipped every inch of your skin, kissing you in places you had never been kissed before. Pulling you apart with his hands and tongue before he had even pressed himself inside of you and you looked like a goddess underneath the glow of the fire.

“I should not be allowed to look upon you, let alone touch you,” he whispered.

You never knew love could feel this way. You were used to pain and punishment and being used for the satisfaction of your husband who never looked upon your face, you kept expecting Sihtric to flip you over and press your face against the wood, but he commanded you to keep your eyes on him at all times, and when you took the cross necklace in your hands and pulled him to you to kiss his lips he came inside you, collapsing down on top you, arms swooping underneath you to pull you to him, and tears slipped down your cheeks to know this would be the last time you had him like this.

“I have loved you all this time,” he admitted into your hair, he had pulled you close, encapsulating you in his strong arms, so that you may fall asleep together, and you snuggled in tight to his warmth as sleep began to overtake you.

“As I have loved you,” you replied drowsily. 

The next day Uhtred, Finan and Osferth arrived with horses and food, which you and Sihtric gladly ate before packing up and beginning the trek back to Aylesbury

When you stopped to make camp for the night, it was Osferth who offered you some furs and carried you over some stale bread and cheese whilst Sihtric was deep in conversion with Uhtred and Finan.

“Thank you Osferth,” you told him kindly.

“You know who I am?” he asked gently and you looked at him sadly and smiled before reaching out to grasp his arm “You are my brother,” you told him honestly and he sniffed and looked away.

“Your bastard brother,” he said bitterly, although it was not aimed at you.

“Am I your sister?” you asked him, and he turned to look at you with soft eyes, “You are.”

“Well then,” you said, squeezing his arm gently, “You are my brother.”

You broke some of the bread he had given you and offered it to him, and the tears in his eyes spoke volumes about how much this meant to him.

That night Sihtric snuck into your arms again, as Finan kept watch and you fell asleep once more in his embrace.

Finan, looked on in sympathy, they had all seen the way you two were around each other and he knew it could only end in pain for his Danish friend. 

When you finally reached Mercia Aethelflaed nearly knocked the wind from your lungs with the embrace she gave you, and she turned your face in her hands to examine your cut lip and marked face, 

She provided you with clean clothes and her servants washed you in warm water and when you finally joined her for dinner, Sihtric’s eyes were immediately on you.

When you finally relayed the whole story to her about your uncle’s betrayal and your husband’s own plans with the Danes her face was grim.

“Maybe we can convince him to accept a divorce and the promise of no interference from Wessex and Mercia?” Aldhelm suggested “If Edward will agree to it.”

“Edward is proud,” Uhtred offered “But if he knew the whole story, he might.”

The doors to the Great Hall suddenly opened with a bang and a group of men marched their way inside led by none other than your brother and following behind was your husband.

“Is she here?” Edward demanded, eyes searching the table until his eyes landed on yours and the fury within them made you shrink.

“Edward!” Aethelflaed pleaded, affronted by his lack of regard in her hall.

“Be silent you!” he spat “My own sister commits treason and the other steals her away from her husband in the night in an attempt to thwart justice. And not one person thought to inform their King.”

Everyone was standing and Sihtric was beside you in a heartbeat.

“I am not going back!” you cried and Edward’s nose flared “You will do as you are told!”

“You are in my country,” Athelflaed warned “And you will not march into my hall and make demands. We will talk about this calmly and rationally.” 

Edward banged his fists on the table causing Athelflaed to jump “There is no discussion to be had,she is going back to her husband to answer for her crimes against Kent and Wessex.”

You swiped Sihtric’s dagger from its pelt and held the blade to your throat, “I will end my life here of my own volition, but I will never return to him.”

“No!” Aethelflaed and Sihtric begged you to put the blade down.

“Do it and be done,” your husband sneered and Edward regarded him from the corner of his eye.

“Everyone out! Leave me to talk to my sisters. Out!” he commanded.

You lowered the dagger slowly and Sihtric took it from you with shaking hands and wide eyes. 

“Sihtric,” Uhtred called but he remained frozen to his spot in front of you.

“Sihtric,” Aethelflaed said a little more softly “She will be safe,” Sihtric nodded slowly before making to depart with Uhtred and his men.

“You too!” Sihtric spat at your husband who had remained as if he was exempt from Edward’s order.

“Sihtric, you need to cool it,” Uhtred warned his friend who was glaring daggers at your turd of a husband “You are too close to her, you will give yourself away and put her in more danger.”

Sihtric’s face pulled up into a frown and Uhtred softened, “She is being accused of sleeping with Danes, that is a lie, but do not make her accusations become true by exposing your love now!” 

Uhtred was right, but that did not make it any easier for Sihtric to swallow.

“Where did you find the letter?” Edward asked, resting his chin on his joined hands.

“It was buried between the pages of the Lord Sigebriht’s bible,” you all but whispered, “Father’s bible was stripped from me when I was banished from Godwin’s chambers, I requested another and that was the one brought to me.”

“And Godwin’s collaboration with the Danes, how did you learn this?”

“The head of his household guard used to come to my chambers drunk to torment me. One night he came boasting that I was to be given to the Danish leader in exchange for free passage through Kent into Wessex. My husband has wanted an excuse to rid of me so he may marry his mistress, she is pregnant with another of his children as we speak.”

Edward slumped down into his chair and ran his hands over his face.

“The Danes were in Canterbury upon his request, they did not attack of their own volition,” Aethelflaed added.

“Brother,” you cried crouching down beside him and taking your hands in his “When have you ever known me to be dishonest. Have I not always done my duty for crown and country?”

Edward sighed and nodded, running a hand over your marked cheek

“From the day we were married he has hurt me, belittled me and defiled me but I stayed for my duty to you as your sister, and for our Father’s vision of England. I have never asked you for anything but now I am pleading before you and God, release me from that man. Grant him divorce so he may marry his mistress and I will stay here in Mercia and serve our sister, or I will go to Abbess Hild and take the vows, but I beg do not send me back to that man.”

“You would take the vows?” Edward asked sadly, “Commit your life to the monastery?”

“If that is what it takes,” you answered truthfully. You briefly thought about Sihtric standing outside the door and your heart sank, you knew there was no reality on Earth where you might be allowed to be together, and you had already asked enough from your brother this night.

“Will you ask Lord Uhtred to return,” he asked and you went to fetch the Lord.

“Godwin cannot go unpunished,” Aethelflaed hissed, “As long as he remains Kent will always offer free passage of the Danes into Wessex.”

“Agreed,” Edward nodded and then Uhtred was by his side.

“What would you suggest to do in my shoes Lord Uhtred?” he asked and Uhtred considered his words for a moment.

“You must be seen to do justice Lord King,” he replied “If he tells lies and he communicates with enemies perhaps removing him of his tongue would forbid him from ever doing this kind of damage again.” 

“My Father let my uncle live when he should have put a knife through his heart.”

“He should have,” Uhtred agreed “But it was his poisoned tongue that did the damage, it is that that should have been cut from him, not an eye.” 

“Have my household guard seize the Lord Godwin,” Edward instructed Uhtred, “There is to be a trial in the morning.” 

You dropped to your knees and buried your head in your brother's hands as you thanked him over and over and over again

You were not taking Sihtric’s departure well. You could not eat and many nights you found yourself laying in bed, candles burning down to the wick as you stared up at the ceiling in tears.

You had gone to see him the night before he was to depart Mercia, and even if you kissed him a thousand times it would never have been enough.

“I would marry you,” he had whispered into the night even though you both knew that it was impossible and you took his hand to your chest so that he may feel your heart beating.

“As long as I have breath in my lungs, my heart belongs to you and you only,” you promised him.

And the next day you watched him ride away with grace, holding back the tears until you could slink away to your room and you thought then that your tears would become an ocean. 

You were grateful to Edward for allowing you to stay in Mercia with your sister because at least you had her comfort and the company of little Aelfwynn to occupy some of your lonely days.

“She is a wretch without him,” Aethelflaed whispered one day to Aldhelm, who looked on in sympathy at your plight.

And time passed by in a haze of filling your days surrounded by those you loved and endless nights staring up at the wooden beams of your room, remembering what it was to have Sihtric’s arms around you.

And then the sickness came, you could not move more than a few paces without vomiting and you could barely hold any of your meals down and Aethelflaed was so concerned she called for both a laece to come and partake in the letting of your blood and a healer to give you herbs in an attempt to make you well again.

“I refuse to lose you now Sister,” she had cried over your sleeping form whilst the laece attached the leeches to your arm.

It was however the healer who discovered what illness you were plagued with; you were with child.

“The child is Sihtric’s?” Aethelflaed asked softly when you were finally able to make it out of bed and all you could do was stare at your feet as you nodded solemnly. 

“The child will be born a bastard unless you claim it is Godwin’s,” she said downcast.

“No,” you cried hysterically, hand instinctively flying to your stomach “That man can have no claim to my child!”

“Y/n,” she hissed. “Don’t you understand unless you do this your child will be sent to the monasteries to be raised as a bastard, you will be forbidden to see them, our Mother will ensure to it.”

“I will marry him,” you pleaded. “He said that he would marry me. I want to go to him. Let me marry him, please Aethelflaed I beg of you.”

“You cannot,” she cried, “My darling girl, the daughter of Alfred cannot marry a Dane, let alone bear his child.”

She took your hand and directed her gaze towards her own little girl who was playing unaware “I know this better than anyone.”

You allowed her to pull you to her as you cried helplessly upon her shoulder.

You were standing under the summer sun watching Aelfwynn play, her laughter filled the air and you watched her dance under sunbeams, spinning wildly and you suddenly felt a jolt of lightning shoot through your body and the thought of the little life growing inside you.

Your baby would be half of Sihtric. Testimony to the love you had shared for years now, and even if it boiled down to just that one night of passion it had meant more to you than any other interaction your whole life.

You thought about Osferth. About Edward's two small children, denounced and forced to grow up in religious orders away from their parents, and about Sihtric himself, all children who had never known love, only punishment for the actions of their parents and your mind was made up.

If there was punishment to come, if it meant forever to be disowned by your family, to never speak to your own mother again, then you would endure it. You would receive the punishment so that your own child would grow up in a house where they knew they were loved and even though it would kill you to walk away from your sister, you knew you had to go to Sihtric.

You left in the night with nothing but the clothes upon your back, and you rode for three days in your condition until you tracked him down.

When you broke the news he fell upon his knees and placed his head upon your stomach, his hands rubbing the swell of skin there and he was crying.

“I have nothing to offer you both,” he cried and you carded your fingers through his hair.

“All we need is your love,” you promised him.

“Y/n you have lived a life of privilege, all I have is a tiny home, I am not a rich man you will not have the riches you are accustomed to.”

“Sihtric, I have known privilege my whole life and none of it matters a wit to how you make me feel, I would rather have nothing with you than everything without you.”

He rose and cupped your face, eyes swimming in emotion “Your family will disown you.”

“Yes,” you replied but you had made your peace with that, “Initially, but this too will pass and I know Aethelflaed will never truly turn her back on me, my Mother however, I know she will be lost to me.”

Sihtric swiped his thumb over your cheek and his eyes darted down to your lips.

“I am the most selfish man in the world to allow you to do this but I am running out of will to try and talk you into walking away. I have loved you for as long as I can remember,” he whispered.

“So stop trying to send me away,” you laughed and he laughed a short breathy laugh.

“You know. Surely you must know, that everything I do, I do it for you. For your happiness. For your protection.”

“And I appreciate it but Sihtric you cannot change my mind on this. My heart is set on you.” 

Uhtred damn near had a stroke when the two of you went before him in the morning to ask for permission to marry.

“You will forever be at the loss of your family,” he tried to reason and you smiled softly at Osferth.

“Not all of my family, I have a brother who was also ostracised and he has turned out just fine. If he will have me as his sister, I will not be alone.”

“Always,” he smiled, cheeks tinged pink.

“Well then, not all of my family,” you confirmed.

“Aethelflaed will have me murdered,”Uhtred protested.

“She will forgive you as she always does,” you remained steadfast.

“The Lady Aelswith-”

“-Has stripped enough children away from loving parents, she will not be taking my child away unless it is from my dead breast.”

“Sihtric?” Uhtred pleaded, begging his friend to talk some sense.

“It has been her from the moment I laid eyes upon her Lord,” he said and Uhtred had no choice but to relent, for he himself had always been free to follow his own heart, Isolde, Gisela and Aethelflaed, how could he in good conscience deny you both your chance and so he consented.

And so you married.

In time you would carry three more children for Sihtric who remained the light of your whole life.

You were happier in this part of life that you had ever been before, even if you never got to make amends with Edward before he died and even if Aethelflaed had to meet you in secret before she too passed away.

Sometimes in the middle of the night Sihtric would whisper into the darkness asking if you ever regretted your decision and your answer always remained the same.

Never, not once.

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored

[evilasiangenius]

Sneak Preview: The Canterbury Tales Roadtrip

Aziraphale carried Crowley into the inn. The demon was still dead asleep and wrapped up – even his face was entirely hidden in the folds of Aziraphale’s hyacinth-colored cloak, and the angel resisted the temptation to push that fur-lined wool back just a little bit so that he could stroke the demon’s dark curling hair.

“I’m sorry, you can’t bring in anyone sick!” the innkeeper began, moving to block the way.

“Oh no, he’s not sick at all. He’s quite healthy, through and through. I doubt the plague could even touch him. Besides, this. This. Er, this is…” Aziraphale panicked for a moment, trying to think up an excuse. “This is…erm, this is…this is my son!”

“I’m not his son,” Crowley’s voice was muffled from beneath the enshrouding cloak.

“Ha ha, that’s exactly the kind of backchat a son would say. My son. These young folks and their jests, really. Now now, my child, behave or I might accidentally drop you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Quiet, child. The adults are talking.”

Crowley gasped in outrage.

“Anyhow, the poor child fell asleep on my horse, which reminds me, if you could send someone to make sure my palfrey’s watered and fed, I’d appreciate it. I can handle the grooming myself–”

“Did you say horse?” The innkeeper’s ears pricked up at the suggestion of wealth, and then he inspected Aziraphale a little more closely, from the cream-colored silk velvet of his long calf-length pleated houppelandes, the sleeves fashionably scalloped and trimmed with the same pale blue-gray fur lining of the hyacinth cloak to the low slung belt with elaborate metal ornaments of gold-chased bronze and hanging tassels of silk, among which hung a heavy purse. “Come in, come in! Please, did you want a room? You’ll be wanting a room, we got the very best rooms for a man of your standing, Sir…?”

“Ahem, if you must know, I am a knight. Sir Aziraphale, a knight of the crown,” Aziraphale said, resting his hand upon a hilt made of white horn and bound with golden silk cord. “As you can see by my sword.”

“Oh, so that’s what was poking my back,” Crowley said softly, just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear.

Aziraphale went bright red. “And my son who is my squire.” He drew Crowley a bit closer, and whispered into the demon’s ear. “Don’t make me drop you.”

“Yes, I’ll behave. Daddy,” Crowley laughed, looking up into Aziraphale’s flustered, consternated face.

[whencyclopedia]

Charles Cornwallis

Charles Cornwallis (1738-1805), 1st Marquess and 2nd Earl Cornwallis, was a British military officer and statesman best known for surrendering to George Washington at the Siege of Yorktown, the final decisive engagement of the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783). After the war, Cornwallis went on to serve in administrative posts in India and Ireland.

Early Life

Charles Cornwallis was born on 31 December 1738, in Grosvenor Square in London, England, the scion of an old and distinguished family. His ancestor, Frederick Cornwallis, had fought for the Royalists in the English Civil Wars (1642-1651) and had even joined King Charles II of England in exile; for his loyal service to the Stuarts, Frederick was made Baron Cornwallis in 1661 following the restoration of Charles II to the English throne. Members of the Cornwallis family would go on to prosper in various positions across the British Empire. Charles' uncle, Edward Cornwallis, served as the colonial governor of Nova Scotia and founded the town of Halifax, while another uncle, Frederick, was Archbishop of Canterbury.

Charles was the eldest of six children born to Charles, 1st Earl Cornwallis, and his wife Elizabeth Townshend. As a youth, he was educated at Eton College, where he sustained a permanent eye injury during a game of field hockey, accidentally inflicted by Shute Barrington, future bishop of Durham. In December 1757, shortly before his 19th birthday, he was commissioned in the British Army as an ensign in the Grenadier Guards. Hoping to broaden his understanding of military matters, he traveled across Europe under the tutelage of a Prussian officer before enrolling in a military academy in Turin, Italy. The young Cornwallis was described as "an English aristocrat of the finest type…enlightened, tolerant, and humane; contemptuous of money and indifferent to the outward badges of honour…a living and most attractive example of antique and single-minded patriotism" (quoted in Boatner, 285).

Upon completing his studies at Turin, Cornwallis learned that his regiment was being deployed to fight in the ongoing Seven Years' War (1756-1763). Cornwallis served in Germany in the allied army commanded by Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel. He first saw action at the Battle of Minden (1 August 1759) in which the British and their German allies thwarted an attempted French invasion of Hanover; it was during this action that the father of Marquis de Lafayette, one of Cornwallis' future battlefield opponents, was killed. After Minden, Cornwallis purchased a captaincy in the 85th Regiment of Foot and briefly returned to England where he won election to the House of Commons in January 1760.

Returning to the battlefront, Cornwallis was promoted to lieutenant colonel and assumed command of his regiment. He saw heavy fighting at the Battle of Villinghausen (15-16 July 1761), where he was noted for his gallantry, and participated in the Battle of Wilhelmsthal (24 June 1762). During these campaigns, Cornwallis met and befriended fellow British officers Henry Clinton and William Phillips, both of whom would also serve as generals during the American Revolution. Cornwallis fought in several more minor engagements in Germany before the end of the war the following year.

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[charlidos]

I keep writing Viggorli fanfiction in my head, sometimes with a little help from Viggo's poetry. I think Viggo uses his art and poetry to express himself, but of course no one but him can know what he was thinking when writing it. But I can imagine. And I wish to imagine he wrote some of them thinking of Orlando. I'm sure my imaginations and theories are only new to me.

As with the O+H painting, the poems which are dated from the time frame of filming LotR (1999-2002) can reasonably be considered to be quite influenced by everything Viggo experienced while in New Zealand. He spent 18 months+ there, after all. For this reason, I read his poem Communion imagining he was also under the heavy influence of love for his elf boy. And to me, it reads like a very romantic but also very wistful poem. So this story would be labeled "friends to lovers, angst".

In my view, at least two sort of objective facts, support my not-very objective theory that Orlando is the unamed object of desire, namely Viggo's choice of words:

"Bloom of compassion" - the most obvious (too obvious even? - or hiding in plain sight?) - it's a common enough word, sure, but in this context, during this period of Viggo's life, is it really a coincidence? It seems to stand out like a neon sign: BLOOM. It's difficult to unsee.

"Anglican doorway" - "Anglican" mostly refers to "Church of England" or the Anglican communion as a whole. But it can also be another way of saying that something is English. And so it can be read as "English doorway", if you wish. Regardless, it certainly leads your thoughts towards England. Furthermore, Orlando was brought up in the Church of England (and born in Canterbury, the place of origin for the church, no less), while Viggo has no known connection to any religion really. It's perhaps not as obvious as bloom, but it's still quite a significant choice of word. Again, in this context, at this time, when we know Viggo spent so much of his time with Orlando.

Here's my interpretation of Viggo's Communion:

we've left shore somehow become the friends of early theory close enough to speak desire and pain of absence of mistakes we'd make given the chance.

The two are described as friends, who have become closer, intimate in words and thoughts. Sharing secrets, fears, feelings. Bordering on something more.

each smile returned makes harder avoiding dreams that see us lying in the early evening curtain shadows, skin safe against skin. bloom of compassion respect for moments eyes lock turns forever into one more veil that falls away

He seems to be having thoughts of them becoming lovers, the veil of "just friends" falling away. But it seems to be still just a dream, a hope. It's such a beautiful image: the two of them, together, intimate, safe. And that "bloom of compassion", maybe V just wanted to get the word in...

this after seeing you last night, first time smelling you with permission: shoulders to wonder openly at as carefully kissed as those arms waited impossibly on. they've held me now and your breath down my back sent away the night air that had me shaking in the unlit anglican doorway.

But seems they've already been intimate, maybe just a first kiss, a lingering touch, holding each other. The "smelling you with permission" implies he's smelled O without permission before. Sneaking a little sniff when in close contact. Inhaling the sweet scent of a beloved friend. If we accept "anglican" as a reference to O, then what is this unlit doorway? Is it just an image of being allowed inside O's private space? And why is it unlit? As in Orlando being from that church, but not believing in its god? Or an opening into this other person which is difficult to find, maybe not fully opened to him.

are we ruined for finding our faces fit and want to know more about morning? is friendship cancelled if we can't call each other anymore in amnesia, invite ourselves to last glances under suspicious clocks telling us when we've had enough?

A worry that sex will ruin their friendship, implying it's not clear what their relationship should be, even after crossing that line. I love that phrase "finding our faces fit", it's both funny and beautiful; finding that when they kiss, they felt a sense of belonging. And that they probably don't want to stop. I'm not sure if he also worries about other people seeing, finding out, being in the public eye. And he worries that they won't be able to talk like they did before, as friends.

your steady hands cradling my grateful skull: were you taking in my face to save an image you've rarely allowed yourself after leaving that cold alcove? am i a photograph you gaze at in moments of weakness?

Again, he seems to feel this relationship only exists in private, in bed. Maybe implying that O regards it as a weakness, these feelings. This part could also be read as if it's him looking back, when the relationship is over, or changed, distanced, wondering if O thinks of him.

you ordered me off my knees into your arms. wasn't to beg that i knelt; only to see you once from below.

The image of V on his knees could both be a sexual thing, but it could also be about worship; that he wants to be on his knees to adore O. But it's also a part of the poem's religious theme; you usually kneel while taking the communion. You kneel to pray.

tried to say something that filled my mouth and longed to rest in your ear. don't dare write it down for fear it'll become words, just words.

The relationship seems fragile, filled with fear of loss. Like he can't say everything he wants to, afraid it'll lead to it ending. There's so much desire and longing, but also so much despair of the relationship being so brittle, that it can fall apart at any time.

Once I read it this way, like with that painting, I can't see anything else. Maybe it's just coincidences, maybe it's just something from inside Viggo's brain (and not connected to reality), maybe it can be read in many other ways. But since my brain is warped, I can only read it like this.

[animeyanderelover]

(First of all HIII, How are you?! It's been forever since I've sent you a request! Tbh I kinda lost interest in anime and had some private issues going on. But I'm really glad I've caught you with open inbox this time!) Moving on to the actual request: So let's say that darling forgot to lock/close the window at night before falling asleep. Which character(s) from Black Butler would be brave enough to take the risk and cuddle with the darling before they even officially confessed (meaning them and darling maybe met once or twice, but they are still in stalking phase) and let's say darling is such a heavy sleeper, they don't even notice? (Hopefully this made sense!?)

Nice to have you here again, my friend. I chose the characters that popped up first in my mind.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, delusions, stalking, clinginess

Risky cuddling

Timber, Thompson & Canterbury

🤫Those three haven’t really acknowledged their morbid obsession with their darling as anything wrong. The triplets can only really hyper focus on the fact that you are their mate and that is really all they need and want to know about you. Whilst Timber, Thompson and Canterbury have yet to figure out how to share once you are by their side, where you belong, they have no problem making up a schedule who watches you when. It’s one of the advantages that come with being a team of three, two of them can still work for Alois whilst the third one stalks you. It’s a whole system where informations and observations are constantly shared and once a problem arrives, all three plan meticulously how to remove the threat from your life.

🤫They don’t even think when all three stalk you together and catch your window open. They know that this is an opportunity to have skin contact with you, something all three of them crave for so there is zero hesitation. It surely gets a bit cramped since the demon siblings get into a small fight who gets which place, in the end two cuddle you from the side whilst the third one just sprawls himself flat on top of you. They don’t even view this as creepy or anything as all three are a bit delusional in their own ways. You’re technically theirs already and vice versa so cuddling you at night like this isn’t anything weird in their eyes. They try to get you to smell like them as much as possible to claim you as their mate. It’s a pity when they have to leave you but they hope that you’re going to forget to lock your window at night again soon.

Grell Sutcliff

🟥Grell seems to be delusional too. Whilst she knows that her darling might be potentially scared of her and her kind, she can just not shake off the images in her head. She just knows that you two could make each other so happy and her heart soars in her chest when she’s stalking you. Grell can’t get enough of her lovely darling, is often trying to finish her work earlier so that she can continue where she left. Grell knows that she can’t let William or other Shinigami find out about her sweet crush though, she fears the higher-ups might forbid her to see you again. Oh, that would break her poor, little heart completely. Balancing her work life and her love life is certainly not always easy but Grell somehow manages to find a way.

🟥The lady is a bit more on the shameless side so when she one night notices that you forgot to close your window, she just can’t help herself. She tries to be as silent as possible when she sneaks inside your house and she can’t help but silently fawn over you when she sees you sleeping deeply. She thinks it over for a moment, wonders if you’d wake up if she’d cuddle you. In the end she can’t resist though and crawls into the bed so she can lie next to you. It’s risky but the small rush of fear and excitement somehow makes things even better, the danger that you might wake up. Her heart beats giddily in her chest as she starts cuddling you closely, basking in your warmth. So this is what it feels like to sleep with you. She could do this all night but sadly Grell has to eventually leave you again, with a pout on her lip that is.

Dagger

🔪Dagger is completely gone in his head. Utterly besotted and infatuated, he’s too far gone to ever recognize his obsession. For Dagger his darling and him might as well be already together as he thinks that only he is the right one for you and only you are the right one for him. You two are basically already lovers, you just don’t know it yet. Dagger is clingy and follows you around like a lost puppy with shining eyes. He worships you and everything you do, you can’t do wrong in his eyes. The other string members from the circus have a hard time stopping him from obsessing since it happens that he threatens his friends with one of his knives, paranoid that they might try to take you away from him. They wouldn’t though, right? They’re his family, surely they would want him happy.

🔪Dagger panics a bit when he notices during his nightly patrol that you forgot to close your window. What would you do if someone decided to break in? Oh, how lucky you are that he’s always there to protect you. He quickly climbs up your house and enters your house through the open window. To his relief there seems to be no one besides him and you inside. He could leave but your peaceful form in bed stops him from leaving just yet as he slowly walks towards the bed. He’s softly cooing over you as soon as he sees you sleeping, his hands caressing your face before an idea pops up in his head. You wouldn’t mind, right? You two are almost lovers after all. His heart is thumbing excitedly in his chest when he cuddles you, your warm body so close to his, showering your face here and there with kisses.This is perfect, this is your future together!

Ran Mao

🌺Ran Mao isn’t really the aware type either since she doesn’t know that her behavior is creepy at best in the eyes of others. She just knows that she loves you a lot and wants to watch you and protect you all of the time. She isn’t very vocal but Lau notices her keen interest in you anyways. The way she peers up when your name is mentioned and how her eyes never leave you when you’re around. Lau doesn’t even try to help her realize her obsession though, he’s encouraging Ran Mao at best to follow through with her interest. If you make his little sister happy, he won’t do anything for you and will just take her side. He knows that Ran Mao will treat you well in her own ways so it’s not like he’s worried about you. It’s all for the person he views as his own sister.

🌺Ran Mao is alarmed when she sees how careless you’ve been by forgetting to lock up your window. She knows that there might be people lurking on the streets of London at night who would see this as an invitation. Before anything happens though, she decides to slip in your house herself. Her senses are keen so she quickly realizes that there’s no one besides you inside the house, something that reassures her. Then she sees you sleeping soundly though and Ran Mao can’t help her own curiosity. She’s always been shameless with her touches, you could say that she feels confident about herself. She hugs you tightly, her body pressing against yours. Her golden orbs are trained on your sleeping face and slowly she feels a blush creeping up her cheeks since you’re adorable when you’re asleep, so close to her.

[indigoipsum]

Mirror Image

Alois is staying the night at the Phantomhive manor. He and Ciel are becoming friends, slowly, and the offer to have dinner and play chess together was something he didn’t want to pass up. As night falls, he chooses one of the many spare rooms, one with a large window seat for reading and a constellation-patterned rug.

As he curls up with a novel, he feels a chill go up his spine. Odd, since the evening is warm and the window isn’t open. He looks around the room. No sign of a breeze.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. No, he isn’t cold, he’s being watched.

He knows that a demon inhabits this house, but Sebastian has been nothing but courteous to him. He would be silly to trust him, but there would be no reason for Sebastian to hurt him. Right?

Alois closes the book and takes a careful lap around the room, peering around every shadowy corner. His heart races, and he curses himself for still being scared of the dark at his age. It was foolish to come here without Claude.

Still, there are no signs of the butler. He knows that demons can take other forms, but he resigns himself to taking his seat again. Canterbury was right, from what he overheard him whisper to his brothers. He must just be sick in the head, inventing things again.

Settling back down with his book, he tries to focus once more. After a minute, he swears he hears the trample of feet. Quick footsteps, too fast to be anyone in the manor. He glances at the rug, dropping his novel as he sees a small Ciel chasing a mirror image of himself. Ciel is shorter and much younger, missing his eyepatch. Alois freezes, the image leaving as soon as he blinks.

Had Phantomhive drugged him? Or did the medicine Claude had given him for his headache the previous night implant visions in his mind?

He must be losing it. Embarrassed to bring the issue to Ciel, whom he knew already thought he was insane, Alois makes his way to the large bed and covers himself with the heavy quilt. If he closes his eyes, his brain might stop playing tricks on him.

His heartbeat starts to slow, and he feels his muscles relax. Yes, it was just some byproduct of his awful life, his brain conjuring up visions to torment him.

That is, until he feels something pull at the quilt.

He jolts up, finding himself face-to-face with Phantomhive. He looks strange. He is missing his eyepatch, yet lacks the contract seal. He also possesses a wide grin.

Alois looks at the boy in horror. This is not Phantomhive, surely not—

“Never seen you before. Guess he finally made a friend.” The boy laughs a little before getting up and disappearing underneath the bed.

Alois no longer cares if he looks insane. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream as he jumps out of bed and frantically opens the door. Sebastian is there, followed by a tired-looking Ciel in his nightclothes.

“Lord Trancy, is everything alright? Was that you who yelled?”

Ciel blinks, staring at Alois. His eyepatch is off, and his contract seal is still there. He looks beyond the other boy, mirroring Alois’ horrified expression as he sees the interior of the room.

“Sebastian. Find him another room. That one is blocked off, I thought I told you that!”

Sebastian frowns. “My apologies, my lord. Mey-Rin was cleaning it today, and—“

“Shut up. Just shut up. Lock the door. Put him elsewhere.” He grabs Alois’ wrist and attempts to drag him into the hallway.

“Phantomhive, what are you…?” He looks at Ciel again. The boy’s hands have too many fingers. His face looks like a ruined photograph, the lines doubling over. Is he about to faint? Or is Ciel actually two people?

(R!Ciel ghost AU, originally by @her-majestys-watchdog)

(Probably too short for ao3 so I’m putting it here)

[prototypesteve]

Season 2.

Second trip to the UK, starts this Friday Night (2:10 AM Saturday, UTC).

Future travelogue posts will drop the asexual, aromantic, aroace, and aspec tags, favouring the travel-focused tags, but all the posts (photo-heavy) will be travel from an aroace point-of-view. In case there’s anyone who wonders, I want people to see that solo travel isn’t boring, isn’t sad, isn’t lonely, and above all, isn’t difficult.

I’ll be visiting (in order) London, Edinburgh (to take in the Fringe), Durham (yes, that Durham), Anbleside & the Lake District, York, and then back to London (again), Canterbury, and then back to London.

Osemanverse fans, I’ll be near a few spots mentioned in Loveless, I was Born for This, and Heartstopper, if anyone has any special photo requests, just leave a comment or send me a message. (Although, have a look through my Instagram feed, for lots of Durham and London shots.) I’ll carry some sidewalk chalk for quick [name]+[name] shots on appropriate surfaces near special places.)

[rastronomicals]

9:23 PM EDT March 25, 2024:

The Wilde Flowers - "Just Where I Want" From the album The Wilde Flowers (1994)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

So The Wilde Flowers were sort of the Canterbury ur-Group. Before making it big in Caravan or The Soft Machine, Robert Wyatt, Mike Ratledge, Hugh Hopper, Pye Hastings, Kevin Ayers, Richard Sinclair and others all played with The Wilde Flowers.

But their music remaineed unreleased until 1994, when Brian Hopper curated this compilation, which has since been reissued.

So encyclopedists and completists rejoiced. But here's the thing: the music's not that good. Far from being anything Canterbury, or prog, or psychedelic or even somewhat jazzy, this is primitive, even tribal, garage rock. One song sort of has a Bolton Iron Maiden feel, so a little heavy and OK, and another tune is Robert Wyatt solo at the piano, but even Jet Propelled Photographs, the early Gomelsky stuff, is light years beyond this.

This stuff will work when slipped in among my shuffled music as a curiosity and a topic of conversation, like, wow, look how much better these people got in just four years, but I really can't imagine listening to the album straight through again.

File under: Roots Canterbury

--

[mariamga2024mi4017]

Figuring out the Essay Plan

I have to admit, I'm still trying to figure out how to properly structure this essay. But I'm going to try my best to fit everything well in place.

chosen clip Breakdown (19:28 - 30:28) -

The clip I've chosen starts off with detective Somerset in his office. His superior walks in to convince Somerset not to resign. He seems to have hope in the fact that Somerset won't give up on the case (familiarity) although Somerset says other wise.

Regardless, the superior talks about the 2nd crime scene mentioning "Greed" as a clue. At the end of this office scene, the superior leaves behind some evidence (micro metal strips) found in the Obese victim's stomach for Somerset.

To fulfil his curiosity, Somerset visits the 1st crime scene to look for clues they might've missed out on. He opens the fridge and looks down at the floor only to see some scratch marks. He realizes that the metal scrap evidence found matches the exact marks on the floor. He fits the pieces in, pulls the fridge forward, only to reveal the killer's hidden message "Gluttony" and a note referring to (Milton’s Paradise Lost)

Back in the office, Somerset informs his superior and detective Mills that the killer's motive is to kill people based on the 7 deadly sins studying in Christianity. Regardless, he tells his superior to expect 5 more victims (sloth, lust, pride, wrath and envy). Somerset leaves the office mentioning that he wants nothing to do with this horrifying case.

In the next scene he's at home throwing darts in heavy thought about something. He decides to leave his apartment complex to go somewhere by Taxi. On the way to this unknown location, he witnesses another crime scene.

Next, he steps into the library where he seems to be a regular who's friends with the nighttime guards. While they play poker, Somerset walks around the library in search of books such as 'Canterbury Tales', 'Danta's Inferno', 'Dictionary of Catholicism' while 'Suite No.3 in D' by Bach plays in the background.

While the music fits well with Somerset's reading (smooth transitions), detective Miller's investigations seem to have abrupt cuts, showing his frustration and break sessions. We get to see each character's personalities unfold here.

Somerset completes his research and leaves his work for Mills to read.

The next scene starts off in the morning where we see detective Mills frustrated with the information of Dante's poems and 'Canterbury Tales' for reading material.

Essay Topic (Based on Feedback) -

Fincher has used characterization, mise-un scene and film devices to reveal certain aspects of the plot through the 'Library Scene'.

Point 1 - Characterization

Complex characters with various personality traits - Detective Mills, Detective Somerset

Behavioral Patterns - Reactions/ emotions portrayed by the characters in this scene

Props used for investigation - Books, Crime scene photographs (This is mainly for mise-un scene)

Point 2 - Mise-un scene

scene locations - office, apartment, streets, library

Props

Lighting

Evidence left behind by the killer

music

Point 3 - Film Devices

Film Editing techniques - Transitions and cuts

Cinematography - Camera Angles

music

[georgefairbrother]

A little over 40 years after the Abdication Crisis that had peaked in December of 1936, Thames Television, holder of the weekday independent TV franchise for London and the Home Counties, commissioned a dramatisation based on the exhaustive Wolfson History Prize winning biography of Edward VIII by Frances Donaldson.

There was great care taken in terms of casting, production design, and location filming that included Fort Belvedere where many of the real events unfolded. Edward and Mrs Simpson seemed to be as close as you could possibly get to 1930s culture, fashion and upper-class society without a time machine. Written for television by Simon Raven and directed by pioneering British-Asian director Waris Hussein, the series was rewarded with an Emmy and multiple BAFTAs.

In retrospect, it appears to be as faithful to real events as a drama could be, including verbatim conversations and parliamentary statements. Edward VIII, formerly the Prince of Wales known as David, then finally the Duke of Windsor, was played by Edward Fox, and Wallis Simpson by Cynthia Harris. Other key castings included Nigel Hawthorne, yet to find stardom as Sir Humphrey Appleby in Yes Minister / Prime Minister, as the King’s friend and advisor Walter Monckton, David Waller as Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin (He reprised this role in 1988 for another adaptation, The Woman He Loved, starring Anthony Andrews, Jane Seymour and Olivia de Havilland), Peggy Ashcroft as Queen Mary, Marius Goring as King George V, and Wensley Pithey as a totally convincing Winston Churchill. Versatile British-Australian actor Ed Deveraux played Tory press baron Lord Beaverbrook, a role he later reprised in The Life and Times of David Lloyd George (BBC 1981).

Other notable players included Andrew Ray (Duke of York / George VI), Charles Keating (Ernest Simpson), Patrick Troughton (Clement Attlee), Patricia Hodge (Lady Diana Cooper), Maurice Denham (Cosmo Lang, Archbishop of Canterbury), Cherie Lunghi (Thelma Furness) and Hugh Fraser (Anthony Eden).

The Duke of Windsor died in 1972, but the Duchess of Windsor, formerly Mrs Simpson, was still alive when the programme was conceived and broadcast. (She died in 1986). She was not best pleased, citing invasion of privacy, and lobbied to have the production stopped. Her opposition was reported in The Sun, and perhaps might have been more newsworthy if not for another significant event in August 1977.

The series ended with the marriage of the Duke and now Duchess of Windsor, some months after the Abdication.

The BFI Screen-Online review stated;

"…The series also carefully juxtaposes Edward’s frequent, and popular, visits to depressed areas with his opulent and carefree private life, and doesn’t shy from showing his admiration for Mussolini in a pair of brief but pointed exchanges with Anthony Eden…Edward Fox gives a fine and charismatic performance as the King, ably suggesting the contradictory impulses that ruled the man. Wallis Simpson, however, is presented rather less sympathetically. In an occasionally heavy-handed performance, Cynthia Harris plays her as a cool and conniving gold-digger, albeit a sometimes naïve and even disarmingly foolish one…"

The portrayal of Edward VIII was a little more sympathetic than in some later productions, including Bertie and Elizabeth (2002). Edward and Mrs Simpson did tend to gloss over the King’s fascist sympathies, although it was at least alluded to as mentioned in the BFI review. Perhaps, in fairness, these along with some alleged shady financial dealings, meddling in Britain’s foreign policy and the cosy relationship with Hitler, didn’t really become apparent until the period after the series ended. Wensley Pithey’s Winston Churchill was accurately shown as a strong and sincere personal friend and advocate for the King and Wallis Simpson, in public and private, to the annoyance of the Baldwin government, but this relationship later soured when Churchill was wartime Prime Minister, over the Duke of Windsor’s behaviour.

[grandmaster-anne]

THE PRINCESS ROYAL’S FAVOURITE PAINTING: Princess Anne chooses a stirring sea scape that sparks happy childhood memories.

Country Life | Published 29 July 2020

‘I was not a good sailor, but I loved the week to 10 days we had on board Bloodhound . This picture illustrates her in her element and it’s a real sea. We had our roles, even if I was a bit small for most of the sails, but she had a mizzenmast astern, which was perfect for keeping us busy and out of most people’s way. You learnt to cook without realising because we shared duties. I was old enough and strong enough in the last few years to helm. She had a tiller, which was heavy, but also taught you to feel the balance better. I still don’t really understand wheels! Above all, we went to some wonderful places that we have been able to revisit in our own Rustler 44. Bloodhound has a special place in my life and, to me, this is a special picture painted by someone who had the skill to translate his own knowledge and understanding of the sea, and the individual character of a particular vessel, to canvas’

A1936 ocean-racing yacht,Bloodhound was bought in 1962 for the Royal Family at the request of The Duke of Edinburgh, who also commissioned this painting. After a refit, she was sailed by Prince Philip with Uffa Fox at that year’s Cowes Week. Until 1969, when she was sold,Bloodhound would accompany HMYBritannia on the Royal Family’s annual tour of the Western Isles. Today, she is berthed alongside the regrettably de-commissionedBritannia at Leith in Edinburgh.

It was written in an obituary of Deryck Foster: ‘Very few people in this world get to live their dream. Deryck wanted to be an artist and he made a great success out of living his dream.’ He was born in Bournemouth and learned to sail as a boy, taking his secondary education at King’s School Canterbury in Kent and Bournemouth Technical College. During the Second World War, he was a fitter in the RAF, preparing Lancaster bombers, before being posted to India.

De-mobbed, Foster attended the Central School of Arts and Crafts under the inspired principalship of William Johnstone. He then worked as a film animator and showed his marine pictures at the annual London Boat Show. In 1960, he moved with his wife and children to Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, where, as well as painting, he sailed, fished and served as a crewman on the lifeboat. He opened a gallery and sold his work there in the summer, devoting the winter to commissions.

In 1964, he was elected to the Royal Society of Marine Artists. In later life, Foster also made detailed scale models of 18th- and 19th-century ships from natural materials, which became as prized as his pictures.

By kind permission of The Duke of Edinburgh; John Swannell

[thesoulesscollection]

Grumpy Old Trio

Hc time. Once again about my favorite ship, Grumpy Old Men & the friendship had between the trio, Quentin, Hershell, and Hj Canterbury 

Quentin/Hershell are in a closed established relationship together but have a queerplatonic one with Canterbury 

^ Some pride Hcs; Quentin, Gay, Hershell, Bi, and lastly, Canterbury is both Trans and Demiromantic Asexual

The trio ever since grew close as best friends during their recruitment period and are known for their cuddle piles. Once only used to stay warm but now do it for personal comfort 

^ Often Quentin is begrudgingly brought into the middle of the pile and is squished between the two, mostly Hersh 

^ It didn't come easy for them back then, as younger men and it took a lot of coaxing to get to a place of ease. For Hershell to get over the toxic masculinity, Quentin for his trust issues, and then Canterbury was very touch averse 

^ Hershell sleeps like a rock, who's unable to wake up for anything and he snores really loudly similar to a lawn mower. Whereas Quentin has struggled to fall asleep; suffers from awful insomnia 

^ Canterbury seems to be in the middle, unaffected, leaning towards being a nightowl. Usually he reads books, ie. His favorites are ones filled with cheesy romance to help settle down the mind. Also, he enjoys being able to sleep on the bed's edge that's near the door. 

Another Hc about Quentin is that when making his bed, needs to make sure it's perfect and the other two joke that he's like a bird who's building a nest. Ie. Crafted with pillows, blankets and stolen stuff primarily from Hershell, some from Canterbury 

Out of the three, Hershell is the most affectionate and needs to be in contact of either man just so he knows they're there with him 

^ Quentin is only ever cuddly when he's absolutely drained, exhausted to the bone. Also, he prefers to be coddled up with all the thick, heavy blankets. 

Canterbury commonly wears either simple one-color, older, ankle length nightgowns and or often silky soft, and flower patterned sleepwear. 

[cdlhunter]

Canterbury, Heavy Haulage #heavyhaulage #supersizeme #heavyhaul #truckstop #cdl #cdlhunter 📲 Call or text us at (347) 878-2591 for a driving job  https://www.instagram.com/p/CpQMm7NpQM-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=