#Field Day Massacre Arc

[luckyrave]

Dead Rock Discussion: Field Day Massacre Arc Speculation!!

Dead Rock has been firing on all cylinders since it started it's monthly serialization run in 2023, and right now we are within midst of a big significant moment in the story with the defeat of Bren, G.O.D. has come to a decision to move forward with a field day massacre which could potentially be the next arc. One that could be along the lines of a tournament.

[filipinoizukuu]

i headcanon that sakura is like... one of those few people with immense control over their body to the point where its kinda scary.

he says all the time to anyone mentioning it that he's good for nothing but his fists and fighting, but i really believe that he's the kind of guy where like... anything he tries to do, he can get good at it and pick it up REALLY quickly. he's an incredibly fast learner (exhibit a, the pre-noroshi training arc) and also has really good control over his physicality (exhibit b, his signature move where he turns a fall into a handstand kick).

the boys in class 1-1 constantly get him to play games and sports with them because of bonding reasons, and sakura always gets uneasy because he never had anyone to play with growing up. so they all kinda have to teach him every sport except it backfires because he always gets CRAZY GOOD at them REALLY EASILY.

basketball? despite the height disadvantage, it takes less than a day for sakura to master dribbling and passes + he's crazy accurate even from the 3 point mark. volleyball? call him hinata shoyo because he has an INSANEEEE vertical for spiking. baseball? a lot of stupid rules to learn and easy to get wrong, but sakura knows his way around a bat for sure. soccer? absolutely massacres the field no survivors left. anzai is crying in the corner. kiryu (goalie) is dead.

and it pisses them off to no end because sakura has NO BUSINESS being good at all these things! its not even that he's instantly great at anything he tries, but rather because he learns INSANELY QUICKLY and can commit a movement to muscle memory within a couple of days. thank god furin doesnt have a sports festival because nirei is absolutely certain that sakura would sweep the floor with the first years and leave no crumbs.

it applies to other things too. one day sakura either stumbles upon or hangs out with shishitoren and he gets the opportunity to ask tomiyama how he did that insane flip against umemiya. hes really shy to ask bc he did go around acting as if he knew how to emulate choji's crazyass acrobatics before promptly eating shit on the asphalt. choji, obviously always wanting to have fun, teaches sakura some moves

"well it's not as easy as it looks, but i can teach you some moves. you're a good fighter already sakura-chan, so i'll give you some harder ones to start with. don't worry if you can't do—"

sakura nails it in three tries. it's probably one of the top 5 best days of chojis life because it turns into a contest of him busting out a gymnastic trick and trying to see if sakura can replicate it. shishitoren is amazed and confused. togame doesn't know whether to be amused or worried. hiragi winds up getting into their territory just to bring sakura home because if no one intervened sakura would end up joining shishitoren and becoming chojis favorite disciple. it certainly already helps that they have similar fight styles that require insane flexibility, but damn sakura isnt this a bit too much?!@?@

he's still hopeless with technology tho lol. years later and sakura is still horrible at mario kart and can't text for shit. god had to nerf him somehow!

[letitrainathousandflames]

Death Scars Pt 1 [Waxer]

inspired by this request for Waxer alive with the scars of what killed him in canon

Rating: T

Word count: 2.5 K

Summary: After waking up from the medical care that had saved his life, Waxer meets Kix and they both discuss the tragedy of Umbara

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, umbara arc, survivor's guilt, pong krell mentioned, canon-typical death in flashbacks, ask to tag

“It’s gonna scar.”

“Which one?”

Waxer stared at the uneven circular burns on his stomach, the scabs within their core fresh and deep red rimmed by a sickening orangish-yellow shade that would lighten to a shade a couple hues lighter than his own skin closer to the very edge of the wounds. Jagged lines of protruding scar tissue crossed horizontally by narrow stitches stretched from the burns, some shorter enough not to need the stitches but just as stark as the larger ones.

He then ghosted a finger over the linear path embedded in his lower right stomach, feeling the rows of stitches keeping the incision shut. It didn’t look nearly as bad as the blaster bolts, but it was drawn in the same blemished tone as them, becoming darker close to the very center of the sunken line.

Kix blew out a sigh, looking up at him. The medic looked like shit, and if you told him that he would most likely take it as a compliment, his vanity gone after the first forty-eight hours of this damned mission and forgotten for good at this point. His eyes were red-rimmed and weary, the bags under them paired with the unshaven facial hair of the past days darkening his features making him look much older than his ten years – a nat-born’s twenty.

“All of them.” Kix said wearily with a shrug. “We ran out of bacta in the field as soon as I was done fixing you up enough for an op, so by the time we got access to these bacta tanks, the wounds had been open for too long. At least is healed enough that we don’t have to worry about avoiding infection. You should still keep it clean and avoid any friction on the area – trust me when I say you do not want to end up ripping these scabs off by accident.”

Waxer nodded, fingers still skimming the partially healed wounds. When Rex had spoken to him in the battlefield, he thought he was a goner. The pain of being shot at near point-blank range had been so intense his own blaster had fallen off his grip.

He had thought of little Numa, the kid he’d grown so attached to and would most likely never see again. He thought of his plans for after the war – because the only way to keep pushing through the nightmare of their lives was to keep your head up and believe in an after, believe in a future that would make it all worth it. He thought of Boil, and realized that if he had to die, he’d rather die not knowing whether he, too – his brother, his best friend – had perished in there with so many others, another victim of their own fellow clone’s blaster fire.

Even now, he didn’t dare ask. He couldn’t find in himself the strength to ask Kix whether his second-in-command had survived the massacre.

Kix patted him lightly on the knee, bringing him back to the present. To the bright white walls and the smell of disinfectant and cleanliness that would always end up reminding any clone of Kamino.

“This is the Umbaran base’s medical facility.” Kix supplied him, the medic’s eyes darting around the place before settling back on his while Waxer’s feet dangled awkwardly from where he sat at the edge of his gourney. “The equipment here is good. I was lucky to be able to continue your care here. Stars know the first aid out there in the dirt is as far from what I call ‘ideal conditions’ as possible.”

Waxer huffed a sound through his nose that he hoped would sound like a laugh. He knew the routine too well – a medic making light of a situation that most likely had been horrifying and burdensome to him in order to make his patient feel better about the whole ordeal. Hopefully to make himself feel better, too.

Which reminds him…

“Did you… did you save me?”

Kix’s eyes shift away from him, his feet shuffling a half-step back from Waxer’s personal space, the medic reaching for a datapad resting on a small table by his bedside.

“Your unity’s medics were busy patching up the other men.”

“Shouldn’t you be patching up your own?”

Kix shrugged, seemingly too interested in the charts on his datapad’s screen, wetting his lips and setting his jaw. His entire frame had shifted from a relatively relaxed posture to a tense, almost awkward one.

“You know how basic medic protocol goes. The ones screaming have enough strength in them to scream, they can wait. The quiet ones – the unresponsive ones, those are the ones in need of urgent care.”

“Or abandonment.”

The word sat heavily between the two of them, and Kix continued to stubbornly pretend to read a chart that didn’t have more than a dozen words in it. Waxer was having none of it, pressing on:

“I had at least two fatal wounds the moment I dropped, from what I could gather in that mess. I heard about you, Kix. You’re a kriffing good medic from the five-oh-first, which is led by one of the most reckless generals in the army – General Kenobi’s words, not mine. You are experienced enough to know when a man is worth saving and when he’s nothing but a waste of stim and bacta that will bleed out to death before you can do anything to save him. And you must’ve known, from your first glance at the holes in my armor, that I wasn’t gonna make it.”

Kix traces the words on his datapad’s screen with a fingernail as if he’s a cadet still learning to read basic. Waxer watches the lump in his throat bob up and down as the other man swallows thickly.

“Like you said, I’m a kriffing good medic. I knew I could fix you.”

Waxer took a moment to draw in a deep breath and keep his temper in check. He’d started having less and less patience for people trying to banthashit him the more he’d hung around with Boil.

“Fine.” He snapped, stepping down from the gurney and taking a moment to assess his balance; He was still a tad woozy from the bacta, and he blinked a couple of times to clear his head “Can you give me a sitrep? I need to get back to my troops.”

That got Kix to look up from the datapad and finally look at him in the eye.

“You are in no shape for combat, lieutenant.”

“That’s up for me to judge. Where’s my gear?”

Kix grabbed Waxer by his elbow, stopping him in his tracks.

“We’ve taken over the capital city! Everything is under control! Our biggest problem now is patching up the wounded and keeping shinies from shooting themselves after having this shitshow as their first incursion! Our- The general they sent to lead us in Skywalker’s stead is in a kriffing containment cell because he is a traitor!”

Waxer turned to face Kix, watching the medic’s shoulders rise and fall with his breathing, his jaw tensed and his teeth bared as he continued:

“He is the one who sent your men the intel that the Umbarans were wearing our armor, and he told us that your men were Umbarans wearing their armor! He wanted us to kill each other, he was kriffing laughing about it when we confronted him-”

Waxer’s eyes widened in horror as he remembered that last glimpse he had before being shot – a man he’d just killed, wearing 501st blue, their helmet being partially knocked off his head as he fell, exposing brown skin and an all-too-familiar jawline.

In the chaos, one of his men had nearly tripped over the corpse, shoving the helmet further away and revealing a clone’s face underneath it, painfully young, open-eyed and dead. Killed by a brother’s hand. By Waxer's.

The moment his gaze locked with the clone’s glassy stare, two blaster shots burned through his armor, sending a vivid spark of molten heat to his lower stomach. His legs had crumpled underneath it, and he thought he’d heard a clone’s voice screaming somewhere in the distance.

They’re clones! We’re all clones! Hold your fire! They’re clones!

The armored man closest to him had lowered his smoking blaster, nearly tripping in his haste to kneel by his side. His helmet clattered to the muddy ground before his hands quickly shot down to pry Waxer’s own helmet off, the cold atmosphere of the Umbaran permanent night meeting his sweat-dampened face as he looked up to the clone medic of the 501st, Kix.

Kix had reached for his medpack, retrieving a stim from it and unceremoniously stabbing it into Waxer’s neck as he yelled out his Captain’s name.

“Rex! Rex, lieutenant Waxer is still alive!”

Waxer’s eyes had stung with tears as he kept hearing clone voices all around him, some screaming, others crying. He had ordered his men to gun down every creature dressed in 501st blue clone armor, as an act of revenge for their brothers... and it had been his very brothers that they had shot instead.

And now Waxer knew how that had come to happen.

Waxer looked at Kix in utter bewilderment, eyes wide and mouth dropping open as he tried and failed to understand it. A traitor general. A clone-killing jedi. How could this be?

Kix stared back at him, something deeply wounded in his gaze. Waxer shook his head, running a hand over his shaven scalp, a scalding fury climbing its way from his chest and up his throat.

“Where is he? We have to kill that kriffing-”

“He’s in a containment cell.” Kix held his hands up placatingly “One of our youngest troopers – Tup, he managed to lure him into a trap, and we stunned him. Rex is on his way to interrogate him now.”

Waxer nodded slowly, and Kix went over to a desk close to the gurney Waxer had been resting on, returning with a bundle of black cloth in his hand, offering it to the lieutenant. Waxer took his blacks wordlessly, shoving his head and arms in it and carefully pulling it over his scarred torso. His eyes must’ve been blazing with the same rage that scorched his insides, and he noticed the way Kix lowered his gaze at it.

His demeanor softened some, as did his voice as he spoke reassuringly to the medic:

“It’s not you I’m mad at, Kix.”

Kix scoffed, flashing his tongue over his lips, brows knitting together.

“You should be. I was the one who shot you.”

Waxer shut his eyes for a small moment, bringing his hand to his stomach. Even the slightest friction from the synthweave fabric as he breathed was making him wince.

“I know. I saw it. And I saw your face, after, when you- Yeah.”

Kix gritted his teeth, looking back at him. His eyes had a sheen of moisture, and Kix kept stubbornly blinking at it.

“I was so fucking proud. When I saw your armor, with that- that little green twi’lek kid painted on it, I thought, ‘this bastard killed 212th’s Waxer. Probably left his body for one of those kriffin’ reavers to gnaw at like the men we lost before’. And I wanted to make it hurt. I wanted that Umbaran incapacitated, but I wanted him to die slowly, so I aimed-”

Waxer let him speak. He knew the medic needed it, and he, too, needed to hear it. Needed to know the other man’s pain. Kix’s following words came in a frighteningly cold tone:

“Two blasts to the stomach, where the armor plates are thinner for mobility. At the right height, to make sure at least one major organ was permanently unsalvageable, and to hopefully cut clean through their spine on the blast’s way out. I took aim, I fired. But he- you-”

“I moved.” Waxer supplied quietly, and Kix nodded a couple of times

“Yeah. So the aim- it got compromised, and I hit your spleen and kidney instead. The second bolt grazed your intestines too, and… And when Rex screamed that you were clones, all that adrenaline, all that excitement, that victorious feeling, I just-” a sharp pant hissed through Kix’s teeth “I’ve seen so much shit, Waxer, had so many brothers die under my hands and I just push through because this is the job, this is how it goes, and I’m used to seeing them die but…”

“But never from your own blasts.”

Waxer finished it for him, and Kix let out a pained gasp, the tears finally spilling down the rim of his lashes before he screamed out, throwing the datapad across the room like a trooper would do a grenade. The thing banged loudly against the wall, letting a dented chip in the stark material, clattering to the floor with its cracked screen blinking some, its images glitching.

“I- we did everything right!” Kix gritted out, more tears running down his cheeks “We were outnumbered, their tech’s better, they have kriffing bioweapons, but we pushed through and we did the job, and that- that demagolka was toying with us all along!”

Waxer walked up to Kix, one hand grabbing at his nape, the other yanking him by the arm until he had the medic held tightly in a hug. Kix’s entire body was stiff with tension and trembling with rage, and Waxer held him in a durasteel grip.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered quietly.

“He… he made us shoot you!” Kix’s screaming subsided to breathless sobbing, the words being punched out of him with each shallow breath “He sent us in small squads to die, a-and then he sent us off to shoot you! Our own brothers, our-”

“I know.” Waxer rubbed his thumb at the back of Kix’s head where he held him by the nape “I know now. And I’m so kriffing sorry, vod.”

Kix’s entire body was shaking with the strength of his sobs, his cheek wet against Waxer’s own.

“I sh- I shot so many of ‘em, Waxer. So many before I got to you, and they are dead now and I… I…”

“Wasn’t your fault.” Waxer said firmly, shaking Kix some for good measure “None of yours. It wasn’t. You hear me? It wasn’t your fault, vod.”

Waxer could no longer understand Kix’s words at that point, mumbled apologies and pleas for forgiveness, for none of it to have ever happened, for this nightmare to end already. Once Kix’s frantic panting had slowed down some, Waxer pulled back enough to press his forehead to Kix in a keldabe.

“You did all you could. And you saved my life. I will forever be grateful for it, Kix.” He pulled back, letting go of Kix and forcing his own face into a smile as much as he could manage “Now, let me go round up my medics so that they can cover for your while you take a breather, okay?”

Kix shook his head, wiping at his eyes and swallowing down thickly, clearing his throat.

“No, I have to get back to work. Need to do some checkups on the survivors, have to see if there was progress with the-”

Waxer placed a hand on Kix’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“Five minutes. Take at least five minutes, and then you get back to it. I got this.”

After a long moment, Kix nodded.

“Five. Not one minute more.”

“Medics.” Waxer grinned, walking towards the medbay’s door. “You’re all the same, aren’t you?”

“That’s four and fifty-three seconds now.”

They both laughed, because they had to pretend they still could. And they both took a breath and told themselves they could still get back on their feet after this, because they had to pretend they could.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Don't Fear the Reaper by Stephen Graham Jones

"The real proof will be whether bullets can stop him or not, Letha supposes. If they can, then he's a serial killer. If it takes a final girl to put him down, though, then he was a slasher all along."

Year Read: 2023

Rating: 4/5

About: There are spoilers ahead for My Heart Is a Chainsaw. Four years after the Independence Day Massacre, Jade returns to Proofrock with the charges against her dropped-- the same day that escaped serial killer, Dark Mill South, wanders into town. A blizzard keeps the town trapped and cut off from outside help, and it's up to Jade and Letha to figure out who the final girl is and how Dark Mill South can be stopped. After all, they've aged out of the genre... right? I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at Gallery Books/Saga Press. Trigger warnings: character death (graphic, on-page), child/parent/sibling death, animal death (graphic, on-page), suicide, implied pedophilia/statutory rape, graphic gore/body horror, skinning, poisoning, suffocation, drowning, fire, eye horror, guns, violence, severe injury, guilt, grief.

Thoughts: This book is a whole ride. Despite its size, I found myself happy to be back in this world with these characters, and I rarely found my interest flagging. Jones keeps the pages turning with a series of teen slasher style murders based on various popular horror films. In between, we catch up on Jade, Letha, and Hardy and what's changed for them over the past four years. I love the relationships among the three of them, the way they've bonded over past trauma but also just because they care about each other, and it gives the story more heart than My Heart Is a Chainsaw. If that book was about buried trauma coming to the surface, this one is more about living with it afterward.

Don't Fear the Reaper resolves some other problems I had with MHIaC as well. I struggled with Jade's rambling internal monologue about horror films in that book, but she's older and steadier here, and the narrative is likewise more coherent. It shifts characters often to keep things moving, and the only place it really slows down is in the essays on horror theory and town events from Galatea to the new history teacher, Armitage. I didn't love those, but it's a nice homage to Jade's essays to Holmes, and there's a plot thread buried in there that had me 😬. The whiteout blizzard sets a totally different tone from summer in Proofrock, calling up images of The Thing (1982), and the sense of place is practically a character of its own.

In spite of the Lake Witch being the major villain of the first book, I'm somehow always still surprised when Jones mixes the supernatural with regular slashers. The books seem so deeply entrenched in the real world, until suddenly they're not, and while it seemed to come out of left field (again--although I was able to look back and see the groundwork for it this time), I liked the additional thread it added to what was already a string of gruesome murders. Dark Mill South is a reasonably scary slasher addition, but I'll admit I enjoyed picking out the homages to horror film in the murders more than actually having him on the page. Much like the first book, the final showdown is a bit bonkers in scale, with lots of bodies, tons of gore, and killers and final girls alike who just won't stay dead-- you know, just as a classic slasher should be.

[annarellix]

REBELLION by Simon Scarrow  (EAGLES OF EMPIRE 22)

AD.60 and Brittania is in chaos. Boudica has had a taste of victory against the formidable veterans in Camulodunum and she won’t stop now. How will Roman heroes Macro and Cato fare against the notorious Queen of the Britons?

A quick response to the rapidly advancing rebel forces, Governor Suetonius takes command leading his army to the besieged Londinium with prefect Cato and a mounted escort in tow. The grim reality of Britannia slipping deeper into chaos and hysteria becomes unmistakable as tribal warriors continue to swell the ranks of Boudica’s forces. Both Cato and Suetonius confront the sobering truth that minimal preparations have been made to confront a full-scale insurrection.

Meanwhile, in Londinium, a heart-wrenching revelation unfolds. Centurion Macro is among those missing following the Camulodunum massacre. Has Cato's loyal comrade, who has faced countless battles, met his ultimate challenge? As disaster looms, Cato readies himself for the next strategic move. Can he dare to hope that Macro, marked by battle and unflinching courage, has managed to evade these bloodthirsty rebels? In this pivotal military campaign, Cato knows that only one man he trusts stands beside him, and the fate of the Empire in Britannia hangs in the balance.

Book page: https://www.headline.co.uk/titles/simon-scarrow/rebellion-eagles-of-empire-22/9781472287076/

My Review: Note: you can read this book as a stand-alone but I think it’s a sort of follow-up to Death to the Emperor, the previous novel in this long series. Boudica’s rebellion is described in a lot of books but I think this one that describe is it could have been. It was gory, violent, sometime very cruel insurrection, a sort of guerrilla that nearly defeated Rome. The author did a good job in described the sense of confusion, the excitement, the violence. This age is not known for any type of Geneva treaty or piety, the Roman pietas is the sense of loyalty not any type of kindness The novel is fast paced, action packed, with some heartbreaking moments. There’s a lot violence and some scenes are a graphic description of what it was described by the historian so you’d better skip them if you are squeamish. I  was happy to catch up with Cato and Marco, felt for them and hope to read soon their new story as the aftermath of the rebellion won’t be easy. This story kept me reading till late in the night as I wanted to be sure that my favourite characters were going to survive. The storytelling is excellent and it’s well researched. There’s a lot of attention to the details. Highly recommended. Many thanks to the publisher for this ARC, all opinions are mine

The Author: Simon Scarrow is a Sunday Times No. 1 bestselling author with several million copies of his books sold worldwide. After a childhood spent travelling the world, he pursued his great love of history as a teacher, before becoming a full-time writer. His Roman soldier heroes Cato and Macro made their debut in 2000 in UNDER THE EAGLE and have subsequently appeared in many bestsellers in the Eagles of the Empire series, including CENTURION, INVICTUS and DAY OF THE CAESARS. Many of the series have been Sunday Times bestsellers. REBELLION marks no.22 of Simon’s Eagles of the Empire Novels.

Simon Scarrow is also the author of a quartet of novels about the lives of the Duke of Wellington and Napoleon Bonaparte, YOUNG BLOODS, THE GENERALS, FIRE AND SWORD and THE FIELDS OF DEATH; a novel about the 1565 Siege of Malta, SWORD & SCIMITAR; HEARTS OF STONE, set in Greece during the Second World War; and PLAYING WITH DEATH, a contemporary thriller written with Lee Francis. He also wrote the novels ARENA and INVADER with T. J. Andrews. His first Berlin thriller, BLACKOUT set in WW2 Berlin and first published in 2021 was a Richard and Judy Book Club pick with DEAD OF NIGHT following to critical acclaim earlier in 2023.  

Simon and ‘Eagle of the Empire’ series: Simon’s inspiration for the "Eagle of the Empire" series stems from a fascination with the Roman Empire's military and political intricacies. Scarrow's meticulous research and dedication to historical accuracy are evident in his works, where he skillfully weaves narratives around real historical events and figures. Simon has been inspired by his own life and experiences and sees himself in both his main characters Cato and Marco - Cato being who he was as a student and Marco who he has grown up to be. He has a knack for immersing readers in the ancient world and through his novels, he invites readers to embark on those journeys back in time, where empires clash in battles that have shaped the course of human history but encourages us to draw parallels to the political now through his stories of the then.

Website: https://www.simonscarrow.co.uk/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/SimonScarrow

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 7.17 (before 1950)

180 – Twelve inhabitants of Scillium (near Kasserine, modern-day Tunisia) in North Africa are executed for being Christians. This is the earliest record of Christianity in that part of the world. 1048 – Damasus II is elected pope, and dies 23 days later. 1203 – The Fourth Crusade assaults Constantinople. The Byzantine emperor Alexios III Angelos flees from his capital into exile. 1402 – Zhu Di, better known by his era name as the Yongle Emperor, assumes the throne over the Ming dynasty of China. 1429 – Hundred Years' War: Charles VII of France is crowned the King of France in the Reims Cathedral after a successful campaign by Joan of Arc. 1453 – Battle of Castillon: The last battle of the Hundred Years' War, the French under Jean Bureau defeat the English under the Earl of Shrewsbury, who is killed in the battle in Gascony. 1717 – King George I of Great Britain sails down the River Thames with a barge of 50 musicians, where George Frideric Handel's Water Music is premiered. 1762 – Former emperor Peter III of Russia is murdered. 1771 – Bloody Falls massacre: Chipewyan chief Matonabbee, traveling as the guide to Samuel Hearne on his Arctic overland journey, massacres a group of unsuspecting Inuit. 1791 – Members of the French National Guard under the command of General Lafayette open fire on a crowd of radical Jacobins at the Champ de Mars, Paris, during the French Revolution, killing scores of people. 1794 – The 16 Carmelite Martyrs of Compiègne are executed ten days prior to the end of the French Revolution's Reign of Terror. 1821 – The Kingdom of Spain cedes the territory of Florida to the United States. 1850 – Vega became the first star (other than the Sun) to be photographed. 1867 – Harvard School of Dental Medicine is established in Boston, Massachusetts. It is the first dental school in the U.S. that is affiliated with a university. 1899 – NEC Corporation is organized as the first Japanese joint venture with foreign capital. 1901 – Liner Deutschland sets east to west transatlantic record of five days, eleven hours and five minutes. 1902 – Willis Carrier creates the first air conditioner in Buffalo, New York. 1917 – King George V issues a Proclamation stating that the male line descendants of the British Royal Family will bear the surname Windsor. 1918 – Tsar Nicholas II of Russia and his immediate family and retainers are executed by Bolshevik Chekists at the Ipatiev House in Yekaterinburg, Russia. 1918 – The RMS Carpathia, the ship that rescued the 705 survivors from the RMS Titanic, is sunk off Ireland by the German SM U-55; five lives are lost. 1919 – The form of government in the Republic of Finland is officially confirmed. For this reason, July 17 is known as the Day of Democracy (Kansanvallan päivä) in Finland. 1932 – Altona Bloody Sunday: A riot between the Nazi Party paramilitary forces, the SS and SA, and the German Communist Party ensues. 1936 – Spanish Civil War: An Armed Forces rebellion against the recently elected leftist Popular Front government of Spain starts the civil war. 1938 – Douglas Corrigan takes off from Brooklyn to fly the "wrong way" to Ireland and becomes known as "Wrong Way" Corrigan. 1944 – Port Chicago disaster: Near the San Francisco Bay, two ships laden with ammunition for the war explode in Port Chicago, California, killing 320. 1944 – World War II: At Sainte-Foy-de-Montgommery in Normandy Field Marshal Erwin Rommel is seriously injured by allied aircraft while returning to his headquarters. 1945 – World War II: The main three leaders of the Allied nations, Winston Churchill, Harry S. Truman and Joseph Stalin, meet in the German city of Potsdam to decide the future of a defeated Germany.

[brookston]

Holidays 5.30

Holidays

Anguilla Day (Anguilla)

Arab Juice Day

Arbor Day (Honduras)

Biafra Remembrance Day (Nigeria)

Canary Islands Day (Spain)

Daily Newspaper Day

Fakesgiving

Fishing Day (Elder Scrolls)

Foster Care Day (Poland)

Garden Amazement Day

Give OUT Day

Harvest Festival (Malaysia)

Heirloom Seed Day

Hovercraft Day

Ice Cream Freezer Day

Indian Arrival Day (Trinidad and Tobago)

International Doubles Day

International Hug Your Cat Day

Jag’s McCartney Day (Turks and Caicos Islands)

Joan of Arc Day

Jump Rope Day

Kaamatan Harvest Festival begins (Kadazandusuns; Malaysia)

KidLitPit Pitch Day

Lod Massacre Remembrance Day (Puerto Rico)

Loomis Day

Ming-Na Day

Mother’s Day (Nicaragua)

My Bucket's Got A Hole In It Day

National Creativity Day

National E-Bike Day

National Gopher Revolution Day

National Hole in My Bucket Day

National Jennifer Day

National Multiple Sclerosis Day

National Nail Tech Day

National Recruiters Day

National Scout Day (Maldives)

National Sofia Day

National Women in Baseball Day

No Garbage Day (Japan)

Paperback Writer Day

Reconciliation Day (Australia)

Sabitri Amabasya (Odisha, India)

Strawberry Day (French Republic)

Swing Day a.k.a. Tano Day (Korea) [5th Day of 5th Lunar Month]

Take a Girl Child to Work Day (South Africa)

This Day

Water a Flower Day

World Foster Day

World Juice Day

World MS Day

World Sea Lion Day

World Vape Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Day of the Potato

National Mint Julep Day

National Potato Day (Peru)

National Scone Day

Okroshka Day (Russia)

Independence & Related Days

Dan Državnosti (Statehood Day; Croatia)

Eintractia (Declared; 2017) [unrecognized]

Eleytheria (Declared; 2010) [unrecognized]

Goa Statehood Day (India)

Parliament Day (Croatia)

5th & Last Thursday in May

Red Nose Day (US) [Last Thursday]

Throwback Thursday [Every Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning May 30 (Last Week)

Great American Brass Band Week (thru 6.1)

Festivals Beginning May 30, 2024

Beaumont Cherry Festival (Beaumont, California) [thru 6.2]

Buffalo Days (Luverne, Minnesota) [thru 6.2]

Electromagnetic Field (Eastnor, UK) [thru 6.2]

Farm Fest & Delta Smoke BBQ (Wynne, Arkansas) [thru 6.8]

Harvest Festival (Malaysia)

Helen to the Atlantic Balloon Race (Helen, Georgia) [thru 6.1]

Kaamatan Harvest Festival begins (Kadazandusuns; Malaysia)

Kyiv Book Arsenal (Kyiv, Ukraine) [thru 6.2]

Lebanon Strawberry Festival (Lebanon, Oregon) [thru 6.2]

Mentone Egg Festival (Mentone, Indiana) [thru 6.1]

Narzissenfest (Aussee, Austria) [thru 6.2]

Newport News Greek Festival (Newport News, Virginia) [thru 6.2]

Poke Sallet Festival (Harlan, Kentucky) [thru 6.1]

Veganmania (Vienna, Austria) [thru 6.2]

Vermont Dairy Festival (Enosburg Falls, Vermont) [thru 6.2]

West Coast Produce Expo (Palm Desert, California) [thru 6.1]

Zabaikalsky International Film Festival (Chita, Russia) [thru 6.2]

Zlín Film Festival (Zlín, Czech Republic) [thru 6.5]

Feast Days

St. Chrysostom (Positivist; Saint)

Einherjar (Asatru; memorial to war dead in Valhalla)

Eleutherius, pope (Christian; Saint)

Exsuperantius (Christian; Saint)

Feast of the Queen of Heaven (Pagan)

Felix, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Ferdinand III of Castile, King of Castile and Leon (Christian; Saint)

Fernando Amorsolo (Artology)

Frigg's Day (Norse Queen of Heaven)

Goibhniu (Celtic Book of Days)

Harvest Festival (Malaysia)

Isaac of Dalmatia (Christian; Saint)

Joan of Arc (Christian; Saint)

Joan of Arc Day (Everyday Wicca)

John Gilroy (Artology)

Joseph Marello (Christian; Saint)

Madelgislus (Christian; Saint)

Maguil, Recluse in Picardy (Christian; Saint)

Meinherjar (Feast of Valhalla; Pagan)

Pro Hart (Artology)

Random Acts of Kindness Day (Pastafarian)

Robert Ryman (Artology)

Spook (Muppetism)

This Day (Shamanism)

Walston of Bawburgh (Christian; Saint) [Agricultural Works, Farmers, Farm Workers, Field Hands]

Winnie Ruth Judd Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Christian Liturgical Holidays

Corpus Christi [Thursday after Trinity Sunday; 60 days after Easter] a.k.a. ... 

Corpo de Deus (Portugal)

Corpus Christi Day (Most Christian Countries)

Corpus Domini (San Marino)

Dancing Devils of Corpus Christi (Venezuela)

Day of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus Christ the Lord

El Colacho (Baby Jumping; Castrillo de Murica, Spain)

Feast of Corpus Christi

Feast of the Body of God (East Timor)

Fête Dieu (Monaco, Seychelles)

Fronleichnam (Switzerland)

Leonard P. Howell Day (Rastafari)

Martyrdom of Guru Arjan Dev (Sikhism)

Mystery Plays (Ancient Europe)

Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ

Thanksgiving for Holy Communion (Anglican Church)

Tijelovo (Croatia)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [29 of 57]

Premieres

Bartered Bride, by Bedřich Smetana (Comic Opera; 1866)

Bingo Crosbyana (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

Bulloney (MGM Cartoon; 1933)

The Bourne Identity, by Robert Ludlum (Novel; 1980)

Dark Town Strutters Ball, recorded by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band (1917)

The Death of Virgil, by Hermann Broch (Novel; 1945)

Dick Whittington’s Cat (ComiColor Cartoon; 1936)

Dumb Patrol (WB LT Cartoon; 1931)

Elric of Melniboné Michael Moorcock (Novel; 1972) [Elric Saga #1]

Finding Nemo (Animated Disney Film; 2003)

Girls Like You, by Maroon 5 (Song; 2018)

Heir Bear, featuring Barney Bear (MGM Cartoon; 1953)

How to Stuff a Woodpecker (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1960)

The Italian Job (Film; 2003)

A Journey Round My Skull, by Frigyes Karinthy (Novel; 1936)

Le Bowser Bagger (The Inspector Cartoon; 1967)

Living in the Material World, by George Harrison (Album; 1973)

The Lyin’ Lion (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1949)

Maleficent (Film; 2014)

The Marshall Mathers LP, by Eminem (Album; 2000)

Mighty Mouse Meets Deadeye Dick (Mighty Mouse Cartoon; 1947)

Movie Phoney news (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1938)

One Hundred Years of Solitude (Novel; 1967)

Parasite (Film; 2019)

Passenger to Frankfurt, by Agatha Christie (Novel; 1971)

The Pups’ Picnic (Happy Harmonies Cartoon; 1936)

Puss n’ Toots (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1942)

Sex and the City (Film; 2008)

Six Days of the Condor, by James Grady (Novel; 1974)

Unsung Hero (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1961)

Violin Concerto No. 1, by Béla Bartók (Concerto; 1958)

What Happens At Night (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1941)

Zero the Hound (Animated Antics Cartoon; 1941)

Today’s Name Days

Ferdinand, Johanna, Otto (Austria)

Emiliya (Bulgaria)

Ferdinand, Ivana (Croatia)

Ferdinand (Czech Republic)

Vigand (Denmark)

Argo, Arro (Estonia)

Pasi (Finland)

Ferdinand, Jeanne, Lorraine (France)

Felix, Ferdinand, Johanna (Germany)

Emmeleia (Greece)

Janka, Zsanett (Hungary)

Felice, Ferdinando, Giovanni (Italy)

Kredo, Lola, Lolita, Vitolds (Latvia)

Ferdinandas, Joana, Jomilė, Vyliaudas, Žana (Lithuania)

Gard, Geir (Norway)

Andonik, Feliks, Ferdynand, Joanna, Sulimir (Poland)

Isaachie (România)

Ferdinand (Slovakia)

Estela, Estrella, Fernando, Juana (Spain)

Fritjof, Vera, Veronika (Sweden)

Joan, Joani, Joann, Joanna, Joanne, Johanna, Fawn, Fern, Fernanda, Fernando, Ferdinand, Ferdinanda, Ferdinando (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 151 of 2024; 215 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of week 22 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Huath (Hawthorn) [Day 19 of 28]

Chinese: Month 4 (Ji-Si), Day 23 (Jia-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 22 Iyar 5784

Islamic: 22 Dhu al-Qada 1445

J Cal: 1 Blue; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 17 May 2024

Moon: 50%: Last Quarter

Positivist: 10 St. Paul (6th Month) [St. Chrysostom]

Runic Half Month: Odal (Home, Possession) [Day 6 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 73 of 92)

Week: Last Week of May

Zodiac: Gemini (Day 10 of 31)

Calendar Changes

Blue (J Calendar) [Month 6 of 12]

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 150 of 2023; 215 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 2 of week 22 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Huath (Hawthorn) [Day 16 of 28]

Chinese: Month 4 (Ding-Si), Day 12 (Wu-Zi)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 10 Sivan 5783

Islamic: 10 Dhu al-Qada 1444

J Cal: 30 Bīja; Ninthday [30 of 30]

Julian: 17 May 2023

Moon: 78%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 10 St. Paul (6th Month) [St. Chrysostom]

Runic Half Month: Odal (Home, Possession) [Day 5 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 71 of 90)

Zodiac: Gemini (Day 9 of 32)

[laniidae-passerine]

okay everyone in this show is having a terrible time but I’m not over the whole Mel watched a girl get decapitated thing? like she gets lumped in with Piltover upper class or viewed as a callous manipulator but frankly that’s some Zaun shit. that’s the kind of thing that only a child born into violence and crime typically ever witnesses but nobody seems to have any sympathy for Mel???? for all her finery and class, if you threw that girl into Zaun and made her survive by herself, of all the Piltover characters she is the most likely to survive

[phoenixyfriend]

In Which Palpatine Leaves the Door Open

So, @purronronner suggested this on discord:

au where anakin finds out about palpatine during clone wars era like, coming in for a visit and overhears a conversation with Dooku about war planning he’s been pulled between palpatine and the Jedi/obi-wan/various things but I want to see him pulled between palpatine and his men could go either way on the sith part of the reveal even

palpatine is not aware! unless anakin’s course of action is to go “hey palpatine I must have misunderstood something right? :(“

(This was a group effort but there's a thing I wrote that requires this context so please bear with me.)

I'm just imagining Anakin backing out, closing the door, and turning to the Corrie Guard by the door to say a thing... and not finding words.

Eventually "Did you guys know he was evil?" "He's a politician, sir." "But like the evil ranting..." "He's a politician. Sir."

He's willing to use his men to save R2, but that's because R2 was part of the team and helping, not arranging battles to make things worse.

Anakin: Normally, I'd go to Palpatine to talk about my problems, but right now he is the problem... Obi-Wan and Yoda are off-planet.... Anakin, phoning up Padme: Help?

Per @atagotiak we also have some Intense Thoughts

Oh hey. The deception arc. And the subsequent argument that we don't see and stuff. Like there's all the ways you could justify it especially from an opsec standpoint (If Anakin acts like that around Padme why would anyone assume he can keep a secret about anything?) And it was a pretty tactically important thing for the war as far as anyone knew. But just. I've heard some people say that perhaps also Obi-Wan reasoned that hurting Anakin is an ok price to pay to make sure someone Anakin cares for doesn't die for real which seems plausible enough.

Anyways. My point is. Anakin gets a front row seat to sheevception when he actually sorta knows whats going on. Gets sidetracked halfway through yelling and stuff to think about how convoluted this whole mess is.

For more clone-centric things all the times Palpatine's like "I wish I could do more, it's truly regrettable, but..." Would just seem awfully fake now.

Anakin, belatedly: Wait, does this mean that, behind all the layers of bullshit, Palpatine was the one trying to kill Padme at the start of the war???

WHICH IS WHAT LEADS TO A WHOLE LOT OF FUN and yes this is the part I'm sort of proud of.

Okay so: Anakin's a shit liar, yes?

After he meanders over to Padme and has a breakdown, he then goes off to tell the Council about all this. I imagine she goes with him as moral support, and also because she wants to protect him from them calling him out on his legitimately terrible decisions. They're trying to come up with a plan to take Palpatine down without tipping their hands too early, because they need to investigate; for the sake of this plot point, we'll say that Palpatine mentioned a contingency plan while talking to Dooku, even if he didn't directly name the chips.

Someone mentions that Palpatine is going to ask to see Anakin, because he does regularly. And, as experience has shown, there is very little that will stop Palpatine from insisting that Anakin come see him. They can stall for a bit, maybe, but not for long.

"You could send me to the other side of the galaxy," Anakin suggests. "Short notice, so sorry, won't be around for a bit."

They point out that won't work forever.

"So... arrest me, or put me on a mental health hold?" Anakin tries. "Say I got violent at civilians or the clones for no reason and you need to make sure I won't hurt him, and then even if he visits me in the cell, I don't have to act normal 'cause he'll EXPECT me to be upset."

Palpatine presumably has spies all over, so he'd know that hadn't actually happened. Also, Anakin's too important to the war effort for anything short of a cold-blooded murder of an innocent, and they can't just take him off the field without an absolutely massive violation of the Code or his orders.

"Tell him I Fell," Anakin offers.

A Sith Lord would be able to feel that from across the galaxy, if it had happened, especially with the amount of time that he's put into grooming Anakin.

"Oh," Anakin says, and his stomach drops out as he realizes that he can either keep his secrets, or keep people alive.

He thinks about how Palpatine had targeted Padme already, and how if Palpatine thinks Anakin's betrayed him, then he'll probably do that again.

He thinks about 'a Sith Lord would know' and realizes... well.

Anakin values his freedom, but he also values his men, his padawan, his master, his wife... the wife that's in danger if Palpatine knows that Anakin caught him out.

The Order has to keep Anakin away from Palpatine. They need an excuse to arrest him. They need an excuse to hide him away, one that Palpatine won't question too hard.

A Sith Lord would know if Anakin fell. Even if he came back afterwards.

"So... so tell him you found out about the Tusken Massacre."

The what.

"...tell him you found out about the time I actually did Fall," Anakin says, squeezing Padme's hand. She knows. She's the only one who knows, on Coruscant, other than the Sith they're hunting. "On... on Tatooine. You can claim it was an anonymous tip. He already knows about that one. He's one of the only two people outside Tatooine that do. He might not question it."

(He won't question it.)

What did you do, Skywalker.

"I killed... a lot of people. A Tusken tribe. Including the children. Right before the war hit."

----

It's a hell of a way to fall on his figurative sword.

(Mace is... both impressed that Anakin would take the hit to make sure they can handle the Palpatine problem, and horrified about the Massacre, because... who wouldn't be.)

(Mace is unfortunately Anakin's main handler on this project.)

Anakin puts in so much effort, all the time, into not Falling, so it’s surprisingly (terrifyingly!) easy for him to fake a 'near miss' with the Dark just by thinking really hard about things that make him angry. Nobody wants him actually Falling for the ploy if they can help it, but they need to sell the bit, and Anakin's... well. He's Anakin. It's easy to think about his own emotional volatility until any control goes out the window.

He's sacrificing a lot for this mission! It's fine! He's fine!

(Padme, the council is judging you so hard right now.)

Palpatine comes to visit Anakin in prison, and it is very easy for Anakin to disguise his anger as... a different anger. I have a very intense mental image of Anakin working himself up into a frenzy when Palpatine comes to visit, and then at some point in the following conversation he just snaps something about how "you said they were animals who deserved to die."

The Council can even eke it out a bit, make it so they don't want to admit why Anakin's in prison or under a psychiatric hold or whatever they claim it is, so their "I'm hiding something vibes" look like "I'm hiding the fact that one of our most recognizable war heroes just came clean as a mass murderer and we have no idea how to handle it" instead of "I'm hiding that we know you're a Sith Lord and are working to take you down."

Obi-Wan comes back from an off-world mission to find out that Mace arrested his former padawan and Ahsoka hasn't stopped crying for three days because nobody will tell her what's going on.

(The Council decided this couldn't be risked on even an encrypted comm.)

(They maybe tell him soon enough? But also they might treat it like the Hardeen thing and use his reaction as fuel to keep Palpatine convinced.)

SKYGUY GOT ARRESTED AND NOBODY'S EXPLAINING WHY.

Rex is overwhelmed because it's been his job to keep her calm.

Anyway, padawanship has been temporarily transferred to the grandmaster. You were half-training her anyway.

Insert a subplot about Obi-Wan being horrified and betrayed and aiming the feeling at Padme because she knew about the Tuskens and never told.

[circular-time]

hello! i'd like some help. i've been getting into the fifth, sixth and eighth doctor audios lately but i don't know where to start to get introduced to the audios without being too overwhelmed not knowing what the characters gone through in previous adventures. so any suggestions for a first listener?

and also is there a like a list available online highlighting the audios in order of the doctor's timeline?

Just to double-check: I think you've seen some classic Who but not a lot? The audios try their best to introduce you in case you don't know the characters or haven't seen them in years.

The easiest way to tell where the audios fall in the timeline is to check which companions are involved. Most are self-contained, although the Main Range tended to release them in batches of three, which occasional lead from one to the next in the trilogy. Also, there's occasionally a single release that's an anthology of four half-hour short stories.

Here's the order of the Fifth Doctor's adventures, with which I'm most familiar.

If Matthew Waterhouse (Adric) is listed, then it's set during the Fifth Doctor's early days, aka S19 between Castrovalva and Earthshock. Five starts out with: Nyssa (Sarah Sutton, playing an alien girl with a head for science), Tegan (a human air stewardess trying to get back to her job at Heathrow, after accidentally blundering into the TARDIS and being abducted), and math genius/brash teenager Adric. (Recommendations: Iterations of I/Psychodrome, Kingdom of Lies, Ghost Walk, Cold Fusion)

Adric departs near the end of the Fifth Doctor's first season, S19. The final cliffhanger of that season sees Tegan stranded in Heathrow as the TARDIS dematerializes. By this time she'd decided she enjoyed traveling with the Doctor after all... whoops!

So then there's a bunch of audio adventures with just Sarah Sutton and Peter Davison, Nyssa and Five off being space tourists and alien good samaritans, inserted between S19 and S20. (Recommendations: Primeval, 1001 Nights, Spare Parts, Castle of Fear/Eternal Summer/Plague of the Daleks, Creatures of Beauty, Circular Time, Alien Heart/Dalek Soul. Obviously I love this team)

Returning to TV continuity at the beginning of S20, the Fifth Doctor's second season, there are some audios with Janet Fielding and Sarah Sutton, set after the TV story Arc of Infinity, when the Doctor and Nyssa bump into Tegan again in Amsterdam and she rejoins the TARDIS. Recommended: Hexagora, Aquitaine, The Peterloo Massacre (oh gods, that's a gut punch of a story, but SO good. A rare straight historical with no aliens that didn't come in the TARDIS.)

If Mark Strickson and Janet Fielding are together with Peter but NOT Sarah, then it's set after Nyssa leaves the show at the end of Terminus during TV season 20. I just deleted a long paean to the hot mess that is Turlough, but in short: he's an alien exiled to Earth and forced to attend an English boys' school, a fate so horrible he strikes a deal with the devil to kill some bloke named the Doctor in exchange for his freedom. Turlough's knack for self-preservation wars with his inner stirrings of conscience, making him a tortured little meow meow who hides behind a mask of sarcasm and cynicism. Tegan, who is usually right, thinks he's a little shit. The Doctor Believes In Turlough, which is pretty unkind of him, because Turlough keeps having to live up to his expectations.

ANNYWAY. On TV, Sarah, Janet and Mark Strickson didn't have much overlap, but Big Finish has kindly corrected that at Mark's request by jamming an ENTIRE STORY ARC into the few TV episodes where Turlough and Tegan are traveling with Five after Nyssa's departure on Terminus. They catch up to her again much later in her timeline starting in the audio Cobwebs. I think the Mark/Sarah/Janet/Peter combo is fantastic, and there's barely any audios in that batch of 16 I wouldn't recommend, except Rat Trap. Listen to Cradle of the Snake. Listen to Cradle of the Snake. Preferably after watching Kinda and/or Snakedance, since it brings back the same monster. Cobwebs, Kiss of Death, Emerald Tiger, Butcher of Brisbane, Lady of Mercia, are also good for one reason or another, and Prisoners of Fate/Entropy Plague will just rip your heart out as much as any new Who.

There's a scattering of stories with the Fifth Doctor on his own, nominally set after the tv story The Awakening, when Tegan winds up visiting her... uncle, I think? and, wonder of wonder, lets Turlough stay.

There's a few recent stories with just Turlough, Tegan, and Kamelion, a castoff robot with a knack for mimicry (it can copy both the voice and appearance of a person) the Doctor took from the Master at the end of Season 20. Tegan doesn't trust it. The Doctor thinks it deserves a "life" away from the Master. I'm still trying to finish these because I love Kamelion as much as Tegan does, but the first one is good.

So far there's been one story with just Tegan and the Fifth Doctor called Time in Office which is brilliant, set after The Five Doctors when he is dragged back to Gallifrey to serve as president. A wild Leela appears. (Tegan and the Doc left Turlough to chill for a brief time at the end of the TV episode Frontios.)

There's a very few audios with just Mark Strickson and Peter Davison set after Tegan leaves again on TV. Mark is always fun. The very first one, Phantasmagoria, was the first Big Finish after the pilot and is surprisingly good for being so early, thanks in part to Peter and Mark having fun. I can't decide whether I love or dislike Loup-Garoux— it's definitely from the wild and crazy EU era before there was any hope the TV show would be renewed — but it's unforgettable.

The Fifth Doctor's final companion Peri, played by Nicola Bryant, is an American grad student in botany on gap year. She overlapped with Turlough for one story on tv (Planet of Fire) but he was gone by the end of it. Some of the Fifth Doctor and Peri's early audio adventures have a delightful audio-only companion, the ancient Egyptian Erimem, introduced in the excellent Eye of the Scorpion. Also rec: The Church and the Crown, The Kingmaker, Son of the Dragon.

Well, sorry, that wasn't organized, and it's ONLY the Fifth Doctor. Can someone else do Eight? I haven't caught up with his timeline and there's NO WAY i can be brief.

Sixie's first TV companion is Peri (Widow's Assassin springs instantly to mind, taking place years after Peri's departure from TV, Ish, as well as the infamous Piscon Paradox: basically if Nev Fountain writes something for Nicola, it's good) and his last is Mel, but TV never showed Mel arriving, so Big Finish has given Sixie several good companions:

the AMAZING Evelyn Smythe played by Maggie Stiles (Just go listen to The Marian Conspiracy and the Creature of Lanyon Moor, there you go, also Jubilee is what the pilot episode Dalek was based on but the original is so much more terrifying and very different with Sixie and Evelyn.)

Then Flip Jackson played by Lisa Greenwood; I haven't listened to all of hers, but she's adorable, full of pluck and curiosity and a lively brain but not much burdened by fear or common sense; as far as I can tell Sixie adopted a kitten only she's human.

Then somehow Six winds up with Eight's signature companion Charley aka Charlotte Pollard played by India Fisher, Edwardian Adventuress, a stowaway from the historical airship R-101 (which actually postdates the reign of king Edward by a few years, whoops) — I haven't heard these yet but need to, as both India and Colin are excellent.

Next is Mrs Clarke, Constance Clarke played by Miranda Raison, or "Connie" once Six and Mrs Clarke find Flip again... Mrs Clarke is a WReN (Women's Royal Navy) from Bletchley Park, WWII, one of the Enigma codebreakers with a very "keep calm and carry on" no-nonsense attitude. Recommendations: Cross Cross, Order of the Daleks (that stained glass Dalek you see everywhere was originally deaigned for the cover art of this story), Juggernaut.

Somewhere in all that, Big Finish recorded exactly one — ONE — story with Frobisher, Sixie's shapeshifting gumshoe sleuth sidekick from the old Doctor Who comics who insists on sticking to the shape of a penguin. The Holy Terror is weird and wonderful and creepy.

Pick up The Wormery just for fun. Dear old Katy Manning, who once played the Third Doctor's companion Jo Grant on TV, has had a second life in audio as Iris Wildthyme, retired opera singer, drunk, and all-around zooty old lady wandering the universe looking for a good time in a TARDIS disguised as a red double decker bus. She also flirts shamelessly with the Doctor in every incarnation, includin Sixie.

And finally— thanks I suspect to Flip's actress Lisa Greenwood coming down with long covid in December 2020, poor kid; it's heartbreaking to see how she's lost alla that exuberant energy... Sixie and Mel (Bonnie Langford) were just joined by a new audio companion, Hebe, played by Ruth Madeley. You should definitely hear The One Doctor.

[musemash]

Gallery: 1 Hail Mary, Full Of Grace 2 My Soul Does Magnify The Lord 3 Shepherds Worship The Child 4 Adoration Of The Magi 5 The Flight Into Egypt 6 Rachel Weeping For Her Children 7 Massacre Of The Innocents 8 Herod Worships The Holy Child 9 The Shadow of Death 10 Baptism Of Yeshua

MESSIAH'S EASTERTIDE JUBILEE – revised & expanded Apr 21, 2023 – by David D. Fowler & Aeon 999

Welcome to MFF's 2022 Easter spectacular. Like our past efforts, this 7-part extravaganza features a well-stocked cornucopia of outstanding videos. Our purpose is to enhance the celebration of the glorious Eastertide tradition – from now, until the Eastern Orthodox Day Of Pentecost in June.

These items constitute the best available resources we could find online, representing many different views of Christ-based spirituality and artistic endeavors – as well as alternative spiritual paths, and articulate expressions of skepticism. We offer complete editions of many films, including secular productions that deal with themes such as the supernatural; good versus evil; human depravity; self-sacrifice; redemption; and superheroism, as a metaphor for salvation.

We present a generous spectrum of outstanding music – including rock, classical, black gospel, sacred choral, blues, jazz, and experimental performances. You'll also encounter a variety of hilarious videos, including some exceedingly irreverent items; and intense debates, focusing on fascinating and passionate takes on the myriad realities of Christ's impact on the world.

You’ll find a lot of iconic films, including BEN-HUR, THE MATRIX, LIFE OF BRIAN, LORD OF THE RINGS, HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN, BECKET, THE ROBE, LILIES OF THE FIELD, JESUS OF NAZARETH, AVENGERS ENDGAME, THE SEVENTH SEAL, THE MISSION, THE WIZARD OF OZ, JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS, THE WITCH, KING OF KINGS, THE MIRACLE MAKER, DOCTOR STRANGE, THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC, METROPOLIS, ELMER GANTRY, and HAMLET.  

We also feature a number of less high-profile movies, such as MORTAL ENGINES, FAUST, DUNE, BARAKA, DAY OF WRATH, CONSTANTINE, STALKER, ORDET, WAR REQUIEM, JOHN CARTER OF MARS, THE WICKER MAN, INTOLERANCE, THE SACRIFICE, LESSONS OF DARKNESS, THE DAY CHRIST DIED, ANDREI RUBLEV, JESUS OF MONTREAL, NIGHT OF THE HUNTER, THE BOOK OF LIFE, THE MILL AND THE CROSS, TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME, SILENCE, CLOUD ATLAS, and NOSTALGHIA.

You'll enjoy popular musicians, ranging from U2, BOB DYLAN, ELVIS PRESLEY, LEONARD COHEN, ARETHA FRANKLIN, BJORK, ALICE COOPER, JOHNNY CASH, JOAN BAEZ, and the ROLLING STONES, to BRYAN ADAMS, PRINCE, EMMYLOU HARRIS, TOM WAITS, DOLORES O'RIORDAN, JOHN LENNON, ANNIE LENNOX, BUFFY SAINTE MARIE, and BRUCE COCKBURN.

We also present legendary figures: PAUL ROBESON, WOODY GUTHRIE, ROSETTA THARPE, and MAHALIA JACKSON; and lesser-known musicians, such as IONA, PHIL OCHS, LOST DOGS, KATHY MATTEA, MARIA McKEE, KEITH GREEN, LARRY NORMAN, CAPTAIN BEEFHEART, the SWIRLING EDDIES, and the CHAMBERS BROTHERS.

We feature musicals: AMAHL AND THE NIGHT VISITORS, COTTON PATCH GOSPEL, JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR, THE GOSPEL AT COLONUS, and GODSPELL; jazz masters, such as JOHN COLTRANE, DUKE ELLINGTON, ARCHIE SHEPP, HORACE PARLAN, and LOUIS ARMSTRONG; and opera icons LUCIANO PAVAROTTI, TERESA STRATAS, and JESSYE NORMAN.

We showcase choral masterpieces by HANDEL, FAURE, MAHLER, BACH, BEETHOVEN, VERDI, BARBER, VIVALDI, ALBINONI, BRAHMS, HAYDN, ALLEGRI, BRITTEN, MOZART, BRUCKNER, PERGOLISI, IVES, VAUGHAN WILLIAMS, SCRIABIN, MENDELSSOHN, BERLIOZ, LISZT, TCHAIKOVSKY, RACHMANINOFF, and DVORAK. We also present the spectacular Bible-related visual works of CARAVAGGIO, GUSTAVE DORÉ, and MARC CHAGALL.

We explore controversial books, movies, and phenomena, such as: ZEITGEIST; THE GOD WHO WASN'T THERE; RELIGULOUS; MERE CHRISTIANITY; the PAGAN CHRIST; the SHROUD OF TURIN; the HOLY GRAIL; THE CELESTINE PROPHECY; THE DA VINCI CODE; the GOSPEL OF THOMAS; A COURSE IN MIRACLES; GNOSTICISM; THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS; PARADISE LOST; FLOWERS OF EVIL; and CHRISTIAN NATIONALISM.

Finally, we present a wide range of humor, from the likes of MONTY PYTHON, MEL BROOKS, LENNY BRUCE, NOT THE NINE O'CLOCK NEWS, GOOD OMENS, NEGATIVLAND, TOM LEHRER, LORD BUCKLEY, JOHN PRINE, FAMILY GUY, ROWAN ATKINSON, MIRACLE WORKERS, LUCIFER, PREACHER, CRACKED, BETTY BOWERS, VIC BERGER, and SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE.

We think you will get considerable entertainment from many of these materials – and maybe also encounter unexpected eloquence, edification, and enlightenment. We strive to offer works of art that will challenge people's thinking; motivate folks to rise above everyday petty concerns; inspire us all to maintain hope, love, encouragement, and dignity in this fragile world; and perhaps even help open-minded unbelievers find good reasons to believe that Christ is risen indeed.

So we invite you to kindly bookmark this post – and check out the sections below at your leisure. If you derive something of real value from our playlists, we would be delighted if you share them with your friends. We extend our best wishes for an uplifting exploration of spirituality, as the Easter season unfolds. God bless y'all!

Jubilee part 2: THE HOLY SPIRIT TRAVELING IN DISGUISE https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/46758040906/messiahs-jubilee-part-1-the-spirit-in-disguise Jubilee part 3: HEATHEN DANCE PARTY IN PURGATORY https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/164579528390/jubilee-part-3-heathen-dance-party-in-purgatory Jubilee part 4: HOPE IS STRONGER THAN DEATH https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/615204082966233088/hope-is-stronger-than-death-revised-updated Jubilee part 5: COLLISIONS OF ALL OUR TRUTHS https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/46757984172/messiahs-jubilee-part-2-collisions-of-all-truths Jubilee part 6: SHAPE SHIFTING MASQUES OF REDEMPTION https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/46757919841/messiahs-jubilee-part-3-masques-of-redemption Jubilee part 7: MAKING JOYFUL NOISES UNTO THE LORD https://musemash.tumblr.com/post/46757864172/messiahs-jubilee-part-4-joyful-noises-unto-the

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

[house-of-1000-corpses]

241 songs bangers for any occasion

1.MASTODON - Blood and Thunder 03:48 2.RED FANG - Wires 05:43 3.DYING FETUS - Second Skin 04:42 4.OBITUARY - Sentence Day 02:49 5.DEATH - Pull The Plug 04:26 6.AMORPHIS - Black Winter Day 03:50 7.MYRKUR - Leaves of Yggdrasil 04:00 8.NOTHING - Say Less 04:15 9.TORCHE - Admission 04:00 10.BARONESS - March to the Sea 03:11 11.THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN - 43% Burnt 04:31 12.PIG DESTROYER - Trojan Whore 01:34 13.NASUM - Scoop 02:21 14.NILE - Cast Down The Heretic 05:45 15.SUFFOCATION - Catatonia 03:55 16.INCANTATION - Entrails of the Hag Queen 04:33 17.NEUROSIS - Through Silver In Blood 12:11 18.HIGH ON FIRE - Blessed Black Wings 07:43 19.YOB - Ablaze 10:13 20.WINDHAND - Diablerie 05:20 21.MONOLORD - THE LAST LEAF 05:14 22.BONGZILLA - Amerijuanican 06:46 23.GATECREEPER - From The Ashes 03:59 24.EXHUMED - Ravenous Cadavers 01:49 25.FULL OF HELL - Burning Myrrh 02:12 26.INTEGRITY - Hymn, For The Children of the Black Flame 02:16 27.GISM - Endless Blockades For The Pussyfooter 03:46 28.CONTROL DENIED - Expect The Unexpected 07:16 29.NECROPHAGIST - Only Ash Remains 04:11 30.OBSCURA - The Anticosmic Overload 04:16 31.REVOCATION - The Grip Tightens 04:10 32.GRUESOME - A Waste of Life 06:00 33.ZOMBI - Breakthrough & Conquer 03:46 34.GENGHIS TRON - Board Up The House 05:54 35.SURVIVE - A.H.B. 04:25 36.THE ALBUM LEAF - Ambo 04:53 37.CEREMONY - Turn Away The Bad Thing 04:02 38.BORIS WITH MERZBOW - Away From You 07:35 39.ROYAL THUNDER - Parsonz Curse 06:57 40.KING WOMAN - Hierophant 07:59 41.CLOAKROOM - Seedless Star 07:37 42.AUTHOR & PUNISHER - The Speaker Is Systematically Broken 04:14 43.DISFEAR - Deadweight 02:52 44.IRON REAGAN - A Dying World 02:24 45.TOXIC HOLOCAUST - Nuke The Cross 02:47 46.CANDY - Super-Stare 04:01 47.RINGWORM - Death Becomes My Voice 05:19 48.INTER ARMA - Citadel 06:40 49.PRIMITIVE MAN - Menacing 08:00 50.UNEARTHLY TRANCE - Famine 06:14 51.LYCUS - Solar Chamber 10:41 52.DEVOURMENT - Cognitive Sedation Butchery 04:53 53.SKINLESS - The Optimist 05:42 54.DEVIL MASTER - Black Flame Candle 02:46 55.OUTER HEAVEN - Bloodspire 04:15 56.GENOCIDE PACT - Conquered and Disposed 04:37 57.COFFINS - Hour of Execution 04:55 58.MAMMOTH GRINDER - Superior Firepower 02:38 59.LIVING GATE - Heaven Ablaze 03:35 60.REPULSION - Maggots In Your Coffin 01:45 61.AGORAPHOBIC NOSEBLEED - Agorapocalypse Now 02:25 62.MISERY INDEX - Fed To The Wolves 03:47 63.MORTICIAN - Rabid 02:01 64.BRUTAL TRUTH - Sugardaddy 02:36 65.HUMAN REMAINS - Rote 03:31 66.-(16)- - Me and the Dog Die Together 03:05 67.ALABAMA THUNDERPUSSY - Motor-Ready 04:21 68.ASG - Avalanche 04:17 69.CEPHALIC CARNAGE - Endless Cycle Of Violence 04:14 70.CHERUBS - Sooey Pig 04:44 71.COUGH - Haunter of the Dark 07:50 72.CRIPPLE BASTARDS - Non Coinvolto 02:04 73.DISEMBOWELMENT - Your Prophetic Throne Of Ivory 07:40 74.EX EYE - Opposition/Perihelion; The Coil 12:29 75.GADGET - Pillars Of Filth 01:20 76.GRAVES AT SEA - The Curse That Is 11:14 77.HAEMORRHAGE - WE ARE THE GORE 02:15 78.HORSEBACK - Mithras 05:04 79.ILSA - SHIBBOLETH 02:39 80.INDIAN - The Impetus Bleeds 06:40 81.INVERLOCH - Distance Collapsed (In Rubble) 08:39 82.IRON MONKEY - Crown of Electrodes 04:21 83.JOHN FRUM - Presage of Emptiness 04:47 84.LOCRIAN - Arc of Extinction 07:16 85.MARUTA - Hope Smasher 02:19 86.MIRACLE - Light Mind 04:49 87.THE OBSESSED - Sodden Jackal 04:23 88.PINKISH BLACK - Concept Unification 05:13 89.PUBLICIST UK - Slow Dancing To This Bitter Earth 03:36 90.RWAKE - Leviticus 07:17 91.SUMERLANDS - The Seventh Seal 03:46 92.TERMINAL BLISS - Clean Bill of Wealth 00:51 93.TRAPPIST - Victims Of A Bomber Raid 01:38 94.TRUE WIDOW - Four Teeth 06:16 95.WEEKEND NACHOS - Jock Powerviolence 01:23 96.WRONG - Culminate 02:33 97.USNEA - Lathe of Heaven 09:44 98.VICTIMS - The Horse And Sparrow Theory 03:41 99.ZEKE - Two Lane Blacktop 01:37 100.ZONAL - System Error -ft. Moor Mother 04:06 101.ARCADEA - Infinite End 03:28 102.BLACK SALVATION - In A Casket's Ride 07:03 103.BRAIN TENTACLES - Fruitcake 02:35 104.ABSCESS - Naked Freak Show 01:15 105.ABYSMAL DAWN - Inanimate 04:15 106.AGENDA OF SWINE - Gethsemane 01:08 107.ANAL CUNT - Radio Hit 01:11 108.ANATOMY OF HABIT - Radiate and Recede 20:11 109.ANTIGAMA - Pursuit 01:16 110.ATRIARCH - Entropy 05:53 111.BEDEMON - Child Of Darkness 04:12 112.BENUMB - Once And Never Again 01:00 113.BIRDS OF PREY - Hustling the Coroner To Overlook the Strychnine 03:27 114.BLACK ANVIL - May Her Wrath Be Just 04:25 115.BLACK TUSK - Bring Me Darkness 03:05 116.BLOOD DUSTER - Porn Store Stiffi 01:33 117.BLOODIEST - BROKEN TEETH 07:31 118.BRIAN POSEHN - Cuddling 03:55 119.BROUGHTON'S RULES - Reversers 03:50 120.BURIED INSIDE - IV 06:07 121.BURNT BY THE SUN - Soundtrack To The Worst Movie Ever 02:32 122.BURST - Where The Wave Broke 03:36 123.BUZZOVEN - Mainline 05:30 124.CALL OF THE VOID - Bottom Feeder 01:42 125.CAR BOMB - Gum Under The Table 03:27 126.CHRIS CONNELLY - Wait For Amateur 02:05 127.CIRCLE OF ANIMALS - No Faith 04:21 128.CHRISTIAN MISTRESS - Over & Over 02:41 129.COALESCE - Have Patience 03:11 130.COLDWORKER - The Interloper 02:38 131.COLISEUM - Defeater 02:01 132.COLUMNS - Mudfucker 01:18 133.CRETIN - Ghost of Teeth and Hair 03:54 134.CRYPTIC SLAUGHTER - Lowlife 02:32 135.CULTED - BROODING HEX 19:13 136.DAVIE ALLAN - Buzz Saw Effect 02:36 137.DAYLIGHT DIES - Four Corners 08:11 138.DEAD WORLD - The Machine 08:06 139.DEATH BREATH - Death Breath 02:55 140.DEKAPITATOR - The Storm Before the Calm 06:39 141.DISRUPT - Domestic Prison 02:00 142.DON CABALLERO - Railroad Cancellation 05:16 143.DUKATALON - ZX 06:23 144.DYSRHYTHMIA - Appeared at First 03:06 145.EAST WEST BLAST TEST - Magnetic Field 00:51 146.ECSTATIC VISION - Don't Kill The Vibe 05:00 147.EMBALMER - There Was Blood Everywhere 01:51 148.ENEMY SOIL - Sentencing 01:39 149.EXIT-13 - When I Get Low, I Get High 02:36 150.EXPULSION - Altar of Slaughter 01:43 151.FACEDOWNINSHIT - NPON 04:19 152.FATHER BEFOULED - Sacrilegious Defilement of Deranged Salvation 03:20 153.FLESH PARADE - Backstabber 01:14 154.FUCK THE FACTS - The Wrecking 04:39 155.GENERAL SURGERY - Slithering Maceration Of Ulcerous Facial Tissue 01:11 156.GENOCIDE SUPERSTARS - Hatestomp 03:08 157.GOD MACABRE - Lost 04:01 158.GOBLIN REBIRTH - Requiem for X 04:16 159.GRAVES OF VALOR - Suffocation of the Last King 03:45 160.HAIL! HORNET - Beast Of Bourbon 03:11 161.HARVEY MILK - The Anvil Will Fall 07:34 162.HALO - Buried In Light 04:37 163.HEMDALE - Delicious Gory Fun 01:11 164.HERO DESTROYED - That's An Axe 03:27 165.HOODED MENACE - Elysium Of Dripping Death 11:33 166.HOPE DRONE - Riverbeds Hewn in Marrow 10:39 167.HOWL - Horns Of Steel 03:26 168.HUMAN REMAINS - Weeding Out The Thorns 02:37 169.INEVITABLE END - The Severed Inception 04:04 170.JOEL GRIND - The Invisible Landscape 02:12 171.JUCIFER - Blackpowder 02:16 172.KARABOUDJAN - Den Svarta Ön 07:32 173.KILL THE CLIENT - Vicious Slaughter 01:06 174.KINGDOM OF SORROW - Enlightened To Extinction 03:47 175.KRIEG - CIRCLE OF GUILT 05:20 176.LENG TCH'E - The Fist of the Leng Tch'e 01:50 177.LIBERTEER - Build No System 01:34 178.LOOKING FOR AN ANSWER - Tapias De Cementerio 02:07 179.LORD DYING - POISONED ALTARS 03:47 180.LULL - Moment 1 01:08 181.MAGRUDERGRIND - Sacrificial Hire 01:32 182.MAN MUST DIE - Kill It Skin It Wear It 04:18 183.MANTAS - Evil Dead (Death By Metal Demo) 03:22 184.MERZBOW - Woodpecker No. 1 06:43 185.MINDROT - Anguish 07:11 186.MINSK - Within And Without 07:57 187.MORGION - The Serpentine Scrolls 10:33 188.MORTA SKULD - Sacrificial Rite 03:26 189.MOSE GIGANTICUS - The Left Path 04:13 190.MUMAKIL - Brothers in Slavery 01:20 191.MURDER CONSTRUCT - Compelled by Mediocrity 02:44 192.N2K2 - Mourning 03:54 193.NOISEAR - Inevitable Extinction 01:00 194.NUM SKULL - Ritually Abused 04:27 195.NUX VOMICA - Sanity Is For The Passive 12:40 196.OBLITERATION - Goat Skull Crown 04:40 197.OPPROBRIUM - Voices From The Grave 03:23 198.ORIGIN - Finite 03:08 199.PAN.THY.MONIUM - The Battle Of Geeheeb 11:55 200.PENTAGRAM - Forever My Queen 02:25 201.PHOBIA - Rehashed 01:05 202.POISON BLOOD - The Scourge and the Gestalt 03:40 203.PRIMATE - Draw Back A Stump 01:26 204.PUTRID PILE - The Satisfying Dead 02:50 205.PYRRHON - Balkanized 04:46 206.RABBITS - A Tale Of Tales 04:44 207.RAZOR - Hypertension 03:19 208.REGURGITATE - Putrid Serenity 01:44 209.ROTTEN SOUND - Superior 01:28 210.RUMPELSTILTSKIN GRINDER - Grab a Shovel (We've Got Bodies to Bury) 04:51 211.SATAN'S SATYRS - Succubus 03:40 212.SAYYADINA - Their Control 01:04 213.SCOTT HULL - Il funerale di Bonnie 03:47 214.SACRILEGE - Shadow From Mordor 04:50 215.SERPENTINE PATH - Essence Of Heresy 03:47 216.SOILENT GREEN - It Was Just An Accident 04:12 217.SPAWN OF POSSESSION - Apparition 08:24 218.STEVE MOORE - It's Complicated 02:41 219.SUBARACHNOID SPACE - A 09:16 220.TERMINAL SOUND SYSTEM - Silt 06:43 221.THE COUNTY MEDICAL EXAMINERS - Morgagnic Anatomics 04:14 222.THE END - Throwing Stones 03:29 223.THE GREAT TYRANT - Closing In 07:42 224.THE HIGH CONFESSIONS - Chlorine And Crystal 09:35 225.TITAN - Wooded Altar Beyond The Wander 08:00 226.TOMBS - Merrimack 03:56 227.TRIAL OF THE BOW - Father of the Flower 04:07 228.TRIBES OF NEUROT - Primordial Uncarved Block 06:24 229.ULCERATE - ABROGATION 05:50 230.ULTRAMANTIS BLACK - Prescription Culture 01:04 231.UNKIND - Vihan Lapset 02:45 232.UPHILL BATTLE - Ripped Off Face 03:29 233.VVEREVVOLF GREHV - Audio Processor 04:45 234.VIDNA OBMANA - The Insane Brightness 05:33 235.VIRAL LOAD - Methlab Machete Massacre 03:07 236.VOIVOD - God Phones 05:07 237.WEAPON - Vanguard Of The Morning Star 04:19 238.WOLVSERPENT - Within the Light of Fire 16:24 239.BASTARD NOISE, SICKNESS - Death's Door 16:09 240.PSYWARFARE - Au Regal Des Voraces 20:02 241.THE SOUL REBELLION ORCHESTRA - DOLEMITE 03:01

[tailung]

Getaway was the only person who brought up the fact of Grindcore and other places like it to Megatron's face but it's all but outright stated in canon he was only bringing up Megatron's misdeeds to make himself look better, which isn't great. Skids was also kinda treated like crap narratively following his flashbacks and had his traumatic memories of the place result in his death.

and megatron's only reaction was to look down at the ground solemnly for a second before saying "omg please they dont deserve to be stuck here :(" like hm... i understand that getaway is the antagonist of the story, and the guy HAS done some (entirely separate) reprehensible things himself, but everything was framed as if he's being completely unreasonable in his assessment which is just odd. especially since megatron's whole arc is ostensibly about how much of a monster he was in the war and how he wishes to grow from that. buddy! taking responsibility for those massacres and the planetary exterminations mentioned would be a nice start!

and don't get me started about skids oh my god... roberts really wanted to show how megatron's actions and inactions inevitably kill everyone around him + really tap into a literary parallel for in flanders fields but also. like. that didn't need to happen? ravage could've been the slap to the face megatron needed on his own, and regarding the latter... well, it's not a recontextualization that needed to be made. skids literally being retraumatized to death felt incredibly insulting and it still boils my blood a little to this day

[kyberled]

PEOPLE IN HIS LIFE

@godshaped​ asked:

23 and 27 out of curiosity 

23. Someone who owes my muse a debt

This is the easier of the two to answer. Braig thinks he owes a lot of people, in the long run. He knows a lot of people have helped him get to where he is now. A lot of them really went out of their way for him. At the same time, he knows it’s best not to let favors linger. On a personal note, he tries to repay debts as soon as he can as a show of gratitude. He doesn’t want people to feel unappreciated or forgotten. That’s just poor form. But on a practical note, he also knows it’s better to be a debtor than indebted. Being able to call favours can change the tide of war, or just make a bad day good.  Plus, it’s just fun.

So we get to the meat of the question! Who owes Braig? There are a few I’ve touched on in the past, but I don’t want to recycle answers. We know about Durga, we know about Aruk, and some of you know about Kriss. I guess I could talk about the other Twelvers as a whole, but they’re similar to Kriss, and I’ve made a post about Mkhkhur, son of Mchiitkh, before (although if anyone wants to hear about the Survivor Boys or the Sweet Bug Boy, please let me know, I am always willing to scream about my children). I want to talk about Cooper. 

Cooper, known more formally as ARC-4954, was an ARC trooper who served in the 423rd Flare Corps under Master Riloff and Regiment Commander Dash. I’ve written Cooper’s brief biography before, so I’ll spare you the details and just say he was one of the survivors of the Siege of Tassish / the Tassish Massacre. He wasn’t one of the lucky ones who made it to the tunnels. He’s not even sure how he made it out at all. One minute, he was fighting alongside his general and his brothers. The next minute (which, he figured, was probably more than a few minutes away) he was stuck in a Separatist labor camp. He thought he’d die there. He was SURE he’d die there when Grau Tessk himself made an appearance at the camp. The lizard was pissed. Cooper assumed that was a good thing - not for him, but for the  Republic, and maybe for any of his other brothers who might have survived. He didn’t know if any had, but he hoped. It was about all he could do to keep himself sane. 

Sane or not, though, Grau was mad. And Grau was looking for answers. And Grau saw Cooper first. Maybe it was just bad luck. Maybe it was good luck, since some of the younger ones might have cracked. Cooper didn’t crack. … Not that it mattered, as he had no kriffing idea where anyone else could be. He didn’t know a thing about this planet. And even if he did? He wouldn’t tell you.

As you can imagine, Grau didn’t take that well. What he did take was Cooper’s right arm. To add insult to injury, he used Master Riloff’s stolen lightsaber to do the deed. This was also both good and bad luck. Bad luck for obvious reasons, good luck because, if Grau had used a normal blade, Cooper probably would have bled out. He would have joined the rest of his brothers in a far away march. That didn’t happen. What did happen was that Cooper’s morbidly good luck continued. The survivors raided the camp not long after, saving Cooper from dying from infection or who knows what else. It was still a rough recovery in the tunnels, with more than a few doses of local medicines, but he pulled through. The harder recovery was mental. 

Clones cannot be defective. They must be perfect. Defective clones are a defective product and defective products are terminated. Yes, the Jedi put a stop to it, but that meant at best, he’d be a janitor. He didn’t want that. He didn’t belong cleaning floors in Kamino. He belonged with his brothers in the field of battle. And most of his brothers were dead. And he wouldn’t be much good with one arm. That, plus everything he’d already been through, put him in a bad place. And clones aren’t exactly taught proper coping methods. “Designed to withstand all stress”, after all. 

Long story short, he had a bad case of PTSD.

Lots of panic attacks. Lots of anxiety. It was awful. Cooper figured if he didn’t get killed by the Seps or the jungle, a lack of sleep would do it. 

Enter the Jedi (the ‘shiny Jedi’, as Lowswipe called him. Braig had given up trying to correct him). Braig would spend more than a few evenings sitting with Cooper just a bit away from the main group, somewhere quiet, working him through an old Jedi breathing exercise. Tap your hand thirty-six times this way, and yes, it has to be thirty-six or we start over, count with me, good; thirty-six times this way; rub your wrist thirty-six times this way, and then thirty-six this way. Stretch your wrist eighteen times this way, eighteen times this way. Pull your arm across nine times, exhale slowly when you stretch it out again. It was a lot of counting, a lot of touches and physical sensations, a lot of breath control that helped Cooper stay grounded when things got rough for him. He knew that the kid really didn’t have to do all that - especially since they’d only known each other a day or two before the mission even started  - but he did it anyway. It helped a lot. Even after the mission, you could find Cooper tapping his hand against his knee, walls, crates, or even the prosthetic he was outfitted with, counting up to thirty-six. Cooper was never good with emotions or being ‘soft’, so he never really knew how to thank Braig for it.

… But shooting any klanker that went near the kid seemed like a good start. 

27. Someone my muse envies

And now we’re on to the challenge. Who is he jealous of? Who does he have to be jealous of? Emotions aren’t always logical - especially if we’re going off of his teenage or younger verses, hoo boy - but he’s aware he’s kinda spoiled, as far as Jedi kids go. He’s got a master he adores, and it’s mutual. He’s got a good collection of very close friends, and even more friends who are maybe not as close, but he still cares for and still care for him in kind. He knows he’s living better than a lot of the rest of the galaxy. He has a home that is clean, safe, warm, and frankly gorgeous. He gets regular healthy, home-cooked meals (unless it’s field work, in which case he might just be stuck with ration bars). He has a great education and access to the greatest library in the galaxy, along with experts in so many niche subjects it’d make his head spin to try to list them all. He even gets to breathe fresh air every day, which is more of a luxury on Coruscant than you’d think.

I was going to say that he might be jealous of his best friend, Hano, because Hano actually met his own birth parents when he went to Cathar for a rite-of-passage hunt. … But that happened when they’re teenagers. By the time he’s a teenager, Braig doesn’t really care about knowing his birth parents, and it’s not something he worries over. The Order is his family, and he’s happy with it and happy for Hano. He knows how important lineage can be for Cathar hunting rites (and hunting rights). 

I think, for a while, he was jealous of Anakin. He wanted to be Obi-Wan’s padawan, you know? It was very much Younger Sibling Wants All Of Dad’s Attention type envy. But, again, he grew out of this. The older he got, the more he realized that things hadn’t really played out the way anyone wanted, and by and large, he still got his favourite master in the end. It wasn’t Anakin’s fault, it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault either, and everything worked out. No point hanging onto it. 

He’s not jealous of the glitteratti of Coruscant. He doesn’t want fancy clothes and makeup or lavish apartments. He’s not jealous of the Senators, because aside from defending the rights of innocents, he doesn’t have much interest in politics. He’s honestly really happy with his life as a whole, and the major issues he has aren’t born out of jealousy, so this is a tough one. 

I guess I could give an honorable mention to Feenor Redik, though I’m not sure if that’s jealousy or just dislike. I do know they aren’t friends. They never have been.

Like Cooper, I’ve written on Feenor before (In the same post, in fact). He’s another padawan of the Order, a Devaronian, and a member of ‘the mighty’ Bear Clan. His social circle and Braig’s group have never seen eye to eye. I’ll skip over the details of their mutual disdain and get on to the jealousy. 

Feenor got picked to train as a padawan first. He actually got picked pretty fast, and Braig could not for the life of him figure out why. As far as he was concerned, Feenor was haughty, arrogant, self-righteous, callous, and just plain irritating to be around. Why would anyone want to train someone like that? He didn’t get it. He never really would. (Of course, he didn’t know that Feenor’s master was only recently knighted, themselves, and was so eager to prove themselves they might have said yes to anyone who asked.) It definitely didn’t help that Braig was still struggling to find a master of his own. Whether this is because they were trying to decide which of them could be allowed to train him, as some had suggested, or Obi-Wan was getting snippy whenever someone else tried to step up as Rodi and I talked about a while back, or for some other reason altogether, it was a bit of an endeavour for him. But not for Feenor. And of course, when Feenor moved out of the Initiates’ dorms into a padawan dorm, he had to make a big show of it. Yes, Braig was quite put-upon the entire time. It didn’t help that a lot of his friends had also been moving to new dorms, too, and it made it harder to spend time with them (and also in general, being 12 is a weird time for everyone). It was a lot of stress, a lot of issues piling up, and this was kind of the icing on the cake. 

Of course, Braig isn’t jealous of him anymore. He has his favourite master in the galaxy to teach him. He gets to work with multiple other masters, too, as is the Jedi way. He’s learning all he wants and more. Also, he just doesn’t spend a lot of time around Feenor anymore. When they were Initiates, they were in different clans, but the Initiate dorms are all in the same place, and non-Clan-based activities are less segregated, for lack of a better word. As the Jedi kids get older, they get more and more control of their own learning, more diverse topics to study, and, of course, start going off into the galaxy on missions. And, as I said, Feenor and Braig are definitely not friends, so they don’t eat together, meditate together, or train together if they can avoid it. Braig mostly feels a disdainful indifference for Feenor now. 

Unless they have to interact with each other. 

Then Braig feels more strongly about him.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 5.30

Holidays

Anguilla Day (Anguilla)

Arab Juice Day

Arbor Day (Honduras)

Biafra Remembrance Day (Nigeria)

Canary Islands Day (Spain)

Daily Newspaper Day

Fakesgiving

Fishing Day (Elder Scrolls)

Foster Care Day (Poland)

Garden Amazement Day

Give OUT Day

Harvest Festival (Malaysia)

Heirloom Seed Day

Hovercraft Day

Ice Cream Freezer Day

Indian Arrival Day (Trinidad and Tobago)

International Doubles Day

International Hug Your Cat Day

Jag’s McCartney Day (Turks and Caicos Islands)

Joan of Arc Day

Jump Rope Day

Kaamatan Harvest Festival begins (Kadazandusuns; Malaysia)

KidLitPit Pitch Day

Lod Massacre Remembrance Day (Puerto Rico)

Loomis Day

Ming-Na Day

Mother’s Day (Nicaragua)

My Bucket's Got A Hole In It Day

National Creativity Day

National E-Bike Day

National Gopher Revolution Day

National Hole in My Bucket Day

National Jennifer Day

National Multiple Sclerosis Day

National Nail Tech Day

National Recruiters Day

National Scout Day (Maldives)

National Sofia Day

National Women in Baseball Day

No Garbage Day (Japan)

Paperback Writer Day

Reconciliation Day (Australia)

Sabitri Amabasya (Odisha, India)

Strawberry Day (French Republic)

Swing Day a.k.a. Tano Day (Korea) [5th Day of 5th Lunar Month]

Take a Girl Child to Work Day (South Africa)

This Day

Water a Flower Day

World Foster Day

World Juice Day

World MS Day

World Sea Lion Day

World Vape Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Day of the Potato

National Mint Julep Day

National Potato Day (Peru)

National Scone Day

Okroshka Day (Russia)

Independence & Related Days

Dan Državnosti (Statehood Day; Croatia)

Eintractia (Declared; 2017) [unrecognized]

Eleytheria (Declared; 2010) [unrecognized]

Goa Statehood Day (India)

Parliament Day (Croatia)

5th & Last Thursday in May

Red Nose Day (US) [Last Thursday]

Throwback Thursday [Every Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning May 30 (Last Week)

Great American Brass Band Week (thru 6.1)

Festivals Beginning May 30, 2024

Beaumont Cherry Festival (Beaumont, California) [thru 6.2]

Buffalo Days (Luverne, Minnesota) [thru 6.2]

Electromagnetic Field (Eastnor, UK) [thru 6.2]

Farm Fest & Delta Smoke BBQ (Wynne, Arkansas) [thru 6.8]

Harvest Festival (Malaysia)

Helen to the Atlantic Balloon Race (Helen, Georgia) [thru 6.1]

Kaamatan Harvest Festival begins (Kadazandusuns; Malaysia)

Kyiv Book Arsenal (Kyiv, Ukraine) [thru 6.2]

Lebanon Strawberry Festival (Lebanon, Oregon) [thru 6.2]

Mentone Egg Festival (Mentone, Indiana) [thru 6.1]

Narzissenfest (Aussee, Austria) [thru 6.2]

Newport News Greek Festival (Newport News, Virginia) [thru 6.2]

Poke Sallet Festival (Harlan, Kentucky) [thru 6.1]

Veganmania (Vienna, Austria) [thru 6.2]

Vermont Dairy Festival (Enosburg Falls, Vermont) [thru 6.2]

West Coast Produce Expo (Palm Desert, California) [thru 6.1]

Zabaikalsky International Film Festival (Chita, Russia) [thru 6.2]

Zlín Film Festival (Zlín, Czech Republic) [thru 6.5]

Feast Days

St. Chrysostom (Positivist; Saint)

Einherjar (Asatru; memorial to war dead in Valhalla)

Eleutherius, pope (Christian; Saint)

Exsuperantius (Christian; Saint)

Feast of the Queen of Heaven (Pagan)

Felix, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Ferdinand III of Castile, King of Castile and Leon (Christian; Saint)

Fernando Amorsolo (Artology)

Frigg's Day (Norse Queen of Heaven)

Goibhniu (Celtic Book of Days)

Harvest Festival (Malaysia)

Isaac of Dalmatia (Christian; Saint)

Joan of Arc (Christian; Saint)

Joan of Arc Day (Everyday Wicca)

John Gilroy (Artology)

Joseph Marello (Christian; Saint)

Madelgislus (Christian; Saint)

Maguil, Recluse in Picardy (Christian; Saint)

Meinherjar (Feast of Valhalla; Pagan)

Pro Hart (Artology)

Random Acts of Kindness Day (Pastafarian)

Robert Ryman (Artology)

Spook (Muppetism)

This Day (Shamanism)

Walston of Bawburgh (Christian; Saint) [Agricultural Works, Farmers, Farm Workers, Field Hands]

Winnie Ruth Judd Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Christian Liturgical Holidays

Corpus Christi [Thursday after Trinity Sunday; 60 days after Easter] a.k.a. ... 

Corpo de Deus (Portugal)

Corpus Christi Day (Most Christian Countries)

Corpus Domini (San Marino)

Dancing Devils of Corpus Christi (Venezuela)

Day of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus Christ the Lord

El Colacho (Baby Jumping; Castrillo de Murica, Spain)

Feast of Corpus Christi

Feast of the Body of God (East Timor)

Fête Dieu (Monaco, Seychelles)

Fronleichnam (Switzerland)

Leonard P. Howell Day (Rastafari)

Martyrdom of Guru Arjan Dev (Sikhism)

Mystery Plays (Ancient Europe)

Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ

Thanksgiving for Holy Communion (Anglican Church)

Tijelovo (Croatia)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [29 of 57]

Premieres

Bartered Bride, by Bedřich Smetana (Comic Opera; 1866)

Bingo Crosbyana (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

Bulloney (MGM Cartoon; 1933)

The Bourne Identity, by Robert Ludlum (Novel; 1980)

Dark Town Strutters Ball, recorded by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band (1917)

The Death of Virgil, by Hermann Broch (Novel; 1945)

Dick Whittington’s Cat (ComiColor Cartoon; 1936)

Dumb Patrol (WB LT Cartoon; 1931)

Elric of Melniboné Michael Moorcock (Novel; 1972) [Elric Saga #1]

Finding Nemo (Animated Disney Film; 2003)

Girls Like You, by Maroon 5 (Song; 2018)

Heir Bear, featuring Barney Bear (MGM Cartoon; 1953)

How to Stuff a Woodpecker (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1960)

The Italian Job (Film; 2003)

A Journey Round My Skull, by Frigyes Karinthy (Novel; 1936)

Le Bowser Bagger (The Inspector Cartoon; 1967)

Living in the Material World, by George Harrison (Album; 1973)

The Lyin’ Lion (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1949)

Maleficent (Film; 2014)

The Marshall Mathers LP, by Eminem (Album; 2000)

Mighty Mouse Meets Deadeye Dick (Mighty Mouse Cartoon; 1947)

Movie Phoney news (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1938)

One Hundred Years of Solitude (Novel; 1967)

Parasite (Film; 2019)

Passenger to Frankfurt, by Agatha Christie (Novel; 1971)

The Pups’ Picnic (Happy Harmonies Cartoon; 1936)

Puss n’ Toots (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1942)

Sex and the City (Film; 2008)

Six Days of the Condor, by James Grady (Novel; 1974)

Unsung Hero (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1961)

Violin Concerto No. 1, by Béla Bartók (Concerto; 1958)

What Happens At Night (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1941)

Zero the Hound (Animated Antics Cartoon; 1941)

Today’s Name Days

Ferdinand, Johanna, Otto (Austria)

Emiliya (Bulgaria)

Ferdinand, Ivana (Croatia)

Ferdinand (Czech Republic)

Vigand (Denmark)

Argo, Arro (Estonia)

Pasi (Finland)

Ferdinand, Jeanne, Lorraine (France)

Felix, Ferdinand, Johanna (Germany)

Emmeleia (Greece)

Janka, Zsanett (Hungary)

Felice, Ferdinando, Giovanni (Italy)

Kredo, Lola, Lolita, Vitolds (Latvia)

Ferdinandas, Joana, Jomilė, Vyliaudas, Žana (Lithuania)

Gard, Geir (Norway)

Andonik, Feliks, Ferdynand, Joanna, Sulimir (Poland)

Isaachie (România)

Ferdinand (Slovakia)

Estela, Estrella, Fernando, Juana (Spain)

Fritjof, Vera, Veronika (Sweden)

Joan, Joani, Joann, Joanna, Joanne, Johanna, Fawn, Fern, Fernanda, Fernando, Ferdinand, Ferdinanda, Ferdinando (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 151 of 2024; 215 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of week 22 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Huath (Hawthorn) [Day 19 of 28]

Chinese: Month 4 (Ji-Si), Day 23 (Jia-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 22 Iyar 5784

Islamic: 22 Dhu al-Qada 1445

J Cal: 1 Blue; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 17 May 2024

Moon: 50%: Last Quarter

Positivist: 10 St. Paul (6th Month) [St. Chrysostom]

Runic Half Month: Odal (Home, Possession) [Day 6 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 73 of 92)

Week: Last Week of May

Zodiac: Gemini (Day 10 of 31)

Calendar Changes

Blue (J Calendar) [Month 6 of 12]

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 150 of 2023; 215 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 2 of week 22 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Huath (Hawthorn) [Day 16 of 28]

Chinese: Month 4 (Ding-Si), Day 12 (Wu-Zi)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 10 Sivan 5783

Islamic: 10 Dhu al-Qada 1444

J Cal: 30 Bīja; Ninthday [30 of 30]

Julian: 17 May 2023

Moon: 78%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 10 St. Paul (6th Month) [St. Chrysostom]

Runic Half Month: Odal (Home, Possession) [Day 5 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 71 of 90)

Zodiac: Gemini (Day 9 of 32)