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frischkasekuchen · 3 months

Text

Dreamtalia Carrie AU - Blood of the Covenant

Credits:

Nevo, Dreamtalia and its characters by kyokyo866

Carrie by Stephen King

Content Warnings:

Swearing

Religion/Christianity

Religious Abuse

Child Abuse

Homophobia (slurs are used)

References to smoking

Starring:

Reve and World as Carrie White (Reve Faucher and Nicholas Major)

Nevo as Margaret White (Nathan Major)

(Author's Note: I spent Lent and partway through Easter working on this fic. This is for the 50th anniversary of Carrie. Beta read by my sister. Please remember to thank Tabitha King for making sure Carrie's story was told and kickstarting King's career. )

"And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." - Ephesians 6:4 (King James Bible)

If it wasn’t worth it, if it wasn’t for his only friend, he’d never do this. If the boy didn’t think there was more to life than prayer, the day of Judgement, and papa- he would happily rot in these four walls till some other horrible disaster came.

(tonight)

The word bounced around his head.

(i am not afraid of him)

Nicholas, for the first time in his life, was going to do something worse than just say fuck under his father’s roof. Something worse than

(of whom shall i be afraid)

sharing a quarter cigarette with Reve that one evening. But there was that rising nausea, like the same urge to vomit when he first tasted sin- nicotine.

(she gave of me the tree, and I did eat)

Anxiously,

(flex)

Nicholas made his pocket change swim in the air around the ceiling light, like sharks circling a lone surfer.

“Nicholas!” Papa called, causing him to shoot up from his bed and drop the coins. “Reve has come over for dinner, come downstairs!”

“Coming!”

The boy looked in the mirror. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders the way Alfred does- minus the boisterous, prideful laughter that accompanied the stance. Nicholas marched downstairs, like a soldier to a battlefield.

—

(it was a dark and stormy night)

As Reve surveyed the dinner table one could most definitely compare it to a battlefield. Despite the polite conversation he had with Mr. Major

(what is your favorite proverb)

the air was thick with tension- the boy might as well cut it with a knife so he could breathe a little.

Things began to escalate when dessert was presented at the table. Nicholas’ father divided a blueberry pie among the three. Its filling looked thick and slimy, with cane sugar crystals. Fresh, bulbous blueberries were packed together and nestled in the crust.

When Reve took a bite of his share, he puckered his lips. The pastry was too sour and too sweet all at the same time. “It’s great!” Reve said.

However, Nicholas wasn’t having any of it, literally. He just twirled his fork in his right hand, while his left was scratching his pant leg.

“This is new.” Mr. Major said, “You haven’t touched your pie.”

“It makes me have breakouts.” Nicholas answered firmly, pushing the plate away from himself.

Mr. Major let out an ‘I-know-better’ sigh. He pushed the plate back towards his son. “Pimples are the Lord’s way of hindering pride.”

“Maybe it’s a Sign I should lay off the sweets.”

Reve jumped in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. “I-I wouldn’t mind taking his share! I have a sweet tooth after all.” Personally, it was in the boys best interest to keep the man placated.

A pregnant pause.

“Actually,” Reve chimed in once more with an eager grin, “Nicky and I have something important to tell you!”

Mr. Major’s eyebrows raised and he hummed in expectation.

Nicholas looked like a deer in headlights, it was as if he forgot what this dinner was for. The boy’s wide eyes told Reve ‘I can’t do this’.

Reve locked his pinky with Nicholas’ own under the table.

(im here)

It seemed to say.

“Reve and I…”

(spit it out be a man)

“Have been invited to prom!”

The man froze as though struck by the lightning outside. “Prom.” Mr. Major muttered in horror.

“I’m going to support Reve and-” Nicholas gulped for air a moment, “The coach thinks this could be good for us because, y’know, we’re growing up- and stuff.”

The man’s lips moved but neither boy heard what came out his mouth.

Nicholas pressed on, “V- Mr. Bazarov and Ludwig bought us tickets- so you don’t have to spend a cent.”

“No.” Mr. Major’s voice raised to an audible volume.

Nicholas began a tangent, “People think we’re- Reve and I- are weird, and not the good kind- the bad kind. And I think we need to learn, to- well- get along with everyone else, before it's too late-”

Nicholas was promptly doused with tea as his father threw it across the table. Some of it got onto Reve’s shirt. Fortunately for the two it was lukewarm. Nicholas sputtered and sniffled quietly.

Reve placed his palms on the table to stand up and voice his outrage-

But Nicholas placed a hand on his knuckles and gave a faux-reassuring squeeze. Reve sat back down. Nicholas’ hand stayed

(i just need you here)

right where it was.

“Go to your closet.” the man snarled.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Nicholas protested.

“After all you’ve been taught- you fraternize with a sodomite?”

“He isn’t a bad person, Papa.” Nicholas muttered as he scrubbed tea out of his eyes.

“The moment you stepped into that shower room-” The man heaved a heavy breath, “You exposed yourself to him, those boys- that filth. And even after you were punished for the Sin of Lustful Thoughts- you went back for more.”

“It-” Reve whimpered in a small voice, “It isn’t like that.” No one heard him.

(my siblings arent bad people im not bad am i)

The man shot out of his seat and thundered over to Nicholas. He gripped the boy’s forearm as though he were a chew toy. Mr. Major’s face appeared disturbingly enchanting, with his blue eyes framed by stringy, pink hair.

(this is too much too mu)

“Come to your closet and pray.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The man raised his hand to strike at Nicholas. The boy seemed resigned to what would come next.

Reve spent a good quarter of his life just…watching Nicholas be treated like everyone’s ragdoll. But remaining seated as his own father did the same? That was just too much.

The sound of Reve smacking away Nathan’s hand was almost as ear shattering as the sudden thunderclap.

Nicholas looked dumbfounded. The man looked offered. And though he was terrified, Reve stood between father and son.

“Don’t you hit Nicky!” Reve shrieked. “He’s your son- he doesn’t deserve that!”

“You have no right to-”

“I do! He’s important to me!”

Nicholas had doubted that Reve cared. He thought they were only friends of circumstance, but he’d gone and said that. “Reve…”

Reve was shoved and he slammed against the kitchen counter.

“Reve!” Nicholas ran over to his side, and shot his father a glare.

“Nicholas.” Papa said in a hushed tone. “Tell that man no.”

“I already said I was going.” Nicholas countered as he got Reve to his feet.

“Then tell him you’ve changed your mind!” Nathan nearly hollered. “Or we’ll move! Move somewhere you’ll never see that boy or that teacher again!”

“No- I won’t!”

“That’s final.” Mr. Major walked away as though he had the last word in.

“I’m not done!” Nicholas screamed.

“I have to close the window. The rain’s getting in the house.” he marched to a nearby window.

“I’ll get them- just please talk to me!”

And Nicholas flexed.

At that moment, Reve felt the house shift. Every window slammed shut, even the one upstairs, and the one Mr. Major was going to close and nearly crushed his fingers.

A large knife dangled inches away from the man’s face as he cowered in a corner.

Nicholas’ fingers flexed and twitched like a malfunctioning machine.

Reve put a hand on Nicholas’ shoulder. “Nicky,” he murmured, “put the knife down.”

Nicholas breathed a staccato of inhales and exhales through his nose.

Reve wrapped his arms around Nicholas’ shoulders, leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Please put that knife down, Nicky.”

The knife fell to the floor

(not worth it hes not worth it)

with a clatter.

“Witch.” Mr. Major breathed. “Devil’s power.”

Nicholas was sniffling, but without any doubt in his mind he said: “The devil’s got nothing to do with this. It’s me- me.”

“And it’s- he’s amazing.” Reve huffed.

“Nonsense.” Mr. Major rose from his crouch. “The devil is cunning. He gives you things- he tricks you- you know what he did to your mother-”

Nicholas chuckled with mirth. “She ran away, Papa.”

“She was seduced, she vanished into the night-”

“She ran away. Everyone knows that.”

(she knew she knew you were)

Reve put a hand over his mouth; Nicholas’ life was revealed to be more of a hellhole with every new fact he learned about his friend.

(can anyone tell me what abandonment means)

Nicholas sighed, “And I don’t wanna talk about these things anymore.”

(just wanted to talk like how all the other kids do with their)

Reve looked to Nicholas, his father, and then back to his best friend again.

“Are ya really sure you wanna go to prom? You don’t gotta go just for me.”

Nicholas smiled at him through the tears, the tea and nodded. He gripped Reve’s hand in his “We’re going.” Nicholas looked at his father. “We’re going to prom.”

And that affirmation is what sealed the boys’ fates.

—

Reve opened his umbrella and stepped out of the doorway.

“Have a good night, Reve.”

Reve nearly stepped off the porch. Instead, he whipped around to face Nicholas. He didn’t notice at the time, but he was crying. “Please- please promise me- that if I leave you alone with him, you’ll still call me in the morning.”

Nicholas was confused, but gave him a grin. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“People like him- they- what if he-” Reve’s trembling lips stopped that track of words.

(no no i cant say it)

“Papa won’t do that.” For some reason, Reve felt like the other boy was lying through his teeth. “Things are gonna change around here.”

“Saturday night?” Reve sniffled.

Nicholas cupped Reve’s cheeks, stood on his tiptoes, and kissed away Reve’s tears.

He pulled away. “Saturday night.”

Reve nodded, turned away, and found the courage to drag his feet away from the Major bungalow and walk home.

(Author's Note: Sorry if this piece was heavy- the Carrie AU is kind of a personal story to me (aka mad projecting). I just really wanted to do something for a Stephen King anniversary because both his novels and Dreamtalia itself have carried me through tough times. Thank you for reading.)

(P.S Shout out to anyone who got the Utena reference)

#dreamtalia #carrie au #tw swearing #tw religion #tw religious abuse #tw child abuse #my writing

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dustedmagazine · 3 months

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Linda Smith — Nothing Else Matters/I So Liked Spring (Captured Tracks)

In 2021 Captured Tracks released Till Another Time: 1988-96, a collection of recordings by Baltimore musician Linda Smith. Culled from Smith’s trove of cassette recordings, this was the first time Smith’s music had been pressed to vinyl.

Bedroom recording has long held an allure, but that release was timely. Smith, trailblazer of home taping, was already known and loved in certain pockets, especially among DIY musicians. But Till Another Time connected with pandemic-era listeners, many of whom were exploring their own isolated musical setups.

Smith’s home recording was born of its own sort of necessity. She played in a few bands over the years, including Woods, which performed at Maxwell’s and CBGB in the 1980s. But she never loved performing live. “I knew I wasn’t a rock star,” she told the Baltimore Banner last year. “But I still wanted to make music.” While in Woods she bought her first 4 track recorder, hoping to get her ideas out in a way that her bandmates could understand. For the first time, she said in a 1991 Popwatch interview, “my songs really seemed to belong to me.”

This past March Captured Tracks reissued two of Smith’s records, Nothing Else Matters and I So Liked Spring, originally released in 1995 and 1996, respectively. By the mid- '90st Smith had graduated from a 4-track recorder to a Fostex 8-track, allowing her to explore more sophisticated compositions.

As a kid Smith was a fan of the Beatles and Motown and spent a lot of time listening to AM radio, which imbued her with a strong sense of pop structures. Later she got into the Raincoats and Young Marble Giants, artists she admired and resembled both musically and philosophically: Clearly none of them were in it for fame and fortune.

Nothing Else Matters includes a cover of Young Marble Giants’ “Salad Days” which retains the stately simplicity of the original but doubles the runtime, extending it with layers of hysterical laughter and a soft roar of distant conversation. This marriage of minimalist elegance and woozy playfulness is typical of the record. It’s full of boney drum beats and “96 Tears”-esque Wurlitzer-y riffs, cool garage-rock hooks, clever melodies, dry humor and smart, idiosyncratic lyrics.

For I So Liked Spring Smith set music to the poems of late 19th/early 20th century poet Charlotte Mew. It's slightly softer around the edges than Nothing Else Matters but the tunes still twist in unexpected directions as Smith, a worthy and convincing ambassador, shapes her compositions around Mew’s words. In their relative simplicity these songs bloom with each listen.

Generally, Smith told the Women in Sound zine in 2015, she’d start with a sample beat, then she’d layer guitar, keyboard, and more guitar to fill things out, then vocals and handheld percussion. “I never had a very expensive microphone,” she said, “and sometimes preferred cheaper ones to get an interesting sound.”

As the glut of pandemic-era Bandcamp releases proved, a home recording is only as good as the artist behind it. Smith — a skilled writer and intuitive arranger — didn’t give herself many places to hide within her recordings, and she didn’t have to. As with her simple instrumentation Smith knows how to work the unique dynamics of her slightly husky, untrained voice. Sometimes wistful, sometimes sardonic, sometimes exuberant, it all sparkles.

Margaret Welsh

#linda smith #nothing else matters #i so liked spring #captured tracks #margaret welsh #albumreview #dusted magazine #home taping #lo-fi

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brookston · 5 months

Text

Holidays 1.18

Holidays

Anniversary of the Founding of Lima (Peru)

Bobby Vinton Day (Chicago, Illinois)

Dia de la Divina Pastora Bank Holiday (Venezuela)

Field Hockey Day

Flag Day (Honduras)

Four an' Twenty Day (Scotland)

Hair Dryer Appreciation Day

Heroes’ Day (Congo)

International AHC Day

Internet Freedom Day

International Laughter Day (Portugal)

Jazz Day

Lay Awake and Whisper in the Dark Day

Maintenance Day

Mercury Day (French Republic)

Metric System Day

National Forest Day

National Michigan Day

National Sanctity of Human Life Day

Royal Thai Armed Forces Day (Thailand)

Sandwich Islands Day

Stalking Awareness Day of Action

Thaipoosam (a.k.a. Thaipusam or Thaipoosam Cavadee; India, Malaysia, Mauritius)

Thesaurus Day

UFO Day

Waking Day (Elder Scrolls)

Winnie the Pooh Day

World Day of the Snowman

World Religion Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

National Gourmet Coffee Day

National Peking Duck Day

Unsliced Bread Day

3rd Thursday in January

Day of the Wallet Holder (Panama) [3rd Thursday]

Get To Know Your Customers Day [3rd Thursday of each Quarter]

Guys Night Out [3rd Thursday]

Women’s Healthy Weight Day [3rd Thursday]

Independence & Related Days

Lima founded (Aniversario de Lima; Peru; 1535)

New Scireland (Declared; 2010) [unrecognized]

Revolution Day (Tunisia)

Festivals Beginning January 18, 2024

Celtic Conventions (Glasgow, Scotland) [thru 2.4]

Eataly Vino Festival (Munich, Germany)

FARE Idaho Field to Fork Festival (Boise, Idaho)

Fête du Vin (Baton Rouge, Louisiana)

Frog Leg Festival (Fellsmere, Florida) [thru 1.21]

Havasu Balloon Festival and Fair (Lake Havasu City, Arizona) [thru 1.21]

Illiana Watermelon Association Convention (French Lick, Indiana) [thru 1.21]

International Kolkata Book Fair (Kolkata, India) [thru 1.31]

Ozark Mountain Music Festival (Eureka Springs, Arkansas) [thru 1.21]

Seed Food & Wine Week (Miami, Florida) [thru 1.21]

Sundance Film Festival (Park City, Utah) [thru 1.28]

Virginia Farm Show (Fisherville, Virginia) [thru 1.20]

Feast Days

A.A. Milne (Humanism)

Amy Carmichael (Church of England)

Antoine Pevsner (Artology)

Athanasius of Alexandria (Eastern Orthodox Church)

Beatrix d’Este (Roman Catholic; Blessed)

Bruma IV (Pagan)

Chair of St. Peter (Roman Catholic)

Confession of Peter (Eastern Orthodox, some Anglican and Lutheran Churches)

Cyril of Alexandria (Christian; Saint)

Day of Danu (Celtic Goddess of the Earth, Moon, Fertility, Wisdom, Wealth, Abundance, Wind and Water)

Deicolus (Christian; Saint)

Egg Juggling Day (Pastafarian)

Feast of Neith (Goddess of War & Hunting; Ancient Egypt)

Feast of the Cross (Eastern Orthodox Church)

Feast of Women as Cultivators (Persian)

Festival of Neith (Ancient Egypt; Goddess of the Hunt and Warfare; Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Jacob Bronowski (Humanism)

Juggling Day (Pastafarian)

Kiki Smith (Artology)

Leobadus (Roman Catholic; Saint)

Mahayana New Year (Buddhism)

Margaret of Hungary (Christian; Saint)

Martin Luther (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Peter-Paul and Marilou (Muppetism)

Prisca (Christian; Saint)

Robert Anton Wilson (Humanism)

Theocrats of Tibet (Positivist; Saint)

36 Companions in Egypt (Christian; Sains)

Ulfrid (Christian; Saint)

Volusianus of Tours (Christian; Saint)

Lunar Calendar Holidays

Lunar Bodhi Day (Buddhism) [8th Day, 12th Moon] (also 12.8)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Bend It Like Beckham (Film; 2002)

Blood Simple (Film; 1984)

The Bomb in the Cellar or Bullwinkle Lowers the Boom (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 338; 1965)

The Cherry Orchard (Play; 1904)

Cloverfield (Film; 2008)

Doctor Bluebird (Color Rhapsody Cartoon; 1936)

Dumb Patrol (WB LT Cartoon; 1964)

A Fistful of Dollars (Film; 1967)

Fresh Air (NPR Radio Series; 1975)

Gigantosaurus (Animated TV Series; 2019)

Grandma’s Pet (Oswald the Luck Rabbit Cartoon; 1932)

Hard to Be a God, by Arkady Strugatsky (Novel; 1964)

How I Met Your Father (TV Series; 2022)

Jeepers Creepers, recorded by Louis Armstrong (Song; 1939)

The Jeffersons (TV Series; 1975)

Legends of the Superheroes: Part 1 (Hanna-Barbera Animated TV Movie; 1979)

The L Word (TV Series; 2004)

Mary and the Witch’s Flower (Animated Film; 2018)

The Nose, by Dmitri Shostakovich (Opera; 1928)

Once Around (Film; 1991)

Pumping Iron (Documentary Film; 1977)

27 Dresses (Film; 2008)

Six Millions Dollar Man (TV Series; 1974)

Socko in Morocco (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1954)

Star vs. the Forces of Evil (Animated TV Series; 2015)

Svengali’s Cat (Might Mouse Terrytoons Cartoon; 1946)

Tom and Jerry: Blast Off to Mars (Animated Film; 2005)

Tortilla Flaps (WB LT Cartoon; 1958)

United States of Tara (TV Series; 2009)

Up the River or Yangtze with the Laughing Face (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 337; 1965)

The Vacuum Gun, Parts 1 & 2 (Underdog Cartoon, S3, Eps. 33 & 34; 1967)

Today’s Name Days

Margitta, Ulfried, Uwe (Austria)

Atanas, Atanaska (Bulgaria)

Biserka, Margareta, Priska (Croatia)

Vladislav (Czech Republic)

Prisca (Denmark)

Lauli, Laura (Estonia)

Laura (Finland)

Gwendal, Prisca (France)

Margitta, Prisca, Ulfried, Uwe (Germany)

Athanasios, Kyrillos, Thanasis (Greece)

Piroska (Hungary)

Beatrice, Leonardo, Liberata, Prisca, Priscilla (Italy)

Akselis, Antis, Antons (Latvia)

Gedgaudas, Jogailė, Jolita, Liberta (Lithuania)

Hild, Hildur (Norway)

Bogumił, Jaropełk, Krystyna, Liberata, Małgorzata, Piotr, Pryska (Poland)

Atanasie, Chiril (Romania)

Bohdana (Slovakia)

Faustina, Margarita, Prisca, Priscila (Spain)

Hilda, Hildur (Sweden)

Cyril (Ukraine)

Faustina, Faustine, Fraser, Frazer (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 18 of 2024; 348 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of week 3 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Beth (Birch) [Day 24 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Yi-Chou), Day 8 (Xin-Si)

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

Hebrew: 8 Shevat 5784

Islamic: 7 Rajab 1445

J Cal: 18 White; Foursday [18 of 30]

Julian: 5 January 2024

Moon: 56%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 18 Moses (1st Month) [Theocrats of Tibet]

Runic Half Month: Peorth (Womb, Dice Cup) [Day 9 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 29 of 89)

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 28 of 31)

#calendar #Holidays

0 notes

brookstonalmanac · 5 months

Text

Holidays 1.18

Holidays

Anniversary of the Founding of Lima (Peru)

Bobby Vinton Day (Chicago, Illinois)

Dia de la Divina Pastora Bank Holiday (Venezuela)

Field Hockey Day

Flag Day (Honduras)

Four an' Twenty Day (Scotland)

Hair Dryer Appreciation Day

Heroes’ Day (Congo)

International AHC Day

Internet Freedom Day

International Laughter Day (Portugal)

Jazz Day

Lay Awake and Whisper in the Dark Day

Maintenance Day

Mercury Day (French Republic)

Metric System Day

National Forest Day

National Michigan Day

National Sanctity of Human Life Day

Royal Thai Armed Forces Day (Thailand)

Sandwich Islands Day

Stalking Awareness Day of Action

Thaipoosam (a.k.a. Thaipusam or Thaipoosam Cavadee; India, Malaysia, Mauritius)

Thesaurus Day

UFO Day

Waking Day (Elder Scrolls)

Winnie the Pooh Day

World Day of the Snowman

World Religion Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

National Gourmet Coffee Day

National Peking Duck Day

Unsliced Bread Day

3rd Thursday in January

Day of the Wallet Holder (Panama) [3rd Thursday]

Get To Know Your Customers Day [3rd Thursday of each Quarter]

Guys Night Out [3rd Thursday]

Women’s Healthy Weight Day [3rd Thursday]

Independence & Related Days

Lima founded (Aniversario de Lima; Peru; 1535)

New Scireland (Declared; 2010) [unrecognized]

Revolution Day (Tunisia)

Festivals Beginning January 18, 2024

Celtic Conventions (Glasgow, Scotland) [thru 2.4]

Eataly Vino Festival (Munich, Germany)

FARE Idaho Field to Fork Festival (Boise, Idaho)

Fête du Vin (Baton Rouge, Louisiana)

Frog Leg Festival (Fellsmere, Florida) [thru 1.21]

Havasu Balloon Festival and Fair (Lake Havasu City, Arizona) [thru 1.21]

Illiana Watermelon Association Convention (French Lick, Indiana) [thru 1.21]

International Kolkata Book Fair (Kolkata, India) [thru 1.31]

Ozark Mountain Music Festival (Eureka Springs, Arkansas) [thru 1.21]

Seed Food & Wine Week (Miami, Florida) [thru 1.21]

Sundance Film Festival (Park City, Utah) [thru 1.28]

Virginia Farm Show (Fisherville, Virginia) [thru 1.20]

Feast Days

A.A. Milne (Humanism)

Amy Carmichael (Church of England)

Antoine Pevsner (Artology)

Athanasius of Alexandria (Eastern Orthodox Church)

Beatrix d’Este (Roman Catholic; Blessed)

Bruma IV (Pagan)

Chair of St. Peter (Roman Catholic)

Confession of Peter (Eastern Orthodox, some Anglican and Lutheran Churches)

Cyril of Alexandria (Christian; Saint)

Day of Danu (Celtic Goddess of the Earth, Moon, Fertility, Wisdom, Wealth, Abundance, Wind and Water)

Deicolus (Christian; Saint)

Egg Juggling Day (Pastafarian)

Feast of Neith (Goddess of War & Hunting; Ancient Egypt)

Feast of the Cross (Eastern Orthodox Church)

Feast of Women as Cultivators (Persian)

Festival of Neith (Ancient Egypt; Goddess of the Hunt and Warfare; Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Jacob Bronowski (Humanism)

Juggling Day (Pastafarian)

Kiki Smith (Artology)

Leobadus (Roman Catholic; Saint)

Mahayana New Year (Buddhism)

Margaret of Hungary (Christian; Saint)

Martin Luther (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Peter-Paul and Marilou (Muppetism)

Prisca (Christian; Saint)

Robert Anton Wilson (Humanism)

Theocrats of Tibet (Positivist; Saint)

36 Companions in Egypt (Christian; Sains)

Ulfrid (Christian; Saint)

Volusianus of Tours (Christian; Saint)

Lunar Calendar Holidays

Lunar Bodhi Day (Buddhism) [8th Day, 12th Moon] (also 12.8)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Premieres

Bend It Like Beckham (Film; 2002)

Blood Simple (Film; 1984)

The Bomb in the Cellar or Bullwinkle Lowers the Boom (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 338; 1965)

The Cherry Orchard (Play; 1904)

Cloverfield (Film; 2008)

Doctor Bluebird (Color Rhapsody Cartoon; 1936)

Dumb Patrol (WB LT Cartoon; 1964)

A Fistful of Dollars (Film; 1967)

Fresh Air (NPR Radio Series; 1975)

Gigantosaurus (Animated TV Series; 2019)

Grandma’s Pet (Oswald the Luck Rabbit Cartoon; 1932)

Hard to Be a God, by Arkady Strugatsky (Novel; 1964)

How I Met Your Father (TV Series; 2022)

Jeepers Creepers, recorded by Louis Armstrong (Song; 1939)

The Jeffersons (TV Series; 1975)

Legends of the Superheroes: Part 1 (Hanna-Barbera Animated TV Movie; 1979)

The L Word (TV Series; 2004)

Mary and the Witch’s Flower (Animated Film; 2018)

The Nose, by Dmitri Shostakovich (Opera; 1928)

Once Around (Film; 1991)

Pumping Iron (Documentary Film; 1977)

27 Dresses (Film; 2008)

Six Millions Dollar Man (TV Series; 1974)

Socko in Morocco (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1954)

Star vs. the Forces of Evil (Animated TV Series; 2015)

Svengali’s Cat (Might Mouse Terrytoons Cartoon; 1946)

Tom and Jerry: Blast Off to Mars (Animated Film; 2005)

Tortilla Flaps (WB LT Cartoon; 1958)

United States of Tara (TV Series; 2009)

Up the River or Yangtze with the Laughing Face (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 337; 1965)

The Vacuum Gun, Parts 1 & 2 (Underdog Cartoon, S3, Eps. 33 & 34; 1967)

Today’s Name Days

Margitta, Ulfried, Uwe (Austria)

Atanas, Atanaska (Bulgaria)

Biserka, Margareta, Priska (Croatia)

Vladislav (Czech Republic)

Prisca (Denmark)

Lauli, Laura (Estonia)

Laura (Finland)

Gwendal, Prisca (France)

Margitta, Prisca, Ulfried, Uwe (Germany)

Athanasios, Kyrillos, Thanasis (Greece)

Piroska (Hungary)

Beatrice, Leonardo, Liberata, Prisca, Priscilla (Italy)

Akselis, Antis, Antons (Latvia)

Gedgaudas, Jogailė, Jolita, Liberta (Lithuania)

Hild, Hildur (Norway)

Bogumił, Jaropełk, Krystyna, Liberata, Małgorzata, Piotr, Pryska (Poland)

Atanasie, Chiril (Romania)

Bohdana (Slovakia)

Faustina, Margarita, Prisca, Priscila (Spain)

Hilda, Hildur (Sweden)

Cyril (Ukraine)

Faustina, Faustine, Fraser, Frazer (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 18 of 2024; 348 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of week 3 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Beth (Birch) [Day 24 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Yi-Chou), Day 8 (Xin-Si)

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

Hebrew: 8 Shevat 5784

Islamic: 7 Rajab 1445

J Cal: 18 White; Foursday [18 of 30]

Julian: 5 January 2024

Moon: 56%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 18 Moses (1st Month) [Theocrats of Tibet]

Runic Half Month: Peorth (Womb, Dice Cup) [Day 9 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 29 of 89)

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 28 of 31)

#Holidays

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electricopolis-net · 2 years

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S01E03: Bob Sparker in Hospital

Margaret King, Percy's daughter and de facto princess of Electricopolis, sat on a plush little chaise by a windowsill in their apartment. If the richest people in town lived up on top, then the richest of the rich lived in Top Tier's penthouse suite, staring down at the hustle and bustle of the city far below them.

It was something she could do for hours. Even from so high up she could pick out people skittering to and fro under the street lamps, and the endless march of little cars passing underneath her like shiny black beetles. Sometimes--on the rare occasions when it rained, and the not-so-rare occasions when her friend got caught in it--she could see Bob Sparker hopping and jumping across the plaza, trying desperately to find cover as he left a trail of little sparks in his wake.

"I'm not surprised you're best friends," her father once whispered, with a smile on his sleepy face. "You always did like fireworks, Margaret."

"I think it might rain tonight. I wonder where Bob is?" she murmured. "It's not like him to miss a thunderstorm."

"You didn't know?" one of the Kings's secretaries said. She had wide, sympathetic eyes, and she looked awfully concerned. "Mr. Sparker's in the hospital again."

"Again? Third time this year," snorted the other one, busily jotting down notes. She was staring down at her desk, and she didn't look surprised in the least. "Maybe even the fourth."

"When did that happen, Maria?" Margaret asked, blinking over at them. "I didn't hear about it at all."

"Oh, just now. The call went through to Mr. King," replied the sympathetic lady, Maria, as she covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, Miss King, I didn't want to make you worry."

"No, it's--it's fine," she responded, glancing out the window and all the way down towards St. Celestine's. It was the biggest hospital in town. She could pick out was the white of the building, and a small neon sign saying HOSPITAL. It was only a few blocks away. "What happened?"

"He overdid it again," chattered the other secretary. "Silly thing thinks he can run his heart ragged without a problem. He's probably in Flask's lab right now, getting strapped down like Frankenstein."

Margaret frowned and sat up. "Wait a second, what? I heard Flask was bad, but--"

"Oh, Daisy!" Maria snapped. "Don't let her get to you, Miss King, she's just exaggerating. Flask is a good man."

"And handsome too, right?" Daisy sniffed. She gave Margaret a cold, calculating look over the rim of her glasses. "Not that it's any of my business," she said, "but I'd go down to St. Celestine's myself, if I were you."

"I-I was just about to say," Margaret agreed, awkwardly pulling her gaze away. "Uh, if dad asks for me, tell him I'm out, all right?"

"Will do, sweetie."

"Whatever you say, Miss King."

It only took a few minutes to walk to the hospital, but by the time she made it, Margaret's heart was pounding. His heart, really? She knew Bob had his share of problems, but he was always so upbeat and full of...well...energy. It was hard for her to even imagine him in the hospital, let alone three or four times in a year.

"Excuse me," she asked, tapping on the receptionist's desk. "Is Bob Sparker in? I heard--"

"Oh yeah, and lookin' a mess, too," the clerk replied. He leaned out the window and gestured around the corner. "All the way down the hall, last door on your right. You can't miss it."

He was right. At the end of the hall she found a massive, heavy door made of solid wood, with a hazard sign chained across it and tilting to one side. DANGER! it said. KEEP OUT! EXTREMELY HIGH VOLTAGE! She had to stop and stare at it just to believe it was real. It looked like someone had plucked it from a horror film and stuck it into the hospital as a prank.

"Oh, for God's sake!" came a piercing, exasperated voice from behind the door. "I told you to hold still! Hold still before I do it for you!"

In response, a peal of high-pitched laughter rang out--not like a bell, but a siren, whining up and down. "I'd like to see you try!" Bob laughed, and it sent a spike of fear through Margaret as she recognized his voice. "You'll look real good lit up like a Christmas tree, doctor!"

She didn't wait to knock. She just grabbed the handle, pressed her shoulder against the door and shoved it hard. Hell of a thing to do in heels, but she was tough, and it creaked open far enough for her to slip inside.

A mad scientist's lab wasn't far off the mark. She'd been in the hospital before, but she had no idea this room even existed--there was had a flat steel table at one end, with what looked like an entire B-movie's worth of vague electronic equipment on the walls. On the other end was a regular hospital bed with a curtain, placed near the window, and in the middle was Bob Sparker, cackling, his muscles tense as wires, his hair standing on end. Near him, brandishing a chair and staring at the door in astonishment, was Dr. Eustace Flask.

"What--who are you?" Flask gaped. Margaret had seen him before on TV once, maybe twice, but he looked nothing like a star. His glasses were lopsided on his gaunt face, his long hair was messy and stuck to his forehead with sweat, and he scowled. "Well, never mind about that," he said. "Get out of the way before--"

"Margie! It's you!" Bob squealed. She turned just in time for her friend to practically tackle her, giving her sharp, stinging kisses all across her cheeks. "Am I ever glad to see you!" he exclaimed. "This quack's tryin' to tie me down, and he hasn't even bought me dinner first! The nerve!"

"Get off her!" Flask grabbed his shoulders and tried to wrestle him away, and Margaret took a moment to catch her breath. The doctor hauled Bob over to the metal operating table and shackled him down--no, she wasn't seeing things, literally shackling him down in loops of solid steel around his wrists and ankles.

"Stop it!" she yelled. She ran over and yanked Flask away from the table, throwing him to the ground. "What the hell are you doing to him? Let him go!"

"Attagirl, Margie!" Bob cackled. "Give him a taste of his own medicine, why don't you?"

"You shut up!" Flask spat. Bob snapped shut, falling into a series of restrained, raspy giggles. "And as for you," the doctor snarled, turning to Margaret, "I don't know what you're doing here--"

"I'm Margaret King, daughter of Percy King, executive management of Top Tier Networks and Zap! Entertainment," she recited breathlessly, "and I'm a kickboxing champ and if you don't let my friend go right now, I'll--I'll--" She trailed off into sputtering. "Bob! Line, please!"

"You'll send him to his own operating room!" he offered cheerfully.

"Yeah! Better hope you can operate on yourself, doc." She grabbed the leg of a nearby chair with her heel and kicked it towards Dr. Flask. "Have a seat!"

Flask pulled himself up into the chair, gasping. "I know who you are," he huffed. "I didn't think you would be such a thug."

"The feeling's mutual," Margaret replied flatly. Bob let out yet another knifelike laugh behind her, and she winced. "Bob, it wasn't that funny. Calm down, okay?"

"He can't!" Flask yelled, throwing up his hands. "That's the entire reason he's here! He pumped himself too full of electricity and now he's bouncing off the walls. And it's not just that," he added. "Take a look at him, Ms. King. Really look at him."

She turned. Bob was still giggling and snorting, but his hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were turning white. He was breathing so quickly, sucking in gulps of air and laughing them out, that his stomach and chest almost seemed to flutter. And his heart...

"Like a jackrabbit," Flask said. "No human has a pulse like that."

Margaret couldn't tear her eyes away, but she tried not to shudder as she watched Bob Sparker tense and squirm on the operating table. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Well, what I normally do is just let him laugh it all off here, where he can't hurt anyone," the doctor explained. "The metal table directs the shock to ground and the shackles monitor his pulse, so--"

"What?" Margaret said, gaping. "That's all you do? Strap him down and leave him alone?"

"What else is there to do?" Flask replied, exasperated. "I can't get close enough to sedate him, and even if I did, that ghoul's got enough voltage in him to stun an elephant. I'm lucky if I only come out with a light burn. And you, my dear," he said testily, "are lucky you're still standing."

"Hey!" Bob snapped, trying to turn himself onto his side so he could shoot the doctor a nasty look. "Watch your mouth, doc! I'd never lay a finger on her!"

"Yeah," Margie said, rubbing her cheek where he'd kissed her. "I mean, it stings a little, but--c'mon, Bob's not a bad guy. He just gets outta hand sometimes, he isn't dangerous or anything--"

"Dangerous?" Flask repeated, his jaw practically dropping to the ground. "Ms. King, with all due respect, are we looking at the same person here?" He jabbed a finger towards the table. "Look at that! That's not healthy! That's nowhere near normal!"

"Don't you call him that! You're a monster!" Margaret shouted. She turned away from both of them as she felt the heat of frustration rise along her neck and face. "Don't you get what you're doing? You're strapping him down like an animal, when--"

"I don't have a choice!" Flask shot back.

"Yes you do!" Margaret screamed. "If his mom could see what you're doing, she'd--"

Flask narrowed his eyes at her, and his voice became a low and venomous hiss. "Don't you dare pull that trick with me," he said, jabbing a finger towards her. She stared back at him defiantly. "Don't you dare."

"No...no..."

That was Bob's voice, but it was different now, a cracked and raspy whine. Both Margaret and the doctor turned towards him,. He was still all tensed up on the table, half-sitting up as best he could, but now he looked like he was about to cry. "Please," he begged, "y-you're not gonna..."

All of a sudden, he burst into tears. "Please don't tell her! Please don't tell my mom I'm in the hospital!" It was hard to make out the words between his sobs, and there was a crackling in his voice like static.

Margaret stared, her jaw slack, and then looked towards the doctor. His eyes were locked onto the monitor. It had a heart-rate display that was shuddering up and down so quickly Margaret could barely make it out, and one of the voltage gauges suddenly shot up into the red. If it was pulling Bob's charge out, then...

A horrible grin spread over Flask's face and he darted to the side of the table. "Yes!" he said gleefully. "Yes, that's an excellent idea! I have her address right in your file, and--"

"No! N-no please, she'll h-h-have a heart attack!" Bob cried. "She'll have to c-come and see me and--"

"See you? Like this?" Flask laughed, and Bob let out a wail so loud Margaret nearly felt the room rattle under her feet.

She lunged forward and shoved Flask out of the way. "Stop it, for God's sake!" she shouted. "You're nothing but a sadist!"

"Sadist? A sadist?" Flask laughed, and with his hair flung all over the place and his eyes wide, he bore more than a passing resemblance to his patient. "He's the one who hurts people as a game and I'm the one who's a sadist?"

"Shut up," Margaret yelled. "Just shut up! He doesn't need your help!"

"Not anymore!" Flask said, throwing an arm up toward the gauges. "Take a look, Miss King! It's working!"

Margaret turned. Bob let out a long cry, then another. The gauges on the machine pulsed, then ebbed, sinking lower and lower towards the green. "I'm so sorry," Bob sputtered. Margaret hadn't even noticed, but he'd managed to slip his wrists free of the cuffs, and he was sobbing heavily into his hands. "Margie..."

"Shh." She wound closer to him and he latched on tight, sending sparks along her arms. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay." His arms were thin and cold and it made her afraid--not of him but of everything around him, of the mad scientist's lab and the hospital and how he had to be here at all.

She closed her eyes tight. The shock pulsed along her arms and down to her ankles with every labored breath Bob took. Distantly Flask was yelling at her to get away, but she didn't pay attention. She could barely hear Bob himself over the sound of her beating heart.

"I'm so sorry, Margie," he said hoarsely. "For makin' a m-mess like this and z-zapping you and everything..."

"It's okay. It's fine," she whispered. "I can hardly even feel it."

"Please don't tell her."

"I won't. I won't. I'll make sure," she said, glaring pointedly at the doctor. "Don't worry, okay?"

"Th-thanks," Bob wheezed, slowly relaxing against her. "Margie, you're the best..."

With that he slid off of her like an egg out of a frying pan, flopping bonelessly back onto the table. "And he's out," Flask observed, leaning over to look at him. "And you?"

"I'm fine," she lied, wrapping her short coat around herself tighter. "It didn't hurt. He got it all out okay, right?"

"Right. Discharged quickly and--relatively safely." Flask reached down to unhook him from the shackles around his ankles, and then he pulled a blanket up over him. "I'm sorry you had to be here for all this," he said. "Barging in like this is the worst thing you could have done...but I suppose I should thank you for your help anyway."

"You're horrible," Margaret said. "Don't think I'm suddenly going to forget how you treated him."

"I'm sure you won't," Flask sighed. He straightened his glasses and smoothed down his hair. "I wouldn't have to do this if he stopped screwing around with that electric chair. It's sickening," he said, and his voice shook with disgust. "And I don't see why you and your network let him do that to himself."

Margaret looked down at Bob's pale, sleeping form on the table. "I didn't know it was this bad," she whispered. "He always looked so happy."

She expected Flask to make some snappy comeback, but he didn't. He only gave her a look she couldn't read.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"I'll keep him here for a few days, monitor him until he's fit to go back to work." Flask sat back down in a nearby chair. It creaked under his weight. "Get him some decent food, make sure his heart stabilizes..."

"Can I come see him again?"

"I think that would be fine," Flask said. He glanced towards his patient. "I think it would be good for him."

"Hey, Margie!"

The day after, Margaret looked up to see Bob stroll into the Kings' penthouse like it was nothing. He had some faint bags under his eyes and generally looked a little tired, but that was about it.

"Bob?" Margaret said, blinking. "Didn't you go to the hospital?"

"Aw, I was hopin' you didn't know," he laughed. "Yeah, I guess I did. Not much of a big deal, though. Mr. King popped into my room this morning, says everything's A-OK and I can head home. Great, right?"

She stared. "Dad said you could leave? Are you sure?"

"Yeah! He said it wasn't anything I couldn't handle, and--" He stopped as Margaret pulled him close, hugging him so tight that her arms started to ache. "Huh? What's the matter, Margie?" he asked, swaying a little, and she blinked back tears as she heard the confusion in his voice. "Margie, what's wrong?"

The End

#electricopolis #bob sparker #margaret king #eustace flask #story mirror

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blackdiamondwrites127 · 3 years

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The Royal House of Trastámara (Redux)

So since the Trastámara family has become even more complete with the addition of Juan, I figured I'd make redo of this post! So here are the daughters and son of the Royal House of Trastámara.

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Isabella of Aragon, Queen of Portugal

The eldest child of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castille, Isabella was named after her mother and became the heir presumptive to the Crown of Castille after her mother took the throne from her uncle Henry IV of Castille. She was betrothed and married to Prince Afonso, heir and only son of John II of Portugal. Her marriage with the prince was a happy one but unfortunately, Afonso died due to a riding accident and Isabella vowed never to marry again. Until six years later, after the death of John II of Portugal, his brother, Manuel I of Portugal, usurped the throne and asked for Isabella's hand in marriage. Her parents offered Maria's hand instead out of respect to Isabella's wishes to never marry again but Manuel refused. Eventually, she married him and became queen consort of Portugal. She later gave birth to her only son, Miguel de Paz, Prince of Portugal, and due to her poor health and constant travelling during the later stages of her pregnancy, she died within an hour of her son's birth.

In her second life, Isabella owns and works in her own music shop located just below her flat. She sometimes fills in for Maria on the drums whenever she's sick and just generally enjoys the simple things in her second life. She's grown to be very passive due in this life and can be quite sarcastic at times which may come off as rude but she means well. However, bad mouth her younger sister she'll go after you.

Isabella Trastámara belongs to @lexartsstuff.

John, Prince of Asturias

was the only son of Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon who survived to adulthood. John was born in Seville in 1478 to the sovereigns of Castile, Isabella I and Ferdinand II. John's birth helped consolidate Isabella's position as sovereign as she had given birth to a legitimate male heir. At the time of his birth, he had one elder sister Isabella; his younger sisters were Joanna, Maria, and Catherine. During his early years, Isabella and Ferdinand came to plan a double alliance with Maximilian I, Holy Roman Emperor, for the marriage of his children, Archduke Philip the Handsome and Archduchess Margaret of Austria. On 20 January 1495 in Antwerp, a preliminary alliance, which included a wedding of Prince John with Maximilian's daughter was agreed. Similarly, Maximilian's son Philip and John's sister Joanna were to be married. Joanna left Spain to marry Philip the Handsome in late 1496. Philip's sister, Margaret of Austria, aged 18, married John on April 3 the following year in Burgos Cathedral. It was a good marriage and John was devoted to Margaret. On 4 October 1497, a messenger came to John's parents and informed them that their son lay dangerously ill in Salamanca. He and his wife Margaret had arrived a week earlier, on the way to the wedding of his older sister in Portugal. Ferdinand was with his son as John died in the arms of his former tutor Fray Diego Deza. Two months later, on December 8, the Princess of Asturias gave birth to their only child, a stillborn girl.

When he was reincarnated, he found that he was blind in one eye but that didn’t stop him from having the time of his life. He’s very fun loving, happy, energetic and a bit oblivious at times. He’s married to Margaret of Austria, who he calls Maggie. He works as a costume designer for SIX the musical, mainly so he can see his baby sister more. He now goes by Juan rather than John as a ay to stay in touch with his spanish roots.

Juan Trastámara belongs to @weirdbutdecentart100.

Joanna of Castille, Queen of Castille and Aragon

The second eldest daughter of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castille. Known historically as 'Joanna the Mad' or 'Juana la Loca' in spanish, she was Queen of Castille and Queen of Aragon. Modern Spain evolved from the union of these two kingdoms. Joanna was married by arrangement to Philip the Handsome, Archduke of Austria of the House of Habsburg. Following the deaths of her brother, John, Prince of Asturia, her elder sister Isabella, and her nephew Miguel, Joanna became the heir presumtive to the crowns of Castile and Aragon. When her mother died, Joanna became Queen of Castile. Her father proclaimed himself Governor and Administrator of Castile. Despite being the ruling Queen of Castile, Joanna had little effect on national policy during her reign as she was declared insane and imprisoned in the Royal Convent of Santa Clars in Tordesillas under the orders of her father, who ruled as regent until his death, when she inherited his kingdom as well. When her son Charles I ruled as king, she was nominally co-monarch but remained imprisoned until her death.

In her second life, Joanna or Juana as she preferred to be called, came back a troubled teen. In her misfortune, she was taken in by a very religious and abusive family. The father, named Fernando, would often lock her up in a dark room whenever she had mental breakdowns which are usually bouts of painful laughter. She finally escaped the house and was homeless for years until she found her youngest sister, Catalina. Catalina helped her by housing her until she got back on her feet and got the help she needed for her mental wellbeing.

Juana 'la loca' Trastámara belongs to @ellielovesdrawing.

Maria of Aragon, Queen of Portugal

The third eldest daughter of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castille. After the untimely death of her older sister, she married her husband Manuel I of Portugal and replaced her as queen of Portugal. As a queen, she wasn't that involved in politics at all and her focus consists mainly of religious teachings, sewing and child rearing. Although, she is sometimes credited for convincing her husband into acts of 'mercy' whenever he flew into a fit of rage. During her marriage and reign as queen, she gave birth to ten children. Eight of whom reached to adulthood. She was constantly pregnant most of her adult life. Only having a few months in between pregnancies and giving birth to her tenth child caused her untimely demise.

Reincarnated into the modern world, Maria woke as a young woman in her early twenties. She's a laid back woman and loves the experience of a good party or a night at a club. She's not as religious as she was in her past life. Not atheistic per se. She'll go to church if she feels like it and even wears a rosary bracelet as some sort of connection to her religion was raised and taught in. She has a friend with benefits that she has fun with weekly. She is 100% childfree in her second life because ten pregnancies in her past life was way more than enough for her. Despite being childfree, she still adores children so she had applied for uni and took up an education course. Graduating after four years and landing her first teaching job at a private academy where Hal and his siblings and cousins go to. That was where she reunited with Catalina during a PTA meeting and the two sisters have never been happier to meet again in their second lives. They then set up a meeting where she reunites with their older sisters, Isabella and Juana.

Maria Trastámara belongs to yours truly.

Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England

The youngest daughter of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castille. Catherine was three years old when she was betrothed to Arthur, Prince of Wales, heir apparent to the English throne. They married but Arthur died five months later. She was the first known female ambassador in European history. Catherine subsequently married Arthur's younger brother, Henry VIII. For six months, she served as regent of England while Henry VIII was in France. In 1525, Henry VIII was infatuated with Anne Boleyn and dissatisfied that his marriage to her had produced no surviving sons, leaving their daughter, the future Mary I of England, as heir presumptive at a time when there was no established precedent for a woman on the throne. He sought to have their marriage annulled, setting in motion a chain of events that led to England's schism with the Catholic Church. When Pope Clement VII refused to annul the marriage, Henry defied him by assuming supremacy over religious matters. Their marriage was consequently declared invalid and Henry married Anne on the judgement of clergy in England, without reference to the pope. Catherine refused to accept Henry as supreme head of the Church in England and considered herself the king's rightful wife and queen, attracting much popular sympathy. Despite this, she was acknowledged only as dowager princess of Wales by Henry. After being banished from court by Henry, she lived out the remainder of her life at Kimbolton Castle, and died of cancer.

In her second life, Catherine or Catalina as she prefers to be called to avoid confusion with the other C/Katherines, found herself in a house with her ex husband's five other wives. Tensions were high on the first few months, especially between her and Anne Boleyn but the six soon got things settled and managed to create a family dynamic within their shared home. They created a musical about their stories and garnered quite the success. She mostly acts as the head matriarch of the house. Making sure that everyone was alright and knew not to cause any trouble that might get them hurt. The addition of their children being reincarnated made her even more attentive, caring and loving to her new found family.

#six #six the musical #sixtended verse #isabella trastámara (sixtended)#juan trastámara (sixtended)#juana la loca (sixtended)#juana trastamara (sixtended)#maria trastámara (sixtended)#catherine of aragon (six)#catalina de aragon (six)#redo post #my art

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

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The loneliest time of the year || Part one

Part 1 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ? A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Every sunday leading up to Christmas you will get another part. That’s 4 parts in total. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Christmas time is the most depressing time of the year. Seriously, you can look that up. There’s a bunch of statistics about it and essays using long fancy words.

It’s a time that makes you so acutely aware of how lonely you actually are. And then you’re left to reflect on all the reasons why and that’s just fucking depressing.

Frankie maneuvers his car along the streets of his hometown, a light dusting of snow covers the ground and the trees to his left and right have long sharp icicles hanging from their branches like the sharp teeth of an imaginary monster that lives under your bed.

He passes by the old movie theatre, the 7/11, the diner where he got his first kiss, the red brick building that was once a printing house but has been turned into a Starbucks for some reason, and the public library that he used to volunteer at when he was in high school. There are ghosts in all the windows looking back at him. Ghosts of the boy he used to be and the memories he thought long forgotten.

This wasn’t the plan. He’s not supposed to be here. Or maybe he is. Maybe this is exactly what he deserves. To come crawling back home to mom and dad because the future he had tried so hard to build for himself came crumbling down on him in a matter of moments. And all of it is entirely his own fucking fault. If only he wasn’t such a damn mess.

“I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you.”

“Ah fuck off, Elvis!”

He turns off the radio and is left with just the quiet and his thoughts until the little blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac comes into view. This house has seen many versions of Frankie. Highs and lows. He wonders if he even knows the person he is anymore.

Across the street sits a park and then another little house, this is one red and the shutters are white and the paint is chipping. It used to sit empty for a while but there’s a car in the driveway and light coming from inside. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he isn’t the only one that changed, maybe the town did a little bit of changing too.

His mom is a hugger, always has been. Still is. At least that hasn’t changed. She has him wrapped in a warm big hug as soon as he gets out of the car. She smells the same way she did when he was a little boy. Like lavender and fresh cotton and warmth. His mom, Frankie thinks, has the ability to talk faster than anyone else he knows. Even faster than Pope when he’s drunk. She bombards him with information about various distant relatives and has him caught up on the last several years of their lives before his dad even manages to get to the door.

His dad looks older than the last time Frankie has seen him, but not in a fragile way. Age doesn’t make his dad look sickly or weak, it just makes him look wise. He’s got lines etched into the skin around his lips, from all the laughter and the smiles. Every adventure, every memory, it’s all there in his face and Frankie admires that so much. With every day passing he himself just looks sadder and more worn out.

“Darling, let him come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Ever since he was little, Frankie knew that what his parents have was special. There was so much love in the way they talked with each other. It exuded from every word. From every look. They were a package deal. One could simply not be without the other. It’s something he knew most of his family members were envious of. Hell, he himself was envious of it.

“Hey Pops, good to see you.”

His dad wraps him in a hug as he steps into the warm house. His dad isn’t a hugger, he’s more stoic and calm but that doesn’t make him any less loving. There was never a day in his life, that Frankie ever doubted his father’s love for him. It’s just that he’s not the most physically affectionate guy, and that’s fine. When he does give out hugs, they are the best.

“Did the Murphy’s house get sold then?” Frankie questions, motioning over his shoulder towards the little red house. The couple who lived there, Margaret and Edwin, were lovely. They were the kind of old people that others just adore. Always a smile on their faces, always greeting you with the most infectious of good moods. They were already old when Frankie was a kid, but they were the kind of people you’d expect to live forever. Though death doesn’t care for any of that and eventually it came for them too. The house went to their only son, a man that always intrigued Frankie. Michael was a photographer and always on the road looking for a new adventure. He was his parents' age but there was a youth about him that made him look much younger. He always seemed like more of a friend or older brother to his daughter than a father.

His daughter. (Y/N) and Frankie weren’t friends. Not really. For that, they didn’t spend nearly enough time with each other. But whenever she would come around and spend the summers at her grandparents' place, Frankie and her would gravitate towards each other. There was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull. She always had the most exciting stories and for a teenage boy, there was nothing more exciting than a pretty girl with adventure in her veins.

He hasn’t seen her for a long time though, eventually, she went off to college and he joined the military. She came around less and less and then when first Edwin and then Margaret died, the house stayed quiet and lonely. Last time he saw (Y/N) was when he randomly ran into her at a bar but even that must’ve been at least 10, maybe 12 years ago.

“Oh no. Their son, Michael, do you remember him?”

“Sure.”

“He had a bad accident. Can’t work no more, needs a lot of help. You know what he was like, always on the road never really having a place he called home. Other than this house. So him and his daughter are back here. Do you remember her?“

“ (Y/N), yeah.”

“She’s moved back too. Gave up her entire life to help her father. Poor thing now works at the diner waiting tables for a living all the while taking care of Michael and her young son.”

“She has a kid?”

A sting of pain runs through his heart. Big brown eyes stare up at him in his mind, eyes that look so much like his. Eyes he couldn’t wait to see sparkling from joy on Christmas morning. Eyes he ain’t allowed to look into anytime soon.

“Yes, a little boy. Leo, he’s 7 years old. So well behaved and smart. Such a lovely little boy.”

A warm mug of coffee is thrust into Frankie’s hand as his father guides him to sit down on the big couch in the living room that’s been there ever since he was a kid.

“We invited them to come around for Christmas Eve dinner which reminds me that I still need to get a present for the boy.”

“Darling, it’s December 5th we still got time.”

Despite his heart laying in shambles by his feet, being around his parents sends a warmth through Frankie. It’s so familiar and comforting to be here. Maybe this isn’t all bad. Maybe this is exactly what he needs.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: One sweet reunion.

Frankie sits on his old bed in his old room. There are fewer posters there and the wall that used to be painted a dark blue is now a soft peach color. The old dark wood furniture has been replaced by white cupboards and two beds, both white too. An adult-sized bed for him and a toddler bed for Rosie. Little butterfly decals decorate the walls and soft pink curtains hang before the window. This is more Rosie’s room that’s his now, only she isn’t here to see it.

A knock on the door shakes him from his daydream. Voices echo through the halls and up the stairs. Voices he doesn’t recognize but by the tone in his mother’s words, he can tell they’re friendly faces.

“So we thought maybe we could borrow your car.”

Frankie sees her before she sees him. Had he not knows she was in town, maybe he wouldn’t have recognized her. (Y/N) looks older. Not old. Just more mature. She must be in her 30s now. Grown into her body. A mother.

“Of course dear, Frankie can help you get the tree if you want. We still need one ourselves anyway. Two birds one stone.”

“Frankie is home?”

(Y/N)’s voice shines with a glimmer of hope.

“I am.”

A smile spreads on her face, and that one he recognizes so well. It’s equal parts mischievous and warm. Familiar and comforting. Sassy and soft.

“Oh man, it’s so good to see you. It’s been some time, huh ?”

“Sure has,” he replies and the two of them share a quick hug. She’s cold from the air outside and smells like winter and snow. Her hair is hidden beneath a beanie and her fingers are kept warm by some fluffy blue mittens. She’s adorable. So fucking adorable.

“So, you want help getting your Christmas tree?” Frankie asks as she pulls away, missing the softness she brought.

“Well actually I was just asking to use your dad’s car but since you’re here, would you mind helping out ?”

“ Course not! We need a tree anyway and I’ll have you know, I’m great at finding the best Christmas trees.”

“That so?”

“Sure is.”

Another big smile spreads on (Y/N)’s lips. “Okay cool. Let me know when you’re ready. Leo and I are free all day.”

“That’s right, you have a kid now.”

There’s an infinite sense of pride that washes over her face. He knows the feeling, sees it in his own mother when she talks about him. Feels it in his heart when he thinks of Rosie.

“Frankie has a baby too, little girl.”

His mother means well. Doesn’t matter though, the mention of her still sends a pant of pain through him. Right to his heart and then it spreads slowly but surely to the rest of his body. Like an ice pick melting slowly.

“You do? Oh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

His heart breaks. Shatters. Crumbles.

“She’s uh — she’s with her mom for Christmas.” And pretty much any other day too.

“Huh, well I guess you’ll just have to tell me all about her then. “

He appreciates this. Her not asking but just taking the situation for what it is. Questions ask for answers he can’t give, doesn’t want to give.

“I can do that.”

“Okay great. Let me bother you no longer, just come knock on our door when you’re ready. You know where I live.”

With a wave and a smile, she makes her exit and steps back into the cold. Snow now falling in big white flakes from the skies, like big bubbles of soap. Like star fragments.

“She’s such a nice young woman, I wish life was a bit more gentle on her. “ his mom spoke up from beside Frankie.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too mom. Me too.”

When he steps out of the house a few hours later, the ground is already covered in a thick coat of fluffy snow. His boots leave deep prints in the pristine white blanket.

Across the street, he can hear a melody of laughter flowing through the air before two figures jump out from behind the house, wrapped in warm clothes, throwing snowballs at each other.

“Mom you’re cheating!” The young boy, Leo calls out, laughter ringing along with his words.

“No way! Nu-uh.”

“Yu-uh! “

The exchange puts a smile on Frankie’s face. It reminds him of his own childhood. When the world didn’t feel like it was working against him. When it was kind. When things were easy. When he was happy.

Realizing neither of the two has spotted him yet, Frankie squats down and gathers some snow in his glove covered hands. In a swift motion, he pulls his arm back and throws the snow in (Y/N)’s direction hitting her right in between her shoulders.

“Hey!”

There’s a second where anger and confusion reign over her face and then she realizes it’s Frankie who threw the snowball and it melts into warmth and mischief.

“I’ll get you back for that, dude. “

“That a threat?”

“Nah, it’s a promise.”

The boy regards them with careful curiosity.

“Leo, come here. This is my friend Frankie.”

To be quite honest, Frankie hadn’t really considered himself a friend of (Y/N) but to hear her introduce him as such felt real nice. He had friends, good friends, brothers even. Pope and the Millers knew him like the knee themselves but this was different. This was home.

“Frankie, this is my son Leo.”

The boy is all (Y/N). Same smile, same eyes. Like a copy and paste.

“Hey, Leo, nice to meet you.”

The boy gives him a shy wave. “Hi.”

“You guys ready to get some Christmas trees?” Frankie asked, looking from (Y/N) to Leo and back to her. The excitement on their faces makes him feel a little giddy.

Back when he was a kid, buying a tree was one of his favorite things to do during Christmas season. His dad always used to wake him up real early so they could be one of the first people at the Christmas tree sale. They’d stay for hours looking for the perfect tree. Now perfect didn’t mean it had to be actually immaculate. Perfect meant perfect for them. Sometimes they’d decide to find the fastest one or the one with the biggest hole. One time they found one with a bird's nest still inside.

Those were the good times and Frankie, knowing now how harsh life can be, will never take them for granted.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two perfectly imperfect Christmas trees.

“Too big.”

“Too small.”

“I can literally count the branches on one hand.”

(Y/N), Frankie realizes as they look at what feels like the 12 millionth tree, is very particular when it comes to her Christmas trees.

“Mom, can we just pick one? They’re all good!” Leo chimes up as his mother dismisses yet another tree for being too skinny.

“I just want it to be perfect. When I was a little girl my dad and I were always traveling and when we’d come to my grandparents for Christmas they’d have this big beautiful tree every year. I want my dad to have that again.”

There’s more there, he can tell. By the way, her voice shakes slightly and the determination and chaos raging in her eyes. Frankie has yet to find out what exactly happened to her dad, what kind of accident he got in. But it’s not really a conversation starter now, is it?

Leo’s eyes meet Frankie's, a clear message traveling between them. A silent understanding.

“Look (Y/N) how about we let you roam this place in peace until you’ve found the perfect tree and Leo and I go see if we can find one for my parents? “

Leo nods his head in enthusiastic approval. A smile playing on his lips that is so strikingly similar to the one Frankie has seen so many times on the boy's mother.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, two of us are gonna find a perfectly imperfect tree for my folks and you go find the tree of your dreams. Just call if you need us, okay?”

She takes a breath, lets out a sigh. “Okay sounds good. Leo?”

“Sounds good to me too, mom.”

“Okay. Well, you boys have fun then.”

As she rounds the corner in search of the tree straight from a Christmas fairytale, Frankie turns to Leo who regards him with a guarded kindness.

“Thank you. “

“ For what? “ Frankie asks and raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“ For not making fun of my mommy. She’s so worried about grandpa, sometimes she goes a bit crazy.”

“ Nah she’s not crazy. She just wants to make everyone happy. Why would I make fun of her? Did someone make fun of her? “

It sends a flash of anger through him, the idea that someone might ridicule her for caring too much. If anything it’s what makes her so endearing. The world could do with more people like her. People who care. Deeply.

“ She talked to my daddy on the phone yesterday. I think he made fun of her. She cried. “

“ That’s — that’s not nice.”

Leo shrugs his shoulders in a way that seems casual but weary. As if he’s so used to it. Geez, the kid is 7. This isn’t something he should be used to.

“ Dad is not a nice person. Mama always says he’s busy and that he wants to see me but I don’t think that’s right. I think mama just doesn’t want me to be sad. I think daddy doesn’t really want to see me. Don’t think he loves me. But that’s okay mama loves me so much that’s enough. “

Leo’s words sent small cracks to Frankie’s heart and it’s quite hard not to let it crumble entirely. He’s never known what it feels like to be unloved by those that are meant to love you most. His parents adored him, still do. Even when he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t even begin to understand how much that must hurt. How devastating it must be, especially to a 7-year-old.

And yet Leo looks so — at peace. Like it bothers him sure, but it’s no big deal really.

Because he is loved either way. By (Y/N).

“ You’re a cool kid, you know that? “ Frankie asks and pats the young boy’s back in a friendly manner.

“ Mom says so. “

“ Well, she’s completely right. You really are. Now, you wanna help me find a tree? “

Leo nods enthusiastically.

“ Okay cool, but I’ll have to tell you how it works. “

“ We don’t just look for one we like?”

“ Oh no, you see the Morales family has a very specific tradition. Each year my dad and I go looking for a special tree. “

“ A special one? “

“ Mmmh. We always think of something special and then try to find a tree that fits that special thing. One time we tried to find the tallest tree on the lot or the widest or the skinniest. “

“ So what are we looking for this year? “

“ How abouuut … we look for one that has two tops? “

A giggle falls from Leo’s lips. “ That’s silly, that’s not a thing. “

“ Sure it is. You wanna go look for it? “

“ Yeah.”

There are big trees and small ones. Ones in shades of greens and some that look almost blue. There are fat ones with lots of branches and skinny ones that look like they’ve seen better days. None of them have two peaks though — until …

“ Frankie, look !”

His small, glove-covered hand is outstretched, pointing towards a tree before him. It’s a big tree, wide too. It’s blueish green color shines through the white haze of the winter's day.

And true to Leo’s words, the stem of the tree goes halfway up before it diverges into two different branches. Two tops.

“ That one’s perfect! “

“ He’s special! “

“ He is special. Good job, kid. “

The two share a high 5 as a laugh sounds from behind them.

“ I see you boys are getting along well. “ (Y/N) says as she approaches the two of them, placing a kiss on her son’s head as she reaches him.

“ We found a special tree, mom.”

“ Did you? Well so did I, it’s perfect. “

Her eyes wander towards Frankie’s and for a second it’s only the two of them there, veiled in shared understanding, a silent thank you.

“ I’m glad you found your tree, (Y/N). “

“ I’m glad you two had fun. Now hooow about we get those trees home and set up? “

“ Can we have hot cocoa at home, momma? “

“ Duh. Of course. You can’t decorate a Christmas tree without a good hot cup of cocoa.”

The softness in her voice, the pure adoration she holds for this boy, it makes Frankie think back to Leo’s words about his father and about (Y/N). About how she loves him enough for the both of them. And he can see it, clear as day. Her love for Leo.

Those two, he thinks, don’t need anyone. Especially not someone who doesn’t treat them with the love and respect they deserve. Those two are their own warmth, their own little universe. And it’s enough. It’s plenty. Everyone who’s allowed to be a part of their little world should be grateful because it’s a good world. It’s gentle and kind.

“ Alright you two, let’s get those trees home. “ Frankie pipes up and for a moment he is part of their little universe too. And it’s wonderful. He doesn’t wanna let go of this feeling. How anyone ever could is entirely beyond him.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Three mugs of cocoa.

Bobby Helms’ voice echoes through the room accompanied by the soothing crack of a vinyl record. It’s an old one, one (Y/N) has found in a box of her grandparent’s stuff. Jingle Bell rock fills the air with a sense of excitement and wonder only a good old Christmas song can bring.

There are 3 cups of cocoa on the table, one of them in a Star Wars mug. It all feels warm and cozy. Homey. And for the first time since he’s back, Frankie doesn’t feel out of place. He doesn’t feel like a stranger watching through the window into someone else's life. Someone familiar. Someone he once knew. Someone he once was.

Right now he feels like he’s right where he’s meant to be. With friends who chose him. A family that lets him into their lives and willingly shares a piece of their kindness and warmth and magic with him. Not because they are bound to him by blood, by shared trauma. Just because they like him, as he is.

(Y/N) and Frankie sit on the old leather couch that’s been there in this same living room for so many years. One that has seen different versions of (Y/N). Some of him too.

In the corner of the room, across from the big window leading out into a snowy dreamland, stands a perfect Christmas tree. (Y/N)’s perfect tree. It’s decked out in lights and ornaments and tinsel. Leo hops around the tree, adding yet more ornaments here and more tinsel there, a big smile on his face the entire time.

And as she watches her son relish in the pure unfiltered joy only a child really knows, (Y/N) smiles too. Because sometimes this is what it means to be happy, seeing your loved ones smiling.

“ Thank you, Frankie. “ she says, eyes still locked on her son.

“ For what? “

It’s the second time that day that he is being thanked and for what? For being there? Really he hasn’t done much. This is what friends do, isn’t it? What they should do. Help each other out. Be there for one another.

“ For playing along with my crazy antics. I know it’s just a tree but I just want this Christmas to be — to be good. For me and for Leo and for my dad. We haven’t had the best year and I just want to make this perfect for us. Or as perfect as possible. Thanks for not letting me see how annoying I was back at the tree sale. “

Frankie shakes his head dismissively. “ You weren’t being annoying. I get it, don’t worry. Leo, he uh — he said something similar to me earlier. Said his dad made fun of you? Made you cry. “

(Y/N) lets out a scoff, curls her lips in an unamused smirk. “ Derek’s a — “ her eyes trail towards her son who pays the two adults no mind “ — he’s such a dick. Always has been. But he was suave and he had a motorcycle and I just kind of fell for his bad-boy charms. He’s unreliable though and a goddamn child. When I told him about Leo he bailed on us. Sometimes he tries to be a dad, whenever he gets one of his moods and feels like he needs to turn his life around. Those don’t last very long though. He sends birthday gifts and Christmas presents and he calls every once in a while but — well his interest in Leo isn’t all that big. “

“ What an asshole. Why’d he make you cry? “

“ Ugh, it wasn’t really any particular thing, just an amalgamation of so many. He was making me feel stupid because of the tree thing. He was being dismissive of my feelings. He didn’t want to talk to Leo. It was just his entire mood that day that once again made me realize why I ended things with him in the first place. And it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. That I have to work twice as hard to be a good parent because I have to fill both roles and he gets off scot-free. Not even a guilty conscience. How am I ever gonna be able to play both roles and play them well? How can I do that? I feel like I am failing already. “

“ Are you kidding me? “ Frankie says and softly nudges her shoulder with his “ You’re a great mother. You’re fun, you’re loving. What else could Leo want? (Y/N) you are doing an incredible job, trust me. Little mistakes you make that might seem big to you, they really don’t matter to Leo. Not now and especially not in the long run. He’s gonna remember the good times. The snowball fights and the hot cocoa and the tree decorating. Those are the little moments that will become memories. “

“ You think so ? “

“ I know so. It’s what I remember about my childhood. And it’s uh — it’s what Leo told me. He said that his dad might not be around but that it doesn’t matter because you love him twice as much. Said that’s plenty enough. The boy loves you. You’re a wonderful mom. “

He forbids his mind from going to that dark corner where he’s banished all his own fears. Those that whisper to him in quiet moments. About how his shortcomings, his mistakes, his faults, how all of that will stain his relationship with Rosie. His ability to be a good father.

Lord knows he wishes his daughter was here now. Maybe not in this exact moment, a toddler really ain’t much help when setting up a tree. But here. In his arms. With him. During Christmas time. He fears that she never will be. That the times he gets to see her will become few and far between. That he will one day only be a distant memory to her because he ain’t ever given the chance to make any good ones with her.

His heart aches from how much he misses his little girl at that moment. But he has to remind himself not to wallow in it. Because once he goes there, lets himself fall into this big black hole of grief and of missing and of fear, there’s no coming back.

So he looks back at the people around him, at their soft smiles and the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes. Shining with happiness. Shining with joy.

And as the snow falls softly outside, he tries to focus on the warmth in this room. The warmth from the fire and from the hearts so soft and so filled with love.

Because he’d rather get lost in a beautiful dream than the sad reality of his fears.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales imagine #frankie morales imagines #francisco morales imagines #triple frontier imagine #jos2020xmasspecial #catfish imagine #catfish x reader #catfish x you

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tcm · 4 years

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Noel Coward: Renaissance Man of Stage and Screen By Susan King

Noel Coward was known simply in England as “The Master.” And for good reason. Coward (1899-1973) was a true Renaissance man. He was an actor, playwright, composer, songwriter, producer and director. (Lin-Manuel Miranda is our contemporary version of Coward.) He even headlined the Desert Inn in Las Vegas in 1955. He knew he was a genius. Coward once described himself as an “enormously talented man, and there’s no use pretending that I’m not.”

He wrote such classic plays as Private Lives, Design for Living, Blithe Spirit, Cavalcade, The Vortex and Present Laughter. And, he took the stiff-upper lip of his characters. His comedies were filled with extravagant characters firing off delicious bon mots. His dialogue was spare and contemporary. Kenneth Tynan once said, “Coward was the Turkish bath in which English comedy slimmed.”

Needless to say, acting styles changed with Coward and he ushered in a new style of theater. Performers were no longer trapped in the 19th-century style of more declamatory acting. As a composer, the flamboyant Coward wrote such beloved songs as “Mad Dogs and Englishmen” and “I’ll See You Again.” Hollywood soon took notice of Coward the playwright. One of Coward’s biggest West End hits was 1931’s Cavalcade, a sweeping dramatic epic spanning 30 years in an upper-class family. The cast featured a staggering 200 actors, 22 sets including revolving stages and hydraulic platforms. Brad Rosenstein of the Museum of Performance & Design in San Francisco told the L.A Times in 2010 about the stage production: “In the earlier sections, it’s very realistic, almost like a movie, but as the story moves further and further into the 20th century, it becomes more and more surreal.”

Fox bought the film rights, shooting the stage production to use as a blueprint for its lavish 1933 film production starring Diana Wyngard and Clive Brook. “Designer William Cameron Menzies translated his stage montages into movie terms and that became the language of movie montages for the next 30 years,” said Rosenstein. CAVALCADE earned three Oscars including best film and director for Frank Lloyd. But truth be told, the film just hasn’t held up as well as other best film Oscar winners from that era. It’s handsome and well-acted but is a bit of a slog that screams prestige.

MGM’s “Boy Wonder” producer Irving Thalberg, who happened to be married to the studio’s top star Norma Shearer, bought the film rights to Private Lives for his wife. Rounding out the film adaptation’s cast was Robert Montgomery, Reginald Denny and Una Merkel. The farce, released in 1931, whirls around Amanda (Shearer) and Elyot (Montgomery), divorcees who reunite on their honeymoon with their new spouses and run off together.

Coward initially wasn’t thrilled that Shearer, who was best known for her heavily dramatic roles, was cast as Amanda. He didn’t think she was up to the comedic task. Shearer was unruffled: “I don’t care what he thinks.” Reviews were strong and so was the audience response. But truth be told, in the #MeToo climate, it’s hard to watch a film in which the leads scream, yell and throw things at each other and state that certain women should be struck regularly like gongs. Eleven years later, Shearer returned to Coward’s world in WE WERE DANCING (‘42) based on two short plays from the Master’s 1936 play Tonight at 8:30 She hadn’t made a film since 1940, so there was hope this comedy would revive her career. It didn’t.

Movie audiences finally got to see Coward the actor on screen in 1935. Not in a film based on one of his plays but an extraordinary morality piece, THE SCOUNDREL penned and directed by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur. Coward is remarkable as the title character, a New York publisher surrounded by sycophants and ruthless and callous in his treatment of people especially a lovely young poet (Julie Haydon). Coward’s Anthony Mallare destroys everything he touches including the poet and her lover (Stanley Ridges). When she learns that Mallare is taking a flight, she tells him that not only does she hope the plane crashes, she desires that as he dies, he knows no one will shed a tear for him. And when the plane crashes, he returns to the earthly world for a month to find someone who will mourn for him.

Mordaunt Hall wrote in his New York Times review: “As a suavely mannered portrait of decadence, The Scoundrel is a remarkably interesting motion picture. Mr. Coward is so perfectly attuned to the part we cannot help suspecting that he contributed to the dialogue. He is a master at delivering the barbed epithet. You have to hear him reciting a line like ‘It reeks with morality-stressing the r’s so as to make it exquisitely funny-to know how good he can be.”

Hecht and MacArthur won an Oscar for their story. Coward won his own special Oscar in 1943 for his stirring World War II drama IN WHICH WE SERVE (‘42) for “outstanding production achievement.” IN WHICH WE SERVE is far more than a propaganda piece to keep British morale up and the home fires burning. The film was inspired by Coward’s friend Lord Louis Mountbatten, who in 1941, lost his ship when it was sunk in the Battle of Crete. Coward stars, produced, penned the music and co-directed with a former editor by the name of David Lean. The story is generally told in flashback about the survivors of a Royal Navy ship that had been destroyed by German torpedoes. While recalling moments in their lives, they hang on to a small lifeboat waiting to be rescued.

Besides Coward, the film also stars Celia Johnson, John Mills and Richard Attenborough, who though uncredited in his film debut, is a stand-out as a sailor. A young Daniel Massey, who was the child of Raymond Massey, plays Coward’s son. Daniel was also Coward’s godson, and 26 years after the release of IN WHICH WE SERVE, he earned a supporting actor Oscar nomination as Coward in the Gertrude Lawrence bio-pic STAR! (‘68). IN WHICH WE SERVE was also nominated for the best film and screenplay Oscars.

Coward and Lean next collaborated in 1944 with the moving THIS HAPPY BREED, another sweeping epic. Based on Coward’s hit play of the same name, THIS HAPPY BREED revolves around a middle-class family who move into a rented house in 1919 and it follows their lives until the declaration of World War II in 1939. Lean directed this classic solo and he gets fabulous performances from the cast which includes Celia Johnson, Robert Newton, Stanley Holloway and John Mills. Ronald Neame provided the stunning Technicolor cinematography. It’s funny, moving and poignant and you’ll find yourself shedding a few tears along the way.

The year 1945 was a prolific one for producer Coward and director Lean. The duo went the Technicolor route with gorgeous results for the hit film version of Coward’s popular comedy-fantasy BLITHE SPIRIT. Rex Harrison portrays a writer who finds his world is turned upside-down when an eccentric medium (a perfect Margaret Rutherford) accidentally conjures up his dead first wife (Kay Hammond) who is jealous of his current spouse (Constance Cummings). The film lacks the spark of the stage play, but it’s still fun and the then cutting-edge special effects won the Oscar.

And what can one say about BRIEF ENCOUNTER (‘45)? One of the most romantic films of all time and stars the delicate Johnson and the handsome Trevor Howard as married people who meet at a small railway station café and fall in love. Everything comes together perfectly in this masterpiece that was released in the U.S. in 1946. Based on Coward’s play Still Life, BRIEF ENCOUNTER is beautifully directed by Lean who really came into his own with this film. The performances of Johnson and Howard are pitch perfect and poignant; Robert Krasker supplied the atmospheric black-and-white cinematography and the use of Rachminoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 just adds to the romance.

Lean won the grand prize for his direction at the Cannes Film Festival in 1946 and earned his first Oscar nomination for Best Director in addition to sharing a screenplay nomination with Anthony Havelock-Allan and Neame. Johnson was nominated for best actress which she lost to Olivia de Havilland for TO EACH HIS OWN (’46), but Johnson did win the New York Film Critics honor.

#Noel Coward #Blithe Spirit #Brief Encounter #Private Lives #Norma Shearer #playwright #David Lean #Susan King

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wikioftheweek · 3 years

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List of Baby Geniuses Wiki of the Week Articles

0 Baby Geniuses

1 ASMR (unofficially; did not have a Wikipedia page at the time)

2 Fan death

3 Figging

4 Schmidt sting pain index

5 Bald-hairy

6 Mary Toft

7 Jenkem

8 Polyphasic sleep (now redirects to Biphasic and polyphasic sleep)

9 James Randi Educational Foundation

10 List of unusual deaths

11 Koro (medicine)

12 List of common misconceptions

13 Mojave phone booth

14 Action Park

15 Witzelsucht

16 Krampus and Zwarte Piet (Black Peter)

17 Scratch and sniff

18 Bummer and Lazarus

19 Jeanne Calment

20 Nickelodeon toys

21 Daggering

22 List of sexually active popes

23 Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo

24 Emperor Norton

25 Paris syndrome

26 ALF (TV series)

27 Fossil word

28 Spite house

29 Women in piracy

30 Art competitions at the Summer Olympics

31 List of animals with fraudulent diplomas (now redirects to List of animals awarded human credentials)

32 Prostitution among animals

33 Tenderoni

34 My Way killings

35 Mike the Headless Chicken

36 List of inventors killed by their own inventions

37 Inedia

38 (Episode does not exist)

39 Tarrare

40 Sweater curse

41 Death from laughter

42 Dude

43 List of people claimed to be Jesus

44 Lucy the Elephant

45 How to keep chickens from eating their own eggs (Wikihow article)

46 List of nicknames used by George W. Bush

47 Cryptozoology

48 Bob the Railway Dog

49 Magic Castle (discussed very briefly)

50 Wartime cross-dressers

51 Streisand effect

52 Self-cannibalism

53 Sex in space

54 Other World Kingdom

55 Death erection

56 Taboo food and drink (now redirects to Food and drink prohibitions)

57 (no Wiki of the Week)

58 Florence Foster Jenkins

59 Kentucky meat shower

60 Susunu! Denpa Shonen

61 Felix Moncla

62 Walter Jackson Freeman II

63 You're So Vain

64 McDonald's urban legends

65 List of paraphilias

66 Hedy Lamarr

67 Last meal

68 Hatoful Boyfriend

69 United States presidential pets

70 Maginot Line

71 Finnish profanity

72 McArthur Wheeler (now redirects to Dunning-Kruger Effect)

73 List of unusual deaths

74 GamerGate Controversy

75 Scaphism

76 Dancing mania

77 Non-English Versions of The Simpsons

78 Fart proudly

79 List of humorous units of measurement

80 Rumpology

81 Takanakuy

82 White Day

83 Max Headroom signal hijacking

84 Cymothoa exigua

85 Ganguro

86 Reborn doll

87 Drukpa Kunley

88 Crush, Texas (now redirects to Crash at Crush)

89 Cotard delusion

90 Why did the chicken cross the road?

91 Berners St hoax

92 Evander Berry Wall

93 Premastication

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emmaofnormandy · 3 years

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❁ « 𝔐𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔦𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔡 ℭ𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔡 » ❁

Godstow Nunnery, Oxford. Winter, 1176.

There has been talk, as there has always been. There has always been malicious glance of all parts as if those who casted their judgemental looks were saints themselves. As if taking their veils proved them holy.

It mattered little now than before, as if gossip and hypocrisy once troubled the peace of her spirits. She had more concerns to be preoccupied to, one of which was her own health. On that particular morning, she was unwell. Not /that/ particular morning, but every day ever since the headaches began to flow to her body somehow.

They blame my poor health for my sins.

She remembered the mater superior scowling at her. She should have been more humble, take the cross Christ put on her shoulders not because she loved dearly with all her heart, but because she was a harlot in everyone else’s eyes. In truth, was she?

Love is a sin, you ought to repent for it.

Rosamund could hear Henry’s laughters. Hal, as she used to call him, would have tell her to pay no mind to those old cows. The idea, even now, brought a small smile on her lips. But the shadow of a smile, the shadow of what once was Rosamund, was there no more. She had to repent silently and would embrace death alone. She remembered the days where the local bishops came to scowl at her for her “nature”. Some of his enemies, within the church, would come at present to insult her. She had no friends, if one at all she could name such. Even then, Rosamund had no reason to regret.

I would have done all the same if I were given the same opportunity.

Bitterly, she swallowed the tears that wanted to drop her eyes. Rosamund sighed. When looking at the walls where she was staying, still in bed, the walls made of stone were naked before her eyes, barely baring a poor cross. There was only one simple table and one simple chair, a view to the outdoors on the left through a dusty window. There were no courtins, there was nothing. But even there, Rosamund saw through the window, contemplating the clouds that were trumbling against one another in a sign of upcoming storm. Green hills with nothing but pasture and cows. Small houses and far beyond her reach she knew there were small folk doing their tasks for the priory where she was in.

If Henry saw this now, he would have surely scowled at this condition. But I don’t think he understood how little mattered the lands, the greatness, the richness in comparison to the love that flew easily between us.

Death was close, she knew. Whatever the cause of the pestilence that hurt her lungs, she knew it would soon come to an end.

How can love be a sin if all our Lord preached was love?

But it mattered not. She would cherish the memories to her heart. Rosamund coughed harder. It was cold, even though the door was closed and she had a simple blanket. She wanted it all to be as simple as it should befit her position. Most nuns would disdain her for it, but Rosamund never truly gave to other people’s opinions. She prayed now, though, for the comfort of her soul. She would not like to announce she was dying, it was vain and she had no interests whatsoever in troubling the mater superior.

In the midst of unbearable cold and painful pestilence, Rosamund closed her eyes, now lost in the past. It was more colourful and lively than the present, and although it should be said that it was never wise to dwell in the past, to seek the comfort for her soul, it’s what the former Rose of the World just did.

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Rosamund was the youngest daughter of Walter de Clifford, a minor lord of the Welsh marches, and his wife Margaery, sometimes spelled Margaret. She had a couple of older siblings, but only Walter, Amicia and Lucia survived into adulthood. Rosamund remembered being closer the most Lucia, both in temper and age.

She recollected they often liked to dress equally as children in order to confuse their mother. It was a happy childhood as one could have back then. The world of violence, pestilence and all other mundane things had not yet reached Castle Clifford, where she spent most of her days in between prayers and sewings. Sometimes, her father would receive a wanderer bard and welcome him into his hall.

The bard would sing stories of kings and queens, courts of love, chivalrous knights who were brave enough to stand for honour and bring justice in a lawless realm. His voice was so charming that Rosamund remembered Amicia sighing over him constantly. Her mother, a woman conscious of whom she descended (from a lineage of anglo-norman nobility), could be stern at times and would not hesitate in reprehending Amicia for her childish behaviour. But their father, Walter, would laugh and say:

“Let them be children, woman.”

“They are not peasants”, it was Margaery’s response. “They are damzels, ought to behave perfectly.”

But when they were not giggling, they were behaving perfectly. Of the sisters, however, Amicia would be the most temperamental. She, like the rest of the ladies, was born with flaming hair and light brown eyes. Rosamund remembered her laughters the most, but also the one who was prompted to mischiefs. The next one, Lucia, another redheaded lady, was not so outgoing. She certainly seemed to have had an inclination to the Church, but their father refused to send any to the church. He hoped to increase the family’s health through the marriages he was beginning to seek for his girls.

And then, there was Rosamund. Her oval face showed high, pink cheeks, rounded eyes coloured brown; her nose was long and her lips, full. Her hair was also painted with red. She was the quietest of the ladies and, to her father’s despair, another one with inclinations to a religious life.

“Nay, I say!” She remembered one night her father was yelling with their mother. “I shall not send any of my children to the church! I can afford their dowry, what makes you think otherwise to suggest such a thing?”

Nonetheless, Rosamund continued going to the chapel more than thrice a day. She felt peace within it, perhaps more so than in between walls made of stone with long corridors and displayers of wealth. She knew nothing about her own ancestrality, except there may had been one great-grandfather coming from Normandy to William, the duke who suddenly became King of England not so long ago.

But she found comfort in the long gardens, well looked after by Mistress Joan, taking a seat beneath the trees and read--surprisingly an hability she and her sisters had, taught by one tutor of the church their mother hired the services--a book of poems. Rosamund shared the spirit of romance with her older sister, and it was not rare, as they grew up, they spent time proclaim poems of the sort.

In one of these early days, when a lady of their mother accompanied the girls for a stroll, Amicia would promptly say:

“Rosa, Rosa, are you not aware of how your beauty makes a man drop on his knee pretty soon?”

Lucia giggled softly, but Rosamund could not comprehend entirely. They were now into womanhood, Rosamund being no more than 17 years of age. They had not so much contact with the men, even though in their region there were growing feast to which her family was, much to Sir Walter’s pride, invited. Rumour had it that the king himself would come soon, whomever this man may be.

“What, in God’s name, are you saying, sister?”

Amicia and Lucia exchanged amused glances. Rosamund felt irritated because young ladies who did not possess completely control over their own perceptions around them would surely be irritated by such provocation.

“Father has decided the three of us will marry soon enough, and together, so one feast can be held on behalf of us!” Amicia was explaining. “He must really love us for trying to get rid of us so soon! Mayhaps not soon enough, as I reach the nine-tenth year of my life, if mother’s count is correct, and I’m old to arrange a fanficul espouse. Well, as I was saying, in between the arrangements, he made a proposition to a baron who was feudal lord to the Prince of Gwynedd for making me his wife. Yet, the man claimed he would have preferred to despouse you instead of me!”

Rosamund immediatedly interrupted the movement of her feet. Pink coloured her cheeks and her eyes went wide.

“I... I never put my eyes on the man, sister!”

Amicia laughed at Rosamund’s simplicity.

“I know you have not, but he seems to have done so. Whomever be your consort, my sister, you will make the man very happy indeed!”

Much to Rosamund’s consternation, the conversation turned to teasings that she particularly detested. She was timid when, in the rare events she went outdoors the castle whether to accompany her mother’s lady to the market or even more so to fanciful royal events her family began to attend, eyes were drawned to her figure. She hated it. It was probably due to her red locks, brighter than her sisters’s. But her mother would remember that this was a good thing, for she would not take long before arranging a suitable suitor.

Rosamund did not know back then, but lady Margaery’s amusement remark would prove to be correct. It was not any suitable, proper suitor she would capture the heart, but the one of the king of England himself.

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The fatidic day likely occurred in a summer day, Rosamund could not be sure. The reason of why there would be a great feast for the Welsh lords was to receive the king in order to appeal his “conquest thirst” that he inherited of his great-grandfather, another conqueror.

“You should go very well dressed”, said lady Margaery to her daughters as she and her own ladies brushed their hairs and picked the best silk gowns they afforded having. Rosamund would dress a blue one with white pearls around the long sleeves, her flaming hair locked in a long braid. Her sisters would dress green and yellow silk gowns, each one lurking for the opportunity of finding a proper husband that evening. “For all the important men will be there and it’s important, God knows how, you succeeded in capturing their hearts..”

“And gold”, remarked Lucia, making all of them laugh except their mother.

“Now, Lucia, don’t be silly, child. You are no more in this age to make jests. You are a lady now.”

But the giggles carried on effortlessly. Later, at another castle built of stones, Rosamund was just another lady in between the present nobility. The hall was well provided, she could see how great--certainly bigger than the castle she grew up--were the saloon, the decorations and well dressed were the knights in their armous, but forbidden to walk inside carrying their weapons.

There were musicians too, of course, a sweet melody mastered by the fingers of such men. Rosamund remembered the tune, how it brought a comfort feeling to her heart, and how it made her smile It was her first experience in such an event and she was, naturally, as excited as any other lady in her position would be.

In more cheerful spirits was Amicia, whose hair, divided in two combed braids, fell over her green gown. She looked everywhere and would spare no smile to any lord who threw curious glances at her.

“She will sure arrange a husband this day”, Rosamund whispered to Lucia, making her sister chuckle. “Father and mother will be back home in content spirits!”

In the meantime she settled with her sisters and her father and mother went on to greet other noblemen and their wives there present, one could hear the sudden excitement that arouse from the small amount of self-entitled-important men. The king, Rosamund was told, had arrived.

At first, she was curious to see who was this man. Lucia, the brightest of the sisters, explained:

“Henry the King is the second of his name to rule all over England. He is a powerful man, vain some would say and most temperamental. Those who witnessed it, claimed that it was an awful vision to behold.”

Rosamund was not impressed, though.

“Most kings must behave in such a manner, otherwise how else will they earn respect?”

Lucia shrugged her shoulders.

“But Arthur was not temperamental..”

Rosamund smirked.

“He is not here yet, Lucia, so we must await for his rise.”

Her sister ignored the comment and carried on. As she did, their eyes followed the multitude surrounding the king. Henry the king was tall, Rosamund noticed. His hair was red, although of a different shade than hers; his face was oval and it captured strong features. His eyes, however, mirrored the smile displayed on his lips, enhancing his charisma.

“And he has quite some reputation with ladies, too. Have you not heard how he seduced the queen of France and took her as his wife?”

Rosamund’s eyes were following the king’s moves when, in this exact instance her sister was proving to be one with very attentive ears, Henry II’s gaze locked with hers. It was for a brief instance as she, paled at how intense and abrupt this encounter with each other’s eyes were, quickly looked away.

Unaware of what just happened, Lucia told Rosamund:

“Aliénor, the queen, was born in the duchy of Aquitaine. She was reported to be so beautiful and elegant, but most of all, rich because Aquitaine occupies large portions of lands in the continent.”

Rosamund rose her eyebrows:

“How on earth would you know all that?”

“Father has been receiving important people at the castle, in case you have not noticed and I’m always eager to know the stories of the court they brought.”

“And what is like this Aliénor? How did she become Henry’s queen?”

As Lucia was telling her the story, Rosamund was completely unapprehensive of Henry’s curiosity. She would not know how her red hair and soft features were a contrast amidst the other ladies with more olive skin and darker eyes than her own. She was unaware how Henry was completely intrigued by this mysterious lady whose eyes so innocent and filled with curiosity found his own. Another redhair, mayhaps, but it was not like anyone.

One of Henry’s companions followed the king’s gaze and said:

“That is mistress Clifford, m’lord. A daughter of one of the minor lords of the Welsh marches. Her name is Rosamund, she’s the youngest of Sir Walter Clifford’s brood. She’s to be betrothed soon with her sisters...” He continued to proceed, almost nonchalantly about Rosamund and her family, but Henry was only partially listening.

“Would you bring the said lady to me?” Henry interrupted him.

It was lust at first, as often was. The man hesitated for seconds, but he eventually agreed to. Who could deny the overlord of Scotland, lord of Wales and king of all England anything at all?

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Rosamund was delighted to meet other ladies of her age. She had spent very little time outdoors and her only companions and friends she relied on were her sisters. That evening, her father and mother granted permission for them to enjoy freely as long they were under supervision of lady Margaery’s lady-in-waiting, a Welsh maid of the name Guinevere. So far, however, the only amongst the three sisters to have enjoyed more than the rules of good sense cared to permit in courtship was Amicia.

Rosamund and her new friend, a lady named Heloise, were discussing poetry when mistress Guinevere were scowling at Amicia for her unproper behaviour. It was also when the king’s valet came in between them.

He cleared his throat, and by how arrogance was stamped all over his face--which was not one very nice looking, in Rosamund’s opinion, marked by scars or old pestilences as a sign he struggled to survive infancy or mayhaps the favour of God in sparing him of such unfortunate death; his eyes were narrowed with impatience, and yet she could swear they were painted with the deepest shade of blue; the man’s nose was long, but it was crooked, a sign he was involved in unnecessary fighting or wars he was forced to fight, Rosamund could not be sure. His sandy hair was short and oily, and his cheeks were rosy. He wore dark robes that could easily mistake him to a priest. And yet, when coming to her and this new friend Heloise, the man looked as if he was mostly obliged for doing so, an interpretation that, as she would find out, was not entirely incorrect.

“Mademoiselles”, he began with a heavy French accent. Luckily for him, Rosamund could speak the language, but pretended she would not understand him. Maybe he understood it, for he, against his own will, was forced by circumnstances to speak the local tongue. “Mistress Clifford. His Grace, the king of England, wishes to see you.”

Lady Heloise covered her mouth with her tongues, but Rosamund, as flattered as she might have felt with the attention of such a king, was not entirely sure if she should meet a man let alone a king.

“For what purposes, my lord, would the king be interested in seeing me, a mere damsel?”

She could tell her lady friend was very much puzzled by her words, which, Rosamund thought, could be seen as a demonstrative arrogance, when in reality she was motivated by her pious education she received. Surely her mother would be very displeased if she heard of such a thing? Her flower should be preserved for her marriage.

As naive as she may have been, Rosamund did not lack brain.

“Alas!” The king’s valet exclaimed, for this was the first time he found in such situation. Rarely would a lady, whomever she may be, question such a thing. “For what purposes? The king has taken a like of you, my lady. Should there ever be another reason for it?”

He laughed.

“’Tis the king of England we are talking about. Should we leave him wait for more than we already have?”

Rosamund flushed. She understood her position as an unmarried dame in those days, and because of it, remembering Henry II, as king as he may be, was still a man and a married one. She would not go against the laws of the Church.

“I may sound a fool to you, mister, but out of respect for the queen he is lawful married before God and for me, a damsel who has not yet become a respectful espouse to some lord, I cannot give in to such follyness.”

And without waiting for response, she stepped away, moving straight to the direction of mistress Guinevere with a very shocked lady Heloise by her side, stunned as she was what was seen for she said no word. Rosamund’s face was all red and one could easily tell how angered she was.

“There you are, Rosa!”, said Guinevere, greeting the other’s friend. “I see you have acquainted yourself with other admirable ladies, but your face shows me displeasure. What, in God’s name, has been the cause of such distress?”

Lady Heloise, who payed no mind to discreetion, spoke for Rosamund:

“The king wanted to see her and she declined him!”

Guinevere and Rosamund’s sisters looked puzzled at her, whose pale pinks were painted with another shade of deeper red if possible. She could not meet their inquiring gazes, so her eyes were down to her feet.

“How did this happen?!” Amicia, naturally, was the first to say, quickly taking her sister’s hand into her own. “You should not decline, my dear Rosamund. Oh, how fair are you! God has a purpose for you, my sister, as I have always known! ‘Tis with what other reason for being born ever so graceful and fair as yourself?”

“My dear sister, do not say flatteries to me”, pledged Rosamund. “I am not a harlot, and cannot give into such reputation. He is a married man.”

“He is the king of England”, said Amicia, eagerly. “We could have benefited from it.”

Impatient, Rosamund, who realized she would not receive support from either mistress Guinevere, who looked astonished by the reports Lady Heloisa unashamed gave her, nor her sisters, who suddenly forgot all morals about involving oneself with a married man.

Silently, she slipped off their companionship and in even quieter frustration she moved to an empty are of the castle, wherever this may be. Perhaps the gardens? But she would not dare to go to such a darker spot. No, the hall would be nice. There were guards, one or two small groups engaged in conversations, so she sat at a far from the crowd bench where she sat.

But there would be no time to contemplate alone with her own thoughts for Henry, king of England, was not one very accostumed to receive declines to the invites he extended to those he appreciated. He was rather intrigued by what cause had motivated her to deny him the pleasure of her company and his eyes never left her face or moves in this time. Even the group that surrounded him was aware his mind was out of reach.

Henry observed as Rosamund stomed over, face flushed probably the result of being offended. He began to wonder if that was because of him. By how her sisters behaved, or so he assumed being the ladies under the supervision of an older mistress, he presumed so. Discreetly, the king excused himself off the duties and began to search for her. Did not take long before he did.

“I pray I have not troubled the peace of your mind”, spoke he with a heavy French accent.

Rosamund pale, startled when hearing his voice. Her eyes went wide and she quickly dipsied to a curtsy when raising from her seat. But, seeing the fear in her eyes, Henry could tell where this refuse came from. He quickly said:

“Please, my lady, be fearful not of me. I came here to apologize.”

Rosamund’s features soften, although there remained in her eyes a mixture of amusement and suspicious.

“Apologize, my lord? For what cause would have the king to apologize?” “My lady, you mistake me to an arrogant and distant creature...”

“And are you not, sire? A king unreachable to many of us, your subjects?”

He sighed. But Henry was decided not to give in as much as Rosamund.

“I’m still the son of the Lord as much as you, madame Clifford. A crown placed over my head because of His command, solely so. I did not mean to offend you.”

Rosamund’s eyes remain locked with his, but her body languaged indicated she still distrusted him.

“I... How can I think otherwise? I am a damsel, Your Grace, not a harlot you can share a bed anytime. I am unmarried, and what will people think if they see us engaging in conversation out of their sight like this?”

Henry took a seat on the bench she was formerly sat. She watched frustration, and maybe anger, rise in his features, but countered somehow by resignation in his eyes. Those eyes were painted in deep blue, and Rosamund thought it must like seeing the sea, for there was something in them that could drown her. A shiver came in and she quickly lowered her eyes to her feet. She could not... She could not...

“To the hell the men and their malicious minds. I came not to pervert your innocence, my lady. I see I did make the mistake in thinking you were like the others when you are not.”

“The path is free for you to go then, sire, for I will not give you what you came to seek”, she heard herself speaking.

When did I ever become this bold? And before a king?!

But Henry laughed. And his laughter sounded like a thunder, giving much cause for the raise of Rosamund’s gaze, for she was intrigued at how... human he sounded. He, so divine being, could truly be a man?

“You captivated me, my lady. May I not enjoy your company throughout this evening?”

“I fear to say there would have more interesting damsels to accompany your lordship, but if it pleases you, sire, I shall stay” she said, humbly.

Henry gave space for her to seat, patting it so she could seat. Rosamund, not any less uncomfortable than she was before, obeyed.

“It pleases me. But does it please you?” He inquired, his eyes looking for hers.

Rosamund flushed.

“I... I... Why would you ask this, sire? You are the king”, said she, softly.

“For this same reason you exposed, my lady Clifford. Because I am the king, people assume what do I want and desire, and for long years this was enough for me. But to live amidst the flattery and falsehood is becoming tiresome. It is as if I live in illusions, illusions that could never grasp the reality I aimed to live.” He explained.

Rosamund found herself surprised by his words. Somehow, she sensed the truth beneath them.

“How did you become king, sire? Looks like a heavy task to burden your lordship to.”

Henry shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were no longer holding hers, staring, instead, into the void of what Rosamund presumed to have been the past, of years she never witnessed or heard of.

“I have inherited my mother’s claim. You are not familiar with the whole thing, are you?” A smile crossed his lips when seeing Rosamund shaking her head in negative. Somehow it made his chest swollen with pride. “It all began from the day my uncle, my mother’s brother, was drowned. His ship hit a rock or something of the sort, and he tried to save the people that were in the same ship as his. By doing so, he died.”

“My condolences for his loss”, Rosamund whispered.

Henry smiled. It was a more sincere one, Rosamund observed.

“I appreciate it, but I fear to tell you that us, royals, display of little time to grief. My mother was his heir, her father, the first king named Henry of this realm, made his nobles to vow loyalty to her, but he should have known that men are like beasts. They switch their loyalties easily as gold”. He now spoke with a sudden bitter that intrigued Rosamund even more.

He carries his scars, his pain, his hurt and buries them beneath out of the general sight. Oh, how heavy must be to carry the crown over his head!

“He died and my mother should have been crowned, but she was pregnant at the time of his death, so that gave space for Stephen to usurp her rightful place as lady of the English. It was a civil conflict that, in the end, brought me here.”

Rosamund listened, and Henry was surprised for her genuine listening. Not even his wife would do such a thing, he noticed.

“You sound unhappy for the events that led you here, sire, if I may speak freely.”

“You may speak freely as you wish, as I have said, it tires me to hear flattery most of the times.” He said. “I shall not be untrue to you, my lady, but I do enjoy being king. What abhorres me the most is their motivations, how easily convertible are their loyalties. In one day they welcome in feasts like these, in the other they are plotting against me.”

Rosamund listened again, unsure of what judgement should she give him, although she presumed he was being sincere. She never met too many men who would speak with their hearts, or any man who did so at all, but his eyes... when looking into her own... There was something unexplainable to her. Yet, she had to be realistic, as much as, surprisingly to her, it would be disappointing to taste the flavour of it when she said:

“But your wife, my lord... Surely she would support you as a queen should.”

Henry made a sound that Rosamund was not entirely sure what it is, by how his features changed all of a sudden, it looked like the queen did not make this king happy either.

“She does not. All she cares about is her court of love she tries to reproduce in Westminster.” Henry scowled. “Her vain courtiers doing all she pleases, her children...”

“Who are yours too”, she kindly reminded him.

“Well, she acts otherwise!” Henry said with gritted teeth.

Rosamund said nothing more, but instead allowed him to speak out the anger within. As far as she understood, one of the major issues with the queen was having his illegitimate children raised with their legitimate ones and favouring one son over another in all matters. There were the legacies involved too, a series of issues that, from her perspective, were faulted on both parts. Although she could not understand why a mother would favour one son over the other, which made her furrow her eyebrows.

This captured Henry’s eyes, for of all he told her, it was only in the matter of children that he received some reaction of her.

“What is it that is troubling you, my fair lady?”

Rosamund blushed at the compliment, but ignored it when responding him:

“Forgive me, sire, for I am not a mundane lady. I know little of this world, and understand even lesser the complications of motherhood. Whilst I comprehend what lies before me when marrying a lord, I cannot discern how a mother’s love surpasses all other children to concentrate in one alone.”

Henry smiled at her.

“Your remarks are far more intelligent than any other lady I have ever heard.”

“That is untrue, sir”, protested Rosamund, although a small smile curled upon her rosy lips. “For your lady wife is famed for doing good use of the brain she has.”

“Whilst this is accurate, I cannot say she has been using it on good matters.”

Rosamund smiled.

“What other matter could occupy a lady’s mind out of a lady’s own world? Hence why I cannot see the choice of one son over another.”

“Preferences”, it was all he said, vaguely so.

Seeing this was a subject he was not particularly into, Rosamund decided to quiet her thoughts. But Henry said:

“On what account have you stopped the conversation, my lady?”

“Sire, there is little reason to go into a topic that leaves you uncomfortable. I think we should divague on other matters.”

“Such as...?”

But their conversation came abruptly to an end. For the father of Rosamund, Sir Walter, apparently “finally” discovered the whereabouts of his youngest daughter. The scene, to his eyes, could hold no indecency of unproper behaviour, but, nonetheless, the reputation must be conserved. Yet, to the end of that day, Sir Walter could have not been any more proud than any other man would be in his shoes if his daughter had captured the powerful king’s heart.

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Henry the king was decided to spend more than one day or two in the states that were close to the Clifford’s family. His presence was an opportunity for the local nobility to receive him in rich and luxurious feasts, but also to the ambition Sir Walter who wished to expand and enrich his own family.

Rosamund, however, cared little about her family’s desire of enlarging the gold and properties. She was much surprised to see a different side of the king than she was told of. He was respectful, kind, even sentimental. But, at this, her mother warned her:

“Men in general have many masks, my dear child. The powerful they are, the more artful they can be to conquer a woman’s heart. You should know well what you are doing...”, and in a less severe manner, added she, “if you are not willing to this courtship, we can find a more urgent matter for you.”

But Rosamund was not entirely sure of what would be of her. So she said nothing of the matter. Her mind was confusing, whilst her heart was clear. It was not merely an attraction of minds, but of souls. The answer was there: she hoped to see him again even if this was wrong in so many ways.

***

Rosamund was discreet and there was no reason to behave otherwise, although if this was Amicia, perhaps everything else would have gone differently. But there she was, with a friend or two (lady Heloisa was amongst them, even if she wanted the gossip that Rosamund refused to give her) and her sister Lucia. The feast was charmed with the melodies that brought many men and women together in a dance.

Rosamund herself, on that day with the red locks loose and dressing a blue gown with esmeralds, danced with two of the King’s courtiers. She knew he was watching, his eyes glued on her moves as if he could see beyond her curves. For when their eyes met, it was a signal of recognition, of something more, one mirroring another’s soul, a feeling that could only be found in letters of the books, in the mouths of the bards, in the minds of the thinkers.

She danced gleefully, the rhythm of her heart racing louder each time their eyes meet. She lowered her gaze, she timidly followed the tune with her partners, she laughed with her lady friends, but all the time she could not help... those eyes of her sought for his, and his were waiting for hers.

Discreetly, the king inquired after her. Discreetly, they met and strolled at the gardens.

“You dance gracefully, I should say”, said he, sounding soft as words rolled out of his tongue. “I could not look away and must admit I was envious of your partners.”

Rosamund smiled and Henry decided he liked the way it naturally came everytime at his wording.

“I thought you disliked flatteries, sire.”

“I do, but must I protest that I speak the truth to you, dear lady! O, fair Rosamund, can you not see how the world’s eyes fall on thee?”

She giggled, her fingers slipping on the arm the king had offered her to take, gripping it gently. The scent of roses that day already mesmerized him, completely taken by her presence.

“You are a poet too, sire?”

“I have one brother who is. I, myself, am mostly a warrior. One of the reckless kind”, he winked at her. “But he inspired me. William was a good man.” He sighed.

“Oh. Did he..?” She could not pronounce the words, unsure of how he would react.

“Aye.” Henry lamented, his eyes missing the joy of minutes before, as if stolen by the sadness of eternal grief. “This world was not for him, though. He must be in peace. He was very good, pure. Unlike Geoffrey.”

On that late afternoon, Rosamund was content in hearing about his brothers, his stories, and even of the illegitimate siblings Henry had. She was told of his children, of his life.

“But I’m talking too much!” objected he, when they finally took a seat in the centre of the garden. Rosamund noticed they were now out of the people’s sight, especially the guards. “Will I not hear a word of my fair Rosamund?”

She giggled.

“Must I, sire? What could possibly interest the king of England? I am a damsel, daughter of a local nobleman.”

“Do not think of me as a king, my lady, I beg you”, said he, enamorated. “All I ask you is to speak freely to me. I would sincerely like to listen to what you have to say, your habits, what you like to do or not.”

Rosamund conceeded a smile.

“If you insist...”

“I do!”

She locked her hand into another, resting them on the top of her lap after adjusting the skirts of her gown. Rosamund would look down a few times, sensing the heat in her cheeks at how, not once, did the eyes of Henry divert from her presence. When she raised her gaze, he was still glancing at her. Not only glancing, but listening.

He was actually listening.

“I appreciate the simplicity”, she told him at last after telling the story of her family, her habits, even that of her neighbours, the few she ever had been acknowledged to. “The nature and their freedom, the stories the bards so often tell and sing about. Love inspire me. It’s all I ever come to know, although more through words than anything.”

Twilight began to set it’s mixture of lights when their conversation seems to come to an end. The king rose and so did Rosamund when they began to stroll back inwards.

“I miss the simplicity, the basics. Whilst I for one admit to enjoy all the luxury that life in my position can provide, I also crave for a life with no concerns. Could this be possible?”

“I like to think, my lord, that no life is possible without faith beforehand. Otherwise, where else would be placed the purpose of our existance in first place? It is only then that comes the nature of simplicity we aim to achieve. And the love we long to feel.”

To talk about deep perceptions of the world, however limited one could be in comparison to other due to the experiences one had and the other lacked, was something that brought such delight to Rosamund. It was a feeling that Henry himself reciprocated, something he desperatedly looked for in every lady he fell for. But in reality, he knew it now, all the love he thought he felt for others was the reflection of lust. For little by little he could see that she gave him what he needed the most: love.

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Rosamund believed they would only meet in only luxurious occasions, but this was not meant to be. Sir Walter would proudly say, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months and he began to enlarge his properties, that never before he was so lucky to have had daughters. In the month after Rosamund and Henry began to court, Amicia and Lucia were promptly married. Amicia, to a baron named Osmund FitzHugh of Richards Castle, and Lucia to another baron named Hugh de Say of Clun Castle. Now there was only his son to marry and he hoped the king could find him a wealthy heiress for the union to be perfect.

As before, Rosamund did not feed ambitions in herself. By then she had accepted her fate, and cared very little about the whispers around the village. But her brother had to walk her down the market each time, so she would be the victim of loud accusations for being the king’s whore. It once hurt before, but she would not hear none of it.

Henry visited her every month, discreetly as the lovers usually were. But he insisted her for having her own household and would not take ‘no’ as answer. He granted her a household thus in a castle made of stones located in Oxfordshire, near Woodstock. There, they would meet... and there, she knew, they would consummate their flames for the first time.

Henry had been wholly respectful of her and, much to her surprise, he would wait for her. So it was towards the summer that, even to her mother’s delight, she moved to her own household, having her servants and ladies to attend her. During his absence, lady Margaery would make company to her daughter, helping her to adjust to this new life, teaching her how to manage it properly as a lady befit to her station should. A chapel would soon be built and lady Margaery thought wise to find one priest who would not refuse the task of preaching a holy life without risking to ruin her daughter’s reputation.

Mid August, Henry told Rosamund he was going to visit her. She decided to receive him properly. Bards were already displayed singing to the guests she placed in it. Only her sisters and their families were attending it, of course. That day, she decided to have her hair loose and dress Henry’s favourite gown, the blue one with while pearls.

In her ears, she wore saphire earrings and necklace to embelish her porcelain skin. Now more accostumed to his valet, going as far as befriending him (and he would espouse a friend of hers, that lady Heloise, laterwards), she received him well.

“Your master is coming, my lady”, he warned her happily. “He is looking forward to see you again.”

Rosamund was in the highest expectations. She was not expecting his full fidelity, aware of the nature of the men, but to possess his heart wholeheartedly as he did hers. Furthermore, there was the love that, two years ago from now, never ceased to diminish.

Henry finally then appeared, dressed in his rich clothes. Rosamund forgot the etiquette and ran to his arms, embraced those strong arms as he greeted her gleefully. She felt his love deeply when his lips touched against her cheek and then moved to her lips. Oh, how much he was longed for!

“A feast to receive me, my lady?” said Henry, smiling widely.

“It should be especial to receive you properly, my lord”, responded she in turn, with her rosy cheeks. “I pray ‘tis of your taste, though. Nothing gladdens me more than pleasing your lordship.”

The sincerity in her words warmed his heart with full affection. He pressed his forehead against hers before pecking her cheek:

“Aye, how else could I not be? My eternal gratitude shall never be forgotten!”

That night, he conceeded a dance with her, earning a round of applauses of the guests. He then watched her dance with her ladies, and greeted and talked with his lover’s relatives. Finally, then, when it was late night and he was half drunk already, a lady of hers told him he was being summoned by her mistress.

Curious as ever, Henry obeyed the instructions and went after the bedchamber where he usually spent the night. Once inside, he was surprised to see her... disproved of her gown.

“Rosa...!” he gasped, quickly closing the door behind him.

Rosamund was found lying on the bed naked, her eyes searching for his as her exposed skin much gave signs for longing for him. He approached, undressing himself on the way to attend the invitation, but hesitated.

“I thought...”

She inclined against him, feeling not embarrassment for her nudity as she feared, but suddenly confidence for her curls. Perhaps this was the wine, but she would not like to let go of it. She felt the eyes of his possessing her, but Rosamund want his touch.

She grabbed his hands and placed them over her full breasts, not before she rose his chin and inclined her lips against his.

“Well?”

“I’m yours to command”, he whispered, his voice rusky filled with desire.

He laid her on bed and embraced her warmly, giving her the love she needed--and he needed too. Whilst ‘twas true that he bedded other dames in the years of their unconsummed relationship, hers was his devoted heart and his most hungered desire. ‘Twas so that they slept barely as their bodies loved throughtout the dawn.

“And the bards will sing about a king who loved a damsel of flamed locks, she who gave her heart in a box for him to remember in every equinox.” He proclaimed against her ears.

“They will remember that there shall be no other lady in this world who worships her lover more than I do, for if there was something I could dispose to be with him that would be the heart for you to carry within.” She smiled, drowning in those deep blue eyes as she feared one day she might.

In moments like these, eternity was a vow both swore to keep. But future had it’s own shadows none could predict. Yet, whilst it lasted, they met and even when it did not any more, their love remained attached.

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Winter, 1176.

Henry was at Dover. He needed pure air to breathe, he needed to be parted from the world he knew. For he received the news he feared to hear, he feared to have ever been told.

“Sire, we received news from the priority of Oxfordshire. It tells us that lady Rosamund Clifford is no longer amongst us. She... She is dead.”

Away of the public sight, he grieved. Away from the high walls of castles built upon stones, away from the ghosts he lost, he longed for the one he had loved the most.

Alone, he fell on his knees, devastated. He never wanted her to leave, never to be apart, but damn the circumnstances. He remembered her touch, her caring, the sound of her laughters. He never wanted her to leave...And neither wanted she.

So wept and grieved the king of England for the loss of his most beloved treasured his heart ever possessed and craved for: the love of the rose of the world, the love of Rosamund.

But maybe, in another life, in another time, God would have wanted them to meet again.

➳ lyrics: Adele, “Someone Like You”.

➳ fancast: Daisy Ridley as Rosamund Clifford and Tom Hiddleston/MichaelFassbender as Henry II, King of England.

#Henry II #Henry x Rosamund #Henry II x Rosamund Clifford #Henry II of England #King Henry II of England #Henry FitzEmpress #Rosamund Clifford #tom hiddlesto #daisy ridley #Michael Fassbender #my edits #Plantagenet edit #house of anjou #Plantagenet dynasty #The Plantagenets #Plantagenet #angevins #Angevin Empire #Angevin Emperor

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