#father john maloney

[lewis-winters]

eucharistia (this is how meat loves meat)

In Rachamps, just before Easy is sent to Haguenau, Eugene Roe brings Babe Heffron to Father John Maloney for his first confession in seven years.

Jesus said to them: "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him." John 6:53-59, NABRE

read it on ao3

tw: Magical Realism, Horror, Religion as Justification for Unhinged Behavior, Catholicism, Catholic Imagery, Bastogne, Canon Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Blood & Gore, Depictions of a Corpse, Cannibalism

---

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” says the boy with hair like copper and a face white as a sheet, kneeling before me. He breathes deep, breathes slow, then looks to his companion who guards the door of this little hide-away. A boy of even paler complexion, who nods in encouragement. A small, minute movement that somehow takes from him a great toll. His dark head bows with the weight of it.

Disturbed by this image, the boy quickly continues: “I haven’t confessed since I was fifteen. I’m twenty-two now. It’s been seven years.”

“That’s alright.” Silence. Nervous, jittery silence. “Go on.”

More silence. Long and dark and cold and damp, the cavernousness of this large and leaky house of God echoing each drip and drop of water across empty space. Empty. Like nobody’s home.

“I’ve done so many things,” the boy says, tipping his face into his hands in despair. “So many, Father.”

“Don’t name them all. We’ll be here all night.” An attempt at good humor. “Just the ones that have brought you before me.”

“Oh, Father,” says the boy, in a whisper that sounds like a wail. “Father. I kept my promise.”

“That doesn’t sound like a sin.”

No, says a voice from the depths of the boy’s eyes. A wailing, lamenting voice, a darkness that threatens to crawl forth from the open wound of his face, and reach out to me with cold, blood-damp hands. No, Father, you don’t understand.

“Make me,” I say, taking his face in my hands and holding it steady. “Babe, tell me what you did.”

His watcher has closed the door on us now. All of us. He stands before it, weight against the wood, hands behind his back. His head is still bowed, upper body almost perpendicular to the stone floor, but his eyes meet mine. Deep blue so dark it’s almost black, staring out from behind a dark brow. Piercing. Waiting. “Go on, Heffron,” he says, voice a deep, unwavering thing. The voice of an Angel. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid,” I echo. But not for him.

Sprawled against the walls, our shadows continue to flicker.

Babe tries again. “Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned. It’s been seven years since my last confession. My sins—”

Are many. Too many.

“But this one—”

The night he’d gone back for him was clear and bright, the clouds of Bastogne disappearing, momentarily, laying the already barren world of snow white and cold even more bare, absent of the broken shadows of looming trees and the shape of men beyond the mist. Even the looming cold that had settled into their bones seems to have alleviated, somewhat. Still there, but suspended, momentarily, as the fog lifted and Bastogne became just another forest.

But the dread remained. So deep in the marrow of them all that it pulled him out of dreamless sleep; roused suddenly in his shallow grave-bed and forced into the nightmare of this tangible unreality, an endless waking, by the familiar urge to rungotta go get him sir rundangerrun take him with us runrunrunRUN—

And a voice, beyond the light of the moon.

“I felt it, Father. Like… Like I was on one end of the rope, and he was on the other. Pulling me toward him. He showed me where to go, Father, you gotta believe me. I was being led—”

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

No.

Like a pilgrim to his god.

Through snow drifts and trees, down familiar paths made unfamiliar through the sudden clarity of pale moonlight. He found the broken body soon enough. Just where they had left it, earlier that day, but this time devoid of all material things.

The Germans had stripped him, just as he had feared. Taken with them trophies of olive-green pelt, rifle antlers, and silver dog tag bones. What lay in their wake was the naked body of a slaughtered child, lying in the snow, a crater of bone and flesh where his neck should be. Blue eyes upturned to Babe’s face.

Hand outstretched.

Beckoning.

“I touched him, Father. I touched him. And he was warm.”

Not breathing. Warm. Soft. Pliant. Despite hours laying in the snow.

He couldn’t explain it.

But then again, what pilgrim questions a miracle?

“I… I tried to pick him up. I tried.”

Yes. Yes, he had tried. I could see him try. Struggling and panting and finding himself crying, the grief and the desperation manifesting themselves in frustrated tears. They freeze on his cheeks, a record of his suffering. Julian, buddy, c’mon. I gotta get you up. Please. I can’t, I can’t—

But the god is in an immovable shrine. Trapped within and rooted into the snow on the ground.

“All I could lift was his head, Father Maloney. And I held him in my lap, like I used to back when the world made sense.”

Yes. Yes, I could see them there, too. Two boys in basic training, surrounded by pleasant summer heat. Golden light. One with his head in the lap of the other.

Dark hair against pale thighs.

Blue eyes meeting blue.

A smile meeting another smile in a thrilling brush of skin.

God was with them, then.

And it is with the turning of my stomach that I realize, God was with them, here, too.

“What… did you do, Babe?” I ask. I already know the answer. But I must ask.

And the boy looks up at me, open wound for a face, and says with two voices; “I couldn’t leave him there, Father Maloney.”

No. He couldn’t.

He’d brought those unsmiling lips to his mouth, and he’d kissed them one last time. As any pilgrim should.

And then he’d dug his fingers into bone and flesh, and freed his god from his earthly prison.

“I couldn’t—I promised. I said I would. And he told me that I should. He was so warm, Father. And it was so cold. And I was hungry, and Julian always—from the beginning he’d always—when I closed my eyes, I was back there, with him, and he was—”

“Oh, Babe,” I say, opening my arms. Allowing him to fall into them. “Oh, Babe.”

I have long ago accepted that to seek joy in the form of relief of any kind is not a sin. Or at least, should not be. Jesus Christ, Son of God and Man, who enjoyed the taste of wine and bread and the company of prostitutes and degenerates would not consider it a sin. It’s no exception here, where it is common for men to share many things in basic training and in trenches and in Foxholes. Food. Water. Coffee. Things to keep warm. Things to make you feel just a little bit more human. Things to sustain you.

And there are so few things to sustain you, in the frozen hell of Bastogne. In this stomach disguised as a dark forest, a belly to get lost in.

I look toward the door, where the guardian boy stands, still bowed forward (even more so, it seems) and bent at the knees, unable to meet my eyes. Atlas holding up the sky and full of regret. Frozen in commencement of penance, the weight of the world bearing down upon his shoulders.

“There is more to this,” I realize. He does not startle at the sound of my voice, eerily still. “What is it that you aren’t telling me, Eugene?”

In my arms, Babe is quiet. Hitching breaths quick and warm against my throat. Mouth against my rapid beating pulse. Teeth—

“I saw it, Father,” says Eugene, voice ringing clear and deep despite its whispered quality. “I saw them.”

He’d felt Babe stumble out of their foxhole—Spina fast asleep and oblivious to the sudden preternatural quiet and stillness of the world—and followed behind him at a distance, mindful of their vulnerable position but not enough to stop.

“Then there was a moment where I—I couldn’t see ‘im. It got all dark all o’ a sudden, like the moon blinked outta sight. Just for a minute. A kinda dark you can feel.”

Crawling up your skin, looming over you, making all the hairs of your body stand up in response. Like two, large and heavy hands clasping around you. Holding you caged between its palms. An unfortunate butterfly, caught unawares.

Wait, it seemed to say. This is not for you.

“When the dark left and the moon came back, I couldn’t see ‘im.”

But he could hear it.

The wet, moist sound of hands tearing into flesh.

The guttural snarls of an animal tearing into its latest meal.

The crunch of cartilage.

The weeping. The moaning in despair.

In relief.

“I followed it. And I. I saw.”

He pauses. Then looks up at me with pleading eyes, asking for words. Asking for understanding. He does not know, I realize, what to call it. What greeted him in the snow on that fateful night was not any creature he has ever seen or heard of before.

Part-human, part-animal, part-divine. A wretched, blessed chimera. On its hands and knees, hunched over its carrion and feasting, with great relish, upon its steaming insides. The rapidly cooling warmth of fresh death, curling up, up, and away into the frigid, Bastogne night.

“I saw, Father,” Eugene says again. “And I…”

He did nothing.

No, that’s not true.

“I waited. For it to be over.”

And it was soon over.

The chimera could only eat so much, and what he has come to set free has left the altar as soon as the steam had lifted, and once again, the fog had returned, between one blink to the next. A twin to the darkness felt earlier, heavy hands once again clasped about him, but this time, enveloping all of them—voyeur, scavenger, and carrion—all at once.

Eugene took a step forward, afraid to lose sight of him again, and the chimera, startled, lifted its head toward the crunch of snow.

“And that’s when you led him away?” I ask.

Eugene nods. He’d done it when they’d entered here, too. Appearing to me like a grotesque Angel of God in my doorway, two bodies pressed so close together, leaning upon each other for strength, that they became one entity with two heads and eight appendages, illuminated by a column of warm, orange light cutting into the gloom of my assigned billet.

Do not be afraid, one voice had said to its companion, achingly kind. An echo from that night, I imagine, when he’d taken Babe’s hand and brought him back from the brink. Took him away and deposited him into his empty foxhole, melting snow to wipe away the memory of what he had done from his face. Fed him more chocolate, offered him a cup of coffee, to wash the taste from his mouth. Father Maloney, Heffron is here to confess.

“You were right to come to me,” I say to them, easing Babe out of my arms to once again, sit by my feet as I reach out to Eugene, offering my hand. He takes it without much hesitance, lurching forward as if afraid I might recoil from his touch. Gently, I allow him to sink to his knees, and together, both of them look up to me as I stand and dig through my bag for the needed elements. “What a heavy burden you both have shared. What a weight—” I produce what I need, and I turn to them with a smile I hope is kind and reassuring. “It’s alright, now. You may put it down.”

“Father,” says Babe, eyeing the ciborium and chalice in my hands. “Father, what—”

“Let me give you a place to rest,” I tell him, getting on my knees with them, perching the precious relics upon my billet bed so that they may not touch the floor. Crossing myself, I open them, ignoring how both boys scuttle away from me, like rats, who have spent all their lives in the dark, upon the sudden, violent arrival of light. It breaks my heart, how fearful they look upon me, and it strengthens my resolve, once again. Carefully, as I may be during weekly service, I pray over and take into my hands the bread and wine; mere pemmican biscuits from previous rations, and wine I had been given from bombed out churches, mixed with a little water. But in their golden receptacles, they glow with an otherworldly power. True pieces of the Heavenly Host.

I take two of the Flesh into my unworthy hands.

“John Julian was a martyr,” I say, presenting the host to them both and watching as they, cautiously, move toward me, still on their knees, but with their faces tipped toward the light. “A man who had been living, but who’d given his life for the love of you, Babe. His death was swift and quick, there was little pain and little else we could do to keep him with us. It’s those he’s left behind that he ached to comfort—such pain it must have been, for him, to know that you mourned him so deeply.

“And so, he’d asked God and His Angels to hold Death’s hand for far longer, and he called out to you. He was yet Living when you came upon him—how else could he have enticed him to come? How else would he have stayed that warm, that fresh, in order for his body to provide the nourishment that you needed? Therefore, do not be ashamed, Babe. To cannibalize is to feed upon the dead. John Julian was not dead, not while his soul sang to you its precious entreaty.”

Now, he rests, cradled in the soft, warm alcove of Babe’s body.

“He gave his life to you, that you may yet live. Just like our Lord Jesus Christ gave the first Eucharist to His disciples, the night He was to be arrested and taken away from them. He fed them His Living Flesh, so that they may find strength for the coming days. Sustain themselves upon Him.”

Babe comes closer, the tip of his nose lightly brushing the Flesh held in my fingers.

“John Julian was a martyr who has found his final resting place within you,” I press the Sacrament to his mouth, watching it open in anticipation. A gaping maw not unlike a bleeding wound. “Let these Holy Flesh intermingle within you. Let John Julian meet God in your stomach. Turn him into a Saint.”

Babe closes his eyes and his lips close over the Holy communion, his tongue lapping at my fingers.

I let him eat from my unworthy hand.

I watch him swallow. “Your turn, Eugene.”

Eugene looks at me, unblinking. Unfazed. He does not eat from my hand, but instead cups his own to receive it. I place it between his palms and watch him bow his head over it and take it between his teeth. The hard bread makes a loud crunching sound as he crushes it with his molars. He closes his eyes to the symphony of it, and his shoulders fall for the first time since I’ve known him.

“What a weight you have been forced to carry,” I coo, reaching out to cup his face in one of my hands, the other doing the same to Babe. Both boys tip their heads into my hold, and I find myself weeping at how starved they seem to be, for a simple touch that is gentle. Babe, seeing my tears, starts to sniffle with some of his own. “Come, drink the Blood. Let it wash away the taste.”

I tip the wine, carefully, into their open mouths. They drink every last drop.

“There,” I say once they are finished, drawing Babe, who has begun to weep in earnest, to my breast. Against the hollow of my throat, he hiccups, the grief and the relief pouring out of him now that he knows he is allowed. “Oh, Babe.”

“I left him there, Father,” he sobs. “I left him—”

“You did not,” I soothe. “No, Babe, you did not. You came back for him, and now he rests in you—lives in you. This way, he will see home, again. You can bring him home, my boy. He is a part of you now. So long as you are alive, Julian is, also.”

It takes a while, but Babe soon quiets, and hiccupping, sobbing breaths turn even and steady, a sign that he has fallen asleep against me. Peaceful and dreamless, I hope.

Eugene helps me tuck him into my bed, moving the Holy vessels aside to make room for him.

“Thank you, Father,” he says to me, as I replace the sacred items in my pack. I smile at him and he smiles at me from his position on the floor, kneeling by Babe’s head, his hand held tight in the other boy’s grasp, even in deep sleep. “Thank you.”

“Judas ate of the Eucharist.”

This time, Eugene does blink, startled. “… Father?”

“Our Lord Jesus had Judas eat of His Flesh before He revealed him to be the traitor,” I repeat, once again sitting on the floor so that he and I can talk to each other at level. Not once does he tear his eyes away from mine. Brave boy. “He made sure Judas ate so that even when he was apart from Him, betraying Him to the Romans, orchestrating His death, He was always with Judas. Inside him. He loved him very well—perhaps too well. Enough to smother him.” I reach over to tap their clasped hands, gently, with a finger. “There is no position more intimate.”

Eugene’s ears color pink, as if still cold, and I resist the urge to cup my hands around them, so that they may be warm. They’re warm plenty already, I know, and that, at least, makes me smile.

“You are a tenacious one, Eugene Roe,” I tell him, getting up with a groan. He watches me, curious, confused, and I smile at him, amused.

Nobody leaves Bastogne unchanged—undigested, staggering out of that beast’s belly masquerading for a forest. But when one is stubborn, when he is cunning and astute, sure in his footing and determined in his mission, a body trapped could be sustained for long enough that escape is made possible.

“There are many ways a person could be sustained,” I say, running my fingers through his blue-black hair. And, like a cat, he pushes his head into the meat of my palm, affectionate. “You found him, fed him, and you watered him. You made sure to wash it all away, the taste. But shame is a powerful thing, and it almost took him. That would not do.”

Eugene stares up at me. Unflinching.

“And so, you brought him here, to me.”

Because he knew I would nourish him and he would nourish me, gorge ourselves on this story we spin together until hope and faith solidify into truth. He has bargained with Death well; has done so enough times to know how to win. John Julian may have been lost to the violence of Bastogne, but Babe Heffron remains, and Eugene Roe would rather see his own soul rot before he loses him, too.

“The Ignatian way of life dictates that we must strive to see God in all things,” I say, smiling down at him. “Today, you have shown me a Face of God I have not seen before. It brings me comfort, in this world steeped in decay. Thank you.”

Eugene smiles back, a tiny little thing that rapidly disappears when he finally takes his eyes away from me and turns them to Babe, silently contemplating his pale face, deep in sleep.

They’re good boys. I leave them both to each other as I venture back into the bowels of God’s House to search for a quiet place to pray.

---

tagging those who have either helped conceptualize this or who have expressed interest along the way: @bringmefoxgloves @hellofanidea @liebgottsjumpwings @pastexistence

This was supposed to go up on Halloween. But I was on a family trip so I fell behind on editing and putting the final touches in. It's here now, though, and I'm so so proud of it-- something which I could almost never claim about things I've written. I'm very happy it's done, and I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Finally, I can rest.

[wiltedprayers]

one of my favorite background characters from band of brothers: Father John Maloney.

* if anyone has any info on the real life Father Maloney please share!

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

On January 2, Toye was hit by a piece of shrapnel from a bomb during a German air raid. His platoon sergeant then sent Toye to the aid station in Bastogne for medical treatment. Later that same day, I looked across the field to our left flank, and there was Joe Toye walking up the road and across the field, his arm in a sling, heading back to the front line. I walked out to meet him and asked, “Where are you going? You don’t have to go back to the line. Take a few days off.” Not Joe Toye. He informed me that he had met another lieutenant at the aid station who was suspected of shooting himself in the hand to escape frontline duty. Joe would have none of that. He was a squad leader and his place was on the line. War had become old to Sergeant Joe Toye, and he was good at it. The lives of his squad depended on his ability to master his craft. In a sense, Toye and his platoon sergeant Bill Guarnere had become what Ernie Pyle termed “senior partners in the institution of killing” and caring for their men. Rather than remain in the rear, Toye hitched a ride with Father John Maloney and returned to the front. Toye told me, “I want to go back with the fellows.” I knew he should not be on the line, but I so admired his devotion to his squad that I stepped aside. Sergeant Joe Toye was an American hero of the first order.

~ Dick Winters

[hbowar-bracket]

Albert Blithe 

Alex Penkala 

Alice 

Alton More 

Anna

Anthony 'Manimal' Jacks  

Antonio 'Poke' Espera  

Antonio Garcia 

Army Chaplain Teska  

Baba Karamanlis  

Bernard DeMarco   

Bill 'Hoosier' Smith  

Bill Leyden  

Billy Taylor  

Brad 'Iceman' Colbert  

Burton Christenson 

Capt. Andrew Haldane  

Carwood Lipton 

Charles (Chuck) Grant 

Charles Bean Cruikshank   

Charles K. Bailey  

Col. Robert Sink 

Cpt. Bryan Patterson  

Cpt. Craig 'Encino Man' Schwetje  

Cpt. Dave 'Captain America' McGraw  

Curtis Biddick  

Darrell (Shifty) Powers 

David Solomon  

David Webster 

Denver (Bull) Randleman 

Donald Hoobler 

Dr. Sledge  

Edward (Babe) Heffron 

Elmo 'Gunny' Haney  

Eric Kocher  

Eugene Jackson 

Eugene Roe 

Eugene Sledge   

Evan 'Q-Tip' Stafford  

Evan 'Scribe' Wright  

Everett Blakely   

Father John Maloney 

Floyd (Tab) Talbert 

Frank Murphy   

Frank Perconte 

Frederick (Moose) Heyliger 

Gabe Garza  

Gale 'Buck' Cleven  

George Luz 

Glenn Graham   

Gunnery Sgt. Mike 'Gunny' Wynn  

Gunnery Sgt. Ray 'Casey Kasem' Griego  

Hamm  

Harry Crosby  

Harry Welsh 

Helen  

Herbert Sobel 

Howard 'Hambone' Hamilton   

Jack Kidd  

James (Mo) Alley

James Chaffin  

James Douglass  

James Gibson   

James Miller 

Jason Lilley  

Jean Achten  

Jeffrey 'Dirty Earl' Carisalez  

John 'Bucky' Egan  

John Basilone  

John Christeson  

John D. Brady   

John Fredrick  

John Janovec 

John Julian 

John Martin 

Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne   

Joseph Liebgott 

Joseph Toye 

Josh Ray Person  

Katherine 'Tatty' Spaatz   

Ken Lemmons  

Lance Cpl. Harold James Trombley  

Larry Shawn 'Pappy' Patrick  

Leandro 'Shady B' Baptista  

Lena Basilone  

Lew 'Chuckler' Juergens  

Lewis Nixon 

Lt. Edward 'Hillbilly' Jones  

Lt. Henry Jones 

Lt. Nathaniel Fick  

Lt. Thomas Peacock 

Lynn (Buck) Compton 

Maj. 'Red' Bowman  

Maj. John Sixta  

Mama Karamanlis  

Manuel Rodriguez  

Mary Frank Sledge  

Meesh  

Merriell 'Snafu' Shelton  

Navy Hm2 Robert Timothy 'Doc' Bryan  

Neil 'Chick' Harding   

Norman Dike 

Old Man on Bicycle 

Patrick O'Keefe 

Phyllis  

R.V. Burgin   

Ralph (Doc) Spina 

Renee Lemaire 

Richard Winters 

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal   

Robert 'Stormy' Becker   

Robert (Popeye) Wynn 

Robert Leckie  

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Reyes  

Ronald Speirs 

Roy Claytor  

Roy Cobb 

Sammy   

Sgt. Mallard  

Sidney Phillips  

Stella Karamanlis

Teren 'T' Holsey  

Vera Keller  

Walt Hasser  

Walter (Smokey) Gordon

Warren (Skip) Muck 

Wayne (Skinny) Sisk 

Wilbur 'Runner' Conley  

William Guarnere 

William Hinton  

William J. DeBlasio  

William Quinn  

Winifred 'Pappy' Lewis  

[youcalledmebabe]

If I may? Ghosts-in-Bastogne/Horror-In-Bastogne fic recs!! apologies if you've read these already!

Ice Cold Hands - It all started when Winters saw something, out between the trees.

Ghost Story - In Bastogne Bill is sent on patrol with Babe and Muck, but as they make their way through the woods something strange emerges from the mist in front of them, something that shouldn't have been there.

Vampires in Bastogne - In war, nobody would really notice if a vampire had gone around bleeding out the occasional enemy soldier. He would just be a random soldier, dead and covered in blood, pale and looking horrified in death.

ghosts that we know - The thing is, Babe Heffron spends more quality time with Gene Roe once the medic dies than he ever did when the guy was alive. Life’s funny that way, he supposes.

Understand That I'd Never Let It Go - Anna is not alone in her apartment.

Like Reflections Upon a Polished Surface - Lewis Nixon died in the dirt on the road outside Nuenen, but his ghost lingered beside his best friend and lover. A series of letters from Dick Winters to DeEtta Almon.

eucharistia (this is how meat loves meat) - In Rachamps, just before Easy is sent to Haguenau, Eugene Roe brings Babe Heffron to Father John Maloney for his first confession in seven years.

Ghosts That We Knew - Donald Malarkey is being haunted by ghosts that will not let him survive in peace.

singing like a gun - She’s on the wind when spring comes.

We Are The Dead - Maybe he’ll tell him tomorrow. If no mortar falls on his foxhole in the middle of the night, and he wakes up tomorrow with all of his limbs in place, he’ll tell Dick then.

Haint - Renee stays with Roe after her death, and after the war, and every day he spends with her he becomes a little less alive.

Watching You For Light - At Bastogne, Eugene starts to see ghosts.

Strength to Carry On - Joe Liebgott is haunted by ghosts of his own, but unlike yours, who are few and personal, his ghosts are a great multitude of strangers.

and an AU that is not set in Bastogne but is proper spooky and should be read by everyone:

Lie if God is Sleeping - Gene flipped the puzzle over to read the back. “My name is Edward Heffron,” he read aloud. “I killed a man, and now I’m paying the price. 18,000 pieces. It will take approximately seven days to complete me. For experienced players only.”

What the fuck was a curse this nasty doing in a Philadelphia used bookstore?

there are more... but this is what comes to mind right now ehehe

omg yes you may and thank you so much!! I’ve only read (and loved) lie if god is sleeping and ghosts that we know. I absolutely love a good haunting, a good spook, and I feel like world war 2 is ripe for it so I’m glad other people have felt that way. Bastogne especially strikes me as a place where real and metaphorical ghosts would walk… imagine being in scary woods in the dark for like 16 hours a day while your friends die around you. I’d feel pretty damn haunted! Anyway can’t wait to dive into this list and thank you again for your excellent curation 💙

[lindyloosims]

Fallen Angels (L-R): Rory Hayes, Damon Maloney, James Maloney

Rory is the youngest son of Sweet Cacophony’s keyboard player, Roxanne Harmon. He’s followed in his famous mother’s footsteps and has taken up keyboard for Fallen Angels. Rory is a bit of a loner after having his heart broken at university, he tried to date other girls but couldn’t get that one in particular off his mind. Sasha keeps calling, after telling him he was just a one night stand, and he wants to answer her but he’s scared to get his heart broken by her again. Maybe one day he’ll have the courage to either give it a go or tell her where to go.

Damon is the youngest son of Sweet Cacophony’s lead singer Dexter Maloney. Like John Lennon’s son Julian, Damon was blessed with his father’s voice and his talent for playing multiple instruments. Damon can also write songs like his dad, his older brother Luke may look more like their dad, but Damon got all the talent. Luke was content to be roadie to Sweet Cacophony when he turned sixteen, then he roadied for his brother’s band primarily to keep an eye on Damon. Damey was a wild child as a teen, but as an adult he has turned his life around and even found a girl to settle down with.

James is the eldest son of Sweet Cacophony’s drummer Ashton Maloney. He formed the band with his cousin Damon and their friend Rory because he was bored, but when Mandy Mitchell caught his eye, the band didn’t seem all that important anymore. Having fought Damon to win Mandy over, winning was bittersweet. He and Damon didn’t speak for a while which was tough on the band. Now they’re grown up and Damon has a girl of his own, James can juggle Mandy and the band quite happily. He plays the drums like old dad, all three boys decided to emulate their famous parents and it has paid off so far.

Roxy, Dex and Ash offered to help them get their feet off the ground but they asked to try and do it alone, which they’ve managed to do. Fallen Angels seems to be a success so far, and hey it does help to have the surnames of the most famous rock stars on the planet.

[whenmondaycomes]

Full Name: Dallas Ruth Young

Aliases: Dally

Darlin' (by Kayce)

Babe (by Kayce)

Sweets (by Kayce)

Date Of Birth: March 15, 1996

Gender: Female

Species: Human

Affiliations: The Yellowstone Dutton Ranch

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Partner: Roland Maloney (Ex Boyfriend)

Kayce Dutton (Soulmate/Boyfriend)

Occupation: Local & Bar Singer

Family: Vaughn Young (Father)

Shonda Young (Mother)

Memphis Young - Dillard (Younger Sister)

Dorian Dillard (Brother In Law/Memphis' Husband)

Remington Dillard (Nephew)

Chance Dillard (Nephew)

John Dutton (Father In Law)

Evelyn Dutton (Mother In Law) (Deceased)

Lee Dutton (Brother In Law) (Deceased)

Beth Dutton (Sister In Law)

Jamie Dutton (Brother In Law) (Adopted)

Tate Dutton (Stepson)

Friends: Kayce Dutton (Best Friend/Love of Life)

John Dutton (Father In Law)

Beth Dutton (Sister In Law)

Rip Wheeler (Beth's Husband)

All Wranglers

Tate Dutton (Best Friend/Stepson)

Memphis Young - Dillard (Best Friend/Sister)

Remington Dillard (Best Friend/Nephew)

Chance Dillard (Best Friend/Nephew)

Jamie Dutton (Frenemies/Brother In Law)

Monica Long (Frenemies/Kayce's Ex Wife and Tate's Mother)

Enemies: Anyone Who Threatens The Ranch Or The Family

Citizenship: America

Status: Alive

[ulkaralakbarova]

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, finds out that his uncle Claudius killed his father to obtain the throne, and plans revenge. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Hamlet: Mel Gibson Gertrude: Glenn Close Claudius: Alan Bates The Ghost: Paul Scofield Polonius: Ian Holm Ophelia: Helena Bonham Carter Horatio: Stephen Dillane Laertes: Nathaniel Parker Guildenstern: Sean Murray Rosencrantz: Michael Maloney The Gravedigger: Trevor Peacock Osric: John McEnery Bernardo: Richard Warwick Marcellus: Christien Anholt Francisco: Dave Duffy Reynaldo: Vernon Dobtcheff Player King: Pete Postlethwaite Player Queen: Christopher Fairbank The Players: Sarah Phillips The Players: Ned Mendez The Players: Roy York The Players: Marjorie Bell The Players: Justin Case The Players: Roger Low The Players: Pamela Sinclair The Players: Baby Simon Sinclair The Players: Roy Evans Guard (uncredited): Lance Edwards Palace Nobleman (uncredited): Barrie Holland Film Crew: Screenplay: Franco Zeffirelli Executive Producer: Bruce Davey Original Music Composer: Ennio Morricone Screenplay: Christopher De Vore Producer: Dyson Lovell Director of Photography: David Watkin Editor: Richard Marden Set Decoration: Francesca Lo Schiavo Author: William Shakespeare Casting: Joyce Nettles Production Design: Dante Ferretti Art Direction: Franco Ceraolo Supervising Art Director: Michael Lamont Art Direction: Jim Morahan Art Direction: Antonio Tarolla Art Direction: Alan Tomkins Costume Design: Maurizio Millenotti Movie Reviews:

[lyselkatzfandomluvs]

Band of Brothers screencaps/edits (465/?)

Father John Maloney

February 26 1988: Last jump

[lavenderhunni]

Healing Wounds and Scrubbed Missions

“Almighty God, we kneel to Thee and ask to be the instrument of Thy fury in smiting the evil forces that have visited death, misery, and debasement on the people of earth . . . Be with us, God, when we leap from our planes into the dark abyss and descend in parachutes into the midst of enemy fire. Give us iron will and stark courage as we spring from the harness of our parachutes to seize arms for battle. The legions of evil are many, Father; grace our arms to meet and defeat them in Thy name and in the name of freedom and dignity of man . . . Let our enemies who have lived by the sword turn from their violence lest they perish by the sword. Help us to serve Thee gallantly and to be humble in victory.”

-Captain (Chaplain) John. S. Maloney, from Band of Brothers by Stephen E. Ambrose

Ch. 7. Pg. 118-119

[lewis-winters]

oh yeah andrew scott michael fassbender james mcavoy jimmy falon iconic before-they-were-famous-cameos sure, but did you know that the army chaplain we see glimpses of in episode 3 and episode 6 is geralt of rivia's iconic voice actor, doug cockle?

[wiltedprayers]

it would've been really interesting to get some more scenes with father john maloney on band of brothers — the perspective of the chaplains anointing the wounded and dead whilst running headfirst into danger, the need to help in any way they can, many of them performing medic duties during the war. recurring to mass while everything else seems hopeless; it's interesting (and heartbreaking) that in the scene where father maloney is tending to the wounded soldiers amidst all the explosions, with muck and malarkey watching the whole thing, you can actually see skip's rosary peeking out of his pocket. “we die now, we gonna die in a state of grace” :(

[frequentlykit]

Supernatural actors who were on Criminal Minds *incomplete*

George Darrow DJ Qualls -  SPN: Garth CM: Richard Slessman (season 1 episode 1)

Timothy Omundson - SPN: Cain CM: Phillip Dowd (season 1 episode 6)

Dameon Clarke - SPN: Jack Montgomery (Rugaru) CM: Christopher Crawford (season 1 episode 7)

Jeff Kober - SPN: Randall CM: Leo (season 1 episode 9)

Mark Rolston - SPN: Alastair CM: Sheriff Hall (season 1 episode 11)

Michael Massee - SPN: Kubrick (Bad Day at Black Rock) CM: Jacob Dawes (season 1 episode 14)

Michael B. Silver - SPN: Martin Flagg (Movie Writer “Hollywood Babylon“) CM: Sam Shapiro (season 1 episode 14)

Roger Aaron Brown - SPN: Joshua (Angel) CM: Warden Charles Diehl  (season 1 episode 14)

Robert Curtis Brown - SPN: Father Gil (”Sin City”) CM: Peter Greisen (season 1 episode 16)

Eric Johnson - SPN: Brady (Sam’s college friend/demon) CM: Sean Hotchner (season 1 episode 16)

Jack Conley - SPN: Sheriff Al Britton (”Yellow Fever”) CM: Agent John Summers (season 1 episode 21)

Mary Page Keller SPN: Joyce Bicklebee (Leviathan Real Estate Agent) CM: Katie Cole (season 2 episode 2)

Nicki Aycox - SPN: Meg Masters (season 1) CM: Amber Canardo (season 2 episode 3)

Kayla Mae Maloney -  SPN:��Leah Gideon (season 5 The Whore) CM: Polly Homefeldt (season 2 episode 7)

Andrew Rothenberg - SPN: Lukcy (Skinwalker “All Dogs Go to Heaven”) CM: Motel Manager (season 2 episode 7)

Samantha Smith - SPN: Mary Winchetsers CM: Helen Douglas (season 2 episode 14)

Jim Parrack - SPN: Agent Nick Munroe (Siren) CM: Paul Mulford (season 2 episode 21)

Steven Williams - SPN: Rufus Turner CM: Captain Al Wright (season 2 episode 22)

Alexander Gould - SPN: Cole Griffith (”Death Takes a Holiday“) CM: Jeremy (season 3 episode 5)

Jim Beaver - SPN: Bobby Singer CM: Sheriff Williams (season 3 episode 7)

John Lafayette - SPN: George Darrow (Crossroad Blues) CM: Dr. Lorenz (season 3 episode 8)

James Otis - SPN: Famine (My Bloody Valentine) CM: Dr. Nash (season 3 episode 8)

Fredric Lehne - SPN: Yellow Eyes/Azazel CM: Jack Vaughan (season 3 episode 12)

Scott Michael Campbell - SPN: Tim Janklow (hunter season 5) CM: Peter Redding (season 3 episode 15)

Dee Wallace - SPN: Mildred Baker (Banshee Episode) CM: Dr. Jan Mohikian (season 4 episode 7)

Courtney Ford - SPN: Kelly Kline (Jack’s mother) CM: Austin (season 4 episode 9)

Mark Pellegrino - SPN: Lucifer/Nick CM: Lieutenant Evans (season 4 episode 10)

Mitch Pileggi - SPN: Samuel Campbell CM: Norman Hill (season 4 episode 11)

Sierra McCormick - SPN: Lilith (Blonde Little Girl) CM: Lynn Robillard (season 4 episode 13)

Mercedes McNab - SPN: Lucy (Vampire "Fresh Blood") CM: Brooke Lombardini (season 4 episode 14)

Spencer Garrett - SPN: Edward Carrigan (God ”A Very Supernatural Christmas” CM: (season 4 episode 21)

Christopher Cousins - SPN: Dr. Garrison ("Bedtime Stories") CM: Tom Barton (season 5 episode 1)

Travis Aaron Wade - SPN: Cole Trenton CM: J. Turner (season 5 episode 4)

Gattlin Griffith - SPN: Jesse Turner (Cambion)   CM: Robert Brooks (season 6 episode 9)

Adrianne Palicki - SPN: Jessica Moore CM: Sydney Manning (season 6 episode 13)

Rachel Miner - SPN: Meg Masters (Last vessel) CM: Jane Gould (season 6 episode 15)

Sebastian Roché - SPN: Balthazar CM: Clyde Easter (seasons 6 & 7)

Chad Lindberg - SPN: Ash CM: Tony (season 6 episode 19)

Tricia Helfer - SPN: Molly McNamara (”Roadkill”) CM: Izzy Rogers (season 7)

Robert Englund - SPN: Dr. Robert (season 6 episode 11) CM: Detective Gassner (season 7 episode 19)

Jamie Luner - SPN: Annie Hawkins (hunter season 7) CM: Madison Riley (season 8 episode 13)

Jack Plotnick - SPN: Ian ("It's A Terrible Life") CM: Tanner Johnson (season 9 episode 7)

Jon Gries - SPN: Martin Creaser (crazy hunter) CM: Clifford Walsh (season 9 episode 13)

Tahmoh Penikett - SPN: Gadreel CM: Michael Hastings (season 9 episode 14)

Ashton Holmes - SPN: Ephraim (Rit Zien Angel) CM: Finn Bailey (season 9 episode 17)

Matt Cohen - SPN: Young John Winchester/Michael CM: John Franklin (season 10 episode 6)

Lex Medlin - SPN: Cupid ("My Bloody Valentine") CM: Allen Archer (season 10 episode 14)

Sterling K. Brown - SPN: Gordon Walker CM: Fitz (season 10 episode 19)

[hbowar-bracket]

Albert Blithe 

Alex Penkala 

Alton More 

Anna

Antonio Garcia 

Burton Christenson 

Carwood Lipton 

Charles (Chuck) Grant 

Col. Robert Sink 

Darrell (Shifty) Powers 

David Webster 

Denver (Bull) Randleman 

Donald Hoobler 

Edward (Babe) Heffron 

Eugene Jackson 

Eugene Roe 

Father John Maloney 

Floyd (Tab) Talbert 

Frank Perconte 

Frederick (Moose) Heyliger 

George Luz 

Harry Welsh 

Herbert Sobel 

James (Mo) Alley

James Miller 

John Janovec 

John Julian 

John Martin 

Joseph Liebgott 

Joseph Toye 

Lewis Nixon 

Lt. Henry Jones 

Lt. Thomas Peacock 

Lynn (Buck) Compton 

Norman Dike 

Old Man on Bicycle 

Patrick O'Keefe 

Ralph (Doc) Spina 

Renee Lemaire 

Richard Winters 

Robert (Popeye) Wynn 

Ronald Speirs 

Roy Cobb 

Walter (Smokey) Gordon

Warren (Skip) Muck 

Wayne (Skinny) Sisk 

William Guarnere 

[inky-duchess]

21 History Ancedotes for my 21st Birthday

So today I celebrate my 21st birthday and I have decided to gift you all with 21 of my favourite historical Ancedotes. Some are funny, some are sad and some are plain bizarre but I hope the make your day 💜

Mary Maloney, an Irish-born suffragette in England followed Winston Churchill around while he was campaigning for a seat in Parliament, drowning out everything he said with a very large bell and calls for him to apologise for his comments on women's rights and suffrage movements.

Clodius Pulcher was a well born Roman noble during the last day's of the Republic. He gave up his Patrician status to become Tribune of the Plebs (an office in which one had to be a Pleb) by being adopted by a much younger Plebian man who became his "father". Clodius was a bit of a riot, sneaking into religious festivals dressed like a woman to sleep with Caesar's wife, building a shrine to Liberty in the ruins of the Conservative Cicero, vetoed the last speech of one of the Consuls (who basically did nothing all year and was apparently going to roast Caesar) and burned down the Senate House with his funeral pyre (the Plebs who loved him literally tearing up the furniture to build his pyre). He was honestly the best fun.

When laying on her deathbed, Queen Caroline of Ansbach turned to her husband George II of England and told him he should marry again. George refused to ever wed again... But added he would have mistresses. Caroline said , likely with a roll of her eyes, "oh my god that doesn't matter."

Florence was a pretty cool city in the Renaissance until Savanorola came to town. He disliked the loose living artists that crowded the city, with their naked pagan gods and rampant homosexuality. He expelled them all with help of the French hoping to make Florence Holy Again. When the Borgia Pope excommunicated him and sentenced him to death, one man in the crowd was reported to have said. "thank God, niw we can return to sodomy." One Floretine man in the 1490s said Gay Rights.

So this list couldn't be complete without an entry of the only American politician I love, Alexander Hamilton who was just a walking entity of sass. I could go on about his sharp sarcasm or his disaster bi vibes with John Lauren's but my all time favourite Alexander Hamilton ancedote has to be this exchange with Thomas Jefferson "There are approximately 1010300 words in the English language, but I could never string enough words together to properly explain how much I want to hit you with a chair."

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman during the Renaissance. She was apart of the powerful Sforza family, which drew many enemies to her. One fateful day at Forli, Caterina's children were snatched as hostages. The besiegers threatened to kill her children if she did not cede the castle. Caterina refused, lifting her skirts and shouted to the besiegers that she had the means to make more children.

Hannibal Lecter's creator Thomas Harris was happy to end his great character's story with the original trilogy. However his publishers forced him to write an unneeded prequel explaining why Hannibal became Hannibal. Thomas Harris agreed lest he lose the rights to his character so he wrote Hannibal Rising, where Hannibal as a young man hunts down the Nazis who ate his sister with a katana.

Nell Gwyn is my favourite mistress of Charles II, mainly because of her sass. Once while trapped in the middle of a riot where Londoners swamped her carriage thinking she was Charles's Catholic mistress. She popped her head out the carriage and told the people "Pray good people be civil. I am the Protestant whore." She also dosed her rival Moll Davis with laxatives in order to free up some of Charles's time and she once flashed her underwear at the French ambassador after asking him why the Franch King did not pay her to spy on Charles because she was with him every night. A true Queen.

Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty of China once rose from his bed to go do some ruling when he realised his lover, Dong Xian was sleeping on his sleeve. Rather than disturb his lover, the Emperor cut his sleeve off at the wrist to leave Dong Xian nap. Nothing has ever been more romantic than that. Y'all could never.

Princess Margaret the sister of current Queen Elizabeth II was a socialable Princess and often tasked to visit the up and coming music stars of the day on behalf of the Crown. When meeting the Beatles one evening, she noticed George Harrison was acting a little odd. When she asked what was the matter, he replied "We arent allowed eat until you go." Princess Margaret laughed and promptly left so the Beatles could get some dinner.

During the Siege of Jadotsville, Irish soldiers under the flag of the UN were attacked and besieged by local insurgents allied with the Katanga Regime. The insurgents numbered thousands while the Irish only had 158 soldiers, all who were lightly armed. They radioed to their allies assuring them that "we will hold out until our last bullet is spent. Could use some whiskey though".

Napoleon was famous for writing raunchy letters to his wife, the Empress Josephine while he was away. She used to reply with really mundane letters or not at all. She really just could not be bothered with him.

Josip Broz Tito was so fed up with Joseph Stalin sending assassins to kill him, he wrote to Stalin personally to say "If you don't stop sending assassins to kill me. I will send one to Moscow and I won't have to send another." It didn't work but Big Dick Energy.

Successful Roman soldiers returning from war often got to march along in parades known as Triumphs. During this, it was customary for them to sing bawdy songs about their commander. One surviving one about Caesar goes like this "Romans, lock up your wives. Here comes the bald adulterous whore. We pissed away your gold in Gaul and come to borrow more."

Matilda, Lady of the English was a woman so badass that history cannot handle her. She was the daughter of Henry I who left his throne to her after the death of her brother. She was away in France when her father died and her throne was snatched by her cousin Stephen. They battled back and forth for years with neither side ceding any ground. Matilda was once besieged in a castle during a snow storm, with Stephen's men all around her. Instead of fighting her way out. She simply donned a white cloak and walked out of the castle. Just walked out without any of Stephen's men seeing her.

Pedro of Portugal once fell in love with a beautiful lady in waiting called Inez de Castro. For years, they lived as man and mistress, popping out a few kinds. Pedro's dad really did not like Inez and wanted Pedro to find a legitimate wife so he had her killed. Pedro returned home to find the mother of his children dead. Pedro went a little crazy. He had all his father's assassins killed, ripping out their hearts as they had done to him. When Pedro ascended the throne, he demanded the Pope legitimize his children by Inez. The Pope not wanting to upset the King, said he couldn't because Inez was never crowned Queen. Pedro dug Inez up and crowned her as Queen, having all the nobility swear loyalty to her corpse. The Pope had no choice but to agree to his request.

A famously clever general once saved an entire city with an ingenious stragety to sit outside the city waiting for the attacking army to come. The attack had come to fast for the city to ready themselves for a Siege so, the general had to move quickly. He evacuated the city and took his place waiting for the army to come. The enemy forces stopped and took one look at him and bolted, thinking he meant to lure them in one of his famous traps.

Michaelangelo was really badly treated by the Vatican when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. He constantly fought with the Popes over the design and his work, which he was paid peanuts for. Michaelangelo got his revenge in his work, painting the gates of Hell behind the Papal Throne and an angel flipping the ol' fig (the Renaissance version of the bird) toward the Pope's chair.

Peter the Great was not a perfect guy. He kept serfdom as a practise in his kingdom, he had his son tortured to death and he could be an unpleasant guy. But Peter was a dreamer. He wanted nothing more to build a fleet for Russia and bring Russia beyond its borders. Peter took a gap year from ruling Russia to wander around Europe. When he stopped in England, he was granted Leicester House to chill in while he did his shipwright studies. It was here that Peter found a new passion. The wheelbarrow. Cue Peter and his new found English buddies drinking in Leicester House, punching the artwork and rolling each other around in barrels across the house's Great gardens.

Diogenes is hands down a walking shit post. He was a great thinker in Greece during the reign of Alexander but a rather dry, sarcastic wit. He lived in a pithos/a jar because he shunned all vanities and values of society. He trolled other philosophers, attending their debates to heckle them and eat loud foods through them. When Alexander the Great came to fan boy over him, saying that if he were not Alexander he would like to be Diogenes to which Diogenes just said "yeah me too, now get out of my sunlight."

Cosimo de Medici was the son of a Floretine banker with a great knowledge and love of art. Cosimo wished for Florence to release its potentially and join the Renaissance. He hired Filippo Brunelleschi to finsh the Great Dome of Santa Maria del Fiore which had láin unfinished for over a century, a symbol of a failure of ambition. The builders had lost the knowledge of creating a dome so large so it remained unfinished. Despite much opposition from the other nobility and denouncers of the Renaissance, Cosimo's dream of the completion of the dome was completed, making it the largest brick dome in creation at that time. There is nothing like achieving your dreams and certainly nothing like leaving a lasting reminder that screams 'I was right and you were wrong' to stand for centuries.

[kwebtv]

The Jury -  ITV  -  February 17, 2002 - March 18, 2002

Legal Drama (11 episodes)

Running Time:  60 minutes

Stars:  (Season 1)

Gerard Butler as Johnnie Donne, Juror #1

Helen McCrory as Rose Davies, Juror #2

Michael Maloney as Peter Segal, Juror #3

Nina Sosanya as Marcia Thomas, Juror #4

Nicholas Farrell as Jeremy Crawford, Juror #5

Sylvia Syms as Elsie Beamish, Juror #6

Paul Reynolds as Warren Murphy, Juror #7

Stuart Bunce as Charles Gore, Juror #8

Gillian Barge as Eva Prohaska, Juror #9

William Hoyland as Hector, Juror #10

Connor McIntyre as Derek Batey, Juror #11

Sarah-Louise Young as Jessica Garland, Juror #12

Antony Sher as Gerald Lewis, Q.C. Counsel for the Prosecution

Sonnell Dadral as Duvinder Singh, the Accused

Derek Jacobi as George Cording, Q.C. Counsel for the Defence

Supporting cast

John Duttine as Mark Waters

Steven Emrys as Mr. De Jersey

Fiona Gillies as Fiona Crawford

James Hayes as Father Gervase

Tim Healy as Eddie Fannon

Tiana Paige Johnson as Joy Thomas

Claire Neilson as Eleanor Colchester

Joanne Pierce as Marion Segal

Billy Scott as John Maher

Shaughan Seymour as the Judge

Jack Shepherd as Ron Maher

Mark Strong as Len Davies

Steve Sweeney as Thomas Haines

Ellen Thomas as Ruby Thomas

Peter Vaughan as Michael Colchester