#remember me ; anne & francis

[tuttle-did-it]

Murder She Wrote guest stars S6 E16 of 'The Big Show of 1965'

Isabel Cooley (character actor in many shows including The Bill Cosby Show, The Mod Squad, Hogan's Heroes, The Man From U.N.C.L.E, Cleopatra, Dr Kildare, etc)

Don Most (Happy Days, Star Trek Voyager, Dungeons and Dragons, Teen Wolf, etc)

Donald O'Connor (Character actor in things like Singin' in the Rain, The Nanny, Fraiser, A Time to Remember, The Love Boat, etc)

Anne Francis (character actor in many things, including Forbidden Planet, The Golden Girls, Matlock, Fantasy Island, Charlies Angels, etc)

Connie Stevens (The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Rowan & Martin's Laugh In, Wendy and Me, etc)

Gavin MacLeod (character actor in many things, including The Love Boat, McHale's Navy, The Mary Tyler Moore Show)

Sheldon Leonard (Dick Van Dyke Show, Gomer Pyle, USMC, Andy Griffith Show, The Danny Thomas Show, It's a Wonderful Life)

Episode aired Feb 25, 1990

[thaoworra]

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

[hedgehog-moss]

Hey!

I thought maybe you could help me in my quest. I've made two bookmarks for a friend with watercolors. One of them is a small fox looking at fallen leaves flying above his head, as if he were mesmerized by them. And I've been trying to find a good quote to accompany it on the back of the bookmark, but I haven't been successful so far.

I'm looking either for a poetry excerpt (my bookmark is 1/8 of an A4 sheet of paper, so nothing that would be very long [like a full sonnet haha] but I still have some space) or a quote of any kind, in French or in English, both are fine.

Would you have any that would make a good fit? Maybe an autumn-y one?

[I don't want to influence you, but for example, for the second one which is a sky at almost-dusk-time with a washed-out blue sky and soft pink clouds, I have a quote from one of the Anne of Green Gables books by Lucy Maud Montgomery:

"In daylight I belong to the world, in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I'm free from both and belong only to myself."]

Much thanks, and scritches to your various animals :)

Handmade watercolour bookmarks are such a nice idea for a gift, I love it <3

I vexed myself thinking about your request because I learn poetry by heart so often, or small book excerpts, but when someone asks me to dig up a topical quote my mental library is suddenly empty. I wish I had a tag system for my brain.

I vaguely remember an Alfred Desrochers poem the first stanza of which was "Le vent est froid, le ciel est gris, la terre est rousse / L'automne est revenu par septembre apporté / Et les arbres, devant la mort du bel été / Pleurent des larmes d'or [?quelque chose?] sur la mousse." And something by Francis Jammes about "ces jours qu'empourpraient les agonies solaires de l'automne" but no recollection beyond that...

I also remember some meager excerpts from "Matin d'octobre" by François Coppée, "A travers la brume automnale / Tombent les feuilles du jardin / [???] / Une blonde lumière arrose / La nature, et dans l'air tout rose / On croirait qu'il neige de l'or."

And one of my favourite poems by Marie-Claire Bancquart, "Je marche dans la solitude des livres", "Beyond the garden, beyond the moment at hand, are the fallen shells of chestnuts, the fire of leaves in the mist..."

And a verse by Ernest Dowson that went "And are we not better and at home / in dreamful autumn...? "

Maybe a couple of lines from this e.e. cummings poem? What my brain retained of it was "the glory is fallen out of the sky, this is the passing of all shining things"...

(if a fox could write autumn poetry I think it would sound like this poem. "no lingering no backward-wondering straight glad feet fear ruining lead us into the serious darkness...")

I also like this sentence by Elizabeth Coatsworth, from her book Personal Geography: "The magic of autumn has seized the countryside; now that the sun isn’t ripening anything it shines for the sake of the golden age; for the sake of Eden; to please the moon for all I know."

Anyway, love the idea of handmade illustrated bookmarks :) It reminds me of a calendar I made for a friend years ago, I wrote a little poem for each month and illustrated it. One of the poems was about having a snail friend:

[annecoulmanross]

A Song from Swept Away for (not quite) Every Character from The Terror (2018)

In my ongoing quest to drag every terror fan into my obsession with Swept Away, I give you: a character from The Terror (2018) for every song from Swept Away: A New Musical Tale, Broadway’s new shipwreck cannibalism musical. Listen along here! Characters & select lyrics below the cut.

1. Go To Sleep = James Fitzjames

I spit a tooth in the palm of my hand Lay back, lay back, go to sleep my man Wipe the blood from you face and your hands Forgive yourself if you think that you can

2. Hard Worker = John Morfin

I got way down on my knees Sayin’ “Lord, can ya help me, If ya please, please, please— Can ya’ save me from this workin’ man’s disease?”

3. Nothing Short of Thankful = Henry Peglar

Do you think they’re listening To a thing? (No!) I wonder what’s On their mind; we all should (Go!) Break down the walls being built around us

4. Swept Away = James Clark Ross

Life is ever changing but I can always Find a constant and comfort in your love With your heart my soul is bound And as we dance I surely know that some kinda heaven will be found

5. Lord Lay Your Hand on My Shoulder = Sir John Franklin

Note: This one’s not on the playlist because it was written specially for the musical and it hasn’t formally been released yet! You can listen to a clip from it here though!

Lord lay your hand on my shoulder And guide me to our home

6. Ain’t No Man = Solomon Tozer

There ain’t no man can save me There ain’t no man can enslave me Ain’t no man, or men that can change The shape my soul is in

7. May It Last = Jane, Lady Franklin

There is a sea and I am a captain Of something unknown, waves high as mountains There is a key and there is a lie Here’s to times that I catch it

8. Murder in the City = John & Tom Hartnell

Make sure my sister knows I loved her Make sure my mother knows the same Always remember there was nothing worth sharing Like the love that let us share our name

9. Complainte d’un Matelot Mourant = HMShips Erebus & Terror

[Instrumental]

10. A Gift for Melody Anne = Harry Goodsir

Lord, I just want my life to be true And I just want my heart to be true I just want my words to be true I want my soul to feel brand new

11. Through My Prayers = Francis Crozier

Every night after and every day since I find myself crying when the memory hits Sometimes it knocks me down Sometimes I can just put it away

12. Satan Pulls the Strings = Cornelius Hickey

Mama’s cooking something up, serving to us all Satan’s ringing in now and I gotta take the call Gotta take the call, boys, gotta take the call Satan’s ringing in now and I gotta take the call

13. No Hard Feelings = John Irving

Will I join with the ocean blue? Or run into a savior true? And shake hands laughing, and walk through the night, Straight to the light, holding the love I’ve known in my life And no hard feelings

14. The Once and Future Carpenter = Thomas Blanky

Forever I will move like the world that turns beneath me And when I lose my direction, I’ll look up to the sky I’ll be ready to surrender, and remember, well we’re all in this together If I live the life I’m given, I won’t be scared to die

[ricardian-werewolf]

Take Me to War.

Chapter 1: If not to heaven, then Hand in Hand to hell.

Gwayne Hightower X Original Female Character. (slow burn, Medieval perceptions of marriage and womanhood)

Sunne in Splendour x House of the Dragon.

Word count: 3.48k words.

AN| This is the first time the author has written for Gwayne Hightower, so please be kind! The author also only has a surface level knowledge of House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones, so please be courteous when making comments or suggestions. The Author is a history student with a special interest in the Wars of the Roses and Ricardian sources, so knowledge of that period will be largely correct.

Summary:

Reeling from the battle of Bosworth Field, fifteen year old Cecily-Anne is a princess without her throne, family, or hope. Forced to play her hand with both hands tied; a seemingly mystical intercession forces her into a world that is shockingly similar to the England she knows, yet also drastically different. It is there as a mere lady in waiting, that she is forced to pick a side in a war that has been played over in her England for decades. It remains to see as to whom will come out from this "Dance of Dragons," unscathed and whole.

Tws: Brutal violence, implied sexual violence, sexism of the medieval period, religious mention, brutality.

Taglist: @lordbettany, @rmelster, @portiaadams, @mihrsuri

If you liked it, please reblog and comment! Every kind word keeps more of them coming!

Blood flecked Cecily-Anne’s face, her skirts and hands. She stared down at her palms, running them together as if she wished to clear the mess. Raising her head, she could only stare in wide-eyed horror as Henry Tudor’s sword drove its tip into her father’s chest. The crunch caused her to flinch visibly. No one had bothered to remove her from the camp, to put her into sanctuary. All of the chaos of the battle had left her here. She was supposed to have only observed the preliminary actions and then been swiftly retired to the nearby Grayfriars priory in Leicester. 

But now she stood at the hands of the most likely man next to kill her.

Or wed her. He could wait, for certes. She was only ten-and-five years, not even yet showing signs of womanhood. But to a country teetering blindly towards anarchy, this was the only movement forward to solve so many problems. However, as she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. With her skirts turning soiled with the still-warm blood of her father, Cecily remembered Elizabeth Woodeville’s many daughters. Maybe he would choose one of them, and leave her well enough alone. Maybe clemency would work with this…. Bastard of a prince?

She would refuse to bend her knees and acknowledge him as the god-chosen king. No. The rite of the crown would go to Teddy. Or passing him, Meg. She would need to make arrangements, seek out Johnny and Kathryn. They would need to know of Richard’s death.

Suddenly, a hand clenched around her upper arm and she shrieked, blindly lashing out. 

“My lady, please!” A voice hissed. Female, french sounding. Véronique de Crécy. Cecily looked up into the lady-servant’s face and caught the tears forming on her lashes. “Do not cry out. You have been granted the right of sanctuary with the nearby nunnery. They are doing this out of the mercy of your womanhood, Chérie.”

“Mercy?” Cecily hissed as Véronique dragged her from the battlefield. She could only watch silently with doe-wide eyes as her father’s corpse was stripped to the flesh. Then, it was dumped over the back of a steed. “No-” She began to scream, thrashing in her mother’s servant's arms. Another hand clamped over her lips, silencing her.

“Do not make a sound, Princess. Keep very, very quiet.” Francis Lovell hissed. “It is horrific, yes, but this is what Tudor dictates, and we must bend the knee or be slaughtered.” He effortlessly dragged her through the leagues of white-tented campsites to a waiting horse and litter. Mistress Burgh, who had tended to her since infancy, examined her skirts silently. 

“By the holy mother-” She began, then looked into Cecily-Anne’s whitened face. “Come, lovely. We must be getting you home.” 

“My F-father-” Cecily jerked her head up as she watched the white rose being put to the torch. Suddenly, the fight drained from her and she fell to her knees, the veil of her hennin swimming about her face like gossamer wings. “No, please, No!” She sobbed, wrenching off her hennin and veil with a firm tug. Her hair fell from its pins, spilling about her face.

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice sneered. “I find it most…” Cecily looked up into the face of a man who she would forever remember. Standing over her, clad in plate armour of pure silver with work of ferns and ivy was Thomas Builder, retitled Thomas Melbourne. A minor lord, he had backed her father until the end, and then revealed his hand when Tudor had taken the advantage. His eyes gleamed like emeralds in the watery sunlight shimmering overhead, and he bent down to lift her chin. 

“Unfaithful to your late Father, Princess.” His voice was velvety, meant to be soothing. But it merely made Cecily more vicious, more angered. She whacked his hand aside and bared her teeth. She raised her hand, and formed a fist. Her father’s knights who had served him now formed a Testudo around her. 

“Ah, princess.” Melbourne sneered again. “These men are traitors. They ought not rush to thy defence.”

“They shall.” Cecily rose on unsteadily feet, but squared her shoulders. The moment of grief within her was pushed down deep inside her, and she shut it away. She would not allow herself to show how much she hurt. He would not see how much she longed to lie down in the blood-splattered grass where her father had fallen, and implore God and his saints to take her too.

Please, Holy Mother, protect me from this man’s aims and evils. She prayed silently, her fingers sliding to the crucifix around her neck. Suddenly, she gasped as Melbourne parted the Testudo around her, ignoring the pike-axes grazing his cheeks. His hand snaked up and grasped hers. His eyes blazed with pure hate, and he grabbed the crucifix in hand. It did not burn him, which Cecily hoped it would. She could only sob as Melbourne yanked the chain forward, dragging Cecily along with it. She was pulled from the safety of her knights and thrown roughly to the ground. 

Around her, a cheering and jeering group of Tudors’s soldiers had gathered. At their head was Margaret Beaufort, clad in mourner’s black. Briefly, Cecily was reminded of her mother’s poisoned words against the mother of Tudor. She flashed her teeth again, snatching out a hand to grab something. But her hand was pinned under the black-metal foot of Count Adhemar’s boot.

“There she is.” He crowed as Tudor pushed through his men and raised his visor to regard her. “What a wonderful wife she would make for you, Your grace.”

“You deem him your king?!” Cecily snarled, crying out as Melbourne grabbed her hair and pulled her head back with a sickening crack. Looking up at him from below, Cecily was able to see his lengthened canines, and she shuddered in horror. It seemed as though not only was Tudor ungodly in his mortal affairs, he consorted with demons to win him victories.

She crossed herself, murmuring the lord’s prayer under her breath.

“She should be killed, Henry.” Margaret cried. “If she is not, she is a threat to your legitimacy. Any son she bears and the blood of the Yorks remains stronger than ever.” 

“There is still the matter of those two boys. Tell me-” Tudor turned now to Cecily, and stepped over her so that his legs were on either side of her hips. She looked up at him even though she couldn’t look him in the eye. Her breaths came in heavy, rapid gasps as Tudor grabbed her by the chin and lifted her head.

“Did your father kill the princes, girl?”

“No!” Cecily cried instantly.

The smack of his ringed hand to her face made Cecily cry out again. Around her, even some of Tudor’s knights were making murmurs of discontent. No one struck a princess, or made a movement against her. Yet, Cecily knew easily how vulnerable she was. With no strong woman such as her grandmother to speak in her defence, she was powerless. Véronique’s words were as good as naught.

“Then where did he put them?”

“I have no knowledge of where-” Cecily sobbed again as Tudor rained down another blow. She was saved a third as Margaret’s hand reached out and pulled Henry’s fist back. “Please, no. Do not taint your victory with such sin. God will find it distasteful.” 

Please, Holy Mother, protect me from this man’s aims and evils. 

Tudor glared at his mother and then Cecily. His thumb stroked her thrumming pulse point, and then he spat in her face. “Be glad that my lady mother raised me to be merciful. If I was not, I ought to put you in your place as you deserve, wench.”

Cecily shuddered. 

She watched with widened, fear-filled eyes as Tudor’s men departed with their king at the head. Atop Tudor’s head was the crown of King Edward, the very crown that had been affixed to her father’s helmet. A sob burned through her lungs and she pressed her knuckles to her streaming eyes. Wrapped in the spanish silks she had been gifted as part of her engagement to Joanna of Portugal’s younger cousin, Cecily-Anne Isabel Plantagenet knew that without a doubt that she was a marked woman.

As she was helped into the litter by Véronique, Cecily watched as Tudor’s men took down the White Rose of York. Her breath hitched as the Whyte Boar of Gloucester was unpinned from her father’s command tent. His squires who’d survived the battle were lined up in order of age. She watched with wide eyes devoid of all emotion as a barber surgeon and priest went about taking confession. Then, they were beheaded in front of the spot where her father had taken mass just that morn.

The battle of Redmore Plain had lasted a scant few hours, but the impact would fester for weeks. As the wheels of the litter began to turn and Cecily’s few knights fell into step beside the litter, the princess pressed a hand to her mouth and wept without shame. She clung weakly to her mother’s crucifix and the ring on her finger that had been the coronation ring of her father’s. Tudor would forge another ring, another crown; another state.

All of the work her father had done would be ashes and cinders. The North would not go quietly, which brought her some level of comfort. But their refusal to bend the knee would bite them soon enough. Sin had come over England with the miasma of plague, and it would stay thus until either the Tudors were ousted, murdered or ran out of heirs.

Pressing her hand over her eyes again, Cecily sighed deeply. 

“Write to Manuel and please inform him that the wedding is…” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Annulled. Ensure the Church knows also. I am certain they will be flooded with requests of dispensations for Tudor and whomever he chooses as his lady wife.” She looked to Véronique, who gave a quiet nod of acknowledgement.

“And you, cherie?”

“I believe I shall take a night in that nunnery you inquired for me. In the morn, we shall see where I am going. Whether it be the Tower Greene or the wilds of Bruges, I shall be excited to know.” swirling the cup of wine handed to her, Cecily drank deeply. Grief and shock had made her caustic. She would not wish to be anything other than that. As she drank more, she turned to debating in her mind how she would subvert Tudor’s wills for her execution. 

She should be killed, Henry.

She is a threat to the crown!

Was that same thing not spoken of about her Aunt Elizabeth? The very woman who had seduced her uncle to the bedchamber and made him a father to several children of health and vigour? Had that not been said of her own mother, whose wealth of lands in the north along with Aunt Isabelle set up a bloodless war between her father and mad uncle George? Had the women not birthed two sickly children for both sets of parents? Had fate not delivered her brother to God’s embrace far sooner than expected? Then a scant half-year later her own mother? 

Cecily smacked her hand against the wooden screen, and screamed low in her throat. She was well and truly alone, left to shoulder the burdens of a crown cracking more with each passing hour. The lords of London would throw the gates wide to the invaders, burn Crosby Place and Baynard’s to the ground. She would be bereft of a husband to-be, left to rot in a Court that would not place her in a position of honour. She would have to bend the knee to play favour, but her actions a few hours earlier would drive that thought from Tudor’s mind with the swiftness of a spring breeze.

Compline found Cecily-Anne kneeling before the altar of the Blessed Virgin Mary, her mother’s crucifix chain in her fingers. She had always found solace in prayer, not for the religious aspects, but the simple acts of running her fingers through the beads. The easy recitation of her prayers and catechisms soothed her. She always had a list in her mind of who to implore on behalf of the Father for His favour - the poor, sickly, needy. Her family members who suffered more than most came second. As part of her selfless devotion that some saw as frenetic, while others viewed it as a sign of true humility, Cecily wore a long veil and forgoed a prayer kneeler. Her heavy skirts of velvet and stiffened brocade did well enough. The order of Augustinian Canonesses had taken kindly to the young princess and put her at once into sanctuary. As an order of 1337 nuns confined to the limits of the priory’s property, they were over-delighted to have a guest. After supping in her rooms, Cecily had gone with the younger initiates to pray Compline before retiring. 

As she turned her face upwards to Mary’s figure with her arms spread out in a gesture of welcome and warmth, Cecily prayed to one woman only.

Her lady mother.

“Maman, I implore you. Please, let me know that I am not in vain to ask for you. Let me know that my pain is not all I shall feel. T-there is no way forward for me that I see. You always spoke to anyone who asked that I could solve my way out of any problem the Lord put before me, and now I find myself without.” Tears dripped down her face and she angrily shook her head, slamming her fist into the floor. The nuns who prayed quietly behind her stilled in their prayers at the sound of her fist. 

Cecily shot them a look and made the sign of the cross without breaking eye contact. Her devotion would be unshakable. The chapel at Middleham bore marks of her nails in the soft stone as she had poured out her grief in the days after Ned’s death. Now, she drew her nails once more down the expanse of stone. One scratch for her mother, one for her father, and another for Ned. 

“Please, Maman. I beg of you, do something. I cannot live in an England that is without the security of your light, of Father’s judgement. I can only implore the Lord for why he chooses to test me.” She bowed her head again. “I beg that Father is at peace, for some knowledge that he is safe, that he is happy to be reunited with you and Ned again. Please, do not worry for me. I am as well as I can be.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. Yet, they seemed to not stop, even as she forced herself desperately to not cry in the Lord’s house.

“Child…” The Mother Superior murmured. Cecily jerked her head away. She hated to be touched, to be perceived. She brought her hand up, to quieten the woman. The blood froze in her veins suddenly as the Mother Superior grabbed her hand, and then she heard a harsh voice that was her mother’s hiss; Open your eyes!

Cecily’s eyes flew open, and she recoiled. For where the statue of Mary had stood was now a cut. A cut in the space of the room, that through it showed… another space - a field with trees in the distance. It was unheard of. No miracle such as this had ever been written of in a canonical history or court romance. Cecily’s head jerked up and she looked at the Mother Superior. 

“D-do you see that?”

“Yes.” The Mother breathed, her hands clammy around Cecily’s. Her skin itched painfully and longed to tug her hand free. Yet Cecily stayed in that woman’s grasp as the Mother pulled herself up from a kneeling position. Cecily’s fingers instinctively closed tight around the crucifix chain and she ran it over her lips. 

“Speak to me again, Maman.” She whispered, her lips barely moving.

Go forward. The cut will not hurt you, child.

Cecily shuffled forward, her skirts swishing as she moved. Her skirts, the ones still caked with her father’s blood. The deep blue was stained a runny wine-dark purple and caked in a scent so foul that the other nearby nuns had their noses pinched. In the flickering candlelight, they looked like demons sent from the very brimstone and fires of Hell she feared. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, Cecily was half conscious of the fact that her mother never called her “Child.” Yet, the grief of so much loss…. Made her feel the exhaustion within her more sharply.

Crossing the nave before the altar, she stared up at the cut with widened eyes, and reached a hand out to touch it. Instead of the pain of burning or the cold of snow on a winter’s night, she felt merely warmth. Through the ugly gash, she could see waving grasses in a stiff breeze, and squinting, making out the forms of men waiting amongst the trees. Some of them were on horses, and she wondered if they could see her. What a shock they’d get! 

The cut will not hurt you, child. She remembered her mother’s words spoken just moments before, and looked back at the nuns. They had gathered together in a small grouping at the back of the chapel, and amongst them she saw Véronique gripping Francis Lovell’s hand tight in hers. What stilled her suddenly was the expression on Véronique’s face - pure, unadulterated fear. 

Go! Go, and do not look back, child!

Cecily’s head turned to look back at the cut and she stared once more through it, her hand still stretched out in front of her. The crucifix dangling from her hand caught the sunlight filtering through the trees, and she smelled the scent of freshly hay. Distantly, she felt as though she was back at Middleham, playing with Ned and Kathyrn and Johnny. Tears filled her eyes again and she closed them as her mind wandered. 

Yes, child. Step through. You are almost home. Just another step-

Cecily could feel the sunlight on her hands; her face, and she turned her palms upwards towards the light and warmth. Yet, suddenly, the sounds of screams filled the air. Looking down, Cecily’s face turned to horror as she stepped not on freshly cut grass but blood-stained earth. An earth-shattering roar split the air as she looked up to the sight of a dragon armed with a rider opening its maw wide. A column of liquid fire flowed from its gaping jaws and set the forest before it ablaze. The men under it, clad in deep green tunics with a silver tower were swiftly enveloped in the flames and a horrific screaming sound met her ears. Throwing her hands over her ears, Cecily turned back to look for the cut.

She found it gone. 

“MAMAN!” She screamed. “What is the meaning of this?!”

A test, child. You implored for my judgement.

“A TEST?!” Cecily shrieked. 

I am the holy mother, all who worship me are tested in some way or another at some point. This is yours. Take with it what you will.

The warmth she’d felt turned shockingly cold, and Cecily cringed back, fear filling her veins with cold sand. Around her, men screamed, crossed swords and brutally massacred one another. Stumbling blindly, she turned whatever way was quietest, and began to stumble across the battlefield that would later be called Raven’s Rock. As she reached what she hoped was a line of tents consisting of faces who would be willing to listen to her tale, something sharp and long embedded itself in her leg.

The ground tilted dangerously under her, and Cecily’s face smashed into a jagged rock. Atop the rock’s surface she felt soft lichen caress her cheek, and barely had time to fist the crucifix more tightly into her fingers. The next moment, the darkness of injury and exhaustion washed over her with the strength of a tide, and she was dragged into its swell.

Over her head, two soldiers bearing the same uniforms she’d seen earlier discussed what to do with this princess in a tongue she didn’t know. After a few moments more, a knight with ginger hair and emerald green eyes came to survey her chaining up. He took his helmet from a squire and left at once to take up arms against a foe who was merely his sister’s closest friend and the supposed former heir of the Iron Throne. The false Queen Rhaenyra had made war against Alicent Hightower’s chosen son and it was unto this war that Princess Cecily-Anne was dragged unwillingly into. A war that was set to shape a generation and dynasty had merely changed time and space, but the rules were the same - a woman’s place was not upon the battlefield. 

End of Chapter 1.

[bluvlet]

I love your style sooo much, are there any artists you've been inspired by in your art?

Thank you so much!! Here are a couple of artists that I feel have inspired me in some way. This is definitely not a comprehensive list, of course!

J.C Leyendecker is a big inspiration for a lot of the rendering I do. I find his style of blocking and sharp edges makes it a lot easier for me to understand shape, depth and structure - especially with hair, clothing and the face. I considered Leyendecker my favourite artist when I was in my mid-teens.

Francis Bacon was another artist I was very drawn to when I was younger. Something about the violence of his work. I still very much enjoy the distortion of his figures - particularly the way he plays with the construction of the face.

Sometime in I think mid 2023 I encountered the painting ‘I remember you in the ocean’ by Sophie Pearson whilst I was mindlessly scrolling somewhere. The use of red really stuck with me. Last month Pearson popped up randomly on my tiktok fyp page, and I finally got to put an artist’s name to the painting I had seen ages ago.

I also discovered Yoshimoto Nara recently. I am overcome by a sense of nostalgia and warmth when I look through his art. Although my own art, I feel, is very visually and tonally different to his, I feel a connection to the meaning behind them, which compels me to continue creating.

Some others off the top of my head are Anne Magill, Amy Drury, Toby Ross (@lonelyisthecloud), David Lynch’s drawings, Jorge González, William Blake, Ollie Jones, and @bfhwwy on twitter.

[justforbooks]

Roger Corman

American film director and producer who liked to describe himself as the ‘Orson Welles of the Z movie’

Although Roger Corman, who has died aged 98, directed more than 50 films, he will be remembered mainly as an influential producer and genial godfather to the New American Cinema of the 1970s. The list of his beneficiaries makes up a Who’s Who of contemporary American film. Martin Scorsese, Peter Bogdanovich, Francis Ford Coppola, Monte Hellman, and Jonathan Demme were all directing proteges of Corman.

“You can see right away that the guy’s a superior producer,” said Jack Nicholson, who appeared in five films directed by Corman. “He’s the best producer I’ve met in the business. The man carried me for seven years. I feel tremendously indebted to him.”

But to pre-70s cinemagoers, Corman was an auteur in his own right, describing himself as the “Orson Welles of the Z movie”. The schlocky titles of the majority of his films disguise the fact that Corman was an extremely cultured, elegant and well-spoken man, without the slightest hint about him of the rock’n’roll counterculture in which he played an important part. He also had cameo roles in about 30 films, including as an FBI director in Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs (1991), and a senator in Coppola’s The Godfather Part II (1974).

Corman’s filmography as a director can be roughly divided into three groups: the quickies (1955-60), the adaptations of the works of Edgar Allan Poe (1960-64), and the mainstream experiments (1966-70). In the first period, on a tiny budget and in rented studios, he produced and directed such Z movies as Attack of the Crab Monsters (1957), Teenage Caveman (1958) and She Gods of Shark Reef (1958). Science-fiction horror with tatty special effects, cut-price monsters and unknown casts, they were aimed at the drive-in movie youth market.

He would produce up to seven films a year, his fastest being The Little Shop of Horrors (1960), which was reputedly shot in two days and a night. It was filmed using the same sets as A Bucket of Blood (1959), a self-referential black comedy. Corman once joked he could make an epic about the fall of the Roman empire with two extras and a sagebrush.

In slight contrast was the Poe series, amusing shockers in widescreen and colour. These included House of Usher (1960), The Pit and the Pendulum (1961), The Raven (1963), The Terror (1963) and, perhaps the best, The Masque of the Red Death (1964).

Greater commercial success came with such films as The St Valentine’s Day Massacre (1967) and Bloody Mama (1970), but soon afterwards Corman retired as a director. His reasons were manifold: he had made around 26 films in 10 years and felt the need of a rest; he also complained that when he made cheap films nobody tinkered with them, but as a big-budget director everyone seemed to think they had the right to maul his work. “Specifically, a picture I made called Gas-s-s-s for AIP [American International Pictures], which was completely recut,” Corman said.

“It was a controversial kind of a comedy, and AIP cut all the funny stuff right out of the film, including the entire ending. The film was never shown anywhere as I shot it, and I felt, frankly, they emasculated the picture and destroyed any possibility of success.”

He was born in the city of Detroit, Michigan, to William Corman, an engineer, and Anne (nee High). His paternal grandparents were Russian-Jewish immigrants, and his mother was of German ancestry.

The family moved to California and Roger went to Beverly Hills high school before beginning an engineering degree at Stanford University. It was the middle of the second world war, and he spent two years as a navy cadet before finally graduating in 1947. He entered the movies at 20th Century-Fox as an errand boy, but then, under the GI Bill, took off to study English literature at Oxford University for six months, followed by six months in Paris.

In 1954, Corman sold a low-budget script to Allied Artists. It was released as Highway Dragnet, for which he insisted on an associate producer credit. But he was disappointed with the film and, believing that he could do a better job as a producer, scraped $12,000 together to make Monster from the Ocean Floor (1954), directed by Wyott Ordung.

After selling the film for a profit of $100,000, Corman scripted and produced The Fast and the Furious (1954). Shot in 10 days by the film’s star, John Ireland, it was distributed by a small new company, American Releasing Corporation, later renamed American International Pictures, with Corman as its house director.

In the early 60s, for AIP, he made his series of adaptations from Poe, a favourite writer of his since childhood. Using the team of the designer Daniel Haller, writer Richard Matheson and cameraman Floyd Crosby, he created garish, camp and amusing shockers, taking their tone from Vincent Price’s sibilant, ghoulish hamming.

They were sometimes referred to as “late wife” movies because, in most of them, Price had a deceased wife lying around a castle. Taking only 15 days to shoot, they contained scenes and sets interchangeable from one film to the next, but they were popular and gathered a cult following.

A departure from the horror genre of the period, and one of Corman’s favourites, was The Intruder (1961), a gritty social drama in which a rabble-rouser (William Shatner) arrives in a southern town to disrupt racial integration in the schools.

Corman’s taste for updated American Gothic was evident in the biker movie The Wild Angels (1966), which featured actual Hells Angels, and The Trip (1967), an indulgent plunge into psychedelia written by Nicholson. Both starred Peter Fonda, who went on to produce – and star in alongside Nicholson and Dennis Hopper – the Corman-influenced Easy Rider (1969).

Corman’s blood-splattered recreation of 1928 Chicago in The St Valentine’s Day Massacre was more tightly controlled and wordier than his usual product, with impeccable performances from Jason Robards as Al Capone and Ralph Meeker as Bugs Moran. In the cold-eyed and unromantic Bloody Mama, Shelley Winters let rip as Kate Barker, the murderous matriarch of a gang of outlaws, with an unknown Robert De Niro playing her son.

Corman followed up that success with a tale of another female gangster, Boxcar Bertha (1972), hiring a young Scorsese as director.

He gave up directing after The Red Baron (1971) nose-dived at the box office. Phony German accents were dubbed in against his wishes. However the dog fights, actually filmed in the air, gave the first world war flying sequences authenticity.

In 1970, he set up his own company, New World Pictures, and continued to produce formula films for the youth market, abiding by the profitable philosophy “make ’em quick, make ’em cheap and make ’em popular”. These included motorcycle movies (Angels Die Hard); sexploitation flicks (Night Call Nurses, Fly Me, Caged Heat!, the latter directed by Demme) and horror films (Night of the Cobra Woman), but the company also distributed films in the US at the opposite end of the creative scale, such as Ingmar Bergman’s Cries and Whispers (1972) and Federico Fellini’s Amarcord (1973).

In 1990, Corman sat down in his director’s chair once more and made Frankenstein Unbound, with John Hurt and Raul Julia, which proved he could still spin a gory tale, though, alas, without the success of earlier years.

However, the title of his 1998 autobiography, How I Made a Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime, still rang true. He continued to produce and executive produce films into his 90s. In 2009, he received a lifetime achievement Academy Award.

He is survived by his wife, Julie Halloran, a film producer, whom he married in 1970, and their four children, Roger, Brian, Mary and Catherine.

🔔 Roger William Corman, film director, producer and actor, born 5 April 1926; died 9 May 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[edwardseymour]

Is it true that Anne of Cleves sent a marriage proposal to Henry VIII after Katherine Howard’s execution? If that did happen, then I don’t know why people give Jane Seymour flack if Anne’s thinking of marrying a guy who’s judicially murdered two wives, especially since Katherine Howard used to be her lady in waiting.

✨ terfs/zionists fuck off ✨

not exactly…

as darsie summarises: “katherine howard was beheaded on 13 february 1542. between late january and late february, anne’s brother and several other german princes drafted letters to henry. the aim was to encourage the english king to take anne back. however, francis suggested to wilhelm, via ambassadors, that the letters not be given to henry just yet”. it seems like anne’s circle was hoping or assumed henry would take anne back around the time that katherine was arrested. no formal proposal was extended, however.

in november, following katherine’s arrest, jeanne d’albret commissioned a personalised book of hours as a gift for anne of cleves — which heather darsie speculates was in the assumption that anne was in expectation of a betrothal: “a book of hours […] was a common gift for new brides. jeanne, as a dutiful sister-in-law may have been giving her books as a wedding gift in anticipation of anne’s remarriage”. around the same time, katherine was worrying the council with her self-harming behaviours: “she refuses to drink or eat and weeps and cries like a madwoman, so that they must take away things by which she might hasten her death”.

in early december 1541, while katherine languished in syon, henry’s hunting trip prompted one jane rattsey to speculate that he was using the hunt as an excuse to be near to anne: “what if god worketh this work to make the lady anne of cleves queen again?” meanwhile henry “personally authorised torture to be used on the two friends [dereham and davenport] on 6 december” (russell). mere days after dereham and culpeper were executed, on december 12th, southampton sent a letter to henry in support of anne: “he [the cleves ambassador] said his credence was to seek to reconcile the duke’s sister with the king and on december 13th, cranmer wrote that “the ambassador of cleves brought him letters (enclosed) from [olisleger] commending the cause of the lady anne of cleves […] the cause was the reconciliation of the king with lady anne”. around the same time as jane parker’s nerves had collapsed and henry had sent his own physicians “to nurse lady rochford back to health to secure her execution” (russell), the cleves ambassador met with the privy council and “prayed them [to find] means to reconcile the marriage and restore her to the estate of queen”.

so the cleves delegation clearly made some bids for henry to remarry anne, and her social and familial circle seemingly likewise wanted anne to be restored to henry’s wife… but it’s not clear how much this was directly motivated by anne. what we can say is that anne visited henry for new year’s. she gifted him crimson cloth, and darsie also points to a book of hours given to henry by anna, “in which she wrote, ‘i beseech your grace humbly when ye look on this, remember me. your grace’s assured anne, the daughter of cleves’. the date when anna gave henry this gift is not recorded”, but darsie is suggesting anne gave it to henry around this time. meanwhile, katherine spent new year’s at syon, “her mood swinging between terror, depression and forced hilarity” (tallis).

much of this was international murmurings, too. marillac now praised anne as beautiful and patient. in late january, katherine was charged with high treason. meanwhile, in france, “a declamation was published aimed at henry and the privy council about the treatment of anne”, written by john of luxembourg, titled ‘the prayer and remonstrance of the high and powerful madame marie of cleves, sister of the highest and most powerful lord, the duke of jülich, of cleves, and of guelders, to the king of england and his council’ (mistakenly calling anne by her mother’s name).

considering the confusion surrounding katherine’s sudden disgrace — as henry was careful to not let information get out, as evidenced by the ambassador’s erroneous reports — and anne’s assumed superiority over katherine (which anne herself supposedly flexed the previous year, according to darsie)… well, it doesn’t surprise me that this conclusion was reached. henry very firmly rejected anne, however, so it was for nought.

[greensparty]

Remembering Roger Corman 1926-2024

This one hurts! One of the giants of indie film Roger Corman has died at 98. While he might have been known for B movies, his influence is immeasurable to all movies (A-Z).

If there was some sort of an It's a Wonderful Life scenario where we could see what life would be like if Corman hadn't been born, the entire history of film would look very different. As a producer / director / writer, he discovered and gave early career breaks to Jack Nicholson, Francis Ford Coppola, Peter Bogdanovich, Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro, Sylvester Stallone, Joe Dante, Ron Howard, Alan Arkush, John Sayles, James Cameron, Gale Ann Hurd and countless others. In 2010 when Corman received an honorary Academy Award, Quentin Tarantino did the tribute. Afterwards QT posed for a photo with many of Corman's proteges and made reference to feeling like he was an honorary member of the Corman Film School!

Demme directing Corman in Silence of the Lambs. The student became the master!

But most notably for me is that he discovered one of my favorite filmmakers of all time Jonathan Demme. Early Corman-produced films that Demme worked on included Angels Hard as They Come, and The Hot Box. Then the first three features Demme directed were for Corman's New World Pictures: Caged Heat, Crazy Mama, and Fighting Mad. Once he moved on to bigger films, Demme never forgot Corman as he cast him in small roles in Swing Shift, The Silence of the Lambs, Philadelphia, The Manchurian Candidate, and Rachel Getting Married. One of the things Demme talked about quite often that Corman taught him was that you need to keep the eye engaged in a film, because if the eye gets bored, the brain (and the viewer) will too, and also that the picture will only be as strong as the hero and antagonist. In 2010 when Demme received an award from Coolidge Corner Theatre, Corman was in attendance and spoke as well. My friend Jake Mulligan taught a class about Corman at the Coolidge a few years ago and had a section about Demme and Corman as well.

Bucket of Blood movie poster

In all of this praise about Corman as a producer and the "Corman Film School" of directors he gave early opportunities to, it's easy to overlook his own directing. My favorite of his own films are the underrated A Bucket of Blood (having a lot to say about beatniks and the art world) and The Little Shop of Horrors (featuring Jack Nicholson in an early role as an eager patient).

In my own directing class in college, my professor would often make reference to Corman, not just the themes and ideas in his films but his approach to low-budget filmmaking. If you've ever seen Corman in an interview you can't help but absorb his bits of wisdom.

I'd highly recommend checking out the 2011 documentary Corman's World: Exploits of a Hollywood Rebel for more about the man himself. I included it in my Best Documentaries of the 2010s list.

The link above is the obit from Hollywood Reporter.

[fideidefenswhore]

I've been wondering this for awhile, because different secondary sources give various takes on the Downfall of Anne Boleyn, but how big of a role did the Seymours (Jane and her brothers) in particular play in the downfall and judicial murder of Anne Boleyn?

I hated how Becoming Elizabeth white-washed Edward Seymour's character by portraying him as being super nice to Elizabeth when I'm 100% sure that wasn't the case in real life. He didn't defend her when the Thomas Seymour scandal broke out, didn't tell her she looked like her dad, and certainly did not apologize to her for his brother's behavior. Somerset kept her away from King Edward and refused to let her come to court when she was accused to let her speak her piece. Wasn't he also the one who refused to give Elizabeth the lands/money Henry VIII left for her in his will? Thomas abused the Princess no question about it.

The Seymours helped cause Anne's death and then abused her daughter it seems. If they were behind her downfall it makes sense that they wouldn't care about her daughter either.

Well, given you've already mentioned secondary sources, I'm assuming you're not looking for reccomendations for material on this subject, and are just asking for my opinion? I might post some excerpts later regardless in some reblog or edit of this ask, if you're interested.

I'm not too familiar with the sources on Edward VI's reign but that does sound about right? Although I'm not positive there was much improvement when Edward Seymour was disempowered and eventually executed and John Dudley took up the helm, from what I remember that's true. For more on this, I would rec From Heads of Household to Heads of State by Jeri L. Mcintosh and Word of a Prince by Maria Perry.

Yeah, I don't...even want to get into BE discourse too much (I assume the invention of their relationship shifting from begrudging antipathy to admiration and eventual apology was due to AR's sympathy for him, but fans of the show were mad he apologized to Elizabeth and not Mary, for...what? What did they want, exactly? Had he not apologized to her in the canon of the show he would have died a CSA apologist). Most of it just seemed absurd to me. For whatever reason that man seems to have had some appeal to AR during her research process, and I simply cannot fathom why. To me, he is just flop (as ruthless as Cromwell but without his genius or political acumen, of moderate intelligence but poor character, I don't think you can even make the argument that well, even if ineffectual and 'of small power' by 1538, as per one contemporary, at least he withstood every shift and endured, that would be more applicable to a figure such as William Paulet).

But, circling back to the first question:

How big of a role did the Seymours (Jane and her brothers) in particular play in the downfall and judicial murder of Anne Boleyn?

An interesting one, because they're part of this rather large faction at the time, as Chapuys reports. I don't necessarily get the impression they were actually leading said faction, however...those with the most weight to pull number as Lord Montague, Nicholas Carew, at times Francis Bryan, the Marquis and Marchioness of Exeter. What's particularly interesting to note is that Chapuys specifically alleges that these players are constantly giving Jane advice on how and in what manner to speak with Henry VIII. Often this report is stretched to farce (some authors almost writing about this in ways that veer on anachronism, suggestions of Jane almost being fed line for line by earpiece), but assuming even moderate exaggeration of Chapuys' part, what I find compelling is what this means, which is that Jane doesn't really know Henry. As in, she has some sense of him, but she's reliant on the advice of those who have known him much longer.

Why I find that compelling is that it implies the Seymours have always sort of been on the outskirts, never within Henry's inner circle up to this point, which makes sense once the evidence is considered (Jane has probably been serving the new Queen since 1534 at latest, her appearance on gift rolls notwithstanding, but doesn't show up as her intimate in the way of Margaret Douglas, Mary Howard, etc). Her 'brothers' alone is interesting, isn't it? Contemporary report at this time doesn't even place Thomas there in the ramp-up to the coup, it might even be that he's often placed there in fiction because as we recreate these scenes on screen and stage, we read things backwards. We do know that Edward is there, and presumably he might have even been at court for some time, we know he's present at Anne Boleyn's coronation feast as server to Cranmer, we know he's the Duke of Richmond's Master of the Horse. But there's no mention of Thomas Seymour in all this until he's given title once his sister becomes Queen.

So, Edward's involvement, by contemporary report, is that he's basically in attendance at these meetings of Boleyn opponents, he's promoted to the Privy Chamber in March 1536 (not, however, the Privy Council until halfway through the next year, which is interesting...basically, he's not significantly promoted to that place of trust and influence until Jane's been Queen for an entire year, which is instructive insofar as it could mean one of two things: one, Jane's lack of influence and power as Queen, or two, that she doesn't care about the promotion of her brothers enough to push on the matter), he's chaperoning meetings between Jane and Henry alongside his wife in the quarters Cromwell has granted him which connect to Henry's own, and he's present at the failed Imperial detente between Cromwell, Chapuys, and Henry VIII in April 1536.

Circling back to how Jane requiring such intensive counsel to speak with Henry, on what to say and how to say it, on how to approach him...every point this faction wants her to press with Henry is rebuffed by him. There is no honeymoon period for Jane, truly. If she can't convince him to reinstate his eldest daughter in the succession, would she have been able to convince him to repudiate his wife? It's doubtful, although I'm sure she encouraged this, it's unlikely her encouragement was what pushed him over the brink, as it were.

Moreover, if we go beyond Chapuys, according to contemporary reports Jane was countermanded, sometimes quite publically, on pretty much every political move she attempted (once, five times in a row on the same matter, and another reports Henry as saying he had already 'often' told her not to meddle in his affairs, and this as early as five months into their marriage, and Jane as Queen). This is instructive insofar how much they were leading this faction, versus other members of the faction leading them. Assuming she wasn't masochistic, Jane must have repeatedly been promised and told by those that 'knew Henry best' (almost all of whom, absent Bryan, are going to end up on the scaffold in two years' time) that her influence was going to equal or even surpass her predecessors' upon Henry, and that she just had to bide her time.

So, was there a Seymour 'family firm' comparable to some others, as far as the Boleyn coup? Beyond Jane & Edward, there's not much evidence for one (certainly they were united in grabbing the spoils afterwards, Henry Seymour grabbed a vacant position by one of the accused and condemned men, Edward a viscounship to equal George Boleyn's, not to mention the riches and properties of the Dissolution both Jane and Edward enjoyed, etc). Thomas is absent, as are their parents, and Elizabeth Seymour seems to have even possibly been a Boleyn supporter by dint of her husband. Jane's maternal cousin is on the jury which condemns her predecessor, but beyond that....

Circling towards your last:

The Seymours helped cause Anne's death and then abused her daughter it seems. If they were behind her downfall it makes sense that they wouldn't care about her daughter either.

Eh, I don't think it's fair to term any of them, save Thomas Seymour later on, as 'abusive' towards Elizabeth. What's more certain is that they wouldn't have wanted her to develop any sort of base of power and support. It is interesting, though, as far as memory serves, that it's after Edward Seymour's power was stripped that Elizabeth was making such public appearances of honour at her brother's court. An interesting aspect of any counterfactual of Jane's survival, Jane being the last Tudor queen (consort) of Henry VIII, would be how the relationship between Edward VI&Elizabeth might then manifest, the Seymours would not have faded into obscurity as they did for much of Henry's reign, and it's difficult to imagine that they wouldn't have been wary of the two of them developing any sort of rapport. But, they did, and it was Henry that directed the education and environment that made this possible.

[ailendolin]

What do you think about

🛁 Bathing together/platonic bathing (specifiy)

for Gabrian. I just see so much potential for angst and comfort at the same time 💙

Hello, dear 💙 Fingers crossed this ficlet comes close to what you had in mind when you sent me this prompt. I hope you'll like it!

Next up:

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms - Robin

🎶 Dancing - Robin, Humphrey’s body, Mary & alive Kitty

🥶 Cold - Fanny

✊🏽 Protecting - Thomas & Francis

💪🏽 Bridal carry - Pat & the Captain

🐾 Pet-names - Humphrey’s head and Annie

🎁 Presents - Julian

💀 Near-death experience - Milton, Mike & Death

Ask Game is here. Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.

Prompts for this ask game are closed.

————

Bath

🛁 Platonic bathing

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like someone ran me over with a cart,” Ian whispered hoarsely from the bed and gave her a pitiful look.

Gabriel smiled.

“Well, that’s better than half-dead,” she joked and placed her hand on his brow. “Your fever seems to have broken and your wound–“ She lifted the blanket and pulled the bandage on his thigh aside. “–no longer has that angry red colour to it. I think we can safely say you’re on the mend now.”

She didn’t make a big deal out of it but they both knew how close Ian had come to death after the infection set in.

“Anne and Susanna are heating up the tub if you think you’re up for a bath.”

The look of longing on Ian’s face was answer enough so Gabriel helped him out of the bed and wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders before carefully assisting him down the stairs. When they entered the kitchen, Anne and Susanna both looked up from their work. Matching smiles lit up their faces the moment they spotted Ian.

“Someone’s feeling better, I see,” Anne said, the relief clear in her voice. Noticing the way Gabriel was holding him upright, her face softened. “It’s good to see you back on your feet, Ian.”

“Thank you,” Ian mumbled. “I’m sure I can make myself useful and repay you for your kindness in no time.”

Anne and Gabriel exchanged a glance before Anne wiped her hands on her apron and rounded the table.

“Don’t you worry about any of that, all right?” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You getting better is payment enough.” With another smile, she gave his shoulder a squeeze and let go. “We’ll leave you to it.”

Susanna followed her mother out of the room and once they had closed the door behind them, Gabriel said quietly, “I know you don’t think they mean it but they do. They’re good people who stand by their word.”

Colour rose to Ian’s cheeks and he ducked his head, embarrassed that his thoughts had been so plain for her to read. “I think I can manage from here.”

Gabriel frowned. The way his legs trembled, especially the injured one, begged to differ. She knew why he wanted privacy, though. He might not remember them dressing him in clean nightshirts after the fever took hold of him, but Gabriel did. The sight of bruises and scars, too many to count, littering his body was not something she would not forget anytime soon. They told the story of a harsh, unforgiving life – a lonely one, too – and as much as she understood his need to hide that from her, Gabriel knew she could not leave him alone, not yet; not when the fever had left him with so little of his former strength. “Please let me help you into the tub, at least. I promise I won’t look.”

Ian sighed but did not protest – another sign of the life he’d lived – one that had taught him not to disagree or argue with others. Keeping his shame-filled eyes firmly on the floor, he let go of her arm and reached for the table to steady himself. Gabriel silently looked away as he shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and struggled out of his nightshirt. She only stepped in when he tapped her arm to help him into the tub.

“Oh, this is heavenly,” Ian sighed once he was submerged up to his neck in the pleasantly warm water – a rare luxury he probably had not often been able to afford before. Gabriel sneaked a glance at his face: his eyes were closed in bliss and his lips were slowly relaxing into a small smile that tugged at her heart.

“Would you like me to wash your hair for you?” she asked him softly.

Ian blinked his eyes open, and when he looked at her, his face was full of wonder. “You’d do that?”

His voice broke on the last word and Gabriel felt her throat close up.

“Of course,” she reassured him. “It’s no trouble at all.”

With the utmost care, she poured water over his head and began to untangle the dull, wet strands of his hair with her fingers. She took her time with it and eventually allowed her touch to gentle into one of comfort until even the last bit of tension had drained out of Ian’s body. Only then did she reach for the soap.

“There,” she whispered after rinsing his hair again. “How does that feel?”

When Ian didn’t reply, Gabriel leaned around the tub to see if he might have fallen asleep. He hadn’t. His eyes were wide open and silent tears were running down his cheeks. “Oh, Ian.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian sniffed and turned his head away from her in shame. “It’s just–“

“I know,” Gabriel interrupted him softly to spare him the mortification of having to explain how overwhelming it was to feel a kind touch for the first time in years. She reached for his hand. “It’s all right. I understand.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her, before he bowed his head and stopped fighting against his emotions. His shoulders shook as sobs wrecked his emaciated body, and Gabriel held him through it all.

[ladyaj-13]

Thank you @ronniebox for the tag!

Rules: List ten books that have stayed with you in some way, don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard - they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you.

1. 'Witches Abroad' by Terry Pratchett

My first Discworld. I was immediately sucked in and knew it would be a new love. My dad bought me the book, and I remember starting to read it on a gloomy beach, laughing out loud and getting weird looks from my family. "You mean everyone brought potato salad?!"

2. 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee

An assigned book in high school, but one of the only ones I've returned to multiple times. I say it's my fave when I want to sound intellectual.

3. 'Good Omens' by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

Came for the Terry Pratchett, stayed (and re-read maybe 10? 11 times?) because it's utter perfection. My actual favourite book.

4. 'Take Six Puppies' by Bette Paul

I don't know how many times I read this as a young child. My copy was almost in pieces, and the dogs on the front were embossed so you could run your fingers over them. I actually can't remember it much now, except the cover, but my God. I loved this book.

5. 'Claudia and the Middle School Mystery' (Babysitters' Club #40) by Ann M. Martin

I must have had about fifty of this series. I absolutely adored them, and used to play 'Babysitter's Club' in the garden. This one was the first book I ever bought with my own money. I remember it very clearly, handing over a £5 note in Wetherly's bookshop and feeling incredibly grown-up.

6. 'Goodnight Mister Tom' by Michelle Magorian

A lot of kids books on this list...! Another that I read over and over again, so much that the cover fell off. I think it was actually my sister's, but I commandeered it early on and never gave it back, and last re-read only a couple of years ago. As I got old enough to cook, I would fry bacon and cut thick slices of white bread, with a mug of tea, to mirror Willie's first meal at Tom's.

7. 'All Creatures Great and Small' by James Herriot (the whole series)

As a child I gave up on the idea of wanting to be a vet pretty quickly (too many distressed animals), but still devoured book after book about animals (special mention for the 'Animal Ark' books by Lucy Daniels, which I would get off the shelf and mix-up so they could sit next to other 'friends' for a while... I was a weird kid 😄), and discovering this series hidden away in my family's garage was a goldmine. I later got an 'all volumes in one' massive hardback edition. It led on to reading Gervase Phinn's school series and Gerard Durrell's 'My Family and Other Animals' series.

8. 'Strange Weather in Tokyo' by Hiromo Kawakami

A bit of an outlier in that I've only read this once, but it seemed worth including as it really stuck with me. Not the story so much, not a whole lot happens, but the vibe. It inspired me to read much more Japanese literature.

9. 'Past Mistakes' by David Mountain

I'm a bit of a social history magpie (love a BBC documentary), and this book was so readable and full of titbits - all those things you think you know about history, turned on their head. Just what I want out of a non-fiction book.

10. 'Hogfather' by Terry Pratchett

Another Pratchett?! Yes. This one is seasonal.

Wow, wordy. I could have mentioned many others, such as Wild Horses by Dick Francis (see how I snuck this one in 😛). I wouldn't necessarily recommend it, but it was the first 'grown-up' book I read. (My mum gave it to me because it was about horses and I loved horses... possibly I was a bit too young for the sexual content and rampant misogyny she must have forgotten it contained, but there we go.) I'll tag @lemonistas, @londonfoginacup, @incognito-insomniac, @astridcontramundum and anyone else who wants to!

[al0egarden]

favorite artist? architect? poet? writer? director?

good morning i just woke up and whoever this is religiously sending me asks im already cooking breakfast for you.

i have a lot of favorite artists but if i had to pull one out of the bag: francis bacon. or modigliani. i like balthus too.

poets off the top of my head: o'hara, glück, frost, a.e houseman, langston hughes, ted hughes, patrizia cavali, mary oliver, thomas hardy, cummings, ginsberg etc.

filmmakers: cassavetes, straub and huillet, anne charlotte robertson, marguerite duras, brakhage, mann, vincente minelli, douglas sirk, costa right off the dome. but there are ones i cannot remember.

[ricardian-werewolf]

The World Has Gone Insane!

Tagging @malkaleh, @tommi-art and @rmelster, @dreadbirate - my aforementioned Post Nuclear war Fae piece, a snippet:

Oh and our cast:

Bella Ramsey as Cecily-Anne

Harry Lloyd as Richard III

Emily Carey as Anne Neville, Lady of Middleham

Jude Hill as Edward of Middleham (the boy in the first half of the gif.)

Cameron Chapman as Henry Marchwood

With the air as cold as ever, Cecily drew the hood of her cloak up over her face and glared at the heavy cloud cover which cast a pallor over everything. She had hoped for some sun to-day, yet remembering the sight of so many workers bearing cataracts and malformations from the bright orb suspended in space, she dashed that hope. The heavy wolf’s fur of her cloak’s edge and lining kept the wind from biting too much at her exposed face. She reached for one of her ladies hands, and let herself be led up the worn and well-sanded wooden steps to her box. The path was familiar, and she was pleased that the steps leading not only to her box but to the lower benches had been swept clean. 

The tourney seats were packed. Even though this had been the fifth year in a row of such an event for Cecily, the people still clamoured for the courtly ceremonies of centuries past. Other boxes, made of fine woods embellished with the house sigils of the major northern houses, surrounded each side of the tourney’s field. The stands were arranged in a circle with two rounded gates at each end, which behind, the knights of the day’s fight waited. The suitors, numbering originally in the triple digits since it had been a country-wide call, had been shaved down to a scant 15. Cecily had discussed many with them already, but her gaze cast to the scoreboard that was set into the opposite wall from the royal box. Bearing the sigils of the major houses participating, a servant or the herald would remove the sigil card when one fell in the fights to come. 

Eventually, only one would remain. 

Cecily cast her gaze to her box’s detailing with its lattice wood screen and the curling woodwork above it, which displayed in delicate gold her sigil: The white Hart in rampart, its antlers stretching skywards. Below the golden hooves were the words: Sic Semper Tyrannis.

Thus Always to Tyrants.

Tugging back her hood, the crowd erupted in a mad frenzy of cheers and much delighted cries. The clapping of their hands and calls of Princess Cecily! Over and over made her pulse race. Not only did the tourney bring great pride (and admittedly frustration) to her father, it was also one of the instances where they were able to show off their wealth and ingenuity to the masses for who owed their fealty and existence to the house of Gloucester-Neville. Cecily curtsied to her parents in their box, and gave her brother Edward a wave. Above their heads was the Neville Bear with the Ragged Staff and the Whyte Boar in Gloucester, both in Rampart. Richard’s own motto was inscribed under the boar: Loyaulté Me Lie, and Anne’s, Alea Iacta Est:

Loyalty Binds Me, and The Die is Cast. 

Fitting words for the two people wholly responsible for the saving of the North from the horrors of this endless winter. Cecily shook her head and swept into the box. She stripped off her cloak, since there was a brazier already burning hot and she would rather be warm than shivering. She took her seat on a finely cushioned chair and turned her head to a maidservant standing quietly in the shadows. At her side, Lisa and her kin sat in a flutter of their richly adorned skirts and furs, casting aside their own cloaks and veils. Sweating through their fine garments did nothing favourable to their image.

“Are your husbands here to-day?” Cecily asked Lillian and Anise, who nodded. 

“Alfred is with your lord father’s retinue-” Anise pointed to her husband who stood amongst the brightly adorned knights of Richard’s household guard. He wore the white with the black lions of  William Catesby, while Lillian’s husband wore the wolf of Francis Lovell. Despite being part of Richard’s retinue, they were really in the service of Lovell and Catesby for the winter period. It allowed them time away from Middleham and to be in service in more desperate regions of England. Yet, they still wore upon their cloaks the Whyte Boar.

The sound of the herald blasting the horn beginning the start of the tourney rang out, and the maidservants present hastened to pull back the heavy velvet drapes that covered the side of the box closest to Richard and Anne’s. Turning her head, Cecily reached for her goblet of wine and smirked.

“My Lords and Ladies,” Richard got to his feet. Age had given her father strength and many gray hairs, but it had not made him weak in any sense. His health had not failed at all alarmingly, something that could not be said for the noble lords and ladies who crowded the other boxes to regard their Lord. Some were gormless with excess or sins, while others were nothing more than ghosts in clothes that hung limply on their forms. The sinful nature of the darkness that had blotted their sun from the sky and swept the world with fire took more than waistlines and eyesight.

It killed in masses. Cecily sipped her wine again. She knew her father’s tale by heart, for it had been the same at every tourney these past five years. 40 years ere this one, men had been driven to warfare with weapons no person of Cecily’s generation could imagine being wielded. They had brought about tongues of fire and the ash from those world-ending flames had travelled upwards past the heavens until the very sun had become blotted out. The first few years had been a groping darkness filled with discontent and madness. Millions died of hunger and petty illnesses left untreatable. Her teachers of nuns and priests called the world-ending event The Fourteen Days of Fire. However, even though histories had said that the days of fire had been maybe a mere two, the old pamphlets had advised in the event of an attack to stay indoors for fourteen days maximum. One year had turned into two, and then ten and suddenly, men began to finally organise into bands, then tribes, and finally reclaim the wreckage of their villages. Their histories had been destroyed in the fires, so once these villages began to cease killing one another for resources, they banded together once more to create towns. 

Within these towns, priests and nuns who had survived the cataclysmic event crept from their houses of worship, and with the knowledge of God they had sustained through the fires, began to work to educate the masses. Some wealthier nobles who could afford to prepare their homes against the fires emerged around this time - they became the first leaders of towns that often took their old place names and adjusted them for a dialect that had slid from discernable English toward Middle once more.

As Richard finished his speech, the knights clad in their heraldic tunics rode out onto the field and Cecily searched vainly for this supposed Henry Marchwood. She spotted him finally amongst a pack of lesser knights, and her heart shuddered in her chest.

The lattice screen of her box allowed her to see out but no knight to see in and view her until she was presented to the victor. But Sir Marchwood’s gaze cut from her father’s herald, past her parents, and locked right onto her stiff, wide-eyed gaze. His eyes were a deep, mesmerising shade of emerald, and Cecily’s fingers tightened around her goblet hard enough to dig the metal into her fingers.

She winced, and Henry’s gaze swung back to be upon her father.

“My lords, I know you fight for splendour and for the hand of my daughter. 5 years worth of men have come before you, who have stood in your places and fallen before. Some of you have returned, eager once more.” Richard’s gaze shifted to one of the men up near the scoreboard who held a red and green flag in one hand each. He opened his mouth again and Cecily noted the maids ready to drop her box’s heavy curtains.

“May the best man win!”

With a swoosh, Cecily’s box’s curtains dropped and the room darkened. Whistle blasts sounded as the man by the scoreboard dropped the green flag and the crowd let out a resounding, teeth -grinding cheer of joy. 

With Luck, I’ll have a husband by teatime.

She took another sip of wine and settled back in her seat.

[beatfreesmysoul]

REPOST & LIST 6 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE

+ Drift Away - Dobie Gray - | Thanks for the joy that you've given me | I want you to know I believe in your song | And rhythm and rhyme and harmony | You've helped me along | Makin' me strong | Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul | I wanna get lost in your rock 'n' roll and drift away |

+ September - Earth, Wind & Fire - | Do you remember the 21st night of September? | Love was changing the mind of pretenders while chasing the clouds away | Our hearts were ringing in the key that our souls were singing | As we danced in the night, remember | How the stars stole the night away |

+ Dream On - Aerosmith - | Lived and learned from fools and sages | You know it's true | All the things come back to you | Sing with me | sing for the year | sing for the laughter and sing for the tear | Sing with me if it's just for today | Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away |

+ Digital Love - Daft Punk - | Last night I had a dream about you | In this dream I'm dancing right beside you | And it looked like everyone was having fun | The kind of feeling I've waited so long | Don't stop come a little closer | As we jam the rhythm gets stronger | There's nothing wrong with just a little little fun | We were dancing all night long |

+ Stupid Deep - Jon Bellion | What if who I hoped to be was always me? | And the love I fought to feel was always free? | What if all the things I've done | Were just attempts at earning love? Yeah | 'Cause the hole inside my heart is stupid deep | Oh, stupid deep |

+ Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths | Haven't had a dream in the long time | See the life I've had | Can make a good man bad | So for once in my life | Let me get what I want | Lord knows it would be the first time | Lord knows it would be the first time |

& 6 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

+ "Usually life takes more than it gives, but not today. Today it's givin' us something, it's givin' us a chance--to give a shit, for once." - Peter Quill

+ “I’ve found that no matter what life throws at me, music softens the blow.” – Bryce Anderson

+ "I'm not afraid of dying. Pieces of me die all the time." - Sage Francis

+ “Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” – Maya Angelou 

+ "A time to laugh, a time to weep. A time to mourn...and there is a time to dance." - Ren, Footloose.

+ "To never see her face again is what grief is." - Euripides, tr. by Anne Carson

tagged by: @eideticspider tagging: @innerwar @insidemyblood @survivics and anyone else that wants to!

[itissocool]

Here's my rules!

Welcome, to the world of moraltion!

Characters including,

Clay puppington

Orel puppington

Bloberta puppington

Shapey puppington

Arthur puppington

Coach Danielle stopframe

Nurse bendy

Miss. secondopinionson

Joe secondopinionson

Dr. secondopinionson

Francis clara censordoll

Reverend putty

Stephanie Foamwire-Putty

Officer Roger Papermouth

Ms. Florence Papermouth

Anne Papermouth

Mr. Creepler

Doughy Latchkey

This list will probably expand lol.

You can ask three forms of each person.

Well orel has more forms than the rest.

There will be before Orel, Orel goes on edventures, nature Orel and my favorite one is goth Orel!

All adults have these three forms,

Highschool .

Current time.

As they are getting older and older.

Except for Dr secondopinionson because he is old already so, he only has two forms, Mr Creepler he is dead, he has 1 form.

Keeping it SFW stuff

Well there will be adult jokes and stuff but I WILL NOT except ships with minor x adult content, i might except some ship art ask for the sake of it sometimes BUT remember I don't do illegal ships.

I will not be drawing NSFW stuff but I will just awnser any questions.

Questions

Ok so questions.

There are some limits for this! No asking the kids bad things or vent to the kids. (I had a past blog where people would just randomly vent to Orel most likely because he had some traumatizing things happen to him, being lead down the wrong path and stuff.)

The straw that broke the camel's back is they started to vent to before nature Orel, I was okay with venting about stuff but please don't forget that this is for fun and that I want them to be in character. If it is a comfort character ask, I can still keep some of the cannon stuff and I will mix the cannon and comfort character stuff together.

If you want I can draw your oc with said character, I can help you with actions your said comfort character will do.

(I can type it out or draw some of it or simply both.)

The adults, don't ask something that could stir up stuff like political views and controversy. Mostly because I don't want to get into said characters mind and find out his/her views Because he/she could stir up a fight with someone else who sees the post/is the one to ask political or controversial topics for the questions.

Last words that i think you should know.

Well, the last thing is that don't spam questions. If you were reading earlier this is for fun. I would probably not have enough for me to not make your request because this is a VERY VERY VERY small fandon, with not very many fans willing to reach out.

If you want, I can message you and go over your head cannons and I can try to project them for the character, while keeping it relatively cannon for the show.

Well as in the show, it will follow orel.

Exp...

The camera follows Orel as he buys ice cream with doughy Latchkey and Mr Creepler says some creepy stuff but they just ignore him. (This is actually a comic idea to so no idea goes to waste.)

I could do crossovers! Like if...

Patty (Spooky Month) met nurse bendy or joe mets Cartman (South Park)

But I might do one crossover myself-. (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

That's all, I will update this board with more rules if something happens!