#according to harold

[incorrect-royal-quotes]

The British Media to Camilla: “Do you want to make a deal with the devil?

Camilla: “What am I gonna do with a soul anyways? Souls are boring. Boo souls.”

[silesianna]

Been pissed off about AI winning an art competition by popular clothes brand in my country and decided to draw some cute stuff featuring my Call of Cthulhu blorbo, so here have this Also more accurate version lmao:

[britishchick09]

senpai adjusting harold jr's tie :) @robert-273-fan

[legionfusion]

ok but why does no one talk about the dynamic between hal and akira. that shit is so funny

imagine being akira and having it out for the guy who supposedly tricked your sibling into committing several crimes with him and then he lets you stay at his secret hideout while you recover from a coma. and you just have to pretend that that's normal

like ??? please it would be so funny if akira was like, constantly trying to play the protective sibling card and hal was fearing for his life every time azure wasn't there to play peacemaker

[suzannahnatters]

So here's one of the coolest things that has happened to me as a Tolkien nut and an amateur medievalist. It's also impacted my view of the way Tolkien writes women. Here's Carl Stephenson in MEDIEVAL FEUDALISM, explaining the roots of the ceremony of knighthood: "In the second century after Christ the Roman historian Tacitus wrote an essay which he called Germania, and which has remained justly famous. He declares that the Germans, though divided into numerous tribes, constitute a single people characterised by common traits and a common mode of life. The typical German is a warrior. [...] Except when armed, they perform no business, either private or public. But it is not their custom that any one should assume arms without the formal approval of the tribe. Before the assembly the youth receives a shield and spear from his father, some other relative, or one of the chief men, and this gift corresponds to the toga virilis among the Romans--making him a citizen rather than a member of a household" (pp 2-3). Got it?

Remember how Tolkien was a medievalist who based his Rohirrim on Anglo-Saxon England, which came from those Germanic tribes Tacitus was talking about? Stephenson argues that the customs described by Tacitus continued into the early middle ages eventually giving rise to the medieval feudal system. One of these customs was the gift of arms, which transformed into the ceremony of knighthood: "Tacitus, it will be remembered, describes the ancient German custom by which a youth was presented with a shield and a spear to mark his attainment of man's estate. What seems to the be same ceremony reappears under the Carolingians. In 791, we are told, Charlemagne caused Prince Louis to be girded with a sword in celebration of his adolescence; and forty-seven years later Louis in turn decorated his fifteen-year-old son Charles "with the arms of manhood, i.e., a sword." Here, obviously, we may see the origin of the later adoubement, which long remained a formal investiture with arms, or with some one of them as a symbol. Thus the Bayeux Tapestry represents the knighting of Earl Harold by William of Normandy under the legend: Hic Willelmus dedit Haroldo arma (Here William gave arms to Harold). [...] Scores of other examples are to be found in the French chronicles and chansons de geste, which, despite much variation of detail, agree on the essentials. And whatever the derivation of the words, the English expression "dubbing to knighthood" must have been closely related to the French adoubement" (pp 47-48.)

In its simplest form, according to Stephenson, the ceremony of knighthood included "at most the presentation of a sword, a few words of admonition, and the accolade." OK. So what does this have to do with Tolkien and his women? AHAHAHAHA I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. First of all, let's agree that Tolkien, a medievalist, undoubtedly was aware of all the above. Second, turn with me in your copy of The Lord of the Rings to chapter 6 of The Two Towers, "The King of the Golden Hall", when Theoden and his councillors agree that Eowyn should lead the people while the men are away at war. (This, of course, was something that medieval noblewomen regularly did: one small example is an 1178 letter from a Hospitaller knight serving in the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem which records that before marching out to the battle of Montgisard, "We put the defence of the Tower of David and the whole city in the hands of our women".) But in The Lord of the Rings, there's a little ceremony.

"'Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone.' 'It shall be so,' said Theoden. 'Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Eowyn will lead them!' Then the king sat upon a seat before his doors and Eowyn knelt before him and received from him a sword and a fair corselet."

I YELLED when I realised what I was reading right there. You see, the king doesn't just have the heralds announce that Eowyn is in charge. He gives her weapons.

Theoden makes Eowyn a knight of the Riddermark.

Not only that, but I think this is a huge deal for several reasons. That is, Tolkien knew what he was doing here.

From my reading in medieval history, I'm aware of women choosing to fight and bear arms, as well as becoming military leaders while the men are away at some war or as prisoners. What I haven't seen is women actually receiving knighthood. Anyone could fight as a knight if they could afford the (very pricy) horse and armour, and anyone could lead a nation as long as they were accepted by the leaders. But you just don't see women getting knighted like this.

Tolkien therefore chose to write a medieval-coded society, Rohan, where women arguably had greater equality with men than they did in actual medieval societies.

I think that should tell us something about who Tolkien was as a person and how he viewed women - perhaps he didn't write them with equal parity to men (there are undeniably more prominent male characters in The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, at least, than female) but compared to the medieval societies that were his life's work, and arguably even compared to the society he lived in, he was remarkably egalitarian.

I think it should also tell us something about the craft of writing fantasy.

No, you don't have to include gut wrenching misogyny and violence against women in order to write "realistic" medieval-inspired fantasy.

Tolkien's fantasy worlds are DEEPLY informed by medieval history to an extent most laypeople will never fully appreciate. The attitudes, the language, the ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS use of medieval military tactics...heck, even just the way that people travel long distances on foot...all of it is brilliantly medieval.

The fact that Theoden bestows arms on Eowyn is just one tiny detail that is deeply rooted in medieval history. Even though he's giving those arms to a woman in a fantasy land full of elves and hobbits and wizards, it's still a wonderfully historically accurate detail.

Of course, I've ranted before about how misogyny and sexism wasn't actually as bad in medieval times as a lot of people today think. But from the way SOME fantasy authors talk, you'd think that historical accuracy will disappear in a puff of smoke if every woman in the dragon-infested fantasy land isn't being traumatised on the regular.

Tolkien did better. Be like Tolkien.

[reasonsforhope]

"The amount of electricity generated by the UK’s gas and coal power plants fell by 20% last year, with consumption of fossil fuels at its lowest level since 1957.

Not since Harold Macmillan was the UK prime minister and the Beatles’ John Lennon and Paul McCartney met for the first time has the UK used less coal and gas.

The UK’s gas power plants last year generated 31% of the UK’s electricity, or 98 terawatt hours (TWh), according to a report by the industry journal Carbon Brief, while the UK’s last remaining coal plant produced enough electricity to meet just 1% of the UK’s power demand or 4TWh.

Fossil fuels were squeezed out of the electricity system by a surge in renewable energy generation combined with higher electricity imports from France and Norway and a long-term trend of falling demand.

Higher power imports last year were driven by an increase in nuclear power from France and hydropower from Norway in 2023. This marked a reversal from 2022 when a string of nuclear outages in France helped make the UK a net exporter of electricity for the first time.

Carbon Brief found that gas and coal power plants made up just over a third of the UK’s electricity supplies in 2023, while renewable energy provided the single largest source of power to the grid at a record 42%.

It was the third year this decade that renewable energy sources, including wind, solar, hydro and biomass power, outperformed fossil fuels [in the UK], according to the analysis. Renewables and Britain’s nuclear reactors, which generated 13% of electricity supplies last year, helped low-carbon electricity make up 55% of the UK’s electricity in 2023.

[Note: "Third year this decade" refers to the UK specifically, not global; there are several countries that already run on 100% renewable energy, and more above 90% renewable. Also, though, there have only been four years this decade so far! So three out of four is pretty good!]

Dan McGrail, the chief executive of RenewableUK, said the data shows “the central role that wind, solar and other clean power sources are consistently playing in Britain’s energy transition”.

“We’re working closely with the government to accelerate the pace at which we build new projects and new supply chains in the face of intense global competition, as everyone is trying to replicate our success,” McGrail said.

Electricity from fossil fuels was two-thirds lower in 2023 compared with its peak in 2008, according to Carbon Brief. It found that coal has dropped by 97% and gas by 43% in the last 15 years.

Coal power is expected to fall further in 2024 after the planned shutdown of Britain’s last remaining coal plant in September. The Ratcliffe on Soar coal plant, owned by the German utility Uniper, is scheduled to shut before next winter after generating power for over 55 years.

Renewable energy has increased sixfold since 2008 as the UK has constructed more wind and solar farms, and the large Drax coal plant has converted some of its generating units to burn biomass pellets.

Electricity demand has tumbled by 22% since its peak in 2005, according to the data, as part of a long-term trend driven by more energy efficient homes and appliances as well as a decline in the UK’s manufacturing sector.

Demand for electricity is expected to double as the UK aims to cut emissions to net zero by 2050 because the plan relies heavily on replacing fossil fuel transport and heating with electric alternatives.

In recent weeks [aka at the end of 2023], offshore wind developers have given the green light to another four large windfarms in UK waters, including the world’s largest offshore windfarm at Hornsea 3, which will be built off the North Yorkshire coast by Denmark’s Ørsted."

-via The Guardian, January 2, 2024

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Three)

word count:

author’s note: I’m writing the last chapter! Woo!

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts…jk…I’m going to add two more chapters)

Three weeks has passed since you have kept yourself and your affairs in secrecy in the Red Keep. Needless to say, it was evident that you have found peace within yourself. Or rather with the one-eyed prince, who would not stop touching you in all places of your body.

His secret—his own holy sept—spilling each other’s fantasies and interests alike. From night until dawn, everything was accorded.

Each time you spent hours with Alicent and her other Green children in a summer daylight, you felt like a cumbersome and sinister virgin committed a crime to your precious sex. Thankfully Gwayne and Criston or the Cargyll twin, even Harold weren’t there to witness the guilt and arousal you’re trying to hide from a tempted imagination.

In the midst of vipers and ambitious alike, you found solace of writing the accounts on your diary. Entries on the pages filled with thoughts—daily and private—one which you know more than anyone else.

The prayers of the Faith of the Seven has been all but a fever dream. What was the religion’s purpose other than a guidance to those who are lost? You were lost once, but no doubt that your prayers were ever answered. You prayed to the Gods that you wanted to know your origins, of how you came to be as the lady with teal eyes, a daughter of Otto Hightower, but the Gods never gave, so you surrendered your faith at the age of seven, but masking it, pretending to be faithful in order to persuade your father and the Hightowers to achieve their good side was nothing more than an act.

And useless, more like.

An illness poisoned in your old wounds again. What does guidance do other than supplanted the seed of greed, selfishness and lies and pettiness to save themselves from others while the innocence tainted like a wounded womb?

Otto was nothing more than a heartless man served to the likes of his greed for the Iron Throne, the Red Keep, and above all, to Alicent.

Has he accepted you like he does to Alicent, there would be no consequences of silent hostility between two factions and conflict within.

Souls like them are already tainted.

But in a way, you’re glad; being in the same room as Otto would be as consequentially stupid as an untrained eye.

In the latest days in King’s Landing, your adoration for the city has grown less, but the sea and the gardens are the only things that could make you relish the taste of small life.

Aemond had taken you to the gardens, of course, and there you raced with pearly silks of ruffled gown and pearls adorned the neckline, hair fumbled in the wind as you looked back at the one-eyed prince with a gleaming smile.

Thin rays of light cascaded down on your winsome manes and the sparkles of your pearl gown.

On the midst of your white-pearl, there’s a necklace, adorned in large white pearls and a sapphire on the center. Aemond gave you a gift before the day of your nameday.

You were not a type of noble who celebrates nameday, especially if you consider yourself to be in a lower rank in comparison to Queen Alicent or the Targaryens.

Oddly, it has been tranquil since the day you arrived King’s Landing, but the days where you spent your days in your room, the gardens and library, as if nothing special occurred. That is until Aemond caught a certain subjects that caught your eye.

But Aemond is more fascinated with your enamored beauty gleaming like a flower blossoming into the sun and wind.

His hands never stopped roaming to your body.

“We’re in the gardens, my prince,” you reminded, giggling.

Aemond hummed as he plunged a kiss and undo his breeches, but before he does, an attendant arrived and announced that Alicent wanted a discussion with Aemond. With loving eye, Aemond bid his goodbyes and left, and within each breath you drew, it leaves you wanting more.

Each day, you and Aemond spent days into each other’s company, but it wasn’t enough. There are times at night is where the thrill accelerated. Nights dawned with passion and blood engulfed with desire.

Aemond thought of no consequences as he pounded his long cock into you—bed creaking as the skin slapped with his.

“My sweet, my love, my muse,” he said, rasping, his head threw back, drawing a feral growl, hips throbbed and rushed. His mind reeled to a thought of you, healthy and glowing with a rounded belly. He wanted to touch you, but in a public, Aemond would be in jeopardy, but since he’s the second son of the ill king, Aemond laid his hand on your thigh, brushing his whole palm, rising and falling motion, no care for consequences.

He could heard your breath hitched, but kept your composure—entertained your guests and family members. Surely it appears friendly and cordial on the outside, but underneath the table was nothing more than a filthy naughtiness arising from the stroke of his hand. His young and rugged, cold hands. You loved his cold hands. He recalled of your face flushed and in heat. Although he preferred heat, the dragon prince reconsidered it on making his hands cold, to pinch and flick your clit and pushing his lithe fingers in your warmth sounds as tempting and pinched the your taut nipples.

The curtains on your four-post bed swayed, and you found yourself moaning aloud, but his hand covered your mouth. His body pressed against yours and his mouth leaned onto your ear.

“You’re taking my large cock so well, my sweet princess,” he told you. “But you must be quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

And his thrusts were twice as powerful, until he spilled every last drop of his semen into your soaked walls, and sweat on your flesh cooled from a plundering breeze.

“My good princess.”

Gevie, he thought, as he watched your sleeping body, your tangled locks, and your face leaning on his neckline for warmth, arms enveloping around his lean frame.

~~~

There are nights where you cannot sleep well. Nights about your dreams terrorizing you. The screams of a woman, calling out to you. Then you saw Alicent. Then your father; Otto screamed at you; His eyes were glowing in the dark, telling you how much of a disappointment you are and how everything wrong in his life, the burdens fell onto your shoulders.

Rumors of you, a mythical creature hissed in the dark. Until you found yourself on a high tower, falling, drowning, then nothing…

You woke up crying, and not long, Aemond awoke with concern, and held you in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ears, High Valyrian, telling you that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

You have never heard of High Valyrian before. His voice is music to her ears, and found her gaze locked to his as you both initiated a long feverish kiss. It was the first time that you felt at peace, where you didn’t need to cry on your pillow.

“I love you,” you told him.

“I love you more, my sweet.” He kissed atop of your head.

Dreams have subsided but it didn’t mean it went away completely. Something was calling out to you. The one-eyed prince remedied with his presence.

And for that, you weren’t in fear of the dreams, of the dark.

As of late, the shared passion between you and Aemond has come to a stop. You awaited him in nightly hours and yet the cold air swept in for an one-eyed prince to come and rescue you.

But he never did.

Could something happen to him? You wondered what was the cause. And you hadn’t known, that is until Aemond stormed into your royal apartments, fuming of the announcement of your betrothal to the Martell.

“I command you not to go,” he forewarned.

Confused, you said, “What are you talking about?”

Aemond prowled, fists clenching, his brows furrowed. “You’re marrying a Martell. You’ll be sent away to Dorne, without ever so telling me. What causes you to drive yourself further from my sight, my love?”

You gulped. “No one ever informed me of the marriage!”

His one eye beamed with glare. “I overheard that you’ll be wedded off soon.”

“I didn’t know of this. I didn’t know any of this!” you protested. “I have never done any errors, Aemond. I will never give you any reason to hurt you.”

Aemond’s hands clutched your arms, near to your shoulders. His knees bent and dropped down, and his head bowed and fell down onto your lap. “So…no one told you?” he said, his voice muffled.

“No one told me,” you said gently. “I’ve been in my apartment to repair the new dress you gifted me.”

“Grandsire told me so.”

You heart stopped.

“He agreed to the terms to Dorne, to win their favor.”

You felt numb at the moment.

“My father,” he bitterly said, “wanted alliance with Dorne for some time, but due to his illness, he was powerless. His mind already rotten, as you saw him before.”

“I have.”

“Why in the Seven Hells my grandsire do such a thing?”

“And you thought I was betraying you? You think I would go behind your back and agree to the terms that no one informed me of? I spent my days on my duties, waiting for you to come back. I tried to find you everywhere in the Red Keep, and nothing, you were nowhere to found. What am I wasting my time for, then?”

Aemond looked up with his good eye gleaming. “I apologize, my lady. You’re the woman I want.”

Your eyes glazed in hot tears; his hands brushed the sides of your waist, his forehead leaned against your stomach.

“I must speak to Alicent of this matter.” Then you got up and left.

But, instead of seeing Alicent, Otto was present before your eyes at Alicent’s apartments. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice.

The Lord Hand awaited.

You took a step forward.

“Father,” you began, wondering if he’s willing to change his way.

You guessed it wrong.

“I never thought I took you for a fool,” he began. “Coupling with a one-eyed prince for whatever how long, and you decided to act immoral ways against the Faith of the Seven. You are a disgrace to House Hightower. Harlot as your mother ever was. What will Alicent ever think of you, my sweet child?”

But you heard the story wrong; there are rumors years back that your father, the Lord Hand, had an affair with a woman after Alicent’s mother has passed—when Alicent was just an toddler. As much as he grieves for his late wife, he needed someone to warm his heart, but the result began clear when it’s only temporary. And you don’t recall whether Otto treated you fairly.

“Alicent may not know this, but I do know. These walls have eyes, my dear girl. And if you ever lay a hand on any other members of the court, you’ll be sentenced mercifully to death.”

His soft tone never caused a shiver down your spine.

“You’re nothing but an enigma to my existence. You have soiled yourself, soiled my name,” he continued. “You must pray for forgiveness, and your desirable sins will be set free.”

“Where’s my mother?” is all you said.

Otto silenced.

“Where is she?”

Then a small smile crept upward on his lip. “You’ll never meet her. Perhaps you will, if you rid of yourself, I care not. We Hightowers thrive and survive, and you will not; you will rot to despair.”

Alicent’s children will reign Seven Kingdoms, and you will not.

For all these years, you have yearned affection and acceptance was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to injure your pride.

This was all you needed to hear from Otto—the ugly truth.

The comforting lie is just as ugly, like a gown wore on a rotten corpse.

“The Martells will attend here at the Red Keep. Best sure to be on your good behavior. Or you will pay the price by the repent for your existence.”

Maybe the comfort offering from the dead and living can be as painful.

~~~

At dinner, with the Martells involved, you shot a benign smile at the prince, but Aemond is saddened by the outcome. But in the midst of a chatter, you chose to stay silent and play an act of a nice lady. Smiling and nodding is all you could do. But on the inside, you want to thrash everything and burn the lives of those who wrong you.

But you’re only a lady, not Visenya Targaryen.

The Martell prince has been extended his kindness to you, but, afar, unbeknownst to you, Aemond paid attention to you. The glistened of your eyes—your teal eyes—dwindled and empty. And your smile is just as coiled and unnaturally unnerving. While you’re unseen to everybody else, only Aemond’s eye to you are well-known and heard.

No matter how much you tried to look up and glance another’s person eyes, the soul of your happiness is nowhere to be seen.

He has never seen you like this, aside from the tears and pain you have shared. Knowing why, Otto had the upper hand. A child-like state you shared with Aemond has stiffened to adulthood.

It was him, and Aemond knows it so. Otto was just as calculatingly obvious. Aemond urged to take you away and fled to the Free Cities, but his duty, he cannot afford to make a ruckus mistake like last time. Not that he’s ashamed of jabbing his grandsire at supper duration of Viserys’s nameday—he felt proud, but to his own end, his own calculation should’ve been more precise and less obvious.

The Martell prince offered you to take his hand for a night stroll, but you lead yourself back to your room, by excusing yourself.

Not long after, while the guests and his family are occupied by the Martells, Aemond slipped past them and met you back in your room, tackling you with a kiss and an embrace, leaving no breath in your chest.

Within your kiss, you cried, but Aemond had other plans on taking you back, to remedy his careless encounter he had with you this morning.

He took and soiled you again on your pristine bed.

“My father will have me killed if we keep doing this,” you warned him, stroking his glossy hair.

“I shall feed them to my dragon—of those who wronged us, if it comes to that. I care not of my grandsire,” he replied. “He’s as stupid as a boar.”

“What shall I do?”

“Let us make our vows to the Godswood,” he suggested, rather bluntly and more urgent; urgent because his anger was rising against of his grandsire.

“He knows about us, my dear nephew,” you said, tears trickled.

His thumb swiped your tear aside.

“We’ll find a way.” Aemond kissed your head, then onto your lips, after a prolonged of a ragged breath settled down from a torrid consummation, thinking about how he should’ve eaten you at the feast, your legs open and spread across the table, but he shall do that the next time someone tries to outsmart him, even if it’s a family member.

And there, you shared intimacy with a prince once more.

For now, assurance is all you needed.

~~~

In the midst of foggy, cold evening, with you asleep, Aemond managed to find the Martell prince and slaughtered him, tossed him at the highest tower of Red Keep.

The people in King’s Landing will take the Martell’s death as a suicide, but within the eyes of the Gods of Old and New, they knew that the one-eyed prince ended the Dornish prince.

~~~

The next day, the bond between you and Aemond mended and resumed, never minding of the misunderstanding, in your ivory gown with embroidered white roses and teal and green jewels sleeved your shoulders as Aemond in his violet and gold attire. You and Aemond are happy; sent to each other’s arms and the kiss became ardent. The love in between the curtained trees and shadows and thin ray of lights. You felt lighter, and so does he. But the struggles between politics and greedy desires from the people won’t end. But the one-eyed prince beg to differ.

Taglist: @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @halsteadstyles @lothiriel9 @liannafae @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @thought--bubble @remuslupinwife1 @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @kimsubin05 @blackgaladriel @valeskafics @theboleyngirlx @elaratyrell @mylosz0

[kimberleyjean]

Aziraphale's Illustrated Bible

There are a lot of interesting items stored within Aziraphale's bookshop and one I find fascinating is the bible (or bibles) that are typically on the stand next to his desk and which they use for the Job flashback/memory sequence. Here's what these books look like in episode 2 - the blue detailed folio, the beige folio held by Aziraphale, and this same beige folio when opened to Job:

You might not have noticed yet, but there are several other images shown in this book in the second season! Often the book is out of focus and far from the camera, but some sleuths on reddit were able to identify the particular images being shown.

Let's take a look at those images and where they occur in the show. All of these images are famous illustrations by Harold Copping:

1. "Joseph knows his brethren" - Book of Genesis, Old Testament

This image is on display in episode 1 and looks like this on camera. To spot it, I used the little telltale shadow that is created on the ground:

The story of Joseph may be more familiar to you as "Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat". I've certainly had to brush up on my bible knowledge myself, so please, if you know more than I do and I've gone wrong anywhere let me know. Joseph is rejected by his family and they believe him dead. He then gets promoted to a high-up position in Egypt. The image depicted is when Joseph is reunited with his estranged brothers and they don't recognise him at first (something which happens a lot in season 2!). However, Joseph recognises them and he pretends to be a stranger to them at first. Eventually, he clears the room and says to them "I am Joseph! Is my father still living?". I'm sure there is more to unpack in this story but I'll leave that for someone with better biblical knowledge.

2. "Jacob's vow" - Book of Genesis, Old Testament

This image appears in episode 2:

In the episode, it first appears in the background looking like this:

According to comments on the reddit post, this image could refer to "Jacob’s vow in Bethel, that’s when he promised to worship God if God took care of him, and it was the day after his famous dream about a ladder in heaven. It is generally a symbol of the link between heaven and Earth." Here is a quote from the exact passage: "Genesis 28:20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and keep me in this way that I am going, and give me bread to eat and clothing to put on, so that I come back to my father's house in peace, then the lord shall be my God. And this stone which I have set as a pillar will be God's house, and of all that you give me, I will surely give a tenth to you." We see a lot of emphasis on food giving this season. The Eccles cakes get offered to Maggie then handed to Crowley. Gabriel offers up lots of little snacks at the ball. The Metatron gifts Aziraphale the coffee. At the ball, we see people being given new clothes as well - is that what this could be referencing? Why do you think these particular images have been chosen?

3. "The Brazen Serpent" - Book of Numbers, Old Testament

What do we think of when we hear "serpent"? Anything snake-like refers to Crowley in this show, so that's where my mind immediately goes.

This appears in episode 3 looking like this (partially occluded):

The story is that God had sent fiery serpents to attack the Israelites for making complaints about God and Moses (no asking questions, no complaints? What kind of organisation is this? They really need to unionise). However, God seems to then have a change of heart and commanded Moses to erect a snake upon a pole, referred to as "Nehushtan", so that anyone bitten by the snakes can just look at this pole and they will survive.

We get some pretty wacky stories about God's fickleness in Good Omens, especially in the S2 Job flashbacks. Is this a reflection of that theme, perhaps.

4. "By the rivers of Babylon" - Book of Psalms, Old Testament

If you don't have a Christian background, you may be more familiar with the song than the story itself. From the wikipedia article: "The song is based on the Biblical Psalm 137:1-4, a hymn expressing the lamentations of the Jewish people in exile following the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem in 586 BC".

It appears in episode 5 and looks like this:

One Redditor has explained it as such: "The rivers of Babylon symbolize deep grief and longing for freedom by people exiled from their homeland and doomed to live in captivity."

5. Closed Book(s)

The book also appears closed at times. Let's take a look at the scene where Aziraphale retrieves the book for the Job flashback. We see him getting out the beige folio and putting it onto the stand but over the top of an almost identical book. The only difference is that the Job one has blue detailing and the other is a plain/beige cover (seen here in this third image with Crowley, episode 6).

So what is this other book? Well, looking online, it appears that Harold Copping's illustrated bibles could come in sets of two - one for the Old Testament, and one for the New Testament. All the illustrations we see in S2 are from the Old Testament, so why would the New Testament also be there? When explaining this to someone they mentioned that Aziraphale has a lot of misprinted bibles in his collection. So could they instead be two different versions of the same text - one with misprints and one without? I'd be keen to hear your thoughts.

6. Bonus Season 1 Appearance!

In Season One, we also see a Harold Copping illustration - Adam and Eve after the Fall.

The book is in the same place inside the bookshop, as show in episode 1 (26:21) and episode 2 (51:40).

Beyond supporting the themes of Good Omens these books are useful in another way too - finding discontinuities! If you are interested in the discontinuities of Good Omens S2, then please check out this post:

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

"Meghan was as blind to the reality of royal life as Harry was to the reality of life without them. Like I said yesterday, they sold each other a PR narrative that crumbled the second they said ‘I do,’ and they’ve been scrambling to keep those narratives going ever since."

Plus Meghan AND Harold wanting William& Kate's material life and status as opposed to the responsibilities. 

Partly because Harold was treated like William for a long time, probably more indulged than William for reasons everyone discusses ad nauseum, lines became blurred as to expectations.

According to SPARE, Harold convinced himself that if he got married, his life would get the same upgrades that William got upon marriage and possibly more because he believed that the family only handed out the goodies to the married ones because marriage was treated as a milestone telegraphing adulthood and maturity. That's the bill of goods he sold Markle as well as the mirage of being the most popular family member as he was = Queen and or ability to dictate family matters as Diana had succeeded in doing. 

The big problem with coveting WK's life, is that they don't see the work and patience that went into building that life. Kate lived in Nott Cottage for years and even added a newborn before she could move into the big apartment or Anmer. At best she decamped to her parents' home when it got too much.

The Sussexes tell us all about WK's luxurious apartment because they didn't bother to make Nott Cott a home for themselves even with royal collection furniture at their disposal which WK were also invited to use and they did/ do. 

Casa Montecito has really basic, ugly furniture from the little glimpses that they've shown with no attempt to make it cosy or luxurious or covetable. 

The respect that WK command now, took work and patience to build up. The Sussexes complain it isn't fair that they aren't equally respected while they do no work and tear down the little people give them for being royals. 

The list is endless as to why their vision failed, but primarily it's because they aren't prepared to work to realise the vision they covet and they have no plan B. 

[our-happygirl500-fan]

A nice detail that I kind of noticed was that the Rise opening in season 2 is slightly different than it is in season 1

When we see inside the Turtle Tank when Leo lands on top of it, originally in season 1 only April & Donnie are in the Turtle Tank but in season 2 Splinter is with them as well.

Another interesting change between season 1 & 2 is that the group of villains that we see, changes between seasons. In season 1 we see Meat Sweats, Hypno, Warren, Repo, Big Mama & a bunch of Mutant Silver Fish.

However in season 2 we see that Meat Sweats & Big Mama have been replaced by Sloppy Joseph (the mutated sloppy joe that Draxum kept from the episode  Mystery Meat) & Harold (the botanical gardens grounds keeper/ security guard who mutated in the episode How to Make Enemies and Bend People to Your Will)

The Mutant Silver Fish also Disappear from the openings between seasons 1 & 2 (maybe to represent the Turtles dealing with bigger, more serious threats?)  however there are other additions  

Mrs Nubbins (Repo’s cat) now appears in the season 2 opening alongside Repo Mantis possibly representing how Mrs Nubbins got mutated at some point in the middle of season 1 as the cat actually appeared pre-mutation in the episode Repo Mantis.

Ghostbear: Peekaboo losers!

Mikey, Leo, April & Donnie: Ghost Bear!?

Raph: Oh! Love the new look! Oooh hey, can I get a quick selfie?

Ghostbear who has also been added to the season 2 opening as similar to Mrs Nubbins, Ghost Bear also mutated in the middle of season 1 when he mutated in the episode Snow Day.

Hypno: That’s my Warren! Oh, it’s good to have ya’ back roomie/ magical assistant/ friend. Doves! Let’s go make fun of game show contestants on TV.

Another change is that Warren has switched from sitting on Meat Sweat’s shoulder to sitting on Hypno’s shoulder which might represent relationship that developed between Warren & Hypno in season 1.

Casey/ Foot Recruit was also added to the season 2 opening possibly representing how Foot Recruit was kind of supposed to have a bigger role throughout season 2 as apparently it had been planned that April & Cassandra were supposed to have a rivalry throughout season 2 but unfortunately most of their episodes were cut & the only one we got was Always Be Brownies.

Though most of Casey’s episodes were cut from season two she still did have quite a journey with her ending up on the side of the Hamato Clan so it would have been interesting to see where she would have been in an opening had Rise gotten a season 3.

Especially since it seems as though in the time between the end of season 2 & the movie Cassandra has been placed firmly in the ‘friend’ category for the Hamato Clan according to April as she calls Cassandra ‘our friend’.

April: Whoa! Looks like our friend Cassandra here has been busy

Finally, the final change between the season 1 & 2 openings is that Draxum has been replaced by Shredder as the seasons ‘big bad’ which makes sense as Draxum has his redemption arc in season 2 starting in the episode Repairin’ the Barron

Draxum: I told you Carol I do not want to meet your daughter

Karai: Thank you my young Hamato’s, we will always be with you

Oroku Saki was freed from the Dark Armour at the end of season 2 & went off to be with the other Hamato spirits so if Rise had gotten a season 3 a new Big Bad would have ended up in the spot of Draxum & Shredder

The ‘Big Bad’ of season 3 could have possibly been one of the Krang or Big Mama as though the Krang were always meant to be the movie’s antagonists we do know that at least one Krang was left on earth at the end of the movie.

However Big Mama could also possibly be a contender for the ‘Big Bad’ of season 3 as we know that the original outline for the third season was meant to be the Turtles looking for the two missing Turtle siblings & with the fact that Big Mama’s Assistant has been implied by the Rise team to have been one of the two missing siblings it’s possible that the Hamato Clan could have come into more direct conflict with Big Mama in the third season.

In the movie Krang Prime’s throne was made out of a Triceraton skull meaning that Triceraton’s do most likely exist in the Rise universe so the ‘Big Bad’ of season 3 might very well possibly been a Triceraton invasion.

Leo: They wanted to wipe out their ancient enemy the Krang

In the 2012 series one of the reasons for the Triceraton’s invasion was due to the Krang’s presence on Earth. A lot of the people who worked on the 2012 series also worked on Rise as well & as such some similarities between the two shows can sometimes be seen (such as both iterations having April & Casey be teens). It’s possible that Rise could have another similarity to the 2012 series by having the Triceratons come to Earth as a response to the Krang’s own presence there.

If the Triceratons do come to earth due to the Krang’s presence there then the events of the movie could possibly set up the Krang as the series next big bad.

Anyway the differences between the season 1 opening and the season 2 opening include:

Splinter being added to the Turtle Tank with April & Donnie

New villains in the villain group shot

A different ‘Big Bad’ in the final scene

So it is possible if Rise had gotten a season 3 the season 3 opening might have had Casey in the Turtle Tank with Donnie, April & Splinter (maybe standing behind one of their seats?), a new villain group shot with possibly villains that were introduced in the middle of season 2 or villains that will be introduced in season 3 & a new ‘Big Bad’ in the final scene.

[black-rose-blue-lodge]

The Importance of Donna in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me

Okay, so a lot of people like to ship Donna Hayward and Laura Palmer from Twin Peaks, and there is good reason for that. Throughout the original run, Donna is haunted by her complex feelings for Laura. She loved her, she envied her, she wanted to be her. She misses her. Donna gets close to James, Maddy and Harold in part because they all give her the feeling of being close to Laura. In Fire Walk With Me, we are shown just how close they were.

Donna is very important in Fire Walk With Me. I believe that none of this requires you to ship the characters, although I also find it compelling evidence for a romantic reading of the film. Basically, even if you think the characters have only platonic feelings for each other, this is a summary of why Donna matters.

Near the end of the film, Laura tells James “You don’t know me. There are things about me… Even Donna doesn’t know me.” Of all the people who apparently don’t know Laura, Donna knows her the most. She is given the most importance. While Laura’s relationships with James and Bobby are shown to be ineffectual and largely irrelevant to the story of the end of her life, Donna is front and centre. Their friendship, their love for each other, is the emotional core of the film.

Our first insight into Laura’s psyche comes when she confides her depression and existential dread in Donna with the lines: “the angels wouldn’t help you… because they’ve all gone away.” In this scene, she is much more candid, willing to expose this part of herself. She essentially believes that she is doomed, that no one will be there to save her. (And, on a surface level, she is correct: even Mike, the “one man… Bob is afraid of” according to Laura’s secret diary, does not save her from death.)

When Laura begins to realize BOB’s true identity, she turns to Donna. Donna grounds her in reality. Laura seems to walk “between two worlds” in the film, constantly teetering on the brink of life and death. Donna is perhaps her greatest remaining connection to this world. And, difficult as that responsibility may be, Donna gladly accepts it.

Donna is depicted in Fire Walk With Me as a shy and conservative girl, contrasting strongly with Laura, who is openly ‘dangerous’ and promiscuous. Donna daydreams about having “lasting love… true love” but doesn’t even have a boyfriend. She takes all her cues from Laura. When she tries to become more adventurous, she does it to be like Laura, to understand Laura. This is shown after the Pink Room sequence, where Donna asks tearfully “Why do you do it?” She desperately wants to know, to stand there with Laura between two worlds and comfort her, but she can’t. She can never understand.

In The Missing Pieces, after Laura’s breakdown at Donna’s house, Donna whispers something to her father, who then reads a (clearly fake) “secret message for Laura”.

We don’t know what Donna whispered to Doc Hayward, but she must have asked him to say something about the angels returning, because she was the only one present when Laura said that the angels wouldn’t help her. The camera reinforces this, lingering on Donna as her father “reads” the message. It is a message from Donna.

Laura leaves after this, clearly affected. The way it cuts to Donna during the line “the one that is meant to help you” suggest that Donna believes that she can help Laura. If no other angels are there, Donna will be the angel who helps Laura out of the darkness.

Now, BOB’s stated motivation in the film is to “taste through [Laura’s] mouth”, turning her into the next ‘vehicle” for his evil. In the series (2x9), Laura’s diary reveals that she died because it was “the only way to keep Bob away from [her], the only way to tear him out from inside.” She wrote, “I know he wants me, I can feel his fire. But if I die he can’t hurt me anymore.” She died to avoid a fate worse than death.

In Fire Walk With Me, the focus shifts, and it’s not just about Laura. In the film, Laura dies so that BOB can’t use her to hurt the people around her. It is strongly implied that the fate of Twin Peaks itself hangs in the balance. (This is arguably why the scenes of everyday town life in The Missing Pieces were included to begin with; they offer glimpses of what Laura dies to protect.)

If BOB possesses Laura, his fire will spread. The Log Lady warns her “the tender boughs of innocence burn first… and then all goodness is in jeopardy.” This is right before Laura goes into the Roadhouse, where Donna follows her, beginning the dangerous game of “chicken” that they play, where Laura keeps trying to scare Donna away, and Donna keeps trying to show Laura that she isn’t scared. This sequence is the last straw for Laura. When she sees Donna slipping into darkness in the Pink Room, she gets a firsthand glimpse of “the tender boughs of innocence” beginning to burn.

Laura’s influence, despite all her intentions, has started to corrupt Donna. It’s one thing for Laura to be taken advantage of by these men. In her opinion, she can handle it, and she is doomed anyway. But not Donna. In the screenplay, this is even more explicit during the Pink Room scene.

Donna represents everything at stake if BOB wins. For Laura, Donna is the incarnation of “innocence” and “all goodness”. In that way, she is indeed like an angel, and Laura doesn’t want to bring about her fall from grace.

This is the heart of the film. The essence of Laura’s sacrifice. She dies for Donna.

As much as I, like many others, ship Donna with Laura, Laura could never be with Donna, not in this universe. Though I believe Laura has feelings for her, she would not act on them, because she views Donna as someone fundamentally good, and herself as someone fundamentally bad. This is encapsulated in the line “I love you, Donna… But I don’t want you to be like me.” In the original series, a passage from Laura’s diary reads: “I love Donna very much, but sometimes I worry that she wouldn’t be around me at all if she knew what my insides were like.” Now Donna has seen Laura’s dark side, the things she does, and still she loves her, still she wants to be there for her.

So Laura returns the favour. She becomes the guardian angel of Twin Peaks, ignoring Cooper’s dream-warning and putting on the ring. She hopes that the evil will die with her. Of course, it doesn’t, because Laura was never the source of that evil to begin with. BOB’s power lies in his ability to be indistinguishable from human evil. As Albert remarks, “Maybe that’s all BOB is. The evil that men do.” BOB was never just Laura’s dark side. Laura ended up as just another victim, with a letter under her fingernail, like Teresa Banks before her and Maddy Ferguson after her.

Regardless, Laura’s death means something. She dies on her own terms, in defiance of beings far beyond her comprehension. Her choice to die is an act of love, born of the sincere belief that the world will be a better place without her.

At the very end of Fire Walk With Me, in the enigmatic purgatory of the Red Room, Laura sees a vision of an angel.

Earlier, Ronette Pulaski saw an angel while in the train car, but that angel actually did help her. Ronette escaped. Laura’s angel is different. It isn’t there to help her. Laura is beyond help now. No, it is the mere fact of seeing this angel that gives Laura comfort. The angel is pure, radiant, seemingly unaffected by the darkness that surrounds it.

The actress who plays Laura’s angel, Lorna MacMillan, has dark, curly hair, and from a distance, is somewhat reminiscent of Donna. (Similarly, Ronette's angel is blonde, possibly to remind us of Laura.) Now, it would have been far too obvious for Moira Kelly to play Laura's angel, and that isn’t really the point. The angel represents the goodness that endures. It represents the same thing as Donna. The innocence that Laura died to protect. In the end, Laura’s only comfort is knowing that, though her death did not bring an end to darkness, it did allow for the continued survival of light. The light flickers on Laura's face in this scene, just like in the Pink Room. There, she was watching Donna flirt with the darkness. Here, she is looking at the angel Donna promised would return.

The track that plays during this scene is “The Voice of Love”. Laura was not ultimately corrupted. Like that angel, she is now a lonely light in a world of darkness. The darkness did not win. Generations of trauma and evil could not make her give in. So why does the angel look like Donna? Because Donna was the best thing about Laura. As much as Donna tries to emulate Laura, both while she is alive and after her death, Laura saves herself, and the world, by emulating Donna. Donna’s selflessness, compassion and bravery are qualities that Laura already has, but she can’t see them in herself. That is why she sees the angel as something outside of herself. I believe the angel is Laura. Of course, Laura could never see herself as an angel.

But she could very easily see Donna as one.

[lilyway]

Killer After My Own Heart {Alastor x Reader} CH 1

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward. This is a very dark fic that touches a lot of sensitive subjects. Please keep that in mind.

Prologue | Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Haunted Home

Dinner at the Wilson home unfolded in a manner that struck Alastor as somewhat surreal, despite the opulence of the setting. The dining table, adorned with fine linens and gleaming silverware, seemed too vast for the small company it hosted. Amidst the grandeur, only three figures occupied the space: (name), Alastor, and Harold.

Harold took his too familiar spot as head of the table with a big smile on his face. He took (name)'s empty plate and began to fill it with an array of dishes, each carefully selected according to his own preferences. She didn’t seem to care as she was a little too busy staring daggers at Alastor from across the table. 

(name) took her usual spot to her father’s left, keeping an eye on Alastor and wondering why her father would ever invite him over for dinner. Her once-neat bun had unraveled slightly, stray strands of hair framing her face as she glared daggers at Alastor. The invitation extended to Alastor for dinner left her bewildered, and questioning of her father's motives.

Seated at Harold's right, Alastor wore a strained smile that hinted at a silent plea for assistance. Harold had already offered to plate some of his food and was quickly denied. There was something about Harold treating him as if he was already a part of the family that made his skin crawl. Alastor was quick to fill his plate with anything that caught his fancy and prayed the dinner would be a quick affair. 

That was all it took to please him as he returned to his meal. The large piece of steak was cooked to a disturbing degree, practically still bleeding on the plate. Alastor watched with a mix of fascination and revulsion as Harold's knife sliced through the meat, revealing its raw, crimson interior as blood oozed out, staining the pristine white porcelain. It was evident that Harold had a disturbing fondness for indulging in such grotesque culinary preferences, relishing the sight and taste of bloodied flesh with every bite. Fortunately, he never subjected (name) to the unsettling experience of consuming such culinary horrors.

Harold observed (name)'s lack of appetite and concern etched across his face. "(name)? Are you not hungry, sweetheart?" He inquired, his eyes focused on her as she picked at her food.

(name) forced a smile, her fingers tracing aimlessly along the edge of her plate as she tried to conceal her true emotions. "I'm just a little tired," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. In truth, her lack of appetite came from the man sitting across from her.

Harold's expression softened into something resembling care. "You have been spending too much time in that room of horrors. Sweetheart, that hobby of yours is taking too much out of you." His concern, however genuine, only fueled (name)'s irritation.

"My investigation is important to me," (name) insisted, her tone firm, even as Alastor's smile widened, much to her displeasure.

"Important enough to deprive yourself of sleep and the cost of a proper life?" Harold asked, his support tempered by a lack of understanding. He viewed it as a childish obsession destined to fade with time.

(name) stabbed her fork into a potato, her frustration evident in the force of the stab. "It is important," She reiterated, her gaze fixed on her food,

"Son, tell (name) how foolish she's being," Harold urged, a warm and fatherly smile on his face. "Please tell her how important it is to get married and have a family of her own."

Caught in an uncomfortable position, Alastor shifted his gaze to (name). She made it clear she didn't want his help. “She’s a very passionate woman, that’s for sure.” He spoke cautiously, not wanting to anger (name) directly. "If (name) ever found herself a suitable match, I'd love to attend that wedding."

(name)'s sharp glare met Alastor's eyes. "You'd never be invited to my wedding. Ever. "

"Sweetheart! Please," Harold pleaded, shaking his head at his daughter's behavior. "May God help her."

“(name) is a delightful woman. Any man would count himself fortunate to marry her,” Alastor remarked with a taunting smile, his words adding fuel to (name)'s irritation.

“I hope that includes you, son. My little girl is the diamond of the city,” Harold boasted proudly, oblivious to (name)'s discomfort as she looked on with a mixture of confusion and exasperation.

“Father,” (name) pleaded, she hoped this conversation would end here. She couldn’t stand how her father was so willing to hand her over to Alastor. 

"Unfortunately, Harold, I'd prefer to discuss that matter with (name) directly," Alastor interjected, noticing a flicker of annoyance in Harold's eyes.

“How about you and (name) speak about it after dinner?” Harold proposed, ignoring (name)'s rejection of the idea of marrying Alastor. She narrowed her eyes at him, silently mouthing that he wouldn't dare.

(name) shook her head as she took a deliberate bite of her food. “Father, Alastor is a busy man,” she reminded him, hoping to drop the topic before it escalated further.

“Why would you have a meeting with Timothy?” (name) questioned, her curiosity piqued there was barely any reason why they would have any sort of meeting. Timothy never had any reason to schedule a meeting with him. 

“Nonsense! Then we can make time for it in his schedule. Move things around,” Harold ordered with the firmness of a man accustomed to having his way, seemingly oblivious to (name)'s resigned sigh.

“Speaking of my schedule, can you move my meeting with Timothy?” Alastor interjected smoothly, prompting (name) to raise an eyebrow at him.

Harold's brow furrowed slightly as he processed Alastor's response. "Is there a specific reason why?" he inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Alastor paused, considering his words carefully before responding.“I rather not have that meeting. He’s rather odd.” Alastor scratched his chin as he spoke. 

She visibly cringed, her curiosity demanding an answer. "You never answered my question," she pressed, her tone tinged with a mix of frustration.

“I need him to repair some of my equipment.” Alastor finally explained, as (name) shook her head in annoyance, it was clear she wasn't satisfied with the vague explanation.

“Of course you do.” (name)'s retort carried a sharp edge, her frustration evident as she rested her head in her palm.

Harold, seemingly unfazed by (name)'s tone, turned his attention towards her with a request masked in paternal warmth. "Sweetheart, can you take that meeting with Timothy for him?" Harold asked as he flashed (name) a warm smile that spoke all the words he didn’t need to say. 

Sighing in resignation, (name) acquiesced, her response carrying a hint of reluctance. "If I must." 

“On second thought, I think I can make the meeting. Actually,” Alastor quickly changed his tune at the thought of (name) having to deal with such an odd man.  

Harold's brow furrowed slightly as he inquired further, a note of concern laced in his voice. "Is there something wrong with Timothy, son?"

Alastor hesitated, struggling to find the right words to articulate his unease. "Timothy is... odd, " he finally admitted, his tone betraying a hint of uncertainty about how to accurately characterize the peculiarities he had observed in Timothy's demeanor.

(name) chuckled. “What are you some sort of pansy?” 

“ (name)! That’s enough . ” Harold scolded as he narrowed his eyes and gave his daughter an annoyed and disappointed expression. 

(name)’s shoulders slumped down as she placed her fork down. “My apologies, Father.” She glanced down at her plate of barely touched food. “May I be excused?” (name) as she pushed her plate away from her slightly. 

Harold sighed and nodded. “Of course, Sweetheart.” His gaze returned to Alastor. “Alastor, how about you? You’ve barely touched your plate.” 

Alastor could feel the tension as (name) pushed the chair back and stood up. “I believe that's my cue to leave. It’s getting dark out, after all.” If (name) wasn’t around, he was going to leave as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to stay the night. 

He watched (name) tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear as she walked away. She didn’t even offer him a glance back. Alastor knew that (name) wouldn’t help him and cared less what happened to him. 

Harold pushed his chair back as he stood up and moved over to Alastor’s side and pushed him to sit back down. “Nonsense, son. Stay the night, we always have your old room ready for you.” Harold insisted as (name) glanced back.

“I’d hate to impose on you any longer,” Alastor insisted he didn’t want to stay. Having to share a meal with Harold was more than enough. "There's a killer on the loose as well. I'd hate to stumble upon anything unsavory.”

(name) leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “I hate to say this, just stay the night if you’re so worried.” (name) hated agreeing with the idea of him staying the night. But, it would make her father happy and unfortunately keep Alastor safe. 

Before, Alastor could object, Harold had his hands on his shoulders and pressed down, keeping him there. “I insist,” Harold’s voice was chilling and left no room for any other opinions. “It’s safer to stay here for the night.” 

Alastor’s gaze flickered over to (name) who snickered at his discomfort. “Scared of a boogeyman Alastor?” She asked as Harold sighed and motioned his daughter over to him. 

(name) pushed herself off the wall and stood next to her father. There was anxiety building in her stomach. “(name), I raised you better than this.” Harold scolded as he removed on hand from Alastor’s shoulder to (name)’s. “Be a good girl and show him to his room.” His grip tightened around her shoulder as she winced in pain. 

“Of course,” (name)’s obedience was all it took for Harold to return to his bubbly smiling self. 

Harold grabbed her hand and offered it to Alastor. “I’ll finish my dinner. Take good care of him, Sweetheart.” Harold returned to his seat and resumed his meal as he eyed the pair. 

(name) glanced down at Alastor who took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. He often performed for Harold, performing a character that would get him off both their backs. And, she absolutely hated it. It felt like pity that he had to play a part to help her. If he wasn’t around there wouldn’t be a need for him to do anything. 

He brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her hand. “Let’s go, (name).” Alastor stood up and took her away. 

Alastor knew he was the only one who could bring any sort of change to Harold. The man practically bent over backwards for him and would use any pawn and advantage he could to help him. Even if that meant using his daughter and more importantly using her to keep him around. 

He kept up the act until they were far away enough to avoid being overheard by him. (name) quickly snatched her hand back and wiped it on her shirt with a disgusted look on her face. Alastor couldn’t help but smile at her. 

“You’re gone first thing in the morning,” (name) stated as she shot him a glare. 

“I’d want nothing more than to leave this estate.” Alastor replied as they walked side by side. 

Alastor glanced over at (name) and couldn’t help see how much they both changed over the years. She matured into a beautiful young lady who came up to his shoulders. At one point they were relatively similar in height and actually got along. 

(name) pushed herself to the balls of her feet and flicked him on the nose. “You’re staring and it’s creepy. Stop it.” 

“That’s because you’re too beautiful, (name).” Alastor teased as (name)’s disgusted look returned. 

“I don’t want to hear your bullshit compliments, Alastor.” (name) replied as she quickened her step. 

Alastor laughed as he matched her pace. “I always forget how you hate compliments.” He never forgot, he did it on purpose and watched her squirm. 

“I hate your empty compliments.” (name) snapped back, she never knew how true his every compliment was. 

Their bickering continued the whole way to his old bedroom. Unfortunately, for Harold his old bedroom was located near (name)’s and the furthest away from his personal chambers. He supposed at the time it was to build a friendship with (name) when he was staying there. That never happened in the way Harold wanted. They were both grateful for that, who knew what Harold would’ve done. 

As they walked up the grand marble steps up to their rooms, Alastor saw the droplets of dried blood that stained the wallpaper. With all of Harold’s wealth he never bothered to remove it and have it replaced with another wallpaper. Then again, there was hardly a single visitor that ever visited the estate and very few who dared to enter if they were invited. 

(name) glanced over at Alastor when they reached the stairway and passed a few doors. The door was ornate and filled with small details that weren’t necessary for a simple door. “Here we are.” She flung the door open and motioned him inside. 

She turned her back on him and began walking away. “(name), wait.” Alastor called out as she turned around with her too familiar annoyed expression. 

“What is it, Alastor? If you need someone to tuck you in, unfortunately the help has already gone home.” (name) teased, her every word was cold and unforgiving . 

Alastor placed his hand on the doorknob. “Goodnight, (name). Don’t scare off any pleasant dreams.” 

She didn’t say anything after that and made her way back to her investigation room. Leaving Alastor in his personal hell alone. Well, they both had their own personal hells and they were both located inside the estate. The estate seemed to capture old memories that should’ve remained the past. 

The best example was Alastor’s bedroom, it was like it was trapped in time. It was left exactly as it was when he was sixteen and reminded him of the events that brought him into Harold’s care to begin with. His mother’s murder and not a single relative willing to take him in. Just being inside the room made him want to throw up as the vivid images of his mother’s mutilated corpse lay in her bedroom. 

This room bought it all back and it returned with a vengeance. The Wilson Estate was awfully good at reminding people of terrible memories and it fed off negatively. At least it felt like it did. 

Alastor took a seat on the edge of the bed and looked over the nightstand. There was a picture of his mother in her youth holding him as a child. Taking the picture frame into his hands as he gently ran a finger over his mother’s face. 

“Mama, I miss you so much.” Alastor muttered. 

💟

(name) had spent several hours in her investigation room trying to figure out if there were any clues to whom her mysterious boogeyman was. She was hunched over one of the tables filled with evidence. The pieces of bone from the victim’s rib cages were in front of her in small little bags. She wished that the bones would just point her to the answers.  

Her eyes gloss over the jars of preserved pieces of flesh and organs that seemed to be left in some obscure places. Like, her beloved boogeyman was waiting for her and leaving her clues. 

There were various knives and pocket knives laid all over the table alongside the bloodied pieces of cloth. 

(name) picked up one of the blades as she returned back to the map blade in hand. She raised her spare hand and traced over the red thread from one murder to the other. 

(name) stepped away from the map and over to her bookshelf filled with files and notebooks. She pulled out the file with his name on it and walked back to the sofa. There was something that was missing, something she wasn’t seeing yet. Something that was staring her right in the face and she was too blind to see it. 

“Johnathan Gilbert, age thirty-four.” (name) read out as she stared at the picture of one the latest victims. He was well built, with a messy appearance. His face was one of a womanizer and she couldn’t help wondering how many women fell victim to his charming appearance. “Wife beater, womanizer, and creep. According to the neighbors.” 

Flipping the file open, (name) grabbed the sheets of paper and tried to keep all her one off notes from falling out. Shuffling them back into the file and placing it beside her as she reviewed her notes. 

She wanted to put herself into his mind and retrace his steps. Why did he pick John to murder out of all the other possible victims? What made him so special? (name) wanted to know. If she could figure out why, she’d be one step closer to finding him. 

Victim #150

Name: Jonathan ‘John’ Gilbert

Code Name: Sex Pest

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Height: 5’8

Birthday: January 18th 1894

Occupation: General Store Manager 

Economic Status: Lower Class

Family: 

Samatha Gilbert 

 A woman with an inflated sense of worth. Doesn’t seem to  understand she isn’t the center of attention. 

Seemed genuinely happy that her husband was dead. According to the neighbors there wasn’t much inheritance. 

Possible spending and money issues? 

- Rumors in the neighborhood were that she also was unfaithful to her husband. 

Some said that her two children weren’t his. That’s unfortunate.

Two rather helpful children, but rather useless.

Method of Death: 

Several stabs to the chest.

Condition of the Body: 

Similar to the previous victims. 

Body was starting to decompose when it was found.

Large slash down the chest down to the stomach, skin was pulled aside to reveal the inner organs. 

The rib cage was smashed apart and the heart was removed. 

The heart, kidneys and liver were all taken. They were never found. 

Arms, legs were practically stripped of their flesh. One arm was missing and was later recovered several blocks away. 

Where did the missing pieces of his body go?

Cannibal?  

If he did that’s an interesting meal. 

Thrown into the sewers?

In the trash somewhere?

Reproductive organs were removed and shoved in the victim's mouth. 

Interesting choice.

Who knew that sweet talking the morgue manager would get me a chance to see his report. 

Falling for empty sweet nothings and breaking your code of ethics. Another foolish man who can’t understand he’s being used. Pathetic. 

Making a note here to tell Jeremy and get his boss demoted. 

Hopefully, he takes his job. 

Location of the Body: Thrown under a pile of garbage behind a bakery in Garden District.

Other Details: 

Reports of violence against his wife. 

Neighbors said they could hear her begging for help and asking him to stop. They often heard this after he visited brothels in the city and came home. 

Wife beater? I shouldn’t be surprised. 

The paper is always so surprised about any signs of abuse in the home. They know nothing about the people they report on. There’s always some sort of abuse in every home. 

His children were rather talkative. They spoke highly of their father and confirmed that they would hear signs of abuse at night. 

They still said there was nothing wrong with their family. 

How stupid of them. They should’ve known better. 

Rumors of substance abuse. 

There was no proof I could find however. 

I wonder where the allegation came from. 

They also mentioned there was a man talking to their father before he passed. He was someone who never came into the house, but would often talk to their father late at night. 

These kids are freaks. Why didn’t they sleep instead of waiting for their father to come home? 

Some of the whores that came forward in various papers stated that plenty of girls were lured out on dates outside of work time. Those dates were all malicious and they found themselves all used. 

He had a type and a method. 

Slim, short hair, dark lipstick, and hazel eyes. 

Spend time with them at their workplace and become a regular. Woo the woman and convince her to meet him outside of work. Drug them, sleep with them and leave them there to rot. 

He deserved everything he got. 

(name) looked back down at the knife at her side and picked it back up. She glanced at it and back the sheets of paper in her hand. Putting all the papers back into its original spot, (name) walked over to the section of the wall with a picture of all the victims. 

“Why kill just a deadbeat? He was already on track to an early death.” (name) muttered to herself as she traced John’s face with the knife. “What did you do to make you a target? How did you get his attention?” She stabbed the picture of him in the center of his forehead. 

“(name).” Alastor was already behind her with his hand over hers. “That’s enough. ” His gentle voice was all it took for her grip to loosen as she watched him pry her fingers off the hilt of the blade. 

(name) was so absorbed in her thoughts she didn’t notice Alastor walking into the room. He watched her pull the knife back as her hand dropped back down.

“I already know why he killed you. You were terrible, trash and deserved it.” (name)’s voice cracked as she stared at the wall of victims. “You had to get attention somehow and there’s not a single report of how!”

(name) was surprised he was still up, she expected him to be fast asleep. “Couldn’t sleep? If you need someone to sing you a lullaby it isn’t me.” 

Alastor shook his head and gave her a smile. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you.” 

“About?” (name) questioned as she turned around and looked down at his hand. The blade he took from here was loose in his grip and (name) couldn’t help feel like he was being tainted just by holding it. 

“Let’s have a short walk in the gardens.” Alastor offered as he walked back to the table and placed the knife down. “You always enjoyed your strolls around the garden.” 

(name) glanced over at him and she could sense there was something wrong with him. “This late at night?” She asked as tried to figure out what could possibly bother him. 

“Yes, we both know you sleep late.” Alastor replied, he just wanted some sort of company in this place. 

“Fine, whatever.” (name) was already walking towards the door and Alastor grinned as he joined her. 

The gardens were as grand as the estate itself and rather large. It surrounded the building with perfectly maintained hedges and blooming flowers. Alastor remembered that there was a time where (name) would spend her days out in the garden with a thick book in her hands. Sitting under the swinging bench under the willow trees.  

💟

She never looked more lonely than she did sitting under that tree. Wearing her mother’s old lingerie lace dresses with her nose deep in a romance novel. He remembered how she visibly cringed when she ran into any suggestive moments. Alastor never found out why she wore such old-fashioned clothes back then. Especially when they made her look almost exactly like her mother. 

Even now, in her nightgown as she strolled the gardens her fingers grazing the various flowers as she walked. The moonlight seemed to remind Alastor that she was more than a pretty face. She was gorgeous and Harold was right. (name) Wilson was the diamond of the city, just very roughly cut diamond, but diamond nonetheless.

(name) didn’t seem to care about her beauty and never did much to improve it. Well, she was a woman who cared for little. Even with all the time Alastor had known her, he was never able to pinpoint when she lost that care. He remembered a young girl no more than eight-years old clinging to her father’s leg as he spoke to his mother. She looked so shy and attempted to hide herself from his view.

She was an adorable child back then with the heart of an angel. Mostly, she was still a rather cold child who struggled to warm up to others. Back then, she was a flower that only bloomed for him and he was her only friend. They didn’t see each other often, but Harold would sometimes invite the two of them over to the estate and he would spend his time with her. Reading and exploring the estate together. 

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to ask such a blunt question and just ask why she despised him so much. He didn’t want to push her into a corner as he just wanted some sort of companionship inside the mental horrors the estate held. “(name), why are you so against marrying me?” 

Then that awful question crept back, what changed? Why did she hate him so much? (name) used to smile so fondly at him as children and now as adults she can’t seem to look at him with anything but pure hatred.

(name) was several steps ahead of him crouching down beside some flowers. “Because, it's you, Alastor.” Her reply wasn’t like her usual hateful responses, there was something buried that Alastor couldn’t pick apart. 

“Come now, I'm not as bad as you make me seem.” Alastor walked over to her and crouched down to her level as he admired the flowers she was so taken with. 

(name) didn’t spare him a glance and she just kept admiring the flowers. “You are.” Her voice was laced with bitterness and ice as she reached out to touch one of the petals. 

He had a feeling what it was and there was a long pause before he spoke. “Because I never leave?” Alastor looked over and their eyes met. That was it. 

(name) stood up and walked over to the gazebo, her eyes fixed on the stars above. “Partially. If I married anyone, we both know that man would end up dead,” she replied, sidestepping the question with a touch of dark humor.

“You can't kill me,” Alastor retorted, a hint of challenge in his voice as he chuckled. He stood up and started making his way over to her. 

(name) turned her attention toward him, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "There's plenty of ways to kill someone and get away with it."

A challenging smirk played on Alastor's lips as he retorted, "I dare you to try." 

"Is that a challenge?" (name) questioned, her curiosity laced in her voice as she debated on the strangeness of having a duel to the death with him. 

"Perhaps," Alastor replied, his expression unreadable as he met her gaze with unwavering intensity.

"As appealing as it is, no, thank you," (name) responded, surprising Alastor. It wasn't like her to back down from a challenge. There was something there, something that limited her from getting too close. 

“You're impossible to please.” Alastor's retort held a hint of resignation, she never gave him a single inch of vulnerability. 

"Please me? That's quite simple: find some dumb woman to marry you and cut ties with the Wilson name," (name)'s words stung with a sharp edge, a reminder of the distance between them. 

"That means cutting ties with you," Alastor countered, his tone softer now, carrying a tone that (name) wished wasn’t there. There was care in his voice and she absolutely hated it. 

(name)'s response was curt and resolute. “Exactly.” 

He couldn't help but challenge (name)'s fixation on getting cutting all ties with him and forcing him to do the same. "You're so obsessed with the idea of me cutting ties with you and your family,"

(name) met Alastor's gaze with a determined expression. "Because you bring the worst out of everyone here," Her voice was empty, like she was stating a fact. 

“I bring the worst out of your father.” Alastor watched as (name)’s eyes narrowed. "But, he has a point," Alastor continued, his voice smooth and deliberate, as he watched (name)’s every subtle movement. "You should wed soon."

The moonlight cast an ethereal glow upon (name)'s features as she spoke, her words carrying an air of finality. "No. The Wilson name ends with me, and everything it built up will join me at my grave." Her voice, emotionless and haunting, resonated through the night, as if she had accepted her fate. 

There was an emptiness in her eyes, a vacant stare that seemed to crave an end to everything. In that moment, the moonlit scene painted her as a ghost that was still tethered to this plane of existence. 

"There's no reason to be like that," Alastor remarked gently, taking a seat under the gazebo and motioning for (name) to join him.

(name) sighed, hating how Alastor always had to chime in and speak his thoughts.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my father," She confessed, her voice tinged with a mixture of affection and disappointment. "I support him in everything he does. But, I don't want another generation after me. I want the Wilson name to be buried with me."

Alastor nodded, he could understand a child’s undying love for their parent. It was a feeling he knew too well. "You'll find someone who changes your way of thinking," He offered. His tone was warm as he gave her a smile that she often saw on his mother’s face. "That's what my mother always said."

“Barbara…have you visited her recently?” (name)'s voice was tinged with a hint of melancholy as she uttered Barbara's name, a flicker of emotion crossing her features before she regained her composure.

"I visit her every day," Alastor replied softly, his tone carrying his love and dedication to his mother. (name)’s hands clenched into fists as she swallowed down her emotions. 

“Of course, you do.” (name) murmured, she should’ve known better than to ask such a silly question. 

“Have you paid her a visit lately? You remember how my mother simply adored you.” Alastor remembered how Barbara would often treat (name) with such affection that made her radiate with joy. 

“I haven't visited her since she died.” (name) lied. She found herself in front of Barbara's tombstone once a week with a bouquet of flowers and a plethora of apologies for her sins. 

Alastor, perceptive as ever, noticed her discomfort. "That's a shame. I'll just have to tell her about you." (name) noticed something flicker in his eyes and she chose to ignore it. 

“Alastor, enough. There's no use speaking of the past.” (name) curtly replied, it sounded more like a defense than anything else. 

(name)'s curt response reflected her reluctance to delve into the intricacies of their shared history, a subject she preferred to avoid. Alastor, well aware of her guarded nature, offered a simple nod. 

“That's true, I suppose.” He conceded, there was no point pushing it any further. 

“You should head back inside and warm up.” (name)'s curt response was an all too familiar defense mechanism that Alastor had grown accustomed to over time. She hated and avoided speaking of the past and preferred to leave it there. 

With a knowing smile, Alastor acknowledged her attempt at concern. "It's warmer out here than it is inside," He remarked, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. (name) was quick to return to her usual demeanor. 

(name) playfully teased. "You're such a pansy. It's not cold," As she leaned back, relishing the gentle breeze of the night air. She almost forgot about Alastor’s presence at her side as she allowed her mind to wonder. 

“Then you should also head inside.” Alastor suggested, his gaze following hers as they stared up at the stars and observed how they twinkled and danced for them. 

A mischievous glint sparkled in (name)'s eyes as she retorted, "Is that care coming from you? I'd much rather catch my death out here." She didn’t show any signs of moving anytime soon and kept her gaze up at the stars. 

“Don't be like that, (name). Think of your fan club.” Alastor’s reply made (name) cringe as looked over and lightly smacked the side of his arm. 

“There's no fan club,” (name) snapped back, rolling her eyes at his teasing tone.

"You say that, yet there's no shortage of men eagerly awaiting your particular brand of attention,” Alastor chuckled, noting (name)'s confused and concerned expression. He always found it amusing how little she knew about her little band of men who enjoyed her abuse. 

“What do you mean by ‘particular brand of attention’? Do enlighten me,” (name) demanded, her curiosity piqued.

“That's a secret,” Alastor replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, leaving (name) to wonder about the mystery of this ‘fan club’ of hers.

“If you're joking, I'm not entertained,” (name) retorted, her tone bordering on annoyance.

“Not even a hint of a smile,” Alastor remarked, his lips curling into a playful grin.

“There's no reason for me to smile for you,” (name) shot back, a frown visible on her face. 

“There’s the (name) I know. Remember, one is never fully dressed without a smile.” Alastor remarked, his voice carrying a gentle but insistent tone, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

(name)'s brows furrowed, her frustration evident in the way she clenched her fists at her sides. "You can stop your silly act of care! Alastor, I don't need it!" Her words came out sharp, punctuated by the weight of her emotions.

Alastor’s words cut through the tense air like a knife, his tone sharp and cruelly stated. “I'll cease when you escape your sea of misery. We both acknowledge that you can't change,” He declared, his voice holding an edge of finality, as if daring (name) to challenge his assessment. “You’ll need every inch of my care.”

(name)'s chest tightened with frustration, her emotions boiling over. “I'm not your responsibility!” She screamed, her gaze unwavering as she met Alastor's eyes.

“You are my responsibility!” He roared, his voice thunderous and commanding, causing (name) to startle as if confronted by a specter.

“(name)? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you.” Alastor stepped closer to touch her, seeking to mend the unintended harm he had caused. However, that was all she needed to snap.

There was something in her eyes, a haunted look that seemed to trap her in when he yelled. An emotional scar, never fully healed, waiting to rear its ugly head.

(name) appeared fragile, her eyes reflecting a deep-seated fear that Alastor couldn't quite discern. It was something invisible but powerful, holding (name) in its grasp. Something that stayed in her mind as she took several steps back. Her breath became uneven, as she looked at him as if he was a monster. 

A sharp sound echoed through the air as (name)'s palm met Alastor's cheek, and her eyes revealed a vulnerability that hadn't been seen in years.

“Don't touch me! I can change, I'm not going to be some sort of monster you think I am!” (name)'s voice trembled, it was like she was talking to someone else. 

“(name), I'm not calling you a monster. I don't think of you like that,” Alastor's voice was gentle, but she didn’t want to hear it. 

(name)'s voice trembled with anger and pain, her words laced with a bitterness that cut through the air like a blade. “I don't want to hear your excuses. You're just like them, Alastor. You're the one incapable of change,” She accused. Alastor wasn’t the sort of monster she thought he was. 

“(name)! Just listen to me,” Alastor pleaded, he just wanted her to listen. He didn’t want to see her like this. 

Alastor stood there in the moonlit garden, trying to come to terms with what he just saw. She never allowed herself any vulnerability, never looked like that before. She always kept her demeanor to being cold, calculating and someone who stood on the top of the world. To witness her vulnerability was jarring, unsettling even.

“Leave me alone!” She screamed as she turned her back and fled.

(name) wasn't the sort who ever allowed herself to show any hint of vulnerability at least she didn't in the last decade or so. There was something else in that vulnerability, a fear that pulled her under and sealed her in. 

Alastor wanted to know what happened. Who caused her to have such a fear? She was often at her best when she made herself look untouchable. A flower that harmed anyone who touched to come too close. 

Yet, (name)'s expression was scared into his memory.  She was looking like a frightened child who couldn't do anything else but lash out. (name) lashed out plenty, but there was something wrong with how she lashed out at him there. She never hit him across the face before. Not once. 

Alastor stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck..”

💟

Alastor tossed and turned in his bed, (name)’s expression hunted him as he tried to drift off to sleep. He had to smooth things over before his departure first thing in the morning or risk adding more rocks to his already rocky relationship. He could fix this, and he knew it. 

It wasn't concern for (name) as a person, he reminded himself. No, it was his responsibility. He had to make sure she was okay and tend to whatever emotional needs she had. Alastor just needed her to talk about her issues. Which was practically an impossible task, as she refused to open up to him. 

Alastor knew better, he knew who that specter was and how she went out of her way to keep the rumors alive. He was pretty sure, she didn’t know about the rumors she went out of her way to push. 

Alastor moved with purpose through the dark corridors of the Wilson estate, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floors. Each mirror he passed reflected an image of himself, he refused to acknowledge. He didn’t want to see the troubled look on his face, or if that was his expression at all.

There was an emotion there that he didn’t want to name or call more attention to. An emotion that made him hunt (name) like a beast.

As Alastor traversed the corridors of the estate, he remembered the silly rumors about the estate. Neighbors had spoken in hushed tones of the late lady of the house, her presence lingering long after her death. That you could still see her around the estate at night and that was enough to scare most from spending the night. A few attempted to break in and catch a glimpse of this ‘ghost’ — every single one was spending their nights in a jail cell.

As Alastor drew closer, he noticed that (name) hadn't stirred at the sound of his footsteps. She was fast asleep, her features softened as she wore a slight smile on her face. With a tender smile gracing his lips, Alastor reached out, his fingertips brushing lightly against the strands of her hair. His fingertips brushed her skin, it felt so delicate and soft under his touch. 

Alastor descended the marble steps with measured steps, each footfall echoing in the silent grandeur of the Wilson estate. As he reached the bottom, his gaze swept across the expansive foyer, catching a glimpse of the infamous specter. Well, it wasn’t a ghost at all. It was (name), her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, her features softened by the silver glow of the moon.

In that moment, she bore a striking resemblance to her late mother, an uncanny resemblance that sent a shiver down Alastor's spine. The wind whispered through the open window, stirring her hair in a silent caress.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor gently lifted (name) from the windowsill. "Another odd habit of yours," He cradled her close to his chest as he made his way back up the stairs. 

His eyes caught the various bloodstains on the wallpaper as he walked up the stairs. Alastor’s pace was slow and meaningful as he tried to avoid waking up (name). He would have to come back down stairs and close the window. After all, he didn’t want to wake up to the help being screamed at. 

Carefully placing (name) in her grand bed, Alastor gently tucked her in. He wondered how often she slept in places that weren’t her bed around the manor. How many times she stayed up and fell asleep in her investigation room. 

Alastor didn't want to linger for long. Taking a quick glance at her sleeping face, Alastor left the room and went back down stairs to close the window. As he walked down his gaze lingered on the bloodied wallpaper, his gaze lingered on the stains. 

Somethings are best left unknown and Alastor returns back to his room. 

[celluloidrainbow]

THE BOYS IN THE BAND (1970) dir. William Friedkin At his New York loft apartment, Michael is hosting a thirty-second birthday party for his friend. According to him, the party consists of 'seven screaming queens': birthday boy Harold, debt ridden preppy Michael, neurotic Donald, flamboyant Emory, amiable Bernard, and couple Hank and Larry who are going through growing pains in their relationship. Unexpectedly thrown into the mix is Alan, Michael's married, straight and straight-laced old university roommate. The ninth and last person at the party is a fresh-faced, young and naive urban cowboy, who is Emory's birthday gift to Harold. Directed mostly by Michael, each exposes a little of himself throughout the evening. (link in title)

[fraudulent-cheese]

I think im actually going to change who wins in my team escope tdwt au?

Originally Noah was going to win and alenoah was gonna be the final 2, but it felt both like a disservice to Heather's character who does have development over the course of the season and it wasn't super compelling to me (she's way more invested in the competition than Noah is + my personal agenda of making Alejandro loose the competition in every single AU i write) + Noah winning just not making for a satisfying ending

Heather in this AU would end up in a similar "previous antagonist becomes antihero due to a bigger vilain popping up" position as she does in canon, but it's combined with her making a genuine friend on the show in Harold; she's shown in the best light she's ever been shown on the show and while a good chunk of the audience is supporting Noah for the finale, she still has a decent crowd of supporters.

It's also my personnal mission to make Alejandro loose in every Total Drama AU i write apparently, and him loosing the tie-breaker is perfect for angst. Also i've seen my fair share of tdwt alenoah rewrites and none of them have included both in the final 3 tie-breaker so it would be fun to explore, with Noah only standing a chance against Alejandro thanks to his dodging ability and wanting to put an end to their endless pining...

It could go two ways - either Noah wins the Tie-Breaker or Alejandro wins the tie-breaker.

Noah at this point in the competition is sure of three things:

Alejandro's a very competitive guy, with a flare for the dramatics

Him and Noah have had been semi-friendly semi-fighting all competition, with it dipping more into a rivalry as of late (the thing keeping him trying after Eva's elimination)

And based on both of these facts:

Alejandro's most likely looking for a dramatic victory over him. Noah's not willing to give him that.

So, mid-spar, Noah's trying to solve this conflict once and for all - Not his brightest idea, but he's joined Total Drama so he's made worse decisions - and opts to be genuine while dodging Alejandro's hits. His earnestness does break through eventually, and confesses to him. They're both standing near the edge of the fighting platform, and are both tired as hell from the previous challenge.

That is the only reason Noah considers as the one behind Alejandro leaning in and kissing him.

After this is where the ending would diverge depending on who ends up in the final two: Alejandro would win by Noah falling into the water right afterwards on his own accord, and Noah would win by tricking Alejandro into falling into the shark infested water.

either making it to the final 2 doesn't change the outcome of Heather winning in the end, but it would change the banter and Helpers; Heather would pick Sierra (who got over Heather booting her back in Paris because she's "a sucker for redemption arcs") and Leshawna (who's friendly with her in this AU) while the boys would pick a combination of the third placer + one of their closest friendship on the show (Courtney and Noah for Alejandro, Alejandro and Izzy for Noah). Heather still ends up in the cage trap and is genuinly pissed at this, but Harold and Leshawna (through the power of friendship) snap her out of it with a similar line as in canon (that she's a better person now and either 1. more deserving of the win for them if she's against Noah or 2. the 'good guy' if she's going against Alejandro) and manages to climb up the volcano.

If Heather's against Noah, she catches up to him due to his garbage athletisism and if it's Alejandro, it's the cast catching onto his distaste of the "Al" nickname and using it against him (probably Owen and Izzy, the latter joining in for shits and giggles). If it's against Noah it'll be a roundabout way of having a friendship finale, it's just the good guy with friends vs the less good guy who's gotten better thanks to friendship and self reflection, and if it's Alejandro and Heather it's just bad guy vs good guy, more like in canon :p they could have a stupid dramatic swordfight with the dummies that Alejandro looses like an idiot and it gets him slipping to the volcano's base (because it would be a funny visual).

The volcano still explodes at the end, but i don't know if i want the "alejandro gets partially burnt" ending or "everyone (but the million dollars) is fine" ending yet. idk

[sassyfrassboss]

She'll never get over Catherine's ring. All those bitchings in the papers about how the ring was kept by Harold so it's rightfully hers and Catherine needs to return it to her. The audacity!

In 2017/2018 when engagement rumors started till the wedding that engagement ring was brought up if not multiple but at least once a week in articles.

Many of them along the theme that the rightful owner is Meghan because according to a butler, that even Harry himself says is a liar, said Harry picked out the ring. I think Harry explains this in his book but I can't remember.

I think because it was the MOST iconic piece of jewelry, other than the Lover's Knot Tiara, that tied to Diana.

After the wedding and up until about 2020/2021 that argument about the ring belonging to Meghan came up about every three months but I haven't seen it in ages so she must have given up the ghost.

The best though was in 2017 when she was pushing engagement rumors was that Harry was going to dismantle an emerald necklace of Diana's and the sapphire choker for Meghan's ring..

[beardedmrbean]

Native American activists under attack via cancel culture say they hope to stop woke efforts today from obliterating wide swaths of United States heritage and history.  

The Kansas City Chiefs and the Boy Scouts of America both appear to be erasing traces of their Native American heritage, according to activists and to the evidence as well. 

Also, America’s most famous Chiefs fan right now, Taylor Swift, is being hailed by some as the great woke hope who can force the franchise to cave to charges of racism and end its “tomahawk chop” chant.

Not in Our Honor, a Kansas City-based group, said it was “hopeful” that Swift would be an “ally” in their effort to force the team to end the tradition, according to media reports during the football season. 

The legacy of popular Kansas City, Missouri mayor and Arapaho tribal member Harold Roe “Chief” Bartle could be obliterated in the fallout. He is a foundational figure in the history of both the Chiefs and the Boy Scouts — at least until he’s canceled, American Indians fear. 

“It’s a woke firing squad looking to tear everything down by telling us that Native Americans and Americans need to be divided,” social media influencer Maurice the Native Patriot (@lanativepatriot), a Swinomish Indian from Washington state, told Fox News Digital in an interview last week.

“It’s become popular to think that even seeing a Native American image is racist.”

Bartle was mayor of Kansas City in the 1960s, when the AFL’s Dallas Texans moved to town. The team was renamed in honor of his efforts to land the franchise, according to the team website and many other sources. Bartle also spent much of his life in the service of the Boy Scouts. He was a champion of civil rights, according to several biographies, as well as devoted to Native American heritage. But his multicultural legacy is in jeopardy now as both the Chiefs and the Scouts are distancing themselves from their Native American roots. 

“Native American history is American history,” Tony Henson, the executive director of the Native American Guardians Association (NAGA), headquartered in North Dakota, told Fox News Digital.

“This effort to divide us comes from the ‘hate-America’ Marxist crowd that wants to tear down tradition and rebuild the United States in their own image,” Henson said. 

Yet the Boy Scouts are “looking to remove all Native American aspects of the program,” one Pennsylvania troop leader wrote in an e-mail obtained by Fox News Digital.

The troop is also said to be scrambling to create a new insignia to replace “a Native American chief/brave logo” that it’s been using “for over 60 years” to meet what the letter claims is a new directive from the Boy Scouts of America. 

Fox News Digital reached out to the organization, which refuted those claims. “There is no national mandate from the BSA to remove all Native American imagery from the Scouting program,” Scott Armstrong, national spokesperson for the Boy Scouts of America, told Fox News Digital in response.

He said local Boy Scouts troops may have “misinterpreted” guidance about dialogue with local First Nations leaders. 

“The goal is proper respect, not removal,” said Armstrong.