#book: mastering the art of french murder

[haveyoureadthispoll]

As Paris rediscovers its joie de vivre, Tabitha Knight, recently arrived from Detroit for an extended stay with her French grandfather, is on her own journey of discovery. Paris isn’t just the City of Light; it’s the city of history, romance, stunning architecture . . . and food. Thanks to her neighbor and friend Julia Child, another ex-pat who’s fallen head over heels for Paris, Tabitha is learning how to cook for her Grandpère and Oncle Rafe. Between tutoring Americans in French, visiting the market, and eagerly sampling the results of Julia’s studies at Le Cordon Bleu cooking school, Tabitha’s sojourn is proving thoroughly delightful. That is, until the cold December day they return to Julia’s building and learn that a body has been found in the cellar. Tabitha recognizes the victim as a woman she’d met only the night before, at a party given by Julia’s sister, Dort. The murder weapon found nearby is recognizable too—a knife from Julia’s kitchen. Tabitha is eager to help the investigation, but is shocked when Inspector Merveille reveals that a note, in Tabitha’s handwriting, was found in the dead woman’s pocket. Is this murder a case of international intrigue, or something far more personal? From the shadows of the Tour Eiffel at midnight, to the tiny third-floor Child kitchen, to the grungy streets of Montmartre, Tabitha navigates through the city hoping to find the real killer before she or one of her friends ends up in prison . . . or worse.

[genieinanovel]

Review: Mastering the Art of French Murder

As Paris rediscovers its joie de vivre, Tabitha Knight, recently arrived from Detroit for an extended stay with her French grandfather, is on her own journey of discovery. Paris isn’t just the City of Light; it’s the city of history, romance, stunning architecture . . . and food. Thanks to her neighbor and friend Julia Child, another ex-pat who’s fallen head over heels for Paris, Tabitha is…

[saintsenara]

Hey! For the cursed ship asks, I propose you those (if you haven't already answered them):

Fleur/Griphook

Severus/Fleamont/Euphemia

Olympe/Petunia (something about their movies actors and aesthetics)

Hagrid's dad/the entire centaurs population of the Forbidden Forest (you just know he would)

Slughorn/Lockhart (they'd be perfect for each other)

Eileen/Harry (bc I once came across a fic which twist was that Harry was Severus' biological father)

Eloise Midgen/Moaning Myrtle

Have a nice day!!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

fleur delacour/griphook

i'm going to back this, on the grounds that they have one hell of an enemies-to-lovers thing going on in deathly hallows.

fleur's fuming about being made to run up-and-down the stairs with griphook's dinner, but we all know the truth... she loves it.

euphemia potter/fleamont potter/severus snape

completely invested.

snape would absolutely opt to bang both of james' parents as the ultimate way of getting revenge. and he would be right to.

petunia dursley/olympe maxime

flopping. petunia - like any proud englishwoman - isn't going to lower herself to being nice to the french.

daddy hagrid/centaur gangbang

i mean... sure.

gilderoy lockhart/horace slughorn

yeah, this one slaps - not least because slughorn must be partially responsible for creating the monster which is lockhart. firstly, because you know he was gagging for an invite to all the book launches and secondly, because it takes a master of the art of "looking the other way" to not clock that one of their students is developing a talent for plagiarism and inflicting brain injuries.

fortunately, horace "night, tom, i have no follow-up questions about all the murders you want to commit" slughorn is on the case!

harry potter/eileen prince

snape learning that a time-travelling harry is his dad is the funniest premise for a fic i have ever heard. so yes, i need this.

eloise midgen/myrtle warren

very into this. i am a staunch myrtle defender because she's just so teenage and messy and relatable - and i am also a staunch eloise midgen defender because i think that ron needed to wind his neck in and stop slagging her nose off and that professor sprout shouldn't have been bitching about one of her student's acne with a class.

i hope the two of them have a great time complaining about the people who tease them, telling each other that they're gorgeous, and being happy ever after.

[denimbex1986]

'Following the events of the new Netflix limited series Ripley, the enigmatic con artist went on to continue his sinister career as a professional scammer. The psychological thriller is based on the renowned 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley by celebrated novelist Patricia Highsmith, the first of her 5-part "Ripley" book series that also includes Ripley Under Ground and Ripley's Game. The Talented Mr. Ripley has been adapted several times for film and television, but none have been shot completely in monochrome until Steven Zallian's Ripley. Zallian, the Academy Award-winning screenwriter of Schindler's List, American Gangster, and The Irishman, wrote and directed the entire 8-episode miniseries.

Tom Ripley, who uses several different aliases and also acquires many places of residence throughout Ripley, is a master of disguise and deceit. He is drawn to murder once his true identity of being an elaborate con man faces the threat of being exposed. Tom has conned his way from a lowly life of scamming and thievery in New York City to becoming incredibly wealthy in Italy thanks to a supposed old friend, Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn). Ripley's cast is led by an exceptionally chilling Andrew Scott (Fleabag, Black Mirror, All of Us Strangers) as the titular treacherous protagonist. By the end of Zallian's Ripley, Tom has orchestrated a way to frame his murder of Dickie Greenleaf as a suicide by successfully convincing Dickie's concerned girlfriend Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning) and a determined Inspector Ravini (Maurizio Lombardi).

Ripley has received rave reviews from critics upon its April 4, 2024 release exclusively on Netflix. Ripley brings to light the lengths that monsters like Tom will go to in the name of self-preservation, using chilling methodology and calculation to be seen as significant by means of material wealth and social access. Even after Tom escapes to England in the final moments of Ripley, he does not seem satisfied, only aware of what it feels like to wear Dickie's clothes, flaunt Dickie's ring, and stare at Dickie's artwork while ultimately feeling nothing at all. Ripley is a chilling first entry of a magnificent book series by Highsmith, which continues with Tom living a new life in France six years after the events of The Talented Mr. Ripley.

10. Tom Lives A Lavish Life With His Heiress Wife In France

In Ripley Book 2: Ripley Under Ground

Ripley Book 2, titled Ripley Under Ground, which was published in 1970, some fifteen years after The Talented Mr. Ripley. The book takes place in the summer of 1968, which is about the time that it would have been written by Highsmith. Tom has settled down in France in Ripley Under Ground and is married to a prominent French heiress named Héloïse Plisson, who has suspicions about how Tom acquired his money but never pries too deeply. In some ways, Héloïse is a combination of Dickie and Marge from The Talented Mr. Ripley, with Dickie's casual attitude as well as Marge's underlying suspicions towards Tom.

9. Tom Establishes An Art Forgery Scheme After Painter's Death

In Ripley Book 2: Ripley Under Ground

Tom's big scam in Ripley Under Ground involves a massive art forgery operation. He became a silent partner of an organization known as Derwatt Ltd., which sells official works of the celebrated painter Philip Derwatt. Derwatt, however, is reported missing and has been presumed to be dead for years, although the general public is unaware of this. As a result, Tom enlists another painter named Bernard Tufts to impersonate Derwatt and paint original works on his behalf. Tom's corrupt operation is flawless until an American collector named Thomas Murchison claims one of the paintings to be fraudulent.

8. Tom Has An Accomplice To Murder In Book 2

In Ripley Book 2: Ripley Under Ground

Bernard Tufts, who feels incredibly guilty for his role in Tom's art forgery scheme, eventually becomes Tom's accomplice to the murder of the American art collector. After Tom kills Murchison, he enlists the help of Bernard to dispose of the body. This only worsens Barnard's guilty conscience, who is contemplating coming clean about the whole ordeal to the police. While Bernard is a terrible accomplice to Tom in the murder of Murchison in Ripley Under Ground, it's the first time in the book series where Tom enlists the help of another person after committing a murder.

7. Reeves Minot Asks Tom To Commit Murder

In Ripley Book 3: Ripley's Game

Ripley Book 3 titled Ripley's Game was published in 1974. It was adapted into a feature film that starred John Malkovich as Tom Ripley. Reeves Minot, who Malkovich plays in Netflix's Ripley, appears in both Ripley Under Water and Ripley’s Game, but has a very suspicious request for Tom in the third Ripley book. Reeves Minot, who is a known high collar criminal in the United States, asks Tom to be a hitman at the start of Ripley's Game. Tom, still living lavishly in France with his wife Héloïse, refuses and tries to find Minot a suitable replacement for that type of job.

6. Tom Assists In The Assassination of A Mafioso

In Ripley Book 3: Ripley's Game

After Tom finds the right man for the job, a poor man named Jonathan Trevanny who is dying from leukemia, he appears to be out of the operation altogether. Trevanny successfully completes one hit for Minot, which inspires Minot to get him to agree to another hit on a Mafia boss. The plan is tragic as the terminally ill Trevanny is meant to kill the mafioso and then take his own life immediately after, since there will be little chance of escape. Tom intervenes and kills the mafioso for Trevanny and makes him promise not to tell Minot that he assisted in the assassination.

5. Tom's Life Is Saved By An Accomplice Named Trevanny

In Ripley Book 3: Ripley's Game

Tom's life is later saved by Trevanny once news gets out about his involvement on the assassination of the aforementioned mafioso. As mafia hitmen are just about to kill Tom, Trevanny acts as a human shield and saves Tom's life. Overall, Ripley's Game is much different from The Talented Mr. Ripley in that Tom has much more of a heart and a moral compass than he does in Highsmith's first Ripley novel. Tom surprisingly also does not have a big new scam like he had in the previous two novels, which is an indication of the tonal shifts that are to come for his character later in the series.

4. Tom Helps A Young American Fugitive Named Frank

In Ripley Book 4: The Boy Who Followed Ripley

Ripley Book number four, The Boy Who Followed Ripley, is the most unlike the rest of the Ripley novels, especially The Talented Mr. Ripley. In The Boy Who Followed Ripley, which was published in 1980, Tom continues to live comfortably at his French estate and has not participated much in his old life of crime. A mysterious boy comes to visit him at his house, claiming he's from the United States and his name is Billy. Tom discovers that Billy is actually Frank Pierson, the son of an American business tycoon. Frank eventually confesses that he killed his father by pushing him off a cliff and came to Tom because he thought he would be able to help him based on his questionable reputation.

3. Tom Plays More Of A Hero Role In Ripley Book 4

In Ripley Book 4: The Boy Who Followed Ripley

The Boy Who Followed Ripley is so much unlike the original The Talented Mr. Ripley novel in the way that Tom is acting like a responsible, but still shady, father figure for the first time in the series. It's unclear why Highsmith decided to switch up the tone of her Ripley series so drastically with The Boy Who Followed Ripley, but it does align with the overall sense of growth that Tom was beginning to demonstrate in Ripley's Game. It appears that after all in The Boy Who Followed Ripley, Tom does have a decent heart, which is stunning to consider after watching Netflix's Ripley. At one point in the book, Tom even dresses in drag in order to rescue Frank after he's been kidnapped.

2. Tom Is Accused Of Murdering Dickie Greenleaf & Thomas Murchison

In Ripley Book 5: Ripley Under Water

Tom's ghosts come back to haunt him in the final Ripley book, Ripley Under Water. The title is a notable reference to Tom's fear of water that he demonstrated in The Talented Mr. Ripley. Ripley Under Water was published in 1991 and sees Tom living a completely normal, quaint life still in France where he tends to his garden daily. Tom is confronted by an American named David Pritchard who is convinced that Tom murdered the art collector Thomas Murchison, which took place in Ripley's Game. David also starts to ask Tom questions about Dickie, bringing back Tom's very first murder in the original book. Tom must find ways to deflect Pritchard's accusations but does not resort to killing him, proving that Tom's life of murder could in fact be over by the end of the book series.

1. Tom Never Gets Caught For Any Of His Crimes

In Ripley Book 5: Ripley Under Water

Despite the effects of David Pritchard in Ripley Under Water, Tom Ripley gets away with it once again by the end of the fifth and final Ripley book. Shockingly, Pritchard does somehow discover Murchison's body and goes so far as to leave his skeleton on Tom's doorstep. Tom hides the body once again and leaves it in the pond outside the Pritchard family's home, which leads to another tragedy and indirect murder on Tom's behalf. Tom's blood-soaked hands never come clean in any of Highsmith's five Ripley books, cementing his status as one of the best literary con artists ever created. While there's no current indication that Ripley season 2 will be made at Netflix, there is certainly plenty of source material to work with.'

[kamreadsandrecs]

Title: The Seduction of the Crimson Rose (Pink Carnation #4) Author: Lauren Willig Genres: romance, historical, Regency romance, adventure Content/Trigger Warnings: period-accurate misogyny, attempted murder, bloody injuries Summary (from author’s website): Determined to secure another London season without assistance from her new brother-in-law, Mary Alsworthy accepts a secret assignment from Lord Vaughn on behalf of the Pink Carnation. She must infiltrate the ranks of the dreaded French spy, the Black Tulip, before he and his master can stage their planned invasion of England. Every spy has a weakness and for the Black Tulip that weakness is beautiful black-haired women-his 'petals' of the Tulip. A natural at the art of seduction, Mary easily catches the attention of the French spy, but Lord Vaughn never anticipated that his own heart would be caught as well. Fighting their growing attraction, impediments from their past, and, of course, the French, Mary and Vaughn find themselves lost in a treacherous garden of lies. And as our modern-day heroine, Eloise Kelly, digs deeper into England's Napoleonic-era espionage, she becomes even more entwined with Colin Selwick, the descendant of her spy subjects. Buy Here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-seduction-of-the-crimson-rose-lauren-willig/11092454 Spoiler-Free Review: So after the disappointment of Deception of the Emerald Ring, I went into this book hoping it’d hold up to my memories of it better than the book that preceded it, and I’m glad to say that: it actually did! Well, sort of. As expected, it was the romance between Mary and Lord Vaughn that actually carried this book for me. I know I said I liked Letty and Geoffrey as a couple, and that I empathized a lot with Letty, but I think I like Mary and Vaughn’s romance more than Letty and Geoffrey’s. A lot of that has to do with what Mary and Vaughn are like as characters: they’re both jaded and cynical, and both have an edge of arrogance handfasted to cruelty. Would I want them as friends IRL? No, because I strongly suspect that if they were real they wouldn’t be very good people. But as characters? They are VERY interesting to read about - especially their dynamic when they’re around each other. Speaking of Mary, there’s a thread here about the general misogyny of the era that was really put in the forefront in this book. The misogyny’s an undercurrent that runs throughout the books thus far, but in this book Mary has this conversation with Vaughn that lays the whole thing out in the open. She basically says that a man like Vaughn can make whatever choices he wants in life because his future is, for the most part, secure. A woman, on the other hand, has to marry well in order to ensure her future is stable. This is something Mary has known most of her life, and basically defined most of her actions - including her attempt to elope with Geoffrey in the previous novel, that was foiled by her sister Letty. She’s not HAPPY with it of course (she’d much rather have the freedoms of a man than be restricted by marriage), but she knows how society works and how the game is played, and her goal has been to play that game in such a way that she manages to gain some power over herself, instead of constantly being in the power of someone else. There’s also a passing reference to Mary Wollstonecraft - yes, Mary Shelley’s mother, whose work A Vindication on the Rights of Women is considered one of the earliest works of feminist politics and philosophy in the West. Mary observes that she agrees with the ideas put forward by Wollstonecraft and other feminists (though she doesn’t call them that; she calls them bluestockings instead), but doesn’t align with them in public because of the damage it would do to her desirability as a potential bride - plus, they’re not very fashionable. Speaking of romance, Eloise and Colin’s romance actually moves forward in this novel! Unlike the last two books where I was only peripherally interested in what was going on with them, in THIS go round they actually go on a date! Other things happen around that date too that I won’t get into because of spoilers, but it’s nice to see them finally moving their relationship into “officially seeing each other” territory. I’m sure their romance will continue in the other books, so I’m looking forward to reading about how they get along with each other. So overall, this was a read that held up to the time since I last read it, at least for the most part. Mary and Vaughn are an intriguing couple who stand in almost direct contrast to the other couples in the previous novels, and they make for a very refreshing read - more along the lines of a Bronte couple than an Austen one, in a way. The only spots of tarnish on the overall shiny package of this book occur in the latter part of the novel. Won’t say much more on that because of spoilers, but: Outlander fans may find something to pique their interest in that regard. Rating: four roses

[reelreflections]

Suspiria- Translating Terror For a Western Audience

Pulling back the curtains at Berlin's Markos Dance Academy in two different periods.

!SPOLER WARNINGS!

What fraction of a film must be accounted for when trying to remake it?

Dario Argento 1977's masterpiece Suspiria, was truly one of its first, implementing an untraditional aesthetic to horror films. But when it comes to 41 years later and it's Luca Guadagnino's turn to put a new spin on it, it couldn't be more different than the original. With the casting of some of today's most popular scream queens and a completely different approach to visuals, a new Suspiria was born (2018).

Contrast of Covens-

In each Suspria (both 1977 and 2018), we follow Suzy an American dancer as she travels overseas to join the prestigious Markos Dance Academy in Berlin, Germany, also referred to as the "Tanz Akademie" in the predecessor. As Suzy's studying progresses a sinister element of the school begins to unravel as several students are being mysteriously murdered. Each of the headmistresses and masters seems not to pay much mind, allowing much more disturbing themes to arrive. It is soon to be revealed that the women behind this school are made up of a coven of witches, thirsty for a sacrifice that would keep their headmistress, Helena Markos, alive.

The original 1977 rendition stems from the book "Suspiria de Profundis" written by Thomas De Quince, pulling many themes of opium hallucinations, hence the psychedelic-esque lighting the movie is quite known for. This vivid technicolor nightmare was no doubt the most iconic element of the original, alongside the thrilling rock-inspired score done by the Irish band Goblin. If it wasn't for the thrilling storytelling, the visuals themselves would carry the entire movie, being able to hold the viewers in a complete trance during the complete hour and thirty-eight-minute runtime.

Now, Luca Guadagnino's take on Suspiria isn't too far off plot-wise, but the aesthetics are found to be quite to opposite of what made the original iconic in the first place. Specifically, nearly every scene is lit with low lighting and complemented with bleak colors, leaving some of the brightest colors just to be found in Suzy's (Dakota Johnson) striking red hair. As for the vital element of music, Thom Yorke of Radiohead was the one behind it all. Though quite another iconic musical take, something still didn't necessarily click with mass audiences. Many also claim that the acting the second time around had great improvement compared to the first. This most likely being a nod to the fact that the 1977 version was shot in French and then dubbed over in English, which may leave an unsatisfying element to some audiences due to the unmatched audio.

The 2018 rendition holds a vast amount of differences, leading many to question if it's a remake or more of an homage to the original. Though the basic elements of the plot are still present, everything else has been thrown completely out of the window. Luca's intentions of not directly recreating the original imminently shows when the subplots come into play. Specifically, his version touches a lot more on historical elements of Germany, whereas the original stayed confined within the school and not venturing out too far from it. Guadagnino's take also features a lot more dance pieces. One of the most iconic routines includes the character Olga as her body begins to contort and snap, mostly contributing to the more gory take of this film.

!TW GORE!

With this new "art-house" inspired take came the biggest difference of them all other than the aesthetics; violence and gore. This time around, the witches are now depicted in a gory and scarier presence. Most notably, Tilda Swinton as Madame Markos is presented as a decrepit old woman at the end of the film, illuminating a more visually disturbing side to the story. Justifying the addition of body horror was the fact that the witches this time around were more in focus rather than a motive to the dancers.

Interesting Interpretations-

With drastic differences between each film, it's left audiences with many mixed reactions. Dario Argento stated himself regarding the reboot: “It did not excite me, it betrayed the spirit of the original film: there is no fear, there is no music. The film has not satisfied me so much.” The original landed 94% on Rotten Tomatoes, while the successor unfortunately came in at 66%.

The team of A-list actors such as Dakota Johnson, Mia Goth, and Tilda Swinton definitely pulled in new audiences, allowing more and more people to explore the horror genre, but it can only lead me to think how many of these viewers are aware that it's a remake of another film. After vast research, many articles talked about Guadagnino's version as an option for a younger audience, but that may seem like a lazy reason to not just watch the original.

As stated at the top of this article, I've been left with the question- What fraction of a film must be accounted for when trying to remake it? So..

It's definitely a possibility to consider Guadagnino's rendition as a film that was inspired by the original, rather than a remake due to the vast differences in aesthetics and paths that the plot takes. Though both are drastically different, I can't really say that one is better than the other, considering they are indeed two different takes on the same plot.

This time around I can't say that anything was necessarily lost in translation when remaking an Italian movie for a Western audience, simply because of the reworking of the entire story. If a formula is taken just to be completely reworked, then it just simply is not what it started out as.

Rhody Cigar. Suspiria (1977) vs. Suspiria (2018). Published October 22, 2020. Available at: https://rhodycigar.com/2020/10/22/suspiria-1977-vs-suspiria-2018/.

Peace and Love and Veggies. Suspiria: Original vs. Remake. Published August 24, 2023. Available at: https://peaceandloveandveggies.com/2023/08/24/suspiria-original-vs-remake/.

Wright, Adam. Suspiria Original vs. Remake – Film Analysis. Available on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCRMUieOqm8.

[protagonistspub]

Mastering the Art of French Murder by Colleen Cambridge

Mastering the Art of French Murder by Colleen Cambridge is the first book in The American in Paris cozy mystery series. I listened to this courtesy of the local library. Needing a fresh start after the conclusion of WWII, Tabitha relocates to Paris and lives with her grandfather and his partner. Her neighbor across the street is none other than Julia Child, who is married and is attending…

[20thcentutygeek]

The Creator of Mind MGMT and DEPT. H is Teaming Up With his Mother, Margie Kraft Kindt, for a Brand-New Whodunit Murder Mystery

Bestselling cartoonist Matt Kindt has shattered crowdfunding records with Keanu Reeves on their blockbuster BRZRKR graphic novels. He’s created acclaimed comics with fellow indie comics darlings Jeff Lemire and David Rubín and his talented studio mate, Brian Hurtt. And now the creator of Mind MGMT and Dept. H. has a new and entirely unexpected writing partner: his mother, Margie Kraft Kindt. Together the two Kindts are creating Gilt Frame, an eccentric and electrifying crime thriller starring the most unlikely detective duo in the history of murder mysteries. The 3-issue whodunit will be published at Dark Horse Comics through Flux House, Kindt’s boutique imprint that features crime, science fiction, and humor stories, all told and presented in startling and untraditional ways. 

“Although it is a privilege and thrill to collaborate with someone of Matthew’s caliber and of his generation, the real joy and value is personal,” said Margie Kraft Kindt. “What a bonus at this time of life, the gift and pleasure of so many hours and days in the company of a grown-up son, sitting across from each other at our partner table, settling into our chairs as we brainstorm plot twists.Each of us takes on the roles of our characters. I develop the energetic persona of the star of Gilt Frame, the take-charge Meredith Pearson — Aunt Merry to her beloved nephew and best buddy, Sammy — while Matt shoots out dialogue for him. We toss around how they would play off each other — so completely immersed in the exhilarating work we are both passionate about, that every once in a while, we stop and ask each other, ‘Are you getting this down?’”

A classic whodunit that spans the globe from Paris to Hawaii to Montenegro, Gilt Frame stars Sam, an orphan in his early twenties, and his well-off Aunt Merry who has an outsized appetite for antiques, travel, and solving crimes. Sam was adopted by his aunt years ago and together they have solved some of the most notorious murders in the world. Now their latest Parisian adventure is cut short when they stumble upon a murder scene so bizarre that only a raging psychopath could have produced it. To solve this crime, Sam and Merry will have to wrestle with jewel thieves, art-forgers, gun-runners, the century-old ghost of the woman in black, a lost puppy, and a master French detective who just might solve the crime before they do.

“Sam, the young nephew in Gilt Frame, is really the star of the show here,” said Kindt. “The voice of reason who generously gives old Aunt Merry just enough screen time” not to embarrass herself. He’s always looking out for her as they solve a real puzzle of a murder. It’s not a locked room murder mystery. It’s more of an unlocked…UNHINGED murder mystery.”

 For over 20 years, Matt Kindt has been writing and illustrating inventive, independent comics that balance action-packed storytelling with a highly personal creative vision, with titles like BRZRKR (with Keanu Reeves), Apache Delivery Service, BANG! Dept. H, Ether, Fear Case, MIND MGMT, Folklords, Revolver, 3 Story, Super Spy, and Pistolwhip. But he’s never had a collaborator quite like this… “While we were working on this book it brought back memories of me when I was ten or so…and Mom constructing pretend “crime scenes” at home for me to solve,” said Matt Kindt. “ Follow the fake bloody footprints to figure out what happened. Pay attention to the broken clock. Why is that door open? That childhood memory actually explains a lot. Very formative. So of course it only makes sense for us to build another crime scene together. Brings me back to my roots and to what writing has always been for me – play. We’re having fun.”

The 64-page giant-sized Gilt Frame #1 is due out in comic shops on August 7, and advance copies will be available for sale at the Dark Horse Comics booth at San Diego Comic-Con. Follow Dark Horse Comics on social media for more news, announcements, and updates.

[simplebookreviews12]

Unveiling the Enigma: A Dive into the World of Novel Thriller Mystery Books

One of the defining characteristics of a great thriller mystery novel is its ability to lure readers into a web of suspense from the very first page. Authors skillfully craft narratives that beckon readers with promises of uncovering secrets, solving puzzles, and navigating through a maze of unexpected events. Renowned authors like Agatha Christie, Dan Brown, and Gillian Flynn have mastered the art of building tension and keeping readers guessing until the very end.

Agatha Christie, often hailed as the Queen of Crime, has left an indelible mark on the genre with her timeless classics like "Murder on the Orient Express" and "And Then There Were None." Her intricate plots, cunning detectives, and surprising resolutions have set the standard for Novel Thriller Mystery Books for decades. Christie's ability to weave a complex tapestry of clues and red herrings has made her a literary icon, and her works continue to be celebrated by readers worldwide.

In the realm of contemporary thriller mystery, Dan Brown stands out with his gripping and intellectual narratives. Best known for "The Da Vinci Code" and "Angels & Demons," Brown combines historical mysteries, symbology, and religious conspiracies to create page-turners that challenge the mind. His novels often feature protagonists who must unravel cryptic codes and solve ancient puzzles, keeping readers engrossed in a thrilling intellectual journey.

Gillian Flynn, on the other hand, brings a psychological twist to the genre with books like "Gone Girl." Her ability to delve into the minds of complex and morally ambiguous characters adds a layer of depth to her stories, making them both thrilling and thought-provoking. Flynn's Buy Thriller Books for Beginners explore the darker aspects of human nature, forcing readers to question their assumptions and challenge their understanding of right and wrong.

The beauty of the thriller mystery genre lies in its diversity. From classic whodunits to psychological thrillers, there is a subgenre to suit every taste. Readers can immerse themselves in police procedurals, legal thrillers, espionage adventures, or paranormal mysteries, each offering a unique flavor of suspense. Authors like Harlan Coben, Tana French, and Michael Connelly have made significant contributions to these subgenres, carving out their niches and garnering dedicated fanbases.

[genderfluid-strawberry-of-doom]

random headcanons about mcga characters just because:

- magnus's favorite flowers are sunflowers

- alex is kind of semi religious? (i know this may be canon divergence but i find the concept cool. like she's not as religious as samirah, doesn't pray for every tiny thing, but on the whole believe the aztec gods exist, and she does pray sometimes)

- magnus is literally so smart. like if you ask him he'll on the spot recite like the first fifty digits of pi or something

- aand magnus does that thing where he presses dead flowers and leaves in between the pages of a book, but then he does it only to already dead ones because "or else it's murder!! have you people no conscience?!"

- blitz is a very people person. like he has very good people skills. he's confident, he speaks eloquently, etc

- magnus is very fair so his blush is like highlighted on his skin? like he starts off with cream colored cheeks and then they're suddenly rose pink and glowing so it's very obvious he's blushing lol. also he glows a warm pink when he's flustered

- tj loves vanilla ice cream. he says he likes the simplicity. except alex, nobody really understands

- hearth used to be a harry potter fan when he was younger, then he figured out that jkr was a racist, transphobic bitch

- heath eventually masters archery, after the events of sotd. he's very good at it, and can now hold his own in a battle even without runestones (though he still uses them, obviously)

- red lipstick on mallory can i just. also mallory with a silver nose piercing like girl in red <3

- samirah's one of the people who own those super organized stationary thingies, like the ones where everything's in its right place and it also looks very organized. alex is one of the people who own the stationary things but somehow manage to make it look disorganized, but if you ask them, they're all "everything's perfectly organized and in its place" and then when you ask them where the orange pencil with the eraser at the end is, they just take it out for you in one second like what

- alex's best subject leaving art is english, she's very good at creative writing

- as a kid, samirah owned an entire collection of those patterned washy tapes. she still has them and never uses them, they're just there for nostalgia

- tj has a piercing above the eyebrow, and then on the other eyebrow is his shard of flint

- tj and alex teaming up to tease magnus (canon)

- alex, magnus and tj do play video games together and magnus sucks at it, but he's just there to have fun so. usually either alex or tj end up winning

- alex does makeup and nails for both magnus and tj

- mallory knows english, irish, and french as well. she learnt it in valhalla, but nobody else knows she did, so one day she just starts speaking french and everyone just stares. it started as payback to halfborn, since he talks about his phd in german literature so much, but then she actually started liking speaking it

- halfborn is the one who uses proper grammar while texting (because he says after learning german grammar, he's come to appreciate english grammar), not samirah, who uses as many short forms as possible to save time

- samirah also knows many many keyboard shortcuts, also to save time

- halfborn's the type of person to learn knitting secretly lol. blitz teaches him how to sew clothes too

[lexiklecksi]

Welcome to my [tumblr] blog!

Here is everything you need to know about my blog. Please read through it before you follow me. If you still have questions, send me an ask.

Disclaimer: this is an LGBTIQA+ safe space and also my personal safe space, so I'll block whoever I don't want to sneak around. Blogs with no content at all, mostly nsfw content or blogs promoting self-harm and romanticizing mental illness will be blocked. Also, please don't repost my work! If you like something, you are very welcomed to reblog it.

Get in touch: I’m open to poetry collaborations! Just send me a dm and maybe we can write together. Oh also feel free to tag me in tag games, send me a message or ask questions.

About me: I'm Lexi (she/ her), 25 years old and living in Germany. If I have to describe myself with only three adjectives, I go for: creative, talkative, open-minded. The languages I speak are German, English, French and (Cypriot) Greek. My posts are written in my father tongue German and in English. I’m a poet, aspiring writer, self-taught lettering artist and amateur photographer. I've been posting nearly daily to weekly on this blog since July 2017 and I'm very thankful for the online friends I made here, especially in the writing community. Shout-out to my mutuals (you know who you are) I appreciate you very much!

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About my wip: You can read a very short synopsis of my ya fantasy wip “Drachenbrut” here (tw: murder):

Enya Arati, a half-breed of dragon and human, seeks revenge for her murdered family. She flees from her hometown Trevena and travels through the magical forest Avni, the high mountains of Zaltana and even the ocean in search of other dragon-borns. Humans, elafids, dwarfs, giants, satyrs and magical beings like faeries, elves, witches and mages either help her or hunt her down. Will she get her revenge and set Trevena on fire? Or will her girlfriend, the siren Meara Kailani, help her forgive and chose a different path?

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Used hashtags: You can find my own poetry under #poetryportal, poetry by other talented poets under #poetryreblog, my random thoughts under #2amthoughts and poetic ramblings under #misplacednote, the music I listen to under #recommendedsong and #alternativemusic, inspiring art under #artsy and #originalart, my calligraphy under #calligraphy and photography under #originalphotography. Posts about mental health can be found under #mentalhealthawareness and #selfcare. If you wanna learn something on Tumblr, check out #educationalpost. Oh and do yourself a favour and don't search for #shitpost.

[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. 

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.1.7, “The Gamin Will Have His Place Among the Indian Castes”

One of those short and deceptively simple chapters with a lot going on.

We’ve been talking throughout this readthrough about the way characters in this book seem to gain power from proximity to death. The gamins, as a group, seem to be the only characters who are consciously aware of this. Their internal status system is built on it: “Among gamins, a memorable accident carries a lot of weight. You are held in the highest esteem if you happen to cut yourself very deeply, ‘right to the bone.’” The next-best thing is to witness a grisly accident; the next-best after that, to witness a public execution.

“Attending executions counts as a duty.” This is tongue-in-cheek, but it echoes the sincere words of the other character through whose eyes we have seen the guillotine: the bishop. For the bishop, aged and worldly, in his history if not his present circumstances, the guillotine inspired horror; for the children, whose innocence is repeatedly stressed, it’s an attraction. They give it friendly nicknames. They have a whole fandom built on rating and appreciating victims.

@everyonewasabird points out that for the gamins, the guillotine is personal: Most of them know someone who will one day be executed; some of them will be themselves. But the bishop was an emigré--he probably also personally knew people who had gone to the guillotine; he might have himself if he’d stayed in France. it’s personal for him in exactly the same way, except that the guillotine’s shadow falls over his past and the gamins’ future.

Other observations:

--Hugo claims the first use of gamin in print was in his own Claude Gueux; Donougher points out that this is not only untrue, but that the antedated citations include Nôtre Dame de Paris.

--French speakers, how would you render the second sentence here: “Une certaine audace en matière religieuse rehausse le gamin. Être esprit fort est important.” Donougher goes with “Being a free-thinker is important”; FMA has “to have a lively wit.”

--PARKOUR. The gamins are masters of it, just like Valjean is (and considering where he learned it, it’s almost certainly the same art, perpetuated by a lot of the same people). Partly this is a bit of foreshadowing of Thénardier’s prison break--but then there’s this line: “The gamin is a born roofer as he is a born mariner. A roof inspires no more fear in him than a mast does.”

That’s an ominous line after last chapter, which went into some detail on the ancien regime’s habit of deliberately maintaining the population of homeless children as a source of naval conscripts.

--“Among this gamin brotherhood, no one has heard of Voltaire but they know of [the child-murderer] Papavoine.” This is not only untrue, but very specifically and notably untrue--Voltaire and Rousseau are the refrain of Gavroche’s last song--and underscores that, as with every other one of Hugo’s character introductions, we need to be on the lookout for other ways that this one fails to capture the whole story.

(...and nothing to do with this chapter except for the Voltaire reference, but. Huh. It just occurred to me that Gavroche and Prouvaire are the two characters whose death is marked, in the moment or by callback, by a long and fully quoted verse. Gamins have already been linked with Romanticism via their preferences in theater, but now I’m wondering about other associations with the Romantics or the arts in general.)

[maddie-grove]

The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2020

My main takeaways:

I’m glad that I set certain reading goals this year (i.e., reading an even mix of different genres and writing about each book I read on this tumblr). I feel like it really expanded my horizons.

There are a lot of proper names on my Top 20 list this year, which possibly means something about identity? That, or I just tried to read more Victorian novels. 

Be horny, and be kind.

Now...

20. The White Mountains by John Christopher (1967)

In a world ruled by unseen creatures who roam the countryside in tall metal tripods, all humans are “capped” (surgically fitted with metal plates on their heads) at age fourteen. Thirteen-year-old Will Parker looks forward to becoming a man, but a conversation with a mysterious visitor to his village raises a few doubts. This early YA dystopia has gorgeous world-building (notably a trip to the ruins of Paris) and expert pacing. The choices Will has to make are also more surprising and complicated than I ever anticipated.

19. What Happened at Midnight by Courtney Milan (2013)

John Mason wants revenge on his fiancée Mary after she skips town following her father’s death...apparently with the funds that her father, John’s business partner, embezzled from their company. When he tracks her down, though, she’s working as a lady’s companion to the wife of a controlling gentleman who refuses to pay her wages, and John’s fury turns to sympathy and curiosity. This is a smart, well-plotted Victorian-set novella about a couple who builds a better relationship after a rocky start.

18. Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes (1943)

It’s 1773, and fourteen-year-old Bostonian Johnny Tremain has it all: a promising apprenticeship to a silversmith, the run of his arguably senile master’s household, and...unresolved grief over his widowed mother’s death? When a workplace “accident” ruins his hand and career, though, he must “forge” a new identity. Despite its jingoism and surfeit of historical exposition, I fell in love with this weird early YA novel. It’s a fascinating, heartbreaking portrayal of disability and ableism, and, to be fair, Forbes was just jazzed about fighting the Nazis.

17. Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf by Hayley Krischer (2020)

After universally beloved jock Sean Nessel rapes starry-eyed junior Ali Greenleaf at a party, his queen-bee friend Blythe Jensen agrees to smooth things over by befriending his victim. Ali knows Blythe’s motives are weird and sketchy, but being friends with a popular, exciting girl is preferable to dealing with the fallout of the rape. This YA novel is a complex, astute exploration of trauma and moral responsibility.

16. The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein (2017)

Rothstein details how the federal U.S. government allowed, encouraged, and sometimes even forcibly brought about segregation of black and white Americans during the early and mid-twentieth century, with no regard for the unconstitutionality of its actions. He brings home the staggering harm to black Americans who were kept from living in decent housing, shut out of home ownership for generations, and denied the opportunity to accumulate wealth for generations. It’s an impactful read, and I was honestly shocked to learn Rothstein isn’t a lawyer, because the whole thing reads like an expansion of an excellent closing statement.

15. My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf (2012)

In this graphic memoir, Backderf looks back on his casual, fleeting friendship with future serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, a high school classmate who amused Backderf and his geeky friends with bizarre, chaotic antics. Backderf brings their huge, impersonal high school to life, illustrating how the callousness and cruelty of such an environment allowed an isolated, troubled teen to morph into something much more disturbing without anyone really noticing. It’s a work of baffled, tentative empathy and regret that stayed with me long after I finished it.

14. Daniel Deronda by George Eliot (1876)

Gwendolyn Harleth, beautiful and ambitious but with no real outlet, finds herself compelled to marry a heartless gentleman with a shady past. Daniel Deronda, adopted son of her husband’s uncle, finds himself drawn into her orbit due to his helpful nature, but he’s also dealing with a lot of other stuff, like helping a Jewish opera singer and figuring out his parentage. I love George Eliot and, although this bifurcated novel isn’t her most accessible work, it’s highly rewarding. The psychological twists and turns of Gwendolyn’s story are a wonder to experience, and Daniel’s discovery of his past and a new community is moving.

13. The Plot Against America by Philip Roth (2004)

The Roths, an ordinary working-class Jewish family in 1940 Newark, find their quiet lives descending into fear, uncertainty, and strife after Charles Lindbergh, celebrity pilot and Nazi sympathizer, becomes president of the United States. This alternate history/faux-memoir perfectly captures the slow creep of fascism and the high-handed cruelty of state-sanctioned discrimination, as well as the weirdness of living a semi-normal life while all of that is going on. Also: fuck Herman and Alvin for messing up Bess’s coffee table! She is a queen, and she deserves to read Pearl S. Buck in a pleasant setting!

12. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (1850)

Young David Copperfield has an idyllic life with his sweet widowed mom and devoted nursemaid Peggotty, until his cruel stepfather ruins everything. David eventually manages to find safe harbor with his eccentric aunt, but his troubles have only begun. Although the quality of the novel falls off a little once David becomes an adult, I don’t even care; the first half is one of the most beautiful, funny, brilliantly observed portrayals of the joys and sorrows of childhood that I’ve ever read.

11. The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve by Stephen Greenblatt (2017)

Greenblatt examines the evolution and cultural significance of the story of Adam and Eve from the Bible to the modern day (but mostly it’s about Milton). I can’t speak to the scholarship of this book--I’m not an expert on the Bible or Milton or bonobos--but I do know that it’s a gorgeously written meditation on love, mortality, and free will. Greenblatt brought me a lot of joy as an unhappy teenager, and he came through for me again during the summer of 2020.

10. The Music of What Happens by Bill Konigsberg (2019)

Self-conscious seventeen-year-old Jordan is mortified when his widowed mother hires Max, an outgoing jock from his school, to help out with their struggling food truck. As they get to know each other, though, they realize that they have more in common than they thought, and they end up helping each other through a particularly challenging summer. This is an endearing, exceedingly well-balanced YA romance that tackles serious issues with a light touch and a naturalness that’s rare in the genre.

9. Red as Blood by Tanith Lee (1983)

In nine wonderfully lurid stories, Tanith Lee retells fairy tales with a dark, historically grounded, and lady-centered twist. Highlights include a medieval vampiric Snow White, a vengeful early modern Venetian Cinderella, and a Scandinavian werewolf Little Red Riding Hood. Fairy tale retellings are right up my alley, and Lee’s collection is impressively varied and creative.

8. A Room with a View by E.M. Forster (1908)

Unnerved by an impulsive make-out session with egalitarian George Emerson on a trip to Florence, young Edwardian woman Lucy Honeychurch goes way too far the other way and gets engaged to snobbish Cecil Vyse. How can she get out of this emotional and social pickle? This is an absolutely delightful romance that gave a timeless template for romantic comedies and dramas for 100-plus years.

7. My Ántonia by Willa Cather (1918)

Jim Burden, a New York City lawyer, tells the story of his friendship with slightly older Bohemian immigrant girl Ántonia when they were kids together on the late-nineteenth-century Nebraska prairie. It was a pretty pleasant time, give or take a few murders, suicides, and attempted rapes. This is one of the sweetest stories about unrequited love I’ve ever read, and it has some really enjoyable queer subtext.

6. Mister Death’s Blue-Eyed Girls by Mary Downing Hahn (2012)

In 1956 Maryland, gawky teen Nora’s peaceful existence is shattered by the unsolved murder of her friends Cheryl and Bobbi Jo right before summer vacation. Essentially left to deal with her trauma alone, she begins to question everything, from her faith in God to the killer’s real identity. Hahn delivers a beautiful coming-of-age story along with a thoughtful portrait of how a small community responds to tragedy.

5. The Lais of Marie de France by Marie de France, with translation and introduction/notes by Robert Herring and Joan Ferrante (original late 12th century, edition 1995) 

In twelve narrative poems, anonymous French-English noblewoman Marie de France spins fantastically weird tales of love, lust, and treachery. Highlights include self-driving ships, gay (?) werewolves, and more plot-significant birds than you can shake a stick at. Marie de France brings so much tenderness, delicacy, and startling humor to her stories, offering a wonderful window to the distant past.

4. Maus by Art Spiegelman (1980-1991)

In this hugely influential graphic novel/memoir, Art Spiegelman tells the story of how his Polish Jewish parents survived the Holocaust. He portrays all the characters as anthropomorphic animals; notably, the Jewish characters are mice and the Nazi Germans are cats. I read the first volume of Maus back in 2014 and, while I appreciated and enjoyed it, I didn’t get the full impact until I read both volumes together early in 2020. Spiegelman takes an intensely personal approach to his staggering subject matter, telling the story through the lens of his fraught relationship with his charismatic and affectionate, yet truly difficult father. 

3. At the Dark End of the Street by Danielle L. McGuire (2010)

McGuire looks at a seldom-explored aspect of racism in the Jim Crow South (the widespread rape and sexual harassment of black women by white men) and the essential role of anti-rape activism led by black women during the Civil Rights movement. This is a harrowing yet tastefully executed history, and it’s also a truly inspirational story of collective activism.

2. In for a Penny by Rose Lerner (2010)

Callow Lord Nevinstoke has to mature fast when his father dies, leaving him an estate hampered by debts and extremely legitimate grievances from angry tenant farmers. To obtain the necessary funds, he marries (usually!) sensible brewing heiress Penelope Brown, but they face problems that not even a sizable cash infusion can fix. This is a refreshingly political romance with a deliciously tense atmosphere and fascinating themes, as well as an almost painfully engaging central relationship.

1. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (1814)

Fanny Price, the shy and sickly poor relation of the wealthy Bertram family, is subtly mistreated by most of her insecure and/or self-absorbed relatives, with the exception of her kind cousin Edmund. When the scandalous Crawford siblings visit the neighborhood, though, it shakes up her life for good and ill. I put off reading Mansfield Park for years--it’s practically the last bit of Austen writing that I consumed, including most of her juvenilia--and yet I think it’s my favorite. Fanny is an eminently lovable and interesting heroine, self-doubting and flawed yet possessed of a strong moral core, and the rest of the characters are equally realistic and compelling. Austen really made me think about the point of being a good person, both on a personal and a global scale.

[rockislandadultreads]

Suspenseful Fiction: Book Recs

The Art of Falling by Kathryn Craft

One wrong step could send her over the edge. All Penny has ever wanted to do is dance—and when that chance is taken from her, it pushes her to the brink of despair, from which she might never return. When she wakes up after a traumatic fall, bruised and battered but miraculously alive, Penny must confront the memories that have haunted her for years, using her love of movement to pick up the pieces of her shattered life. Kathryn Craft’s lyrical debut novel is a masterful portrayal of a young woman trying to come to terms with her body and the artistic world that has repeatedly rejected her. The Art of Falling expresses the beauty of movement, the stasis of despair, and the unlimited possibilities that come with a new beginning.

At the Edge of the Haight by Katherine Seligman

Maddy Donaldo, homeless at twenty, has made a family of sorts in the dangerous spaces of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. She knows whom to trust, where to eat, when to move locations, and how to take care of her dog. It’s the only home she has. When she unwittingly witnesses the murder of a young homeless boy and is seen by the perpetrator, her relatively stable life is upended. Suddenly, everyone from the police to the dead boys’ parents want to talk to Maddy about what she saw. As adults pressure her to give up her secrets and reunite with her own family before she meets a similar fate, Maddy must decide whether she wants to stay lost or be found. Against the backdrop of a radically changing San Francisco, a city which embraces a booming tech economy while struggling to maintain its culture of tolerance, At the Edge of the Haight follows the lives of those who depend on makeshift homes and communities. As judge Hillary Jordan says, “This book pulled me deep into a world I knew little about, bringing the struggles of its young, homeless inhabitants—the kind of people we avoid eye contact with on the street—to vivid, poignant life. The novel demands that you take a close look. If you knew, could you still ignore, fear, or condemn them? And knowing, how can you ever forget?”

The Committed by Viet Thanh Nguyen

The long-awaited new novel from one of America’s most highly regarded contemporary writers, The Committed follows the Sympathizer as he arrives in Paris as a refugee. There he and his blood brother Bon try to escape their pasts and prepare for their futures by turning their hands to capitalism in one of its purest forms: drug dealing. No longer in physical danger, but still inwardly tortured by his reeducation at the hands of his former best friend, and struggling to assimilate into a dominant culture, the Sympathizer is both charmed and disturbed by Paris. As he falls in with a group of left-wing intellectuals and politicians who frequent dinner parties given by his French Vietnamese “aunt,” he finds not just stimulation for his mind but also customers for his merchandise―but the new life he is making has dangers he has not foreseen, from the oppression of the state, to the self-torture of addiction, to the seemingly unresolvable paradox of how he can reunite his two closest friends, men whose worldviews put them in absolute opposition. Both literary thriller and brilliant novel of ideas, The Committed is a blistering portrayal of commitment and betrayal that will cement Viet Thanh Nguyen’s position in the firmament of American letters.

Summerwater by Sarah Moss

On the longest day of the summer, twelve people sit cooped up with their families in a faded Scottish cabin park. The endless rain leaves them with little to do but watch the other residents. A woman goes running up the Ben as if fleeing; a retired couple reminisce about neighbours long since moved on; a teenage boy braves the dark waters of the loch in his red kayak. Each person is wrapped in their own cares but increasingly alert to the makeshift community around them. One particular family, a mother and daughter without the right clothes or the right manners, starts to draw the attention of the others. Tensions rise and all watch on, unaware of the tragedy that lies ahead as night finally falls.

[bookclub4m]

Episode 124 - Media (and Noodles) We’ve Recently Enjoyed

This episode we’re discussing Media (and Noodles) We’ve Recently Enjoyed! We talk about spicy noodles, which Dakota is our least favourite state, fictional planets that totally suck, tenuous connections, flexing over signed books, vaccine envy, podcast synergy, and why you should mail us an envelope filled with five dollar bills! Plus: We reveal how deeply uncool we really are!

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts, Stitcher, Google Podcasts, Spotify, or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | RJ Edwards

Media We Mentioned

Matthew

Hitman 3 Dubai!: 3 Ways to Play (just one of many videos)

Hitman Elusive Target 14 The Chef: MIKE'S FINEST HOUR - Let's Play Hitman (featuring the explosive rubber duck)

Hitman 3 THE MOST ELUSIVE TARGET YET: 3 Ways to Play Hitman 3 Elusive Target The Collector (this one came out the same day as this episode of the podcast!)

Hitman (franchise) (Wikipedia)

Nicola Traveling Around the Demons' World, vol. 1 by Asaya Miyanaga

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

DefunctTV: The History of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

MAGFest 2019: True Weird Stories from Video Game History

Where in North Dakota is Carmen Sandiego? (Wikipedia)

Mais où se Cache Carmen Sandiego ? (French theme song)

À la poursuite de Carmen Sandiego (French theme song for Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego?)

Finish It! Podcast

Ep. 153. The Dragon’s Den: Week One Enter The Inkeeper

RJ

Later Alligator

Launch Trailer

To Be Taught, If Fortunate by Becky Chambers

Mice and Murder

Game Changer

Breaking News

Gumshoe

Wanderhome

Anna

Natural Causes by James Oswald

Lucky Me (noodles) (Wikipedia)

“Pancit canton – Filipino adaptation of lo mein and chow mein. Either in instant or stir-fried versions” (Wikipedia)

‘Pag No Drain, No Pain with Lucky Me! Pancit Canton (commercial)

Lucky Me! Pancit Canton "Happy Merienda" (commercial)

Theodore Roosevelt National Park

(Wikipedia)

Colors

Sofi Tukker - Drinkee

Mahalia - Sober

H.E.R - Carried Away

triple j - Like a Version 2021

The Wiggles cover Tame Impala 'Elephant' for Like A Version

Chvrches cover Kendrick Lamar ‘LOVE’

Gang of Youths cover The Middle East 'Blood' 

Hermitude cover Nirvana 'Heart-Shaped Box'

Tash Sultana covers MGMT 'Electric Feel'

essaying by Tressie McMillan Cottom

Links I Would Gchat You If We Were Friends by Caitlin Dewey

Meghan

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee

Maintenance Phase

Episode about Olestra

You're Wrong About… by Michael Hobbes and Sarah Marshall

Your Fat Friend by Aubrey Gordon

case/lang/veirs - Full Performance | opbmusic Live Sessions

Links, Articles, and Things

Hark! Podcast - Episode 283: O Christmas Weed

Baman Piderman - Find Da Sandwich (Ep #1)

Neil Cicierega (Wikipedia)

Episode 114 - Hot Cocoa & Book Recommendations

The episode in which RJ recommended To Be Taught, If Fortunate

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

A Big Ship at the Edge of the Universe by Alex White

meatsuit maintenance (Twitter)

Episode 116 - Best Books We Read in 2020

The episode in which RJ recommended Game Changer

Tommy the Turtle (the world’s largest snowmobiling turtle)

Tame Impala (Wikipedia)

Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival (Wikipedia)

15 Space Opera Books by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

The Moons of Palmares by Zainab Amadahy

The Tea Master and the Detective by Aliette de Bodard

Nova by Samuel R. Delany

Escaping Exodus by Nicky Drayden

The Vanished Birds by Simon Jimenez

Ascension by Jacqueline Koyanagi

Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee

A Spark of White Fire by Sangu Mandanna

Ignite the Stars by Maura Milan

Binti by Nnedi Okorafor

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Chilling Effect by Valerie Valdes

Prime Deceptions by Valerie Valdes

The Black Ship by Gerry William

Red Dust by Yoss

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Join us again on Tuesday, May 4th when we’ll be discussing the genre of Literary Theory!

Then on Tuesday, May 18th, we’ll be talking about Books We Did Not Finish!