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[windsorexhaust]

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[burning-academia-if]

Burning Academia [Play Here]

Demo Updated: June 7th, 2024 (Prologue-Chapter 2)

Current Word Count: 89.2k (w/code)

Word Count per Play Through: ~34k

F.A.Q | Navigation | Bonus Content | Pinterest | Spotify | Character Quiz | Ko-Fi

You never thought you'd go to college, due to your circumstances. But you especially didn't dream you'd be forced to attend the prestigious Vales Grove University after being attacked by wraiths in their library. What started as a visit to a long time friend, ended with your hands burned, your innocence questioned, and the startling realization magic is real. To apologize for what's happened to you, or more accurately, to keep an eye on you, the Headmaster himself offers you enrollment with all fees waived. With no real choice in the matter, you become a student, and try to ignore the suspicion everyone throws your way. Besides, you have worse things to deal with. Like how you've started to attract ghosts and other dead things, or the fact that there is a very living thing inside your head, waiting for you to lower your guard and take control. And most pressing of all, managing your obligation to a family that hasn't been such a thing in years. Tread carefully, if the ghosts don't devour you, the university certainly might.

Customize the MC; gender, appearance, personality, etc!

Romance six questionable love interests, or not!

A morality system which changes how your story will go. Do you belong to the day, the night, or somewhere in between?

A complicated family, which you've been shackled to your whole life. Will you ever be able to escape them? Do you even want to?

Survive college, your job, and attempt to not have a quarter life crisis.

Avoid getting devoured by all the things that go bump in the night.

Retain your free will.

Dawn: The world has never been kind, but that hasn't stopped you from giving up. You'll run through the night and embrace the rising dawn. A path of becoming hope.

Day: There's light in the world, if one only knows how to look. As long as you hold on, the light will find you, too. A path of finding solace.

Dusk: All you've known is suffering, and you won't stand for it any longer. Regardless where that leads you, or the choices you need to make to save yourself. A path leading to freedom.

Night: There's no hope here, not as things stand. You'll change it all, even if you must stand in the darkness. A path of destroying everything which has sought to destroy you.

More simply: Dawn/Day: traditional good paths, Dusk: anti-hero path, Night: "villain" path

Rook Bellerose [M]: A "best friend" you've known for almost a decade now. He's never let you get close even after all this time. He's the king of jokes and immaturity, but after the events which led to your enrollment at Vales Grove, something's changed. Maybe it's the guilt, or maybe it's the mask finally slipping.

Beck Castro [M]: Rook's detested roommate, although you aren't sure why. He's the kind of guy who likes to hear himself talk, and he's pretty good at it. He can captivate a room or get himself out of any situation. For whatever reason, he's taken a keen interest in you, and has offered his help for whatever you might need.

Rhea Windsor [F]: The Headmaster's daughter. Everyone who talks about her often complains that she's the traditional prim and proper young woman one would expect from a Headmaster's daughter. However, the more you talk to her, the more you realize she's the exact opposite with a dorky personality and a streak of clumsiness.

Zoe Ripley [NB]: A loner who hides in the library to avoid people. They saw what went down the day you were forced to attend Vales Grove. Despite their prickly attitude, you get the sense they aren't a bad person, and despite how they act, they've never refused to help you. If anything, you seem to be the one person on campus who doesn't get on their nerves, professors included.

Lars Angel [M]: The most exhausted person you've ever seen, and that's saying something. He's a grad student, and one you keep running in to. He can't stand you, and you can only guess at why. With a sharp tongue and a bitter disposition, he tries his best to avoid you. Too bad you both keep running into each other. It looks like fate has other plans.

??? [M/F/NB]: The thing which haunts you. You have no idea how the two of you got connected, but you can feel it in your blood, organs, neurons, synapses. You know it's evil, you know it wants to consume you, but tell me? Has anything ever cradled your soul so gently before?

Poly Route options:

Beck/Rook [triad]: Dawn or Day Path

Rook/??? [triad]: Night Path

Rhea and Zoe [V]: Dawn or Dusk Path

[RO Portraits]

CW: Gore, violence, discussions and depictions of death, parental neglect, emotional abuse, parental abuse, alcoholism, depression, classism, mtc

RO Route CWs (contains spoilers): Read here

[roseharpermaxwell]

RWRB FirstPrince Canon Compliant Recs

Click below for some of my favorite fics that are book and/or movie canon compliant!

Every Version by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf. M, 1.1k. Alex does a magazine photoshoot, and the day that the magazine arrives, he wants Henry to look at it first.

Acts of Service by TuppingLiberty. E, 1.4k. After a vacation, Henry shaves Alex’s scruff off, because he loves taking care of Alex.

5+1 Times Henry Was Attracted To Alex (Texas Edition) by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 1.4k. Alex in a Stetson though. That’s the stuff of Henry’s most filthy dreams. He swears his husband gets even more Texan with it on, his drawl getting slower, more syrupy. He calls Henry darlin’ and tips the brow to him as he passes and Henry knows it’s stupid but he finds himself weak at the knees from being in proximity to his own personal cowboy.

A Hoarse I Love You by a_velvet_blazer. NR, 1.6k. Alex knew he wasn’t particularly… pleasant when he got sick.

Before, in the white house, June helped out. She had a container of Vicks in her room and would bring him soup from the kitchen. She had down the perfect mix of checking on him to make sure he was still breathing and leaving him alone to wallow.

The times he was sick in the brownstone were easy enough to play off, with (a different) tub of Vicks in their bathroom with a nice collection of Advil and Tylenol.

He has a system.

That is, until he doesn't.

boxing with no gloves by @littlemisskittentoes. G, 2.2k. Henry is pushing his arms through the woolen sleeves of a peacoat. He faces Alex and there’s no softness left in his features. He’s genuinely angry this time. None of the endeared exhaustion of his antics Alex is so used to seeing from him. None of the fondness that always plays hide and seek in his eyes when he looks at Alex. Henry looks blank and placid. His press face, edged with a hint of venom.

And Alex has seen versions of this face. He’s seen a calmer facade of it, one that had boarded a plane back to England by the time Alex woke up.

There’s something cold settling in Alex’s stomach. A kind of panic crawling up his throat. There’s ice dancing at his fingertips, but his hands are sweating, and oh God, Henry’s leaving again.

Or, Alex and Henry get into a fight. Henry tries to leave, Alex needs him to stay. So he does.

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You by @sparklepocalypse. E, 2.3k. In hindsight, Alex should probably have known that letting Henry borrow his clothes for the weekend would absolutely wreck him. But Henry had fretted about his wardrobe being too formal for a casual visit to the lake house, and Alex has developed somewhat of a Pavlovian response to the way Henry’s brows furrow and his mouth pinches when he’s anxious. Once the words “You can just wear my stuff, no worries,” were out there, there’d been no stuffing them back into his mouth.

Here’s the thing Alex should’ve taken into consideration: Henry would look hot dressed in a garbage bag. So the morning after their lake house arrival, when Henry steps out of the shower and into a pair of Alex’s swim trunks and Alex’s Arrels Barcelona shirt, Alex takes one look at him and drops his phone.

(Movieverse; Henry wears Alex's clothes at the lake house and Alex reacts accordingly.)

i'm so in love (i might stop breathing) by vibrantsaturn. T, 2.4k. He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, eyes half-lidded as he looks at Alex. He rests his head on Alex's chest, tightening his arms. Alex can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

"It's ! H G E J F M W C D 2 4 !" he mumbles in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck again. A beat of silence.

Then, almost shouting in joy, Alex yells, "Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor- Claremont-Diaz! That's your fucking password?"

"Shut up!" Henry hisses and Alex feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he's going to throw himself off of a cliff. Really, teenage girls with celebrity crushes have nothing on him at this moment.

or,

Henry is drunk and Alex is so in love he could die.

it was you he gave me by @coffeecatsme. E, 2.5k. The tattoo artist traces Alex’s thigh with a gloved finger as she grabs the needle, brows furrowed as if she’s trying to make sense of the lettering. “This is beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice. Alex feels a sort of pride surge through him. “Who’s the poet?”

Alex smiles. “If I tell you, can you keep a secret?”

Or, Alex finds a pen in their sex toy drawer and Henry finds a use for it.

in sickness, and in health by softcinnamonroll. T, 2.5k. It all started with a slight niggle in Alex’s right side. He was at the library, face deep in one of his law textbooks as he studied for his midterms and he sat back to stretch, only to feel a sharp nip in the side. He frowned as a hiss left his lips, hand moving to grip his side slightly and rub the skin where it hurt. He didn’t think too much about it, after all he had been sitting in the same position for hours. It was likely due to lack of movement.

A Goddamn Fairytale by toffrox. T, 2.5k. Henry wants to be angry. He does. He wants to feel it simmering in his chest, wants to be sitting there like Alex is next to him with his eyes smouldering. He wants to be like Bea, pacing the room with her fists clenched, absolutely livid. 

"You can't let her do this!" Bea cries.

"It's just one tiny part of the day," Henry says with a sigh. "Everything else will be exactly as planned. I'm just not sure it's worth having a big fight over."

Bea glares and looks like she's going to rant when Alex cuts in-

"Fuck. That."

A Lover's Embrace by septemberleaves. T, 2.6k. Alex realizes he doesn't know the name of Henry's cologne and has a slight crisis.

Asking For Permission by @cultofsappho. T, 2.6k. Henry knows he's going to ask Alex to marry him. And he knows its a ridiculous tradition, but he wants to ask the most important person in Alex's life for their blessing, just to be sure.

Behind a Locked Door by @rmd-writes. E, 2.8k. Alex glances at the celebrant who holds out the card with his vows printed on them. He looks at Henry as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his reading glasses. Henry’s eyes widen and as Alex puts his glasses on, there’s a sharp inhale from Henry. Alex winks. Henry looks like he might have stopped breathing.

What happens when Alex pulls his glasses out during their wedding ceremony? Henry finds a room with a locked door. 

wake and shake by weather_stained. E, 2.8k. Alex wakes up to find Henry indulging in some...classical literature.

Just Say Yes by @everwitch-magiks. G, 3.2k. “Well,” Alex says slowly, “You look… marriable? I guess.” He lets his feet carry him a couple of steps closer, reaching out to adjust Henry’s tie even though it’s already perfect. “I’m not a hundred percent on this shade of blue, though.”

Henry’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he meets Alex’s eyes, his expression one of carefully concealed amusement. “Heaven forbid that you marry a man whose choice of neckwear doesn’t convey a sense of adventure,” he says gravely. “Would you perhaps prefer something patterned? Why don’t we request one with little embroidered pictures of David?”

Alex grins widely. “A personal touch. I love that, baby.”

The royal stylist is glancing between the two of them with abject horror.

you look so good it hurts by greenandmoss. M, 3.2k. After Berlin, Alex can't find his sweater.

Or: English Princes are thieves and Alex doesn't have the strength to cope with seeing Henry wearing his clothes.

Favours by Veronae. E, 3.3k. Buttercream swirls haunt his nightmares.

Henry got Alex a cupcake for his birthday, and they do sexy things with it.

in bloom by rizcriz. T, 3.5K. This is all Nora’s fault. No, actually, it’s the fucking Crown’s fault. No, no, it’s homophobia’s fault. Fuck, okay, he doesn’t know who to blame but he’s pinning it on the lapels of the universe with a frown and a fuck you.

Because Henry, beautiful, wonderful, rosy cheeked Henry—the man Alex would fucking die for and who deserves the whole god damned world—has never been given flowers. It may seem small, innocuous, but the look in his eyes as June smells the bouquet of lilacs Nora brought to the bar for her says fucking otherwise.

Henry’s words are still hanging over the group of them; “I wouldn’t know,” he’d said with a small shrug and a smile that said he wasn’t too upset, but Alex saw the little crease in his brow, the way his gaze dropped to the table on the shrug, he knows it matters; “I’ve never been given any.”

Or, five times Alex bought Henry flowers.

when you say my name (i like the way it sounds) by kittentoes. G, 3.6k. When he looks back, he gives himself a moment to take it in. He basks in the sound of familiar laughter echoing around their kitchen in the simmering warmth and comfortability that comes with being sucked into Pez’s antics and lulled back by Bea’s steadiness. He revels in the swirl of Nora’s genius and calm of June’s kindness.

It’s not quite the same as LA all those years ago. It doesn’t take him by surprise or feel novel anymore. But it's still that feeling of rightness, a crystal clear understanding that this, these people, will always be a kind of home to him.

or, The Super Six take on a Halloween party. Henry, for once, let’s himself let loose. Drunk, uninhabited, and free to love Alex in public, Henry is happy. Alex stays sober to look after him, and he is so in love he could die.

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart by @omgcmere. M, 3.8k. Tracing the evolution of sweetheart in five scenes over the years.

Everything’s Growing in our Garden by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 4k. Alex hums in contentment, turning his face in Henry's lap. "You haven't played polo for a long time now," he says casually.

"I haven't," Henry agrees.

"But your thighs are still so fucking strong," Alex says around a groan, and suddenly, Henry knows where this conversation is going very, very quickly.

In which Alex and Henry celebrate an anniversary with a picnic and some thigh worship.

L’Amour de Ma Vie by quill_and_ink. E, 4k. He studies his expressions like he'll be tested on them later, and he'll be damned if he misses a single question.

In other words, it's the Paris bed blooper.

Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz by TuppingLiberty. E, 4k. Five times Alex wears an amusing bi pride shirt to Brooklyn Pride, and one time both he and Henry do it.

to build a home by @indomitable-love. T, 4.1k. He loves the life they’ve made for themselves. It’s messy and busy – there’s always a cardigan of Henry’s thrown over a chair and a paperback open on the arm of the chair with the spine cracked; Alex’s notes on the dining room table, and three different loyalty cards for the coffee shop down the street on the table by the door because Alex keeps forgetting his in different pockets. His life with Henry is full of laughter and soft touches: David curled up at Alex’s side as he reads through class notes while Henry snaps a photo; Henry's arms around him when he gets in from class; the two of them bartering over whose turn it is to take David out when he needs to go out and it’s raining.

It’s mundane a lot of the time – something Alex never thought he would want – but he loves it.

Or, at least, he loves it when Henry is here.

Which, right now, he isn’t.

He hasn’t been here for five weeks. Which… like, it’s fine. It’s not a whole a thing.

Henry goes back to England and ends up having to stay far longer than expected. But he'll always come back to Alex.

Kiss and Tell by @dani-dabbles. M, 4.1k. “Now that is spine-melting, isn’t it?” Henry speaks in a dreamy, lascivious way that in any other context would be very flattering. But right now? With the current company?

Nora hums, barely avoiding sloshing wine as she raises her glass in the air, “No complaints. No notes. Ten out of fucking ten.”

Both sigh happily and eerily in sync, knocking back more wine.

Henry’s head lulls in Nora’s direction, “So the other night, we tried something new and we-”

No. Absolutely not. Alex can’t hear anymore. He needs to stop this.

First Monday in May by @three-drink-amy. E, 4.3k. “How do I get invited to the Met Gala?”

“If I knew that, Alex, I’d have been there before,” she says, looking back at her magazine.

Alex throws himself on her bed and tosses the magazine behind him to the floor. “June! Come on. Help me!”

“Why do you want to go to the goddamn Met Gala? When I showed you pictures from it before, you asked why they were dressed like that. Why do you want to go?” She laughs to herself. “What, did Henry get invited?”

He falls silent in reply.

The White House Trio, Henry, and Pez attend the 2020 Met Gala.

If You Love Something by allmylovesatonce. M, 4.3k. Alex calls Henry to tell him a funny incident from his day. When a miscommunication sends them both reeling, both of them are questioning if the other is wanting to end their relationship. Their friends take things upon themselves to get them to see eye to eye.

no one's gonna love you more than i do by peppermintpatties. G, 4.3k. 5 times Henry became Alex’s support system in law school + 1 time Alex made sure the whole world knows it

Backseat Serenade by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 4.4k. "You seriously don't remember?"

"Alex, for the life of me, I do not."

Alex's face splits into a devilish grin. "Oh, baby." His voice is absolutely sultry. "All I'm hearing is that I gotta make you remember."

'cause I love to watch you dream by Rainbow_waffles. T, 4.5k. “Don' turn off the light,” Alex mumbles again and Henry is really, really struggling not to laugh.

“Why?" he questions softly, inching his face closer to Alex so he could hear him. Alex doesn't answer.

“Why, love?” he presses.

“They need t'see,” Alex grumbles and shifts a bit.

“Who needs to see?” Henry thinks that if Alex mentions any other people or ghosts being around he's going to either wake Alex up or go sleep in the guest room, he's not having any of this.

“The bugs,” Alex mumbles exasperatingly as if it should be obvious.

Five times Alex talks in his sleep +1 time Henry does.

yrs. faithfully (if a little early) by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 4.6k. “You’re going to be over an hour early for your first lecture,” Henry points out from his seat at the kitchen table as Alex shoves an apple and a bottle of water into his bag, looking around for his shoes with a frown.

“Well, yeah,” he says distractedly, locating said shoes and squatting down to slip them on and tie his laces. “I was gonna cram some studying in at the library at the end of the day, but now I can do it before the day really starts. Efficient as fuck.” Henry snorts delicately into his cup of Earl Grey and puts it down on the table when Alex straightens and rolls his shoulders.

“Admirable,” Henry says.

a goddamn blaze in the dark (and you started it) by orionseye. T, 4.6k. “You had a thing with who?” Spencer asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“No one. It’s nothing.“

“Oh c’mon. We finally get to the juicy shit and you won’t tell me?“

Liam bites his lip, stifling a laugh. “I had a thing with my best friend. All through high school.”

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“I did! I thought I was a proud heterosexual until I came here and figured shit out. We–we just, didn’t talk about it. Somewhere in our minds, the whole “making out for an hour” thing was, like, straight or something.”

a.k.a, liam and spencer’s adventures through the tendency of a famous ex-boyfriend to cause international scandals.

How to save a life by dollarstoreannabethchase. G, 4.7k. “Henry,” Cash’s voice called from the other side of the closed door to their brownstone, and something in his voice set goosebumps to Henry’s skin. “You need to come with me. It’s Alex.” Henry had gotten up from the piano immediately and flung the door open, wearing nothing but a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants. “What is it?” he asked, dread creeping down his spine in a slithering motion. “There’s been an accident.”

Or: Henry's day after Alex is in a car crash, not knowing whether or not he'll make it.

I Choose You by @cityofdownwardspirals. T, 4.7k. Finally, after a long moment, Alex speaks up. “So…he seemed nice,” he says, matter-of-factly. He still isn’t looking directly at Henry.

“He is. Not like we talk a lot. I haven’t seen him in years,” Henry admits, turning fully towards Alex to show him he has his full attention for this conversation.

Alex takes a gulp of his champagne before turning towards Henry as well. “And what happened all those years ago?”

OR

Alex and Henry attend their first official event in the UK as a couple after the elections. Henry is proud to finally be able to introduce his boyfriend to the world. When Alex meets an unexpected guest, he gets an answer to the question of "which other famous boys Henry has shagged" and he seems to struggle just a little bit with it.

What If I Do? by colorfulmoniker. T, 4.9k. What was Henry thinking when he left Alex at the lake house? What were the days that followed like for him before Alex showed up at his door and forced him to face not only Alex, but himself?

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy by cmere. E, 6.3k. "Would now be the moment," Henry says, breath catching, "to tell you about a little fantasy I've had concerning you and horses?"

Alex snickers. "Uh, I don't know, babe. If this is going the way it sounds, I'm not sure you should say anything you won't be able to take back."

"Oh, Christ, shut it," Henry says, laughing, still not stopping the motions of his hand. "The horse aspect is nonsexual."

"Okay, well in that case. Yes. Obviously." Alex grips his own thigh, refusing to give in and touch Henry, or himself. For now. As long as he can stand it.

As it turns out, Alex isn't the only one who has a thing for his beloved on a horse. Henry's birthday seems like a good time to make use of that new information.

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie) by matherine. M, 6.6k. The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones.

“God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.”

Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

sink beneath the waves by indomitablelove. M, 7.1k He leaves the note in the kitchen, and slips back out into the dark morning and into the waiting car. He wonders if Alex will ever know quite how much everything truly means.

The lake house to Kensington, from Henry's POV.

A Stork Beneath London Bridge by MarvelMerlin G, 7.5k. Henry was supposed to be enjoying his first fully American Thanksgiving, filled with first hand witnessing of the Turkey Horrors and strangely sweet vegetable dishes. But in a single whispered phrase the world turns immaterial, Alex is his only anchoring point, and the black suit carefully packed over every single trip is being laid out on the pretty pink bedspread.

in wildest dreams (i never dreamed of this) by millsx. T, 8k. “H?” Alex asks, turning around. He’s been sitting with his back against Henry’s chest, listening to his low voice rambling about saltwater and coastlines.

Henry stops and looks at him, prompting him to go on with a tip of his head.

 “You’re my favorite person ever,” Alex says quietly.

 It’s Alex’s birthday in New York City, and life is just a little bit better than he would have ever imagined.

i will find you darling (and i will bring you home) by indomitablelove. E, 8.2k. ‘You’ve never had it from both sides of the ocean before, and– well, the devil works hard but the British tabloids work harder,’ he says with a sad smile.

The press and public opinion are fickle masters. One day they love you, the next they hate you. Alex struggles with the constant negativity of the news cycle, Henry makes him feel better.

A real fucking legacy series by @dreamsinthewitchouse. E, 9.9k. Alex drifts into consciousness in a bed full of tangled limbs and warm, sleep-rumpled skin. He’s lying half on his stomach and half on his side, the shoulder smushed against the bed protesting in a way that tells him he’s going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.

But fuck if he cares, with Henry stirring next to him, one of his long legs draped over the back of Alex’s thigh. Alex doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the room is hazy with filtered sunlight, spilling pale yellow through the carelessly drawn curtains.

take me out and take me home by coffeecatsme. M, 10k. “Shh.” Alex presses a finger over Henry’s lips. Their corners twitch, as if Henry’s desperately fighting a smile. “This is our house, baby. We gotta make it our own."

Soon after Ellen's election, Henry and Alex move into a brownstone in New York. This is a story of how they make it home.

every day is a birthday by indomitablelove. E, 10k. Henry blinks a couple of times and sits up quickly. He gives a cursory glance to David on the back seat, checking he’s still there – as though he hasn’t been asleep since the second they pulled out of their street – and leans over to look out of the window.

‘Alex,’ he breathes. He’s quiet for a minute, then murmurs, ‘it’s beautiful.’ Henry turns to him with narrowed eyes, both suspicion and mirth glinting happily in them. ‘What are you planning?’

Alex simply reaches over and clasps Henry’s hand with his own, then brings them to his lips. ‘Happy birthday, baby.’

Alex surprises Henry with a belated birthday weekend away... with the help of a few visitors.

Every nation ought to have a right to provide for its own happiness. by imaginentertain. T, 11k. "And that's when Henry knows: He doesn't ever want to go back."

"This is very formal," she says eventually. "Sending a request for an audience with your grandmother."

"Yes, well, this needs to be done formally," Henry says, "it needs to be done right."

And in that moment Henry sees his mother stiffen a little beside him and he knows she's realised. She's put the pieces together. If he's not here to ask for permission to marry then—

Henry takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back to lift him up to full height, and draws on all the courage he can muster. "I have come to inform you that I wish to abdicate," he says, just as he'd written and rehearsed, "and I would therefore like to petition Parliament as soon as possible."

Title is from Alexander Hamilton's letter on foreign policy. Because what else could I use?

Book canon compliant.

behind the diamond-shaped glass by Celaestis. M, 11k. Five times Alex and Henry used tea and biscuits to communicate, and one time they don't need to.

Smiles Await You When You Rise by supernatural_mondler (starzinoureyes). T, 11k. It’s incredible, really; he spent almost all day trying, willing himself into slumber, but after less than an hour of listening to Alex’s soothing voice and looking at his beautiful face, Henry is just moments away from the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks. God, why don’t they just do this every night? Henry might be able to get his sleep cycle back to normal if he only had Alex talk to him whenever it was time for bed.

Or, five times Alex helps Henry fall asleep.

No Regrets by @uglygreenjacket. M, 11k. “I think we should have a royal wedding.” It’s a thing Alex says to Henry over breakfast one Saturday morning shortly after they get engaged.

And he really hopes he doesn't come to regret it.

Love, Pyramus by @sprigsofviolets. T, 15k. Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor has always been different, and he spends his life finding himself in the pages of a book, connecting with queer people through literature.

Alejito y Marimar series by th0ughts. T, 18k. He continues to mutter ramblings about high society and the impossible balancing act of keeping up appearances before he falters to a tapering quiet, brown eyes coming alight with a realization.

Martha’s stomach churns, sensing a grand idea that could either be pure genius or terribly ill-advised. (With most of Alex’s ideas, it’s usually both.)

Alex is Martha’s plus one at her high school’s pre-reunion soirée, and she learns a thing or two about gumption.

I love you, aint that the worst thing you ever heard? by dollarstoreannabethchase. E, 18k. Because Alex is Alex, and as they say in Scandal, he’s the kind of person who would blindly follow someone he loves over a cliff. All Henry can think about is that Alex doesn’t understand what’s waiting for him at the bottom of that cliff; that Alex is hopelessly optimistic—naive, even—but Henry knows they won’t survive the fall. And he cannot, for the life of him, figure out why, out of all the things Alex could choose to go over a cliff for, he seems so set on choosing Henry.

Or: Henry’s perspective of the lake house and the week he and Alex are broken up.

Las Flores series by 14carrotgold. M, 26k. Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?”

Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?”

Ah.

Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

all that glitters (is not gold) by indomitablelove. E, 111k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has it all. His mom won the election, he’s got the perfect boyfriend. He gets to love Henry out loud. Everything is great. Perfect.

Except for the itch under his skin every time he goes outside, and the tightness in his chest when he goes online, and the fact that he can’t fucking sleep.

But it's fine. He's fine. Really.

Or: after the emails, Alex Claremont-Diaz isn’t fine.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

[technologygd]

How to Secure a Car Loan in Windsor, Even with Bad Credit

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Guaranteed Approval: The Car Lender Advantage

Car Lender stands out as a beacon of hope for individuals in Windsor and Essex County aiming to secure a car loan with guaranteed approval. As a locally owned and operated provider, they specialize in making auto financing Windsor accessible to everyone, regardless of their financial history.

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The beauty of Car Lender lies in its inclusivity. They extend their helping hand to a broad spectrum of individuals, including those with bad credit, divorcees, service industry workers, newcomers to Canada, those with no credit, and even students. When traditional lenders slam the door, Car Lender opens a window of opportunity.

Simple and Swift Application Process

One notable aspect of Car Lender's service is the streamlined application process. Their online form simplifies the procedure, allowing applicants to breeze through the initial steps. The efficient system ensures that applications are processed within one business day.

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Car Lender takes pride in not only looking at credit history but also evaluating individual circumstances and future potential. This comprehensive approach enables them to customize loan terms, including timelines and rates, to accommodate the unique needs of each customer.

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Car Lender doesn't just promise, they deliver. Their commitment is to exhaust all efforts in securing a car loan at the most advantageous rate. What sets them apart is their ability to offer rates lower than many competitors, making the entire process not only accessible but also cost-effective.

Dedicated Team at Your Service

Beyond the numbers, Car Lender's team is committed to assisting customers in overcoming past challenges. Their dedication is evident in their promise to collaborate with individuals and their specific circumstances, ensuring the best financing rate possible.

Your Future on Four Wheels

In conclusion, when conventional lenders turn you away, Car Lender opens the door to your automotive future. Their guaranteed approval car loans, combined with a commitment to understanding your unique situation, make them a reliable ally in the quest for auto financing in Windsor. So, whether you're eyeing a sleek car, a robust truck, a versatile SUV, or a practical van, Car Lender is ready to turn your vehicular dreams into reality.

In the realm of car financing, simplicity, efficiency, and reliability matter. Car Lender not only understands this but also excels in delivering it. Secure your car loan without the unnecessary hassle – Car Lender is here to drive you towards a future on four wheels, no matter your credit history.

[ricmlm]

Or this one: Characteristics, traits and stuff;... featured example

Land Rover revealed a top version of the Defender 130, with a larger body, with a 5.0 V8 engine with compressor. This potential competitor to the Mercedes-AMG G63 inherits the same block already available in the 90 and 110 variants, although slightly less powerful, with 500 hp and 610 Nm (25 hp and 15 Nm less). Still, it claims 0-100 km/h in 5.7 seconds.

To distinguish itself from the six-cylinder petrol and diesel versions, this more powerful 130 comes as an option with specific gray or black paintwork, four exhaust tips, a special logo, as well as different 22-inch dark gray wheels. Inside, the highlights are the heated and ventilated front seats adjustable in 14 positions, four climate zones, Meridian sound system and a standard HUD.

Also new is the Outbound edition of the 130, which does away with the last row and allows for a boot capacity of 1329 liters or 2516 liters if the second row is folded down. This more “adventurous” version is exclusive to the D300 Diesel engine and the P400 gasoline engine. Visually, it features Shadow Atlas Matt finishes on the bumpers and front grille, as well as Anthracite air intakes. The wheels can be 20 inches in Gloss Black or 22 inches in Shadow Atlas Matt. The Outbound can be painted in Fuji White, Santorini Black, Carpathian Gray and Eiger Grey, combined with Windsor leather or Resist fabric upholstery. The interior is Ebony, with Ebony Morzine headliner and Robustec wood. It also adds rubber mats, a cargo net and hooks to secure merchandise.

Also new is the County Exterior Pack, inspired by the Defender County. It comes with retro applications on the exterior, illuminated door sills with a specific logo, 20-inch wheels in two finishes, including Gloss White. It can be ordered in Fuji White, Santorini Black or Tasman Blue.

Credits; not mine

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A post shared by Ricardo Miguel Lopes Moreira (@ricmlm)

[heir-less]

I am reading one of the most tone-deaf and pointless articles from that Women of Windsor blog. I've never thought this person was bad or a tinhat or anything of the sort, but wow, is this article one of the most needlessly self-pitying things for no reason. Please read the article first and then continue to see my thoughts on it below and how it represents the childish worldview most royal watchers maintain.

Throughout the article, the author complains about people bringing up justifiable criticisms of the British Royal Family because it's spoiling the enjoyment she has from royal-watching, something she does for a fun "escape".

When she started speaking about how she royal watches to "escape reality" she reminded me of myself when I was 14 and just wanted to turn off my brain and watch Kate wear the pretty dresses and the sparkly tiaras without thinking about the border social and political implications of having princesses and princes. That's fine if you like The Pretty Dress, I still like talking about The Pretty Dress, but your own personal enjoyment of The Pretty Dress does not compensate for the inherent social and economic inequities that monarchies perpetuate. If you find that discussing these topics is spoiling your enjoyment, you probably understand that this is the case but you're in denial. So, you blame the people brining up these issues instead of getting upset at the issues themselves.

Frankly, I think this is inane and reveals how very privileged the writer is that they have the luxury to even view the royals outside of their historical and political context to begin with. As a Black person, my enjoyment of royalty as "an escape" and The Pretty Dresses ended the moment Meghan Markle entered the family. Take a guess as to why that is? How do you think it felt to be a Black teenager/young woman having to watch how Meghan was treated, and realizing that the people you followed for so long would condone racism so long as it was convenient for them? That they were basically okay with the dehumanization of people that looked like you?

I can't "escape" that type of prejudice through royal watching, because it is inherent to the system.

The writer also does this fucking bullshit that all dishonest monarchists do where they act as if people in the Caribbean liking The Queen means that colonialism isn't a literal historical fact. It is so exhausting, personally, for me to keep repeating that it doesn't matter. You cannot "both sides" the colonial legacy of the royal family. It's like trying to "both sides" COVID-19. Finding a group of Jamaican people who like Will and Kate or shook their hands does not mean that Britain did not spend the pervious 250 years exploiting Jamaica for profit. Ultimately, the issues are still there and they still need to be addressed which is something the monarchy has consistently failed at, to the point where countries like Jamaica would rather remove the Queen as their head of state. While believing that removing the Queen is for the best is an opinion, the British Empire's harm to the Indigenous populations of their former colonies is not. It is a fact. Stop conflating these two things.

I think I'm just now coming to the understanding that most royal watchers are children who are too immature to grapple with anything of substance or political weight. They just want to view the royals as comfort food, which is all fine and dandy until they begin to minimize the inequalities these institutions perpetuate. It's just very annoying that we've been having these conversations for over three years and people still haven't learned anything.

[msookyspooky]

Terrible Trilogy

Part 14

wordcount: 7,636

You all sat in silence as the sun approached over the city you wanted nothing more than to run away from. Run away back home to your solitude, your dog, your security system, your privacy. Where everything made sense...But you couldn't.  None of you could.

You all barely had any sleep. Stu rested his chin on his forearms as he sat backwards in a chair. Billy was on the ground, his head leaning back against the wall behind him. You sat hunched over on the edge of the bed staring at the faint blue light of dawn creeping through the curtain.

You all were in your own private little hells in silence together. The stress getting to you all, lack of sleep, unable to leave, unable to fight back the one causing all of this. All of you were at a loss, unable to truly say anything out loud without it feeling pointless.

Stu broke the silence first, gazing over at the alarm clock on the table. "Shit...I have rehearsal." 

"You-" Billy drew out, closing his eyes with a heavy edge to his voice. "- Cannot be fucking serious." 

Stu sighed heavily with a glare. "What is your malfunction now?" 

Billy slowly rolled his head over to look at Stu. Dark under circles making him look older than what he was. Stu looked exhausted himself.  You could only imagine what you looked like. A red mark formed on Billy's cheek to match the healing gash on his temple from the steering wheel a few nights prior. Stu also had a red mark on his jawline you knew would bruise from their fight. 

Billy scowled at him as he mumbled. "This new guy has pictures of us and you want to give him more? Are you that out of your freaking mind? Or are you just...That. God. Damn. Stupid?" 

Stu gave him a bewildered look. "One is too many so what does it matter if he has one or a dozen? One is enough to get us caught! You want to just wait it out while he collects more because he's going to regardless! Besides, it looks more suspicious if I don't show up." 

"Or, hear me out, you could lay low like you should have from the beginning and see what this new guy's next move is." Billy ground out low in his throat. 

Stu's hands gestured wildly around the room with every word he ranted. "So, you wanna just sit around and wait for him? Just a while ago, you were ready to tear peoples throats out to get through that door and now you just want to wait here for Mr. Unoriginal to make his move?!" 

"Things changed after that call, alright?!" Billy snapped. "That fucking picture is enough to have a warrant on all of our heads...We fell into a trap and I'm fucking pissed off I let you both sucker me into it with you!" 

Stu released a mocking laugh. "Damn, you really lost your edge these last few years. You went from calling the shots and framing Cotton and getting away with murder to sitting in a crappy motel just waiting for the new meat to tell you how high to jump." 

Billy's lip rose in disdain as he hissed his words out towards Stu. "Do I need to remind you who suggested we wait a year before killing again so we could get away with it? Who fucking carefully planned all of it? If it wasn't for me, you would have got us caught with Maureen!" 

You listened, taken aback by them so openly talking about their plans and murders. Then again, in Woodsboro they lied and only told you the bare minimum. Windsor they told you nothing; and you tried not to bring up such a sore subject with Stu these last few years. This awful adventure with them just became more and more surreal by the day. 

Stu huffed with a haughty look. "Yeah, that really got us far, huh?...Look, I'm not letting this freak have the cops on our doorstep from waiting. At least if I go to rehearsal and act normal; I have a chance of throwing them off our trail!" 

"We don't need to be out in the open right now, dumbfuck! What part of that do you not get?! ESPECIALLY on the set of a movie about us." 

You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak even if you didn't want to. "I get it but he's right, Billy... If he doesn't show up, then it's going to draw more attention to us than him just showing up and going with the flow." 

Billy huffed, a humorless chuckle escaping him as he leaned his head back against the wall. "Perfect...No, that's just perfect…Let's just plaster our names on our freaking forehead at this point! Why let the killer wait to tell everyone who we are when we might as well be doing it ourselves?" 

Stu stood up. "What the fuck do you want me to do, man? I got to go!" 

"Yeah well maybe if you wouldn't have shown up, broadcasted yourself and strutted around as Stu Macher; Maybe we wouldn't be in this situation...What the fuck did you think was gonna  happen?! If I would have know you were that stupid, I would have never got in that damn Honda in the first place...AND YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger your way. "You fucking knew and didn't tell me. Cause you knew I would be GONE the second I knew he was going to blow our cover-" 

Stu interrupted him. "Oh for fuckssake, man-... If I have to hear you putting on a big dramatic show about how you're going to leave one more freaking time." 

You rubbed your tired eyes. "Guys, please. We're tired, we're stressed but I think we've had enough fights for one day." 

Billy scoffed. "Well thank you, Mary Poppins for trying to mother hen us again." Billy smacked the floor beside him. "One day, ONE DAY here and this shit has already begun." 

"Well, sitting around isn't gonna solve it. So stop worrying and stressing everyone out with you!" 

"You need to be fucking stressed!" He exclaimed with emphasis. "You are the biggest idiot I've ever met! Do you have any idea how serious this is or are you just that in your own little make believe world that much?!" 

Stu groaned and ran a hand down his face. "As much fun as it is beating your ass; I can't afford to bruise up this pretty face too much, alright? I've got a performance to do." He pointed to his face as he went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Billy eyed him the whole way. "Break a leg or two...Maybe your neck for extra measure." 

You held yourself as you tried to ignore them. You didn't know what to think. That dream making you feel like a traitor just being in the same room as these two but cornered with nowhere to go with this new killer on the loose.

In less than 24 hours you: Arrived in Hollywood to a set of a movie based on your biggest traumatic events in your life, had a duplicate letter shoved in your purse in a crowded restaurant in front of Randy and Dewey, had to hide the biggest secret of your life from them, got a picture that was incriminating evidence of you three together, got a threatening call from this new killer and then a second photo from your past. All with no leads and no suspects other than the two people that ruined your life or the two people you were closest to...For your sake, you were trying to blame Gale in your head just to keep going because you didn't know how much more mental stress you could endure.

The minute Stu shut the door, Billy's eyes landed on you. You tried not to pay attention until his staring didn't stop. You tentatively raised your gaze as you heard Stu run the water in the bathroom. 

He raised a brow at you. "...Can you believe this?" 

"No." You replied tiredly. "But we don't have a choice." 

Billy crawled over to you as you stayed on the bed as he got close enough to whisper. "We do...We can make some headway here and write off suspects. We need to look through Stu's phone." 

You looked at him with a shake of your head. "You both can't seriously still suspect each other?" 

"Just do it." 

"No." 

"Then give it to me and I'll fucking do it. He is way too calm about this and he's putting us in danger, okay? He could just be nuts or he could be hiding something...You want to just wait around and find out when it's too late?" 

"I just...-" 

You faltered as he raised an accusing brow at you. "So, you can snoop through my shit but not his?" 

"I didn't do that, Stu did. I-" 

"I don't care, I'll do it myself then." He grumbled. Quickly getting up to go to the jacket hanging on the chair. He rummaged through the pockets before he found it.

You rolled your eyes anxiously with a harsh bite of your lower lip.  Half tempted to get out of the room and blame it all on Billy if you got caught...But you had to admit Stu felt off and you had already snooped into Billy's belongings and life but not Stu's. It only felt logical to find his secrets out too by staying. Even if it didn't help your problem at the moment, it was still someway to figure Stu's true intentions out.

You rushed out in a whisper as you eyed the bathroom door. "Hurry up." 

"No, I'm just gonna take my time till he comes back out. " He sarcastically muttured. Billy instantly started clicking buttons, his eyes scanning the small screen for a few moments. It felt like forever as you watched him.

He glanced over at you a few times and you knew Stu probably had more candid pictures of you. Suddenly, his features changed as a light noise escaped him. "Oh." 

"What?" 

"Uh...Since when does Stu have Randy and Dewey's numbers?" 

"What?..." You leaned over near his shoulder to look at the screen. Your mouth hung open at their names and numbers right there.

You knew Billy could care less who it was or who got killed, that his shock and anger came from suspecting Stu being involved. All you could do was panic at the idea of Stu being after your friends once again. 

Billy shook his head with a roll of his lips. "I knew it, that lying fucker." He mumbled, marching to the bathroom.

"What are you doing?!" You hissed under your breath.

"A reenactment of Anthony Perkins 'Psycho' if I don't get a good enough answer." 

You tugged at the arm of his coat so he'd look at you. "Wait, you can't!" 

He ripped his arm away as well as the phone.  "I'm not waiting anymore! I fucking told you, Stu is a backstabbing lunatic and I know he has something to do with this! What more proof do you need?! Your friend's head's at our doorstep or a knife in your back?!"

"Or you could kill an ally in all of this, something you don't have much of AND have cops here. You just can't go stabbing every time!-" 

You both jumped as Stu came out of the bathroom sooner than you anticipated. You didn't even hear the water shut off. He stood there wearing nothing but a towel as he froze, seeing both of you there with his phone. His eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Damn, a guy can't leave the room without his privacy being invaded?" 

"What privacy? You don't have the decency to even have privacy." Billy retorted, as your eyes darted to the towel 'accidentally' slipping off Stu's hips. 

Stu adjusted it. You closed your eyes, not putting it past him to flash you. You opened them again as you heard him sigh and lean against the doorframe. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he eyes you both.

Billy tossed him the phone. "We saw it." 

"What? The stripper pics, the boobs, the line on the table-" 

You felt your own betrayal rising as you spoke before Billy even could. "Cut the shit, Stu. Why the hell do you have my friends on your phone?" 

He blinked but wore a poker face. 

He didn't answer and you gritted your teeth. "WHY Stu? Why do you have people's names on your phone you would never talk to without outing yourself?!" 

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm playing, babe. It's not what you think. The director gave me the numbers of all the cast and vice versa. I'm Dennis, remember? Isn't it normal to be in touch with coworkers?" 

"Not when you tried killing them. You don't need their numbers, alright? You can delete them right now." 

Stu raised his brows, looking away with a cocky grin and a chuckle before looking back at you. Showing his phone to you. "Are you ordering me?" 

"I'm telling you I'm not comfortable with it and I want their numbers gone." 

"Or what, Sweetcheeks?" 

"Stu, this isn't funny or cute in the slightest!" 

Billy eyed him. "Why are you so damn desperate to keep them, Stu? Gotta save them for later? She's right, there's no reason to keep two numbers that you'll never call...Right?" Billy growled in a warning. 

Stu stared at you both a moment before huffing and shaking his head in bewilderment. "Alright, alright...Jeez. Just goofing around." He started typing and then showed you. "There! All gone. Happy?" 

You looked as he held the phone to you at a low angle on purpose. You glared at him trying to get you to look at his lower body before you snatched it. You glossed over it to see both Dewey and Randy gone before handing it back to him.

Stu mumbled as he snapped the phone shut. "Honestly, you both don't trust me? Seriously? After what happened tonight-" 

Billy cut him off in an instant. "Tonight proves nothing, Stu. We have no evidence, no leads, no proof. Don't act like me and you didn't lead people off our trail by calling Sidney while I was in jail. The fact you're in this movie and you're going along with all this is prime suspect material." 

"Man, I don't have a partner for the millionth time! If anyone does, it's you." 

You sighed heavily at them both. The photo, the dream and the call heavy on your mind and their antics were getting old very fast. 

You looked at them both. " Seriously, I've heard this argument over and over again for days! You both are making me nuts just listening to it!...I mean, what am I? Just a witness?...You both could be as guilty as the other one, so why point fingers? You both put on an elaborate show in Woodsboro. Even Billy getting himself arrested…I have zero proof that you haven't talked to each other in years; just what you claim..." Your mind started turning. "So since we love pointing fingers around here; How do I know you both aren't in on it with a new partner?" 

You said just to show them how ridiculous it sounded...But the more thought, it didn't sound as ridiculous as you wished it did. 

"WHAT?" They both unisoned.

Stu huffed. "Why would we go to this length to kill you when we could have done that days ago?" 

You backed up a bit, the idea that your crazy idea may not be so crazy making you aware of the close proximity you were all in. "I...I don't know. Why did you try making me look insane 3 years ago? For the satisfaction of ruining my life before you killed me." 

Billy huffed. "You really have lost your lid these last few years. You think I'm working with him? You think I got a mark on my fucking face for what? To match the one you gave me?" 

 "Join the club." You jerked your jacket away to show your shoulder. "And don't act like it's irrational when I've heard NOTHING but irrational finger pointing from both of you! I've had to hear you two pointing fingers at each other for days to the point it's getting suspicious...Like you're trying to act it out again to make it look good." You trailed off. All of the memories coming back to you.

"What? What could possibly be my motive to kill you after 3 years of not giving a shit?" Billy asked with an outrageous smirk.

You glared at him. "Easy. You're lying, you actually give a shit and you want revenge. You never finished the job at Windsor, I remind you of all the failures at Woodsboro...You could easily blame me as the reason your mom was killed." 

His face fell and his voice lowered in warning. "Don't go there." 

Stu grimaced. "Exnay on the Woodsboro aye. We have neighbors in this shithole that could be woken up by us yelling at each other you know." 

Billy and you glanced at him as you tried lowering your voice.  "Oh, okay. So...You clearly moved on. Definitely not a motive. We can't even discuss the past with you and you expect me to believe you moved on?" 

Stu eyed Billy with a tsk. "Girl has a point. At least I can talk about the past...You can't even acknowledge it." 

 Billy glared at you both. "Hey, not wanting to rehash old bullshit isn't enough to be a motive. If we're using the past as a motive then what about you?" 

"Me?! What about me?" You snapped in outrage, your voice rising a few octaves. 

"Yeah, you! We killed your best friends, we tried to kill you twice, we fucked your life up. I think that's more motivation for revenge than me...In fact, how do we know that letter wasn't planted by you in your purse and you just acted out the part?" 

"Get real!" 

"That is literally the opposite of what I suggested we not do...Yeah well, what the hell could my motive be?" Stu urged with raised brows.

"I don't know! Did you even have one the first time around? The only thing I can think of is getting me and getting rid of Billy." 

Stu laughed. "What?" 

"No, don't play it off! You have pictures of me on your phone, you found my house, been trying to get with me the last few years, you and Billy were-" 

Billy's cut you off.  "We aren't talking about me or Stu's fuck ups. I think we've already talked about it enough but we haven't even grazed the surface of yours.... I say if you're willing to point fingers; you're just as much of a suspect as us." 

You stepped back, putting a few feet of distance between them and yourself. "Okay, so we can do this all fucking day! We don't have any proof other than past experiences we're all running on." 

Stu huffed. "Right... As much as it hurts for you to even think of accusing me, Sweetcheeks; I don't think it's you...You know who it is though?" 

You gave him an annoyed glare. "Don't-" 

"Randy Meeks. Whoever called us clearly liked Sidney and weren't you with the dorklord last night when you got the letter?" 

Billy thrusted a hand towards Stu. "Well damn, look who got control of the one brain cell he has. I didn't like Sidney, Stu didn't like Sidney so why would we be working with someone that liked Sidney? YOU on the other hand-" 

"Or friends!" Stu interrupted. "Ray is as suspicious as it gets. I mean, he's got the whole love sick desperate guy friend act down to a tee! How do you know he doesn't know and wants to get closer to you just to catch you off guard and get revenge?" Stu jeered. 

You gripped your temples with a frustrated growl. "No! It's not Randy. Jealousy isn't proof-" 

"Jealous?" Stu gapped with an outraged laugh. "Jealous? I am NOT jealous! I just have eyes and I'm a guy and I know when another guy is prowling!" 

"And I already told you, just cause you're predatory and always looking for an opportunity to get laid doesn't mean every other guy is, Stu!" 

Billy interrupted both of you. "Or Dewey. Imagine how he'd react to finding out about this?" 

"How the hell did this go from you both accusing each other to accusing me?!" 

"Since things are adding up and you wanted to point fingers too. And if it's not you then it's Dewey or Randy that are pissed off from finding out about us and they're killing to get to you or protect you." Billy informed you.

You rolled your eyes. "Deja vu, much? Weren't you shoving Ray into a locker for saying the same thing?" 

Billy faltered. You clearly jogged his memory to a part of his life he left behind. He soon replaced his surprise with a defensive scowl once again.

"That's ancient history, okay!? I was pissed he was pointing fingers at us since we were the only ones that gave a shit enough to kill for you. Not like he did; he was too enraptured in my girlfriend, Dewey didn't care about you until AFTER his sister died, and we know how James felt." 

You shook your head. "You're so full of shit." 

"Yeah? You're in fucking denial. If it's not you or me or Stu then it's Dewey or Randy... Gale! If you're lucky!"  

Your worst thoughts were being brought to the surface and you felt backed in a corner. "No! It is not Randy or Dewey! You both just can't wait to off anyone you didn't get to at that party! I'm probably on the chopping block too as soon as the 'killer' is revealed!" You used quotation marks. 

"Again. We have neighbors. Talking about me putting us at risk with you both yelling." Stu grumbled as he jerked his head to the walls. 

Billy glanced at Stu before he huffed in a lower tone. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Depends." 

"On what?" You growled out.

"On how much you piss me off during all this." 

Stu released a snort of laughter. "That's a given… And no, she's not." 

"I wasn't talking to you, jackass." 

"Like I give a shit. If YN isn't involved then you aren't killing her after all this is done. You'll have to get through me first." 

You all glared at each other, the air thick.

You tried once again to be the mediator somehow. "Look, we aren't getting anywhere like this!" 

"Yes, we are. We're talking out suspects and you just don't want to admit the obvious." Billy glanced over at you. "Face it, YN. You have more enemies than you have friends." 

That cut right through you as your chest heated and you felt your fist clench. "Yeah, no shit. That was made pretty clear to me at Windsor with Hallie and Mickey and in Woodsboro when you both lied to me and stabbed me in the back. Correction; you stabbed all of your 'friends' in the back including each other." 

Billy's eyes widened at that before narrowing as you saw his fist clench. 

Stu grimaced as he turned around and threw his phone on the nearby bed. "Okay, let me get on pants first-" 

Billy tilted his head. You almost took that step back but forced your feet to stay in place as he crept towards you as he spoke.

"Really?...You want to tell me about backstabbing? You REALLY want to go there with me?" 

You swallowed but nodded, glaring right back at him. "Since we're airing out the past...I don't see why not. I'm sick and tired of you acting like all of this isn't your fault. You wanted to bring up that phone call in the car yesterday? You want to talk about the trauma you put me through just to prove a point? Fine, let's rip off the bandaid then." 

Billy glared at you as Stu came back out struggling to get his other leg in his jeans. 

"What part? The part where I threatened to gut you like a fish for the things coming out of your mouth 3 years ago? That part? Cause that is long overdue." 

"How about the part where you can't take responsibility for your actions? How about that part?" You argued. "You love putting blame on me or Stu or anyone else. But THIS wouldn't be happening if you hadn't did what you fucking did. I could have had a normal life! We all could have had normal lives if you both could control your sick, fucked up impulsive thoughts in your heads or get help for it!" 

Billy smirked at you with zero humor in his eyes. "Cry me a fucking river, YN. Boo hoo, poor you. Poor you and your lonely little life...You act like everyone has to feel sorry for you." 

"Not everyone, just you two. I mean, my God! ...Don't you feel ashamed? Don't you feel guilt? Don't you feel like a piece of shit for what you've done?" 

He eyed you long and hard before it drew out of him with a predatory grin stretching across his face. "Oohhh...I know what this is. It's about the time frame we killed your boyfriend, isn't it? Having nightmares because of it too, huh?" 

You clenched your teeth and your voice rose whether you liked it or not. "Don't bring ANY of them up! You don't have the right to; Not even him! Because no matter what he did, you did way worse!" 

Billy had a dangerous look in his eye as he got closer. His voice low enough for you and Stu only to hear. "Like what? That Stu ripped his face off while I called you that night to let you hear him? That I killed Tatum in the garage and had her hanging BEFORE I had my tongue down your throat-" 

You bristled at that, eyes burning and your fist shaking with how badly you wanted to smack him upside the mouth. 

Billy's gave you a dark chuckle at the reaction you accidentally gave him. "And then... I took Sidney's virginity. I penetrated her with my dick and my knife that night after using you as motivation to do both." 

Stu didn't even have his jeans buttoned as he got between you both, pushing you back a bit for your own protection. "Easy, easy-" 

You ignored him, feeling yourself practically snarling at Billy. "...I should have!...This never would have happened if!…" You almost got it out and held it back with a harsh bite of your lip. Trying so hard to keep it from escaping knowing it could end in a blood bath for any of you if you did.

Billy lost the smirk as his own rage took over. "What?...Go on, say it! If you would have what?!" 

Stu glared at Billy over his shoulder as Billy got closer. Eyeing his hands to make sure he didn't reach for his knife. "If you don't back the hell up, man-" 

"Go on, YN. I'm waiting. SAY IT." 

You glared at him, fighting a losing battle as it came out. It was bound to.

"...I should have let Gale kill you, you sorry bastard…" It came out through your teeth. Stu practically shielded you as Billy's entire face dropped and you yelled over Stu's arm at him. "It's not like you ever thanked me, it's not like you were ever grateful for the bullet I took for you. I shouldn't have! At least Sidney would still be alive, Gale would have never written me to be the villain in her book and I wouldn't be in the situation that I am right now!"

Billy's entire face dropped at your admission. His dark eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. You stared at him, your eyes never leaving his before his brows furrowed and his mouth closed into a bitter smile. 

"...Yeah, you should have. Did you actually think the killers would change their ways just for you? Just for you, YN, because you're just so special?" He mocked, laughing under his breath as he walked closer to you before his face fell into a hostile glare. So much hate in it you felt ready to get your gun just as a precaution...All you could do was stare back as Stu glared at Billy.

"I'm warning you, man. Back. UP." 

Billy ignored him and held his glare at you. "...You can blame me all you want but the real one at fault here is you for being so god damn stupid. You're just as much at fault for their deaths as us. Gale was right about you, you just don't want to admit it." 

He shoved past you and Stu both. 

You felt yourself shake in anger. Any rational thought was gone at that point.  A burning in your throat and chest as you screamed at him in Stu's hold. "FUCK YOU!"

He slammed the door behind himself and left you to simmer with Stu in the room.

Stu had a hold of you still. "Hey, easy! I know how much he pisses people off but you aren't going to win in a fist fight against him." 

"It'd be worth it!" You snapped, swallowing down the hot anger burning in your chest. "He can't just say whatever he wants and get his way!... He can't!" You countered, eyes burning and a sick feeling in your stomach you tried to prevent happening. The lack of sleep had you frazzled enough as it was; let alone this. 

Stu smirked at you. "I love your energy, babe. Definitely hot but…" He chuckled under his throat. "I also want you alive. Besides, you really got under his skin even more than I do. Kind of impressed." 

You blinked at that as Stu continued with an amused cringe. "You telling him you should have let him die? Youch! I bet that stung...But hey, it's true. I wonder all the time if saving his stupid ass from jumping off that bridge was the right move. Not like he's been grateful...Me and you are in the same boat with his scrawny ass. He betrayed both of us, he used both of us and we both tried to save his life with not so much as a 'thank you'." 

Your shoulders slacked at that as you continued to glare at the door he went out of. 

"Stu...What if he doesn't come back-" 

"Good riddance. I didn't want him third wheeling anyways." 

"The pictures, Stu." 

"Babe." He forced you to look at him as he raised his pierced brow at you. "You can't change it. It's his ass too. The moron won't get far." Stu continued with a smirk. "I really hope we don't have any neighbors beside us or at least ones that listen. I guess we'll lie and say I was practicing my acting role with friends?" 

He released you finally. "We'll figure it out...So, better get dressed." 

You turned your head to look at him. "...Huh?" 

"Come on, get ready! We got rehearsal in 30 minutes." 

You shook your head with a frown. "I'm not going." 

Stu's features dropped. "What? Oh, come on! Don't let Billy ruin your entire day." 

"It's not just Billy, Stu! We have a killer after us, we have fought none stop, no sleep. I can't just go there and pretend everythings fine! Not today." 

"Yeah and staying in a motel room by yourself is totally the right move" 

"I have a gun and it's daylight." 

"And what happens when I run into Dewey or Randy on set because you weren't there to distract them from going wherever I go?" 

You rolled your lips knowing he was right even if it wasn't what you wanted.

"Come on, Sweetcheeks. You were an amazing actress! I need pointers." 

You sighed and looked away. "Please, I auditioned for one role just to combat my anxiety and look where it got me." 

"But that's just it! One time and you're that good? I'm a newbie too, I need some type of direction here...You can be my...Teacher. I'm a good student. " He mumbled with a smirk. He got in your space to look down at you as he placed his hands on your shoulders. Your eyes scanned his body and he looked down with a smirk before raising a brow at you. "Like what you see?" 

"How can you think of flirting right now??" You gave him an annoyed look and he just chuckled. He pointed at the scar you noticed above his navel. "Eh, it's easy when I'm half naked...Saw you eyeing it just now. I used to have a belly button ring here with a chain...Guess what that chain led to?" 

You sighed heavily and looked away as he chuckled. 

"Anyway, fuckface ripped it out and it kept rejecting after that." 

"Ouch, it...Ripped there too??" You mumbled with wide eyes.

He snorted. "God no! I would have unalived him for that...Should have anyway...No, it was just a decorative chain dangling that day. Still hurt like a bitch but the main Stu attraction is still in perfect condition." 

 "I'm sure your other scars probably hurt a lot worse." Your eyes glancing at him here and there as you tried not to. Falling on the deep scar on his right side near his ribs and another lower towards his hip. He had his nipples pierced, scars and had more muscle than you had ever seen on him. You had to wonder how Billy kept almost winning fights with a guy that could hurl him through a window if he wanted to.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as he gently squeezed your shoulders with a grin. "Babe, I need your expertise. You were mesmerizing up on that stage! Look...I know for you the memory afterwards probably ruined it...But I really was loving your performance. The wind bellowing that red gown you had on, your makeup, your hair-" 

You were surprised by that. "You actually liked my performance as Cassandra? You weren't just mocking me when you said it in the backroom?" 

"Hell no! You were great, Sweetcheeks. I need some pointers today. You'll be my good luck charm! Come on." He practically begged.

 You pouted with a groan. "...As if I have a choice." 

"No, not really. I think you just like seeing me beg." 

You rolled your lips, trying to not show any emotion as you nodded and his entire face lit up. He clasped his hands together. "Alright! And don't worry. I'm not holding it over your head that you pointed fingers at me and helped Billy snoop through my phone." 

"But I-" 

"We'll just chalk up this dangerous experience as hardly any sleep, 'Kay?" He gave with a smile that didn't fully meet his eyes.

You hesitated before getting your clothes for the day...Wondering who was the danger he was talking about exactly…

————————————

You both arrived on set, pulling your car up just for both of your faces to drop.

"...Holy shit, who died?" Stu sarcastically mumbled before you both exchanged glances. A silent answer between you both that made your heart sink. 

You eyed the rows of police cars and havoc from your parking spot.

Stu grimaced. "Uh, I hate to say rat boy was right but...Think it's too late to NOT go in? Just back out and hope no one notices?" 

You licked your lips and slowly backed up and pulled out. Stu relaxed until you started fidgeting your fingers against your steering wheel and turned down an alley.

"Hey, what are you doing?" 

"Stu...I have to make sure Randy and Dewey are okay. You can stay here but I have to go in."  

He shot up from his seat, straining the seat belt with a loud scoff. "Just call them!" 

You parked the car behind a less crowded group of buildings and pulled out your phone. You dialed, eyeing him as he folded his arms.

You called Randy first. You shook your head when it didn't even ring for you. "Randy went straight to voicemail…" 

"Call Dewey then...I'd offer but you know. Deleted numbers." 

You side eyed his petty remark knowing he couldn't call anyways. 

You quickly dialed his number. It rang...And rang...And rang until finally an unfamiliar voice picked up.

"Hello?" 

Your face scrunched. "Uhh...H-Hello?" 

"Sorry, Dewey's busy at the moment. This is Detective Kincaid. If-"

Stu shut your phone for you. You gawked at him. "What the hell, Stu?!" 

"I heard 'detective' clear from here. It's a cop. He could trace your phone if he doesn't have your caller ID already." 

"So?! I need to know why a Detective has Dewey's phone!" 

"A DETECTIVE, Yn. We don't want cops, remember?" 

You gave him a determined look. "Then we're going in to find out. At least I am. " 

 Stu tried to stop you. "With cops this heavy, are you for real? We are trying to hide from the cops, dumby." 

You gave him a frustrated stare. "Listen here...You knew the risk of coming here today. But not looking suspicious outweighs that. If you want to wait out here, you can...However, imagine if something happened and the guy that just arrived on set yesterday was the only one that didn't show up? Bonus points if they track my number somehow from just this call and it leads to me with you." 

Stu mumbled to himself more than you. "And we can't leave town without the copycat outing us...Sshhhiittt-" He shoved himself out of the seat and untangled from his belt. He gave you a look as you both opened your doors.  "We're sneaking in together. Can't say Stu- Dennis is a pussy, alright? And if it looks too risky; we get the hell out of there and we'll figure something else out…. It's not ideal but I can easily manipulate a few cops." 

"Like hell you are! No!" 

"Sweetcheeks, if they get a hold of me and question me and I refuse...You don't think they aren't gonna be hot on my ass after that?" 

"What's your alibi? You can't use me or Billy!" 

"I don't know but I'm sure Roman will vouch for any of the cast." 

"How are you so sure about that?!" 

"Listen, he's desperate to make this movie. He'll do anything to make it...He'll work with me. If not then I'll just tell them our room and hopefully you can leave unnoticed once I'm questioned and get there in time to clean up any...Stabby things." 

You faltered at the idea and he gave a serious stare. 

"The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can gauge the situation and make a choice. Times of the essence, baby." 

You relented with a forced breath from your mouth. "Okay, okay! Deal...What if one of us can't leave?" 

He sighed and gave an annoyed look with a bite of his lower lip. "....Then we meet up at the car and if that doesn't work then we go straight back to our motel and wait. Clean up any possible evidence just in case. Weapons, the letters, the pictures. Anything."

You swallowed but gave a firm nod. Shutting your door and locking up before you and him crouched down and eased your way to the back of the building. A security guard there, looking down at his phone for a split second before shoving it in his pocket. 

Stu thought a moment before he whispered in your ear. "Get your game face on." 

 You flinched when Stu ran out past you yelling. "HEY! HEY STOP HIM!" 

The guard raised a brow and looked in the direction Stu pointed as you ducked down by a trash can.

 "Who?" 

Stu acted out of breath and threw up a hand. "The guy that ran that way! He was going to be questioned and he left!" 

The guard squared his shoulders. "I didn't see or hear anyone come this way, pal." 

"Well MAYBE if you were doing your job and not looking at your phone; you would have noticed!" 

You nervously watched. 'What the fuck is he doing?!' 

The guard came towards him with his hand outstretched. "Hey, listen here kid-" 

"Look, the cops should be here soon and you're the guy with the gun; I'm guessing! You want to explain to them and Milton how you let the possible killer get away?!" Stu shook his head and went to run off in that direction. "Screw it! I'll be the hero here-" 

The guard shoved him away. "Hey! I'll be the one to do my job, okay?! Description?" 

Stu faltered a moment and just ran a hand over his hair and faked being winded. "U-Uh...Tall, blonde with uh...I don't know an oversized white t-shirt on!" 

The guard gave him an annoyed glare. "That could be anyone here!" 

"Look, man. I know who I saw!...LOOK!" 

You saw Stu urgently motion you with his hand behind his back. You wanted to freeze. It wasn't everyday you snuck into a building like your life depending on it. But it did...You hesitated only a moment before rushing their way. Staying close to the building crouched down. 

The guard almost turned around once you got to the door and Stu jerked him to look away. "DUDE. RIGHT THERE. YOU DIDN'T SEE HIM JUST NOW GO BEHIND THAT BUILDING?!" 

You quickly slipped through the sliding door, heart hammering as you stayed near the dark wall. Waiting for Stu. 

You heard him outside. "What are you waiting for?!" 

"I have a job here, kid….If it keeps you from having a fit, I'll call for backup." 

"Thank you!" Stu exclaimed sarcastically. "...SHIT…" 

"What?" You heard the guard ask. 

"...Is that Milton?...What's he doing way over there?" 

"John Milton? I don't see him…" 

"Yeah, there...How does he not see the guy? I mean, he went right by!" 

"What guy?" 

"THE GUY, MAN… LOOK!" 

You heard footsteps walking away as Stu quickly slipped inside. He grabbed your arm and hauled ass deeper into the building as you heard the guard outside getting fainter as you moved away.

"Kid, I don't know what you're pulling but I need I.D...HEY!" 

"You definitely don't need my help with acting." You whisper as he dragged you along. 

"Thanks babe...Shit, won't be long before we have someone looking for me." 

You hissed as you dodged people and tried to stay hidden. "Wouldn't I.D. in the front be easier than this?" 

"And risk being a suspect if it gets too personal here? Worst they can do without knowing I work here now is kick me out thinking I'm the media. If they know I'm Dennis; boom. Taking me in to interrogate me." 

"I hate that you're right...Billy's got a point, when did you activate that brain cell?" 

"Ha. Ha. So fucking funny." He mocked in a goofy voice before nudging you. "Focus...Okay, what should we do?" 

"I think we need to split up and see what's happening here. Best case scenario; we don't have to hide and can talk normally to everyone to find out what the deal is. Worst case scenario, we make our way back to the car and wait for each other." 

"Cool, good plan. You go...That way. I'll go over there." 

You nodded as you snuck your way. Your heart hammering and palms sweating. No matter how many times you had to run for your life, it was never as nerve wracking as hiding. Just waiting for anyone to pop out at you. Your anxiety got the better of you as people rushed by and you flattened yourself against the darkened walls to avoid them. You just prayed you saw no Ghostface or fake knives or blood. A trigger was the last thing you needed right now. 

"YN-" 

You jumped out of your skin as someone touched you. You released a gasp and instinctively went to hit them before a hand grabbed your wrist.

"It's me!" 

"Randy, what the hell?" 

"I could ask you the same thing, what the hell?! Why are you here?!" He hissed, trying to keep you both in the shadows. "It's not exactly the best place for you to be hiding from cops, if you haven't noticed." 

"Yeah well when you didn't answer, I got worried." 

He faltered before he sighed heavily and released you. "Crap. Sorry, I've been in such a rush around here and Milton gets pissy if one of our ringers goes off while he's around. He's a real hard ass about Capitalism and people working for him on HIS time. I meant to turn it down, not mute it!" 

"Milton's here?" You subconsciously looked around before Randy gripped your shoulder to hunker you down and whisper to you.

"Yeah and I know he just adores you. Even more of a reason to get out of here. I was gonna call you as soon as I got a break." 

You gently pushed away to question him. "Ray, what happened? A Detective answered Dewey's phone and you wouldn't answer and the entire place is littered with cops." 

"...You haven't heard?" 

"No of course not, what?" 

He stared a moment before telling you. "...Sarah Darling is dead." 

[alicesimblr]

PREFACE.

Southampton, 1887. 

⚠️ GRAPHIC VIOLENCE. I write all my stories in spanish so if my translation is not perfect please let me know and i’ll fix any issues.

The night had fallen in the cold city of Southampton, the taverns were closing and the people took shelter in their warm homes.

Alfred Windsor, engineer of the first functional metro in London was on his way home after one of his usual nights at the tavern, with flushed cheeks from wine and opium and blurred vision. Every night he would come home to wake up his two children and his wife because of his alcoholism, and he didn't seem to want to change that habit in the least. Yet there was something different about that night, something that haunted him.

That man had remained in the same position since Alfred arrived at the tavern, more than five hours had passed and his countenance was still on him, as if he were observing him. He did not look away or say a word. Alfred had come to think that this man was just a statue.

Directed to his home and with the strange feeling that this man was following him, Alfred started humming one of the most famous songs in the tavern trying to appease his growing fear and trying to think that it was just the paranoia that alcohol and opium used to create in him. After all, it wasn't the first time he had come home sweaty, screaming and claiming that a strange man was chasing him, yet nothing else ever happened. 

A few streets away, Alfred couldn't help but turn around to see that the man was indeed following him closely, so close that he could see his leather shoes out of the corner of his eye, so close that he could hear their incipient footsteps almost as if they were echoing in his head, like the hooves of a wild horse approaching. Still drunk and emboldened, Alfred turned on his heels and ceased his walk. He stopped short near a shipment just brought in from London and pointed at the man, looking straight into his blue eyes.

"Do you need something gentleman?" he said.

The countenance of the gentleman did not change in the least, he just stood there, again looking more like a statue than a human being.

"I hope you're not a crook trying to get a pound, because I won't give you anything," he said this time, raising his voice a little higher for every word that came out of his mouth, perhaps hoping that a patrol would come by. After all, Alfred was one of the richest and most revered men in Southampton and always had patrols on the prowl to ensure his safety. Although those streets seemed desolate that night, he didn't lose hope that at least a neighbor would see the situation from his window.

The man with the serious countenance continued without saying a single word, he seemed macabre, there watching him almost as if he wanted to play a joke on him. Alfred came a little closer, taking a couple of steps to try to capture the facial details of that man. No doubt it was nobody he knew, maybe he came from London. From his coat Alfred deduced that he was not a tramp or a crook looking for money. He looked like a man of high status.

"If you continue to follow me I will have you imprisoned. I will personally ensure that you are locked up in the darkest hole in Southampton." he shouted. The man took two steps as well, getting even closer. So close that he could see even the tiniest imperfection in his skin.

A few seconds later, that man began to run in his direction, and it was there that Alfred saw him well. The alcohol seemed to have vanished from his system and his sight was no longer blurred. This man carried a knife in his hands and charged it with impetus in his direction.

"Stop," Alfred shouted, raising both hands and walking away cautiously. At that point the smartest option would have been to run in the other direction, making sure to shout loud enough to get all the neighbors to wake up, but something inside him was screaming at him not to do so. It almost seemed as if his thoughts had been replaced and he could not send commands to his legs.

"Run, legs." He was shouting to himself, but these didn't move. He had frozen. And at that moment he begged that it was just a hallucination because of the mixture of alcohol and opium in his blood.

But it was not. That situation was real. As real as the pain he felt through his whole body as the blade of the knife pierced his heart. Alfred could not scream, and though he tried hard, his lips were sealed. It almost seemed as if someone had stitched them up, preventing him from begging for help or mercy. The pain gradually disappeared and he only felt cold, an incredible chill rising from the tips of his toes to his hair.

The man raised his eyebrows and ripped out Alfred's heart as if it were something he did every day. He did not seem to be distressed when he threw his heart into the ditch.

For some long and suffocating minutes, that man watched Alfred as life slowly disappeared from his body. Alfred did not feel any more pain, he did not feel anything because he was just a corpse without soul. The man threw the knife in front of his body and sighed deeply. Although it was not a sigh full of resentment, he just seemed bored and exhausted, as if he had been doing that for hours.

The man placed his hair back, combing his hair with his hands as if he had just woken up and had to attend an important meeting in a few seconds. He looked at Alfred's body one last time with disdain and began to walk in the opposite direction. He did not seem to be afraid of being discovered, he did not seem to fear the repercussions that such an act would bring. Perhaps he was a man of important office, above Alfred. Perhaps he was a contract killer. 

The neighbors remained silent, they did not seem to have seen or heard anything. Or maybe they were too scared to stick their noses out the windows. Either way, that man left the scene of the crime in no hurry and left the body of his victim as if it were nothing. One thing was clear, this was not the first time he had killed. And it didn't look like it would be the last.

To be continued...

So, if you’ve read until here, i really hope you enjoyed it! 

This is a book i wrote one year ago but never got to finish because of how perfectionist and critic i am to myself, so i’m bringing this into a simstory just to revive it. There’ll be more chapters and character portrayal so you don’t get lost on who’s who. Again, i’m sorry if my english is not perfect. I don’t know many words that were usen back in XIX century in english, so if there’s a spanish speaker who’s reading this and is interested in reading the full book, let me know and i’ll send you a pdf, but it’s just a draft!

[warsofasoiaf]

The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 5: The Red Hand and the White Dove

A good general never let his successes linger too long. The key to winning a war was never stopping until the final objective was secured, which meant that no soldier could afford to celebrate his success.

2 October 1939 - Home of Michael Collins, County Cork, Ireland

The Irish had successfully repulsed multiple combined invasions from two great powers, and had successfully maintained the territorial integrity of their island. Britain had shifted their attention to the Low Countries and France had placed most of their forces along the German border or along the south of France in Marseilles. It had been days since a single Union plane or ship had come anywhere close to Irish territory. The unity that such a feat had engendered had been nothing short of exceptional. Some foreign workers had evacuated, but plenty had stayed behind to continue to help provide much needed manpower for Ireland in the face of invasion. Wealthy Irishmen bought war bonds by the armful, older men volunteered to help man civil defense spotting towers to supplement the radar stations, and workers had seamlessly integrated a full three-shift rotation to speed production along. Yet this unity had not been total, and one faction began to cause more problems.

It had been no secret that the Orangeists in Ulster had been agitating for a return to the British in Canada. To hear the rhetoric, Ulsterites needed to do everything they could to allow the exiled Windsors to return to their throne. Ireland was an ideal staging ground for the Entente, an unsinkable aircraft carrier capable of sending the entirety of the Entente’s aerial forces against the Union and the Communards. G2 had done wonders in infiltrating the Union, and the Irish Republican Army was one of the most experienced forces in the world, certainly when it came to fighting Mosley. All of that value, they argued, must have been put to use in the service King Edward. Once the United Kingdom had been restored, Ulster could be returned to the Crown, and all would be well, if you asked the Orangeists. The Unionists were seeing attendance at their rallies steadily grow and grow, before long the entirety of the Six Counties would be UUP.

The notion of joining both the Entente and the Reichspakt had been floated in the Dail. It made practical sense to join one of them, and gain the support of large and powerful armies and economies at the Irish back. Collins had exhausted plenty of political capital to shoot down those proposals, reading the refusals of the Kaiserreich and the exiled British government when the Mosley first declared war. Collins didn’t like it, it gave too much red meat to the na hAiséirghe crowd and could embolden their efforts against his immigration reforms, but it gained him a reprieve from those demanding that Ireland join one of the two European factions. Joining one would invite the Union to continue bombing and invading to prevent exactly the scenario that the Ulsterites hoped to come to pass. 

With the war on, it was the perfect time to move. If it wasn’t such a threat, Collins would appreciate the irony, since the Weltkrieg was what had enabled Irish independence in the first place. He now sat in the same position as the British Empire did twenty years ago. The moment had made his mouth taste like metal, almost an involuntary moment of revulsion. The promises of 1921 seemed to be coming true at the worst possible time. The confirmation of Ulster would have to take place, one way or the other. 

Now that the bombings were over, and life was attempting to return to normal, agitation against the Irish government had returned. James Craig had viciously denounced the Collins government, declaring that Collins had hoped to hobble Belfast, and that the Northern Irish would be kept out of the riches of Collins’s economic policies. The Saorstat Brewery, the Open for Business Initiative, the agricultural reforms in Connacht, the zinc mines in the center of the country, it was economic prosperity for Catholics only, Craig had made a grand show to a roaring crowd of Unionists and Ulster Volunteers. Collins’s ultimate goal, so Craig spelled out, was the economic subservience of the Northern Irish, to let them wither until they surrender who they are.

“Everything I’ve done for Belfast and it’s still not enough. The steelworks, the Short Brothers, none of it will ever be enough for James Craig.” Collins grumbled to an empty room. 

---

16 November 1939 - Belfast, Ireland

The latest news wasn’t good. The Unionists, citing unequal treatment by Catholic employers, had planned to stage a large-scale sympathetic strike, which threatened everything from small restaurants all the way to Harland and Wolff. The Ulster Shipwright and Marine Workers Association, by far the largest labor union in Belfast and de facto head of any large-scale labor activity, had misgivings about striking in the middle of a war, and had strongly pushed a compromise plan. Smaller businesses unrelated to the war effort like restaurants and other service industries would institute a general strike, while shipyards, airfields, and other critical war industries would stress work-to-rule behavior and malicious compliance. As a token of good faith in their statement of grievances, the workers promised that they would maintain all repair facilities for the An tSeirbhís Chabhlaigh and the An tAerchór at full functionality; they would do nothing that would critically endanger Ireland’s defense in the wake of Union aggression. Despite this, the plan ultimately was for naught. A fight broke out between the Unionists and a large group of unknown men shouting that they were betraying the war effort. No one had been seriously injured, merely cuts, broken bones, and a bunch of filled beds at Belfast Medical. 

Rumors had abounded at what exactly happened and who was involved. Collins received his share of the blame, plenty believed that he had ordered the strikebreaking action to intimidate the Ulster Volunteers under the veneer of plausible deniability. Even more outlandish conspiracy theorists suggested that Collins had organized the labor action itself, to give his strikebreakers the reason they needed to kick a couple of teeth in without actually causing significant damage to the war effort and delegitimize the Ulster Volunteers and the labor unions in one fell swoop to prevent reaching out to the Dominion or the Union. The Catholics loudly protested that it must have been the Ulster Unionists who struck the first blow, hypocritically demanding the right to protest but denying it to the Irish nationalists in a rehash of the old Irish Penal Law system. Most however, thought it was just strikebreaking, squads hired by business owners to break up the labor action. Either way, it wasn’t good for the Collins government.

This had come not long after the bank of Ireland had been robbed in Belfast, gaining plenty of money to continue to fund dissident activity within the Six Counties. The Gardai had been unable to find where the money had gone, it had almost certainly been laundered through businesses in the North. No one could prove that it was the Unionists who had robbed it, but everyone was convinced that it was the case. With the Irish budgets already stretched thin, the loss of the cash reserves in Belfast had stung deeply. Angry Irish citizens had demanded that the government guarantee their account holdings and punish those responsible. Collins sympathized, but inflation was a dangerous beast to wrestle with already, he couldn’t imagine the headache he would have to deal with if he started securing private holdings during the war.

No matter the truth of everything that had happened in Ulster, it was bad for Collins. This sort of thing could only hurt the war effort. The last thing he needed was James Craig hoping to secure himself by latching on to the Union, or declaring war on Ireland and inviting in the British crown. “Tighten restrictions, offer the usual sympathies, promise an investigation. Let’s make nice before this gets any worse.” Collins ordered, hoping to stave off catastrophe.

---

20 December 1939 - County Antrim, Ireland

It was starting to look as if it would be an armed conflict after all. 

Derry had seen the first problems. A prominent Unionist activist had been stabbed in the night and left to bleed in a gutter, dying in the pre-dawn hours of a cold December morning and undiscovered until a morning street-cleaning crew found him during their shift. The Gardai had no leads, which had only mobilized the Unionists further. There had been no leads because there had been no investigation. The Gardai fully supported the murder of prominent Unionists; it allowed them to subjugate the population without fear of uprising or uproar. No doubt, had a Irish Republican loyalist been murdered, the perpetrator would have been found, arrested, and sentenced to death under wartime emergency measures. 

Orangeists had been seeing a steady increase in support from Protestants in the North. Intelligence reports from police units had noted steady increases in recruiting and donations. Hardliners were urging the police to crack down on the movement, but absent evidence of a specific crime, Northern Irish advocacy groups had been a right guaranteed in the 1925 Constitution. The Gardai had to contend themselves with attempting to trace the money from the Bank of Ireland robbery and seeing if they could identify the specific groups that were causing trouble. If the perpetrators could be discovered, the Ulster Volunteers would have to disavow them and perhaps cause distress within their own movement. 

The Irish nationalists despised Collins’s plans. It was war and the Ulster Volunteers were committing treason against the state. If the Ulster unions took the strikebreaking as a means to invite Mosley in, he’d have a secure beachhead, or James Craig might reach out to King Edward and slowly invite a peacekeeping force in. Neither idea seemed particularly feasible to Collins, but the fear of such possibilities was creating a lot of doomsaying, and that was enough. His success against Mosley had taught a valuable lesson: impression could mean far more than reality.

A concert hall in County Antrim saw the next bloody episode. Masked men shouting pro-Ulster slogans opened fire, killing members of a Dublin band and concert-goers alike who had been playing a Christmas benefit. No one from that crime was caught, as sympathetic Ulsterites had been able to smuggle the men underground. Investigators hadn’t yet been able to discover who the gunmen actually were. The pictures reminded Collins uncomfortably of what he saw in Galway and Sligo, how long would be before Irish would be doing the same to Irish? Rounding up and executing them in a field like they were sheep or cattle, it sickened Collins to his core. Craig had remained silent on the matter, but the Irish Catholics in the North were incredibly frightened. Even the foreigners were frightened of being caught in the crossfire, and that led Collins to one inescapable conclusion: he was losing control.

“Institute a stronger curfew, devote more money to investigations. Also let’s see if we can’t do something to undercut the Volunteer’s support among the Northerners, make them focus their efforts on fighting the Union. Take out loans if you have to; this needs to end now.”

---

17 January 1940 - Belfast Ireland

It was a grim day, and the dark clouds had seemed to be a herald for bad omens. 

After the concert hall massacre, the Ulster Unionist Party had quieted down, but only for a short time. No progress had been made, and rumors had circulated that the UUP weren’t going to send any sacrificial lamb even if they disagreed with the action. The Unionists had sought to organize a large-scale march in Belfast. Plenty within Collins’s government urged him to quash it entirely under emergency war powers, a large assembly could be considered too great a risk from aerial bombardment. Yet with the threat of British bombardment being reduced, Collins had opted not to give the Ulsterites more reason to call him an unconstitutional tyrant.

When the news of it reached the Catholic minority in Belfast, they predictably demanded an extra defensive precaution. The sporadic outbreaks of violence meant that the Catholics feared that the march would become a riot, and the Ulster Unionists, while not proven to be connected to the murders in Antrim, were almost certainly guilty of abetting it. The Gardai hadn’t been able to stop the violence, and with the march they would be woefully outnumbered and unable to protect anyone if anything got out of hand. Collins had ordered the 3rd Limerick Rifles to strategic points, with Eoin O’Duffy at the command center. The 3rd Limerick was a mix of O’Duffy’s old guard, men that had served him since 1917 which now comfortably resided in senior leadership and NCO positions, and young recruits that had signed on near the beginning of the Internationale War, out of training and dispersed to different combat units so that they might benefit from the veterans that had been fighting in the war from the outset and absorbed the new techniques and methods of waging war.

The latter category was populated by Dean MacCabe, a fresh recruit among many. He was greener than his uniform, and had been nervous about fighting the war. Rather than wait to be drafted, Dean had signed up for the infantry to serve his homeland. In truth, he’d rather have been in a coastal fort on Clew Bay, but his country needed him here, making sure that nothing happened during the protest march. Fortunately so far, the worst that seemed to happen was a bit of name-calling. Dean himself would have been happy to have given as good as he got, but he needed to keep his cool. Level heads were needed, and he needed to prove himself worthy of the uniform. 

The rain had already hampered visibility greatly, and with everyone wearing long coats it was almost maddening to tell who, if anyone, was concealing a weapon under their raincoat. With so many people on the street, it was next-to-impossible to pick out faces of known Ulster Volunteers or militant UUP’ers in the crowd. Sometimes people spoke to each other and pointed at the 3rd Limerick. Were they pointing them out in signal for an attack, or just commenting on the fact that they were there? A woman walking by with a baby carriage stopped to play with the infant inside. Was that genuine, or was it a signal pointing out the best angle of attack? Dean started to sweat out of fear, mixing with the rainwater that was snaking its way inside his own raincoat. Everything could be a signal for a waiting attack, everyone could be an enemy. He had orders to fire if fired upon, but felt so exposed that he wouldn’t get a chance to fire second.

Periodic glances to his pocketwatch gave him grounding but seconds ticked on agonizingly slowly as he kept watch. His fellows were just as worried as he was, he could see in their faces. The old NCO’s seemed to be surer, but that could just be the experience in their eyes. This was not so much war as it was psychological torture, young men signing up to placed in the rain to fear when the next sudden outbreak of death could come, and it could come from anywhere. It had only been six minutes since he last looked at his watch.

Bottles and rocks started to be thrown at the 3rd Limerick’s position now, but was it testing their readiness, or merely rowdy Unionists too deep in their cups? And how quickly could the latter turn into a full-blown attack. All it took was one man to draw, and Dean MacCabe could be dead on the ground. Every time he saw something suspicious, he debated looking to his comrades for guidance, but if he had, would that mean that he would leave himself exposed, and he, or one of his brothers in the unit, could be killed? Even a moment’s lapse of concentration could be lethal, and so Dean MacCabe needed to maintain focus. Finally, the drunks had either run out of bottles or found something else interesting to do, the bottles gradually tapered off from two in the air, to one, to none. MacCabe looked at his watch. Nine minutes.

“Eyes front, we’ve got something,” came the gruff voice of the sergeant, and Dean snapped out of his reverie. There was movement in the crowd, a group of toughs approaching square to the Limerick Rifles position. Dean’s nerves were fraying, and Dean did not plead for what was before him to be something genuine or a false alarm. All he wanted was this wretched duty to be over, to go back to the barracks, drink himself into a stupor, and forget that this day had ever happened. The toughs began to chant, and MacCabe stole a second to look at his watch.

Two minutes. 

---

18 January 1940 -  Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

Bloody Wednesday. That’s what the papers were calling what had happened at Belfast. Only a handful dead, more wounded, but it didn’t matter if no one was hurt: the Irish Republican Army had fired on Ulstermen. Weapons were found on the bodies, but eyewitnesses swore they saw mutually contradicting versions of events as they unfolded. 

Collins made a public speech expressing sorrow for the loss of life, and vowed to discover what had happened. Only one man, above all else, could be trusted to treat the matter with the integrity that such a matter required. Richard Mulcahy, Ceann Foirne na bhFórsaí Cosanta, temporarily ceded his command position as Marshal of the Defense of Ireland to Liam Lynch, to take up a commission to investigate the matter. James Craig had wanted nothing to do with it and refused to offer any official support. Luckily for Collins, the Lord Mayor of Belfast had offered his full support for the commission provided Belfast police could participate, almost certainly committing political suicide in the process. One mayor seemed to stand between the country and civil war, and that mayor was a damn welcome sight to Collins eyes. The UUP depended on local support in Belfast, a mayor supporting the Commission would mean that until he was inevitably ousted in a no-confidence vote, Collins could act to head off any potential war.

It wouldn’t be long coming if he didn’t act quickly. G2 had intercepted comminiques to the Dominion of Canada that were almost certainly conducted on Craig’s behalf. Nothing sinister on its own, mere expressions of concern for Irish Unionists in the wake of the events of Bloody Wednesday. More concerning were the trade unions reaching out to the Union across the Irish Sea. Only the fringe socialists campaigned for syndicalism after Mosley’s invasion, but that crowd started to gain more support among the trade unions after the strikebreaking action, and it would only get worse if the common man in the North figured that Mosley was the lesser evil.

“Go on, and come back with what you can. Spend whatever money you need, do whatever you can to make peace. We aren��t going to survive any more invasions if we’re fighting in the Six Counties.”

---

1 Feburary, 1940 - Special Session of the Dail, Dublin, Ireland

The Mulcahy Commission had returned surprising, and utterly damning results.

O’Duffy had asserted in his after-action reports that the Unionists had initiated violence, taking advantage of a minor street altercation to ambush a stationed unit. After receiving fire, O’Duffy had reinforced his men. Once the Ulsterites had started to take fire, they fled into the crowds, which quickly had become chaotic. The entire mess had taken less than 30 seconds, but they were 30 seconds of absolute madness.

Mulcahy’s findings concluded the opposite. He had stated that it had appeared that one of O’Duffy’s men fired the first shots, the Ulsterites had responded, and had placed weapons among the dead to minimize the risk that any could have been identified as an unarmed civilian. No one in the IRA detachment that had been fired upon would come forward to support Mulcahy’s findings, and most credible witnesses were unable to determine whether one or the other was true; most were paying attention to the parade and saw the firefight only after the first shots were fired. 

The implications for the Irish Republican Army was huge. If O’Duffy was guilty, it would mean that a high-ranking member of the IRA had conspired to attack Protestant Irishmen. Before now, the government had not been involved in violence against citizens in the North in ten years, since the Northern Campaign. Now, it could have confirmed that there would be no regularization of their status, that they would always be second-class citizens in the Republic, and their only choices were rebellion or slow destruction.

“We respect the Commission and its findings. The Republic of Ireland owes a debt of gratitude to Richard Mulcahy, the Right Honorable Lord Mayor of Belfast Crawford McCullagh, and the investigators who have worked many hours to discover the truth.” Collins announced on the steps of the Dail. “There is nothing that can bring back those poor men and women who died that fateful day. All we can do is labor on in their stead. The Republic of Ireland will compensate the families of those lost, hold trials of the perpetrators, and hold them in our prayers. We cannot undo this, but we can endeavor to build something from this.”

The Bloody Wednesday trials, as they came to be known, were largely simple affairs. Testimony was mercifully brief; there was no need to be lurid or voyeuristic in  The young men in the division, who had followed the orders of their superiors, were convicted of manslaughter. The officers and NCO’s on scene, who were of higher rank and ordered the shooting, had higher sentences. That only left Eoin O’Duffy himself, who adamantly maintained his innocence and dismissed the evidence against him arranging any sort of conspiracy as spurious. The prosecution had attempted to cite him for command responsibility, but the Hague Conventions had been rather vague on the notion, and the Peace With Honor had looked to avoid punishing soldiers for their actions near the end of the Weltkrieg. No one could argue that opening fire on civilians and placing weapons on them to cover up the crime wasn’t beyond the scope of normal command duties. If there wasn’t ironclad proof, the IRA would see it as Collins betraying his own for the sake of making nice with Ulster, the corruption of Collins the soldier to Collins the politician who threw his soldiers under the bus.

“They were your soldiers too, Eoin! You trained them! You’re the one betraying them. The Ulsterites are Irish too.”

Ultimately, O’Duffy was sentenced to life imprisonment, after being cashiered from the Irish Republican Army. Collins didn’t see it as a victory. If he had sent Mulcahy instead of O’Duffy, how many more lives would have been saved? What could he do, to build a united Ireland in the wake of such bloodshed.

“Call Mr. McCullagh. This is my last shot to avoid losing Ireland.”

---

14 September 1940 - Belfast, Ireland

“With the establishment of the Parliament of Ulster and the transformation of the Republic into the Federal Republic of Ireland, all Irish people can truly be thought of as being weavers of the grand Irish tapestry. We thank the government of Michael Collins for establishing this institution to ensure that the Northern Irish and Protestant peoples of this great country can show and share their ways of life, and the distinct traditions that have become part of our life can become part of Ireland’s. The Cultural Unity Commission represents a tangible step on the path to the vision of our great flag. One nation, Catholic and Protestant, with the eternal flag of peace between them.” -Gerald McCullagh, First Minister of the Ulster Parliament

It was a pretty speech, but McCullagh had quieted down the UUP protests. There had almost been a complete schism between McCullagh and Craig, and Craig’s advanced age had not helped him maintain control of the party. A younger generation had been able to portray McCullagh as out of touch, wanting to reunite with a land that had fled to Canada to escape the syndicalists. Worse, they hadn’t come to support Ireland when she called for support, but Michael Collins had fought, and fought well. 

Collins had established the Ulster-Scots as its own language along with English and Irish Gaelic. It had been a nightmare to organize during wartime, at one point he had joked that he spent more time trying to figure out how to translate official government manuals than he had in pursuing the fight against the Union of Britain in the past month. The gesture had surprised the moderates in the UUP, and got them to the negotiating table when the timetable for phasing in the new language was given to them. Economic gestures hadn’t worked, but Collins saw more success with political measures meant to promote Ulsterites in Ireland, first with the establishment of their own language and then with the establishment of the Cultural Unity Commission. The resolution of their status, the question that had been on the table since 1925, was being sorted. Ireland would not simply tolerate her Protestant citizens, but celebrate them. This had enraged the Irish Catholic League and other populist Catholic movements, but Collins hadn’t been worried; they had been fringe groups to begin with and banned from the Irish Republican Army.

The last step had been to federalize Ireland into four regional areas with four Parliaments, Connacht, Leinster, Munster, and Ulster. Dublin would still be the centralized seat of the national government, responsible for matters of national interest such as the military, foreign policy, and inter-province commerce, but more domestic matters would be ceded to the local Parliaments. The full resumption of federal duties would be brought into effect when the war was over, but as a gesture of support, Collins had reshuffled the War Cabinet to include ministers from each of the four provinces. Oddly, this development had been celebrated with greater fanfare within Connacht and Munster than in Ulster itself, the two provinces had seen themselves receive less in terms of investment than Dublin or Belfast, and they welcomed the added jobs and local autonomy. The success of the IEAA and the war industries had made the country bloom, and if a little autonomy was lost for maximum unity, so much the better. For the first time since this war had begun, Collins began to feel optimism. 

The same couldn’t be said for the world situation. The Russian Vozhd had begun to push deep into White Ruthenia and the Kingdom of the Ukraine. Japan and Germany had turned the Southeastern Asian peninsula into a massive stretch of small battles and the Pacific into a warzone, and Japan had offered its support to the Princely Federation to attack the British Dominion of India, putting the Co-Prosperity Sphere at war with the Entente. The Zhii Clique and the Fengtian government had also gone to war in support of their respective Great Power patrons to turn northern China into a proxy war between Germany and Japan, and Cheng Jiongming had taken the opportunity to take over Hunan and Siuchan mostly peacefully, espousing Chinese democratic federalism. The war in China had prevented Japanese land reinforcements, forcing them to rely heavily on their Siamese allies. Savinkov, sensing weakness, had declared war to seize Transamur, and had invaded Japanese Siberia to take back the tiny province. Entente naval invasions hadn’t made much progress in mainland France, and the Low Countries were struggling with a British seaborne invasion and French attacks along the border.

“This is the final struggle.” Collins addressed the nation in a radio speech. “Ireland cannot know peace until the menace that has been the Union of Britain is defeated. We have maintained our borders, but it is not enough to simply seek détente with those who sought to enslave us. The Union of Britain is a threat to the entire world, and there will not be peace until we have taken it in our hands and shown it to the world. The Irish Republican Army will go across the sea, and we will rid ourselves of those who seek to deny us our own country.” 

It was a pretty speech, and it brought the country together, but that’s all that it was. Collins needed to find a way to provide a unified front against the Internationale. For all that Deat and Mosley loathed each other, they had coordinated exceptionally well and presented a unified front against the Reichspakt. The Entente and the Reichspakt had offered non-aggression pacts between each other, but coordination had gone no further. If Collins wanted to win the war, he would have to solve that problem. If he couldn’t, then he would face annihilation.

An impossible problem? The risk of death? Every problem seemed to have such unimaginable stakes, and each time one was solved another rose in it’s place. But that was necessary. These were the times that they were in.

---

Images

Unionists Hold Massive Rally

Unionists Mobilize

Unionists Planning an Uprising?

Clash at Unionist Worker Strike

Bank of Ireland Robbery

Murder in Derry

Antrim Concert Hall Attacked

Ulster March Begins

The Mulcahy Commission

Eoin O’Duffy’s Trial

Ulster at Peace

The New Ireland

The Final Struggle

Alright everyone, this is the latest chapter. I’m not in love with this one as much as I am with some of the others, but I was happy to be able to present some of the deployed grunt experience with Dean MacCabe; there’s a little bit of my friends who went to Iraq in it, and I wanted to relay the intensity and paranoia that they felt, even if it was just for a few paragraphs. 

Did what I could to ensure that these antagonists (in terms of a character that provides an obstacle to our protagonist, not a ‘villain’) came across as reasonable; one of my many faults when I write is that I have a tendency to focus more upon protagonists, so I wanted to ensure that the Ulster Unionists came across as mostly reasonable with extreme elements. I think I pulled it off well enough, but let me know what you think of it.

I’m not a fan that peace was so easy to achieve, because I think that cheapens the very real long-term efforts that these sorts of efforts entail. That’s a function of the game mechanics in HOI4, the same thing is present in the base game in Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. Even the ideas in those foci would take a long time to implement, but it’s an AAR, so I have to reflect the mechanics of the game in the writing and make some vague allusions that it’s going to be a long process. Such as it is, I’m afraid.

The Second Weltkrieg continues on, the next chapter will be much different, as rather than taking place in one year over a series of events, it will take place over a few days at the Halifax Conference, and it will be a dialogue-driven chapter. We will have several bigwigs making their appearance, like Kaiser Wilhelm II and King Albert I (our King George VI), and some callbacks to earlier chapters. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

-SLAL

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Zajok a nappaliból – Traxelektor 2020 13

Gondolatok: „Ha úgy vannak a számok, majd emelek megint” - mondhatnám viktorizálva, kedves Traxelektor kedvelők, hiszen ez itt a 13. havi Traxelektor! (...és taps! Köszönjük Miniszelektor Úr!!! – hajlongják, longják hajj) Persze ez is csak afféle politikusi számmágia, hiszen ha visszalapozol kedves olvasó – de ugye miért is tennéd, hiszen hiszel nekem (bennem) – láthatnád, hogy a lassan induló év elején volt egy 01-02, és egy 02-03 szám, szóval ez a tizenharmadik valójában csak a tizenkettedik. Jó mi?

S ha már itt tartunk, habonnyomban elmondom, hogy Magyarország jól teljesít, mert megint van mikutyánkkölke a hónap lemezei között tigrics (Bereznyei Robi) személyében, csak sajnos Robert mindezt már Angliából teljesíti jól, szóval akkor lehet, annyira mégse teljes itt jobban. A Dimensionless amúgy tipikus tigrics lemez, minden tigricsi értékével: ötletgazdag, dallamos, idm ambient. A szerző huszonéves védjegye, hogy képes kifejezetten törékeny, kristályfinomságú dallamszerkezeteket felépíteni és sokszor megidézi a klasszikus autechre-i, aphexi hagyományt, ami ugye már az Autechre és Mr. James számára is elveszett (a south yorkshire-i hagyományörző egylet tiltakozása ellenére).

Skies Over Sheffield – ez a címe a Forgemasters meglehetősen fű alatt elsütött távoli bombájának. Múlt hónapban lamentáltam itt nektek a kámbekkek természetéről, na hát ez a legkeményebb mind közül. A Forgemasters trió (Robert Gordon, Sean Maher, Winston Hazel) ugyanis azzal a tettel vonult be az elektronikus zene históriájába, hogy 1989-ben az akkor még ismeretlen Warp Records első kiadványát jegyezték Track With No Name „címmel”. A banda utolsó megjelenésének időpontja pedig 1993, az ugye még jócskán az elektronika hajnala. Tehát 27(!) év után kámbekkelnek a srácok, nem is akárhogy, a négyszámos EP-ről az eredeti mellett két zseniális remix is bekerült a Traxelektorba.

A Negativland nevű kortárs szanfransziszkó környékbeli csapat sztorija még korábbi múltba nyúlik vissza, 1980-as keltezésű a azonos című debutlemezük, a nevüket pedig egy korabeli Neu dalcím ihlette.

Friss anyagukkal, a The World Will Decide-dal a tőlük elvárt iróniával, karcossággal reflektálnak a jelenre, az online világra, közösségi médiára, technológiára. Zenéjük fő alkotóeleme a sampling most is, de ez annyira így van, hogy a lemez bookletjében több oldalnyi „dalszöveget” böngészhet a hallgató, csakhogy ez mind hangmintaszöveg.

Igazi különlegesség még a Jay Glass Dubs nyári Soma-ján már vendégszerepelt, most pedig első albumával várhatóan gyorsan underground kedvenccé avanzsáló Maria Spivak. Nagyon markáns, egyéni hangvétel, és műfajilag is széles az olló a ciprusi hölgy esetében: dalszövegekkel poposított ambient, trip hop vagy akár a nyolcvanas évek süppedős szintiművészete, de néha beáramlik a Group Rhoda vagy Samantha Glass melankóliája is.

Album szinten ugyancsak first timer a C.P.I. spanyol Hugo Capablanca és Marc Piñol duója. Nagyon szeretem az ambientet – nem véletlen ülünk a nappaliban – de ugyanennyire finnyás is tudok lenni vele, mert itt is – mint sok más már felépült műfaj esetében – nagyon kialakultak a sémák, bevált formák, műfaj adta lehetőségek következményei. Így aztán könnyen jön a másolás – akár véletlenül vagy önplagizálás formájban is - de egy eleve lassú kompozíciókra épülő műfaj esetében - véleményem szerint - nem fér bele. A C.P.I. Alianzája ez ügyben bőven túlteljesít, el- és kilépeget minden irányba. Bevállalós Laurie Anderson - Walking and Falling-jének update-je is, de a Templo De Agua négyperces hideg, párás zsibbasztásánál megszólaló akcentusos Who Are You? hangminta is rendre odab@sz, főleg a folytatása, amin mindig röhögnöm kell, és nem fogom elszpojlerezni azért se. Esetleg hallgasd meg!

A detroiti Windsor szőke(?) hercege Richie Hawtin is előállt egy duplaopus-szal, amiből nekem csak a fele tetszik, de az nagyon. Ugye amióta Plastikmant Richie deportálta a Plutóra (...is not a planet) hiányzik ez a hangzás az elektronikából, vannak követők, meg néha valaki kiteker valami plasztikmenit, csak az úriembert pont az különbözteti meg többiektől, hogy egyfelől mérnöki precizitással áll neki mindennek, ezáltal több szinttel komplexebb technikai megoldásokban gondolkozik. Aztán mégse gabalyodik bele, mert a másik erénye a deriválás, minimalizálás, aminek a végén mindig valami egészen felfoghatatlan, végestelenig hajlitgatható, fémtiszta és vírusmentes zenei origamit kapunk.

Dícsérjük meg Ladislav Zensor barátunkat Prágából (Exhausted Modern), aki idei negyedik minőségi kiadványát publikálta Conditions of Struggle, Struggle for Conditions címmel.

Egy Dadub lemez olyan, mint az abszint, az ember mindig megörül neki – nincs is túl sok belőle - utólag meg már bánja, csak akkor már késő. A korábbi albumoknak elsöprően remek muzikalitásuk mellett közös jellemvonásuk volt az általuk okozott magas vérnyomás, mint fizikai tünet, a Hypersynchron annyiban más ,hogy szabad ég alatt a Dadub Ipari Park területén ragyogó csillagok alatt kapunk nagyon lassan végzetes szívrohamot, miközben betemet a hangfalakból áradó vöröses emlékhömpöly, de magyar ember már csak ilyen, ha befizettem, én má’ végigeszem, végigmegyek rajta. Közben nem tudok nem arra gondolni, hogy ez a két szimpatikus olasz fiatalember rajtunk veri el a port eme igen nehéz évért.

Randomba! Krosszfédbe Elftársak!

Megjelenések:

CPI - Alianza [2020, Hivern Discs][LP] Dadub - Hypersynchron [2020, Ohm Resistance][LP] Exhausted Modern - Conditions of Struggle, Struggle for Conditions [2020,Endless Illusion][EP] Forgemasters - Skies Over Sheffield [2020, Seven Hills][EP]

Negativland - The World Will Decide [2020, Seeland][LP] Richie Hawtin - Time Warps [2020, From Our Minds][EP] Spivak - Μετά Το Ρέιβ [2020, Ecstatic][LP] tigrics - Dimensionless [2020, Self-released][LP] VA - Svreca - Decade 2010-2020 [2020, Semantica][Comp-LP]

Traxelektor:

Spotify playlist (37/64, 3h39m/6h12m) Aktuális fülbemászók: Intergalactic Gary - Microwaves AAAA - Glide Age X

AAAA - Anexx0 [Runts, Acid Test] AAAA - Glide Age X [Runts, Acid Test]

Anthony Rother - Darker Places [Cyberspace Reality, Psi49net] Anthony Rother - Helical [Cyberspace Reality, Psi49net] Anthony Rother - Our Reality [Cyberspace Reality, Psi49net] Anthony Rother - The Unknown X [Cyberspace Reality, Psi49net] Biochip - Mind Bubbles [Crux Alley, Central Processing Unit] Brainwaltzera - Dropp On Gminor (ΠΕΡΑ ΣΤΑ ΟΡΗ † Φlesh Mix)[Brainwaltzera Remixed, Touched] Brainwaltzera - Ten Ton Fenix (JASSS Remix)[Brainwaltzera Remixed, Touched] Burial x Four Tet x Thom Yorke - His Rope [Her Revolution / His Rope, XL] Cabalist - The Lost Summer [Chromo Of War, Janushoved] Coco Bryce - Flight Six Six Six [Deep Into The Jungle, Lobster Theremin] Coco Bryce - Vegan Library [Deep Into The Jungle, Lobster Theremin] Commodo - Eldritch [Procession, Deep Medi Musik] Commodo - Procession [Procession, Deep Medi Musik]

CPI - Islaalsl [Alianza, Hivern Discs] CPI - Rasa [Alianza, Hivern Discs] CPI - Templo De Agua [Alianza, Hivern Discs] CPI - Walking and Falling [Alianza, Hivern Discs] Dadub - Infinite Regresses [Hypersynchron, Ohm Resistance] Dadub - Link To Quantum [Hypersynchron, Ohm Resistance] Dadub - Of Simulacra [Hypersynchron, Ohm Resistance] Denial of Service - Disaster Protocol [False Positives, Film] Denial of Service - Junkie Foxtrot [False Positives, Film] Denial of Service - Snake Doctors [False Positives, Film]

Dominique - Junk Sleep [Liminal Space, Opal Tapes] Donato Dozzy - Sanza High [The Tao, Samurai] Donato Dozzy - Tao [The Tao, Samurai] Emma DJ – Fuzmec [VA. - An Easy Way Out For Those Who Can't Escape, L.I.E.S.] Exhausted Modern - Ignorance Is Bliss [Conditions of Struggle, Struggle for Conditions, Endless Illusion] Exhausted Modern - The Best is Yet to Come [Conditions of Struggle, Struggle for Conditions, Endless Illusion] Exhausted Modern - There Is No revolution, There Is Just You, Microwaving Ramen [Conditions of Struggle, Struggle for Conditions, Endless Illusion] Florist - Untitled 1 [Intermedia 1, Baroque Sunburst] Florist - Untitled 2 [Intermedia 1, Baroque Sunburst] Fluxion - Down The Line (Reprise) [Perspectives Versions, Vibrant]

Forest On Stasys - Shaman Theme (Oscar Mulero Remix) [VA. - The Ugandan Rite, Danza Nativa] Forest On Stasys - Tribal Gathering (Josef Gaard Rework) [VA. - The Ugandan Rite, Danza Nativa] Forgemasters - Skies Over Sheffield (96 Back Eccy Beach Heatwave Mix) [Skies Over Sheffield, Seven Hills] Forgemasters - Skies Over Sheffield (Luca Lozano's Sunshine On Sharrow Mix) [Skies Over Sheffield, Seven Hills] Forgemasters - Skies Over Sheffield (Original Mix) [Skies Over Sheffield, Seven Hills] Hodge - Lanacut (Shanti Celeste Remix) [Remixes In Blue, Houndstooth] Intergalactic Gary - Microwaves [DDS03, Dalmata Daniel] ISHAQ - Forest Manned Wolf [VA. - An Easy Way Out For Those Who Can't Escape, L.I.E.S.] Jonas Kopp - First Transmission from Asterope [Pleiadian Key Tones, Axis]

Kike Pravda - Ground [Ground, Senoid] Negativland - Content [The World Will Decide, Seeland] Negativland - Don't Don't Get Freaked Out [The World Will Decide, Seeland] Negativland - More Data [The World Will Decide, Seeland] Negativland - The World Will Decide [The World Will Decide, Seeland]

Richie Hawtin - Time Stands Still [Time Warps, From Our Minds] Sordid Sound System - Keep Your Head [VA. - Time Tone & Texture, Invisible, Inc.] Spivak - Enough Throwbacks [Μετά Το Ρέιβ, Ecstatic] Spivak - Η Πιό Όμορφη Θάλασσα [Μετά Το Ρέιβ, Ecstatic] Spivak with H4S - Σχεδόν Σίγουρα [Μετά Το Ρέιβ, Ecstatic] Sugai Ken - Headwaters Of The Tone River [Tone River, Field]

The Black Dog - Cup Noodle (Unemployed Youth Version) [Further Fragments, Dust Science] tigrics - Dreamer x8 [Dimensionless, Self-released] tigrics - Kerns [Dimensionless, Self-released] tigrics - lowe [Dimensionless, Self-released] tigrics - No D [Dimensionless, Self-released] tigrics - TT sibase [Dimensionless, Self-released]

Tunes of Negation - Naked Shall I Return [Like The Stars Forever And Ever, Cosmo Rhythmatic] Urlaub in Polen - T.H.D.T [All, Tapete]

[atlanticcanada]

Private Nova Scotia daycares warn of closures

Ten-dollar-a-day daycare is supposed to make things easier for parents but some private operators are warning they may be forced to close.

“We have done a poll with our private operators and we're close to the 25 per cent range of looking to close within the next 12 months,” said Lisa Beddow, who owns six private daycares across Halifax Regional Municipality and Colchester County.

Beddow points out that fees have been frozen for years and now that many are facing rising food and fuel costs, more operational money is needed.

Beddow said daycares are exploring if they should close or operate outside of the grant model and charge their own rates.

“Which could be upwards of 60 to 70 dollars a day,” she tells CTV. “So that's what we'd need to be able to pay these wages, so a two-tiered system.”

Earlier this month, Nova Scotia announced a new wage framework that would up the pay for daycare workers but some argue those raises still fall short.

“We have a major staffing crisis in this province,” said Nikki Jamieson with Child Care Now. “And the fact that government promised a minimum living wage in the operations plan that's directly written into the agreement and failed to deliver on that promise should be top of mind.”

Early childhood educators will be paid more depending on experience. Level one ECE’s will now be paid $19.10 an hour instead of $15 while Level 3 workers will get a pay bump from $19 to 21.67.

A not for profit daycare in Halifax’s north end that serves the military recently announced it will close at the end of March due to staffing levels.

"Not having enough trained staff directly affected our ability to provide a consistent and reliable service to families,” Bridget Ebsary said in a statement about the decision to close the Windsor Park location of The Halifax & Region Military Family Resource Centre. “On any given day, our Windsor Park Children’s Centre is one staff absence from having to turn multiple families away at drop-off, despite the exhaustive efforts that were made to actively recruit and retain ECE staff.”

Becky Druhan, Minister of Education and Early Childhood Development, points out the province has invested more than $100 million to pay workers more and that the province is at the table with parents and daycares.

“An operational funding model is one of those things that's the next priority,” Druhan said. “We look forward to working with that table and others in the sector to be able to deliver on that.”

Minister Druhan also said there are many operators who are supportive and thankful of the work that’s being done.

“We know this is a huge change. Change is not easy,” she said. “For any individual operators who are particular challenged in any way, we work together with them to try to support them.”

Druhan noted the challenges this sector is experiencing with workforce and inflationary pressures are not because of this ongoing transformation.

“The transformation we are doing is to address those issues,” Druhan said.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/HAtVpZ5

[lilaetleloup]

the signs that point to a manipulator VII

28. he sees himself as a predator

And I still consider him otherwise...

But this said, he is not totally wrong. He lurks here, in the bushes, hunting the empath without conscience or remorse for the pain he could cause. He needs to eat energy! And to him it is only nature’s order that the strong are the hunters when the weak are the hunted.

But the laws of the jungle are antithetic to civilization and progress. Political parties founded exclusively by his kind always talk about going backwards, to a time when it felt good living at others’ expenses. With his Neanderthal mind, dooming the weak to an early grave, he is a hindrance to progress. Because the physically weak or the person born on the wrong side of the railroad, can easily be the smarter, the inventor, the creative mind, the genius, the spiritual guide, the wise... the one who will have humanity go forward with him.

If we succeeded in getting out of the Middle-Age it is in spite of the manipulator. Not thanks to him.

And it’s no coincidence, to my mind, if, since he has made a huge comeback these last thirty years, we turn back to the good old days of economic servitude and pandemic. Because too many manipulators in power means a massive return of corruption, incompetence, entitlement, lies and exploitation.

The manipulator sees us as preys and underestimates us. Underestimates the courage and abnegation of those who can fight for a cause bigger than themselves or who fight for those they love.

A difference between the manipulator and the predator, though, is that the manipulator prefers to stay in the shade, when the society isn’t favourable to his kind. Whereas a tiger doesn’t hide his stripes. In North Korea or other China, on the contrary, I imagine it’s party time everyday for a manipulator. And I can’t fathom the hell it must be for the minority of empathetic people there.

But if I’m right about the world’s evolution, this hiding won’t last long. And the sooner the better, because if 100% of manipulators know their “eat and be eaten” game, a very few percentage of good people are aware of the fight and what is at stake. Most of the time, this minority is composed by ex-victims.

Quite easy and no sport, then, to hunt when the antelope doesn’t know her life is on the line.

Once you know where to look, on the contrary, it’s often child play to detect them.

29. he has a paranoid tendency

Well of course, just imagine! We all have this tendency to put our own way of thinking is the other’s mind. And this makes us, empathetic people, more prone to naivete, jumping bambis in the sunset and in the crossfire of automatic guns.

But this makes him paranoid. Others want to rob him, have no conscience, will betray him, will cheat on him...

The world is full of bad guys, he knows it. And the manipulator only sleeps with one eye open. Or can’t sleep at all.

30. he doesn’t like rules

Rules are for the weak, he thinks. If he can despise or rape them, it’s fine. If he can change them in his own interest, it’s better still.

There are too many times when he must pretend to respect the rules. And it’s exhausting.

31. he is greedy and confuses success with financial success

Of course! For him everything turns around looks, power and money. And what is dangerous is when the way he feels become the dominant philosophy. I guess there is only a certain amount of manipulators a society can bear at its head, in companies and politics, before we spiral down in a vicious circle. Because the manipulator will change the mentalities to favour his kind, making it easier for others manipulators to climb, who in turn will aggravate the mentalities...

For ten years, I have this feeling that the world is going faster and faster in manipulation land. Which means darker and darker. And I fear we’ll have to touch the bottom before it gets better.

This overwhelming mentality contributes to the fact that so many good people feel bad, can feel like  they are failing if they concentrate on being a good parent, or a just teacher or a faithful spouse. Hit again and again by these golden and superficial lives on the social media, most good people can get depressed.

The manipulator is also greedy. His overinflated ego is always whispering him he deserves more. And this answers the question I had, as a good naive empathetic person: why would a billionaire choose to paint his tenth swimming pool with god instead of raising wages?

Because he deserves it and the others don’t deserve anything more than the bare minimum to survive and be able to work for him.

So of course, to avoid the possibility that poor people get to the pitchforks and attack his bunker, he’ll give to charities, elegant way of talking with his social peers about the wellness of the peasants around appetizers. And also, to save taxes. And the rich manipulator will always prefer this way of giving money, which allows him to control where it goes, preferably in causes more glamour and selling than repairing roads and will also allow him to build a nice philanthropic image for himself. Also, it will help sustain an economic system that favours him. Because in reality, a good economic system, in a rich democracy, is the one where everybody pays his just amount of taxes and everybody can earn a fair wage, one that you can live on. Where, in fact, nobody should need charity.

Also, the internal vacuum of the manipulator is a bottomless pit that encourages him to get always more. The manipulator isn’t Iron Man, the philanthropist superhero but Pac Man: always hungry, never satisfied.

And he doesn’t care if the planet would die of it. Because as the delectable Duchess of Windsor would have said: “one is never rich enough”.

32. he divides and conquers

He is a master of triangulation, this art which consists in using a third person in the toxic relations he has with you. He will use this other person against you, having told him lies where he is the victim. Or have you understand that this person thinks you are wrong. And have you hate him in the process.

On his chess board, he is the king or the queen and others are pawns.

His hot-air-balloon ego is fragile and he is a coward in confrontation where the adversary isn’t weak and could fight back He will, in this case, send somebody else to do the dirty job.

In some extreme cases, the manipulator can cut you totally from your friends and family. He’ll act like it’s you and him in a fortress, having you believe that everybody else is mean. Enclosed in the tower, the victim is more powerless than ever.

(to be continued...)

[rolling0096-blog]

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[my-world-travel]

Leicester, England

The reason I was in Leeds for 5 hours was because I went to Leicester over reading week. I have a friend, Thyme @voldemortcalmlypooping who lived there, and wanted to try out the coach system and also do an overnight trip in a very controlled manner (aka by sleeping on their sofa for free).

Coincidentally, Leicester also has a number of interesting historical features.

The big one, of course, is Richard III. A brief precis: Back in 1485, what began as a familial power struggle got egregiously out of hand and an army led by Henry Tudor killed Richard of York, King of England. Richard’s body was identified on the field, but due to the very rapid propaganda team of Henry Tudor (now Henry VII), his burial was quiet. By the modern era, while records indicated he had been buried at Greyfriars Church in Leicester, it wasn’t at all clear a) where the church was and b) whether he was still there. Since missing royal tombs aren’t exactly common, the topic was a popular puzzle for archaeologists until 2012. In that year, excavations in a city centre car park–explicitly looking for him, but not daring to hope quite so high and so officially looking for the church–found first the church and then a skeleton from the right era with scoliosis. DNA testing found that a woman known to be descended from Richard’s sister shared mitochondrial DNA with the skeleton and the announcement was made.

This promptly raised the question of burial. Most English monarchs are in Winchester Cathedral (the very old ones), Westminster Abbey (the famous ones), or Windsor Castle (the new ones). But Richard has a long history of being maligned, Westminster is rather full, and Leicester didn’t want to give him up–besides, he had been properly buried there, just the original church was destroyed. So he was reburied in 2015 in Leicester Cathedral, across the road from the original location.

Photo 1: I have my problems with the new tomb. It’s very modern: Very sleek and elegant and not an obnoxious giant white boar to be seen. Compare the absolutely hideous and stunning double tomb for his replacement, Henry VII and his niece, Elizabeth of York. Amazing. Very Renaissance, unlike this thing.

From there, we went across the street to the new and very shiny museum on Richard, where I tried again to figure out the Wars of the Roses (I can’t), and then we looked at the site. Photo 2 shows the original ground floor of the church, while photo 3 is the hole from which they removed his casket. Very cool stuff.

And then there was a reenactor in the museum and he helped me try on some armor. It’s heavy, would probably eventually be exhausting, but not cumbersome–even though the set wasn’t remotely fitted to me. The helmet was very annoying though. (Photo 4)

We popped into the guildhall, built in 1586, because Europe is old as shit–and this is not the oldest building in Leicester! Leicester is a decently old town (you can tell because the -cester refers to it having been a Roman fort) and it is far outclassed by, say, most things in Orkney. The point is, I still like seeing shit from 1586.

The last photo is actually from the cathedral again. It reads:

Here lyeth buried the bodie of John Bericke of this parrish, who departed this life the 2 of Aprill 1589 being about the age of 76. he did marry Marie the daughter of John Bond of Warend in the countie of Warwicke esquire[?], who lived with the said Marie in one house full, 52 yeares. and in all that tyme, though they were sometimes 20 in house hold, he had yssue by the said Marie. 5 soans and 7 daughters. [Sons] Robert, Nicholas, Thomas, John, and William. Daughters Ursula, Agnes, Marie, Elizabeth, Ellin, Christian, et [and] Alice. The said John was maior of this [town?] in Anno 1559 et [and] againe in 1572. the said Marie departed this life the 8 of December 1611 being of the age of 97 yeares. shee did [???] before her departure of her children et [and] childrens children et [and] their children to the number of 142.

I find it an interesting reflection of modern culture that we give so much money and time to a man whose major import was in his ancestors–and who left so very little behind. Whereas a man and woman who left 142 descendants and may have any descendants alive today are completely unknown.