#and the fact both of Robert's sons work jobs

[der-karibisch-heyder]

Caribbean Currency 2

Continuing from the last post I made.

(Pictured: Florentine Guilder from 1341)

So I did a bit more reading around, mostly in the interest of grasping living wages and cost of living in the 17th and 18th centuries. In doing so I came across more in depth information about Dutch currency beyond the Lion Dollar, namely the Guilder.

Guilder, which is the English term for Gulden, which is German and Dutch for just “golden”, an informal term for “gold penny”. It is largely considered interchangeable with the Florin, as the currency was widely used all across the reach of the Holy Roman Empire. Anyway.

A Guilder was essentially worth half a Lion Dollar. Recall earlier, a Lion Dollar is worth between 4 and 5 Shillings in English currency. It takes 20 shillings to make a pound, thus 4 to 5 Lion Dollars to make a pound. Hence, it takes about 10 guilders to make a pound, so a Guilder is roughly equal to 1/10th the value of the pound or English Guinea. This is all noteworthy because the Guilder was the long accepted go-to currency for foreign reserves, likely due to its equal value and standing with the Florin and its widespread use across central Europe.

In reading on all this, I too found the values of ships were often rated in tonnage. Specifically about 20 pounds to the ton. Using some ships in Devil’s Eye for a quick reference...

La Demonia Roja, a massive Manilla Galleon, weighs in at 1000 tons of storage, giving it a massive value of 20,000 pounds.

The Barracuda, a simple schooner, weighs in at a mere 100 tons, giving it the value of 2000 pounds.

The Barracuda’s long standing rival and competitor from their piracy days, the Dutch vessel Diantha, being a converted Fluyt (a ship with a unique design meant to maximize tonnage without taking up too much area), weighs in with 400 tons for a value of 8000 pounds.

The HMS Cavalier, a 6th Rate warship oared frigate captained by an old former friend of Ravyn Hurley’s father, Post-Captain Jack Davenport, weighs in at 300 tons for a value of 6000 pounds.

For comparison’s sake, the annual wage of the First Lord of the Treasury of England was 4000 pounds. It’s a little sad that Ravyn’s pride of a ship is worth less than that, but such is life. Middle class wages were expected to be anywhere between 40 and 75 pounds a year, which is about what would be expected for a merchant trader who owned a ship. Given the costs of a ship and hiring a crew to captain and sail the ship, the loans must be outrageous. Despite that, a ship was a long term investment that often paid for itself several dozen times over several decades of use, which is why piracy for stealing such vessels was a lucrative business to begin with.

Other notable wages and fees of the 17th and 18th centuries include:

Coach rides were 5 pence per mile if you rode inside the coach, and 2 pence per mile if you rode on the outside.

River ferrying was about 3 pence per mile.

A cheap shared bed at an inn would cost you 2 pence a night - but an unfurnished room for rent would only cost 1 shilling a week, so it was actually cheaper to pay by week if you were staying over long term. (Things like this are again, why Ravyn needs Robert around to manage the crew’s finances!)

Servants only made between 2 and 5 pounds a year in earnings, but their estate would pay for their clothing, food, and board, which were the most common and costly expenses of living at the time. A more experienced housemaid could make up to 8 pounds a year, and an exceptional housekeeper could make up to 15 pounds a year.

Lastly, it was generally assumed anyone making 500 pounds or more a year were considered wealthy to some degree or another. I don’t know how far up one must go the wealth ladder to be considered nobility or aristocracy, though.

As for the money the Heyder family pulls in, I’m still working that out. I’m imagining Robert having a fairly large amount of disposable income, but not enough to where he can just liberally throw money at any and every problem he comes across. Otherwise it would start begging some questions. I’ll get back to that later.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Career Day Crush - Bob Floyd x Teacher!OC

A/N: I was inspired to write this while prepping pictures of pilots for my class at work today and now, here we are, taking on two multipart fics at once.

pairing:  Bob Floyd x Teacher!OC (can easily swap her name for a y/n situation)

warnings/content: Bob being awkward and cute, Hangman's son being just like Hangman, Hangman as a dad, secondhand embarrassment.

word count: 1.8k

“Alright, class, can we all thank Sadie’s dad for coming in to talk to us about being a firefighter? What an interesting career choice we could make!” You forced a smile as you politely clapped your hands for your guest speaker, the crowd of 7 year olds in front of you following suit, clapping and smiling as they chattered about how cool Sadie’s dad was for driving a fire truck. 

You looked down at your agenda for the day and read the hastily handwritten list you’d prepared for yourself earlier that morning to see who, if anyone, would be joining your class next. You nodded your head as you read the name and smiled sweetly at little Boone in the front row of the room, laughing softly. 

“Next,  we’re going to hear from Boone’s dad, Lieutenant Seresin about what it takes to be a fighter pilot for the US Navy!” You said with a somewhat forced enthusiasm to your voice, tired of trying to be the hype man for each parent as they came in to share what they did for a living to their child’s friends and classmates. You smiled warmly as Boone’s father, Jake walked in, dressed fully in his flight suit, his helmet tucked under his arm for emphasis. You noticed a second man, similar in height to Jake, follow in behind him. This man had lighter hair, worn longer than Jake’s and combed back into a military approved style, wire-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and a soft, shy smile as he waved to your class. His cobalt blue eyes were almost breathtaking as they wandered in your direction. As he met your gaze, he gave you a soft smile before folding his hands in front of him as he stood beside Jake.

“Hi guys!” Jake said with a friendly smile, waving to the group of eager faces watching him, “I’m Lieutenant Jake Seresin, and this, is Lieutenant Robert Floyd. We both fly in the US Navy, but we have two different jobs. I’m the pilot, so I actually fly the plane itself, but, my friend Lieutenant Floyd is what we call a Weapons Systems Officer, or WSO for short. He sits in the backseat of a two-seater plane and makes sure the lasers and missiles and all that fun stuff back there is working properly when we need it to.”

Lieutenant Floyd nodded his head in agreement as Jake spoke, before smiling at the children himself and beginning to talk.

“You might be wondering why we have names written on our helmets, these are called our callsigns, callsigns are how we talk to one another in the air when we need to. My callsign is Bob,” Lieutenant Floyd gestured to his helmet as he showed it to the glass, smiling proudly as the children ooh’ed and ahh’ed over it. Jake held up his own helmet as well, gesturing to the font splayed across the top.

“My callsign is Hangman, like the spelling game you guys might play in class sometimes!”, He explained enthusiastically. 

You had to hand it to Jake, he had certainly captivated your students better than any other speaker of the day had. Maybe it was his charm and charisma, or the fact that his job was a little more unique than being a firefighter, or a teacher or a truck driver. You couldn’t figure out what it was, but something about him and his friend had completely gained control of your normally somewhat unruly group of children, certainly better than you could have done at this point in a Friday afternoon.

As the two men wrapped up their career day presentation for your class, fielding any and all questions your curious students had for them for the last thirty minutes, you couldn’t help but notice Lieutenant Floyd catching your eye, as if he was stealing shy glances over at you as he and Jake stood at the front of the room. When the bell rang to dismiss the children, Boone raced up to his dad and Lieutenant Floyd, giving them each a big hug.

“Dad, Uncle Bobby, that was great!” The little boy, a carbon copy of his father in terms of looks and determined, fiery attitude, said with a grin that nearly made his whole face vanish.

“Awesome, buddy, I’m glad we could come talk to you and your friends!” Jake smiled as he put his arms around the boy, ruffling his hair. Lieutenant Floyd knelt down to him and smiled giving him a hug as well.

“Any time, little guy!” he said with a smile.

You approached the two men and smiled, offering your hand out for them to shake, your way of showing thanks to them for taking time out of their Friday to come talk to your class. You smiled as Jake stood up to his feet, shaking your hand firmly as he returned the smile.

“Thank you so much for coming out today, both of you. It really means a lot to the kids. They really enjoyed it! The helmets were a good addition, they’ll be talking about those forever,” A laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head slightly, thinking about how many times you’ll hear about the fighter pilots and their helmets over the course of the next week or so. 

“Anytime, Bob and I didn’t have anything going on today for training, so we were able to make the time to come visit! Plus that, I can’t miss an opportunity to be “Boone’s super cool dad” to a bunch of 7 year olds, right pal?” He let out a hearty chuckle as he ruffled Boone’s hair again.

Jake looked to Bob, who was now quietly standing behind Jake, a soft smile on his features as he waitied politely for the two of you to finish your conversation. Jake shook his head and laughed again, gesturing between you and Bob with a nod.

“Sorry, Bob, this is Boone’s teacher, he absolutely loves her to pieces, don’t ya, big guy?” Boone nodded his head, a big grin on his face as he looked between you and Bob, his tiny face seeming to take note of the way Bob was now looking at you.

“Uncle Bobby must like you too, Miss T, his cheeks got all red just now! Dad says that happens sometimes when you think a girl is pretty. D’ya think Miss T is pretty, Uncle Bobby?”

You and Bob exchanged uncomfortable laughs and awkward glances at one another before looking away. You knew Boone was just innocently speaking what he thought was true, but at that moment, you sort of wished the floorboards of the school would open up beneath your feet, the ground swallowing you whole so you could hide and shield your embarrassment. Jake looked down at his son and chuckled, breaking the awkwardly silent tension as Bob stole a glance towards the exit, looking as if he was contemplating whether or not he could just make a run for it and meet up with Jake and Boone later on.

“Bud, we can’t just say stuff like that, sometimes people don’t want other people to know if they find them pretty. Sometimes you gotta keep it a secret so they can tell that person themself, you know?”

“Oh, right, sorry Uncle Bobby, sorry Miss T,” Boone shrugged his shoulders, still not quite understanding why it had to be a secret if his uncle thought his teacher looked nice that day, but in the mind of a child, you supposed nothing about adult dating rituals made a whole ton of sense. 

“C’mon bud, let’s get going, ok?” Jake put a hand on his son’s shoulder before giving you a friendly glance and departing the room, leaving Bob to his own devices. You could have sworn as you saw Jake leaving that he gave his friend a wink and a thumbs up, and if you hadn’t caught the mischievous grin on Boone’s face as father and son left together, you would have sworn that this wasn’t intentional. 

A look of panic flashed across Bob’s features, shaking his head as he let out an awkward laugh, his hand resting on the back of his neck, scratching at his hairline as he shook his head, looking between the door and you.

“Sorry ‘bout Boone, he’s just like his dad, got a big mouth on that little guy, he’s lucky he’s cuter than Jake is, he can get away with it.”

“It’s ok, I’ve been told more awkward things by small children than hearing that their uncle might think I’m pretty,” You helped, trying to take away some of the tension between the two of you, “Jake didn’t properly introduce me either. My name’s Grace. Grace Taylor. Most people call me Gracie though.”

“Well, he did introduce me, but please, just call me Bob. I don’t even go by Lieutenant Floyd unless it’s a military event or something. Bob is just…more me. Nice to meet you, Gracie.” 

He offered you his hand, shaking yours as they met in a handshake that was much more gentle and soft than the one exchanged between you and Jake moments earlier. Bob’s hand practically swallowed yours whole as he shook it, and you couldn’t help but wonder if part of the reason he was so gentle was that he feared he might hurt you if he shook too abruptly, like he simply wasn’t in tune with his own strength yet. 

“I should probably get going, Jake’s my ride back to base, it’s a long walk if he leaves without me,” He chuckled before looking towards the door. His eyes landed back on you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but notice how deep a shade of blue they were. They were…indescribably blue. The olive green hue of his flight suit pulled out every hint of tan in his skin, making him appear even more sun-kissed than you imagined he’d look had he worn something else. 

“Yeah, you probably don’t want to be left in a school on a Friday night, do you?” You smirked at him playfully as you leaned your behind against your desk as you faced him with your arms folded across your chest. 

“It’s not ideal, especially with an 8am training tomorrow.”

Bob politely excused himself again and headed for the door before turning on the heel of his perfectly polished uniform shoe, a wide grin on his features as he pointed his finger in your direction.

“By the way, Boone was right. I do think you’re pretty, Gracie. I may have to come by to pick my honorary nephew up from school more often now.”

And with that, Bob was out the door, leaving you blushing like a schoolgirl with a little crush as you began cleaning up your classroom. 

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steve Contorno at CNN:

Donald Trump has lately made clear he wants little to do with Project 2025, the conservative blueprint for the next Republican president that has attracted considerable blowback in his race for the White House. “I have no idea who is behind it,” the former president recently claimed on social media. Many people Trump knows quite well are behind it. Six of his former Cabinet secretaries helped write or collaborated on the 900-page playbook for a second Trump term published by the Heritage Foundation. Four individuals Trump nominated as ambassadors were also involved, along with several enforcers of his controversial immigration crackdown. And about 20 pages are credited to his first deputy chief of staff. In fact, at least 140 people who worked in the Trump administration had a hand in Project 2025, a CNN review found, including more than half of the people listed as authors, editors and contributors to “Mandate for Leadership,” the project’s extensive manifesto for overhauling the executive branch.

Dozens more who staffed Trump’s government hold positions with conservative groups advising Project 2025, including his former chief of staff Mark Meadows and longtime adviser Stephen Miller. These groups also include several lawyers deeply involved in Trump’s attempts to remain in power, such as his impeachment attorney Jay Sekulow and two of the legal architects of his failed bid to overturn the 2020 presidential election, Cleta Mitchell and John Eastman. To quantify the scope of the involvement from Trump’s orbit, CNN reviewed online biographies, LinkedIn profiles and news clippings for more than 1,000 people listed on published directories for the 110 organizations on Project 2025’s advisory board, as well as the 200-plus names credited with working on “Mandate for Leadership.”

Overall, CNN found nearly 240 people with ties to both Project 2025 and to Trump, covering nearly every aspect of his time in politics and the White House – from day-to-day foot soldiers in Washington to the highest levels of his government. The number is likely higher because many individuals’ online résumés were not available. In addition to people who worked directly for Trump, others who participated in Project 2025 were appointed by the former president to independent positions. For instance, Federal Communications Commissioner Brendan Carr authored an entire chapter of proposed changes to his agency, and Lisa Correnti, an anti-abortion advocate Trump appointed as a delegate to the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women, is among the contributors. Several people involved in Project 2025 didn’t serve in the Trump administration but were influential in shaping his first term. One example is former US Attorney Brett Tolman, a leading force behind the former president’s criminal justice reform law who later helped arrange a pardon for Charles Kushner, the father of Trump’s son-in-law. Tolman is listed as a contributor to “Mandate for Leadership.”

The extensive overlap between Project 2025 and Trump’s universe of allies, advisers and former staff complicates his efforts to distance himself from the work. Trump’s campaign has sought for months to make clear that Project 2025 doesn’t speak for them amid an intensifying push by President Joe Biden and Democrats to tie the Republican standard bearer to the playbook’s more controversial policies.

[...]

Heritage plan becomes a political headache

Behind Project 2025 is the Heritage Foundation, a 51-year-old conservative organization that aligned itself with Trump not long after his 2016 victory. Heritage is led by Kevin Roberts, a Trump ally whom the former president praised as “doing an unbelievable job” on a February night when they shared the same stage. Heritage conceived Project 2025 to begin planning so a Republican president could hit the ground running after the election. One of its priorities is creating a roadmap for the first 180 days of the new administration to quickly reorient every federal agency around its conservative vision. Described on its website as “a movement-wide effort guided by the conservative cause to address and reform the failings of big government and an undemocratic administrative state,” Project 2025 also aims to recruit and train thousands of people loyal to the conservative movement to fill federal government positions.

[...]

Vast network of Trump allies

However, Trump’s attempts to distance himself from Project 2025 have already encountered credibility challenges. The person overseeing Project 2025, Paul Dans, was a top official in Trump’s White House who has previously said he hopes to work for his former boss again. Shortly after Trump’s Truth Social post last week, Democrats noted a recruitment video for Project 2025 features a Trump campaign spokeswoman. On Tuesday, the Biden campaign posted dozens of examples of connections between Trump and Project 2025. CNN’s review of Project 2025’s contributors also demonstrated the breadth of Trump’s reach through the upper ranks of the vast network of organizations working to move the country in a conservative direction – from women’s groups and Christian colleges to conservative think tanks in Texas, Alabama and Mississippi. New organizations centered around Trump’s political movement, his conspiracy theories around his electoral defeats and his first-term policies are deeply involved in Project 2025 as well. One of the advisory groups, America First Legal, was started by Miller, a key player in forming Trump’s immigration agenda. Another is the Center for Renewing America, founded by Russ Vought, former acting director of the Office of Management and Budget, who wrote for Project 2025 a detailed blueprint for consolidating executive power. Vought recently oversaw the Republican Party committee that drafted the new platform heavily influenced by Trump.

In addition to Vought, two other former Trump Cabinet secretaries wrote chapters for “Mandate for Leadership”: Housing and Urban Development Secretary Ben Carson and acting Defense Secretary Christopher Miller. Three more former department heads – National Intelligence Director John Ratcliffe, acting Transportation Secretary Steven Bradbury and acting Labor Secretary Patrick Pizzella – are listed as contributors.

CNN reports that at least 140 people who worked for Donald Trump’s administration are involved in The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025. This should put an end to the nonsensical lie that Trump “know[s] nothing about Project 2025.”

See Also:

MMFA: Trump and his allies are denying any association to Project 2025 and its architects. History speaks for itself.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Another Life

Pairing(s): implied/referenced Rhaegar Targaryen x Stark!Reader, Ned Stark x Catelyn Tully, Robert Baratheon x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: canonical character death, illegitimacy, cat actually loves jon in this story, drabble, short, robert and cersei actually like eachother

Words: 1269

Lyanna watches Jon from atop of the courtyard's parapet, her eyes crinkling with pride as she watches Jon best Theon Greyjoy at the dance of swords. Every victory Jon made resulted in him outgrowing the label of bastard. He was so much more than a bastard of Winterfell. Not even Catelyn saw him as such. Many were so shocked when the news came that Ned had brought back his bastard one day. In fact Cat had shown up at Winterfell by his side as he held the infant in his arms, for she was one of three that knew the truth about Jon Snow.

Heartache nibbles at her heart when she recalls fifteen years prior. She remembers her sister (y/n). The fever of her cheeks as she held her newborn son in her arms. But she wasn't faring well. Birth rendered her near lifeless, allowing her to slip slowly away into the Stranger's arms. It was only a matter of time. She refused to leave the Tower of Joy, understood her fate as well as her siblings and sister-in-law did. (y/n) had just been content with the fact that she'd birthed a healthy baby boy.

"Jon." Her watery eyes turn up to Lyanna. "His name is Jon."

After Rhaegar's closest friend. Jon Connington was the one to deliver the note to Winterfell, ensuring it fell into the safe hands of the young Warden of the North himself. He'd been instructed by his revered lady, Princess (y/n) Targaryen.

The name was a slap to the face. A year prior to the birth of her son, (y/n) had supposedly been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen who was supposed to marry Elia Martell the following day. Both up and vanished without a trace. Lord Rickard Stark was beside himself with grief and agony that they stormed to the capital to demand answers from King Aerys himself. Lord Rickard and his heir Brandon accused the king of hiding the location of Rhaegar and (y/n), said that she was to be returned immediately and the prince punished. But Aerys didn't take kindly to the slander they were slewing against the crown. He had them executed.

Ensuing blood shed consumed the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaegar appeared only on the battlefield with his own men. They fought against not just the king, but Ned and his own allies which included Storm's End. No sign of (y/n) nearby.

After Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar and the regicide of the Mad King by the young lion Jaime Lannister, there was still no clue as to where (y/n) could be.

Robert, though it was Jaime who slew the king, secured the Iron Throne for himself. That meant Lyanna would be queen as she was engaged to Robert. She refused.

When Ned implored her to marry Robert, she gave him the tongue lashing of the century but it did the job in shutting him up. He couldn't force Lyanna to do something she didn't want to. That lesson was learned in childhood. If she desired to stay in the North then she would stay. Slighted at first, it didn't take him long to choose another bride. Cersei Lannister. A beautiful couple. Lyanna was happy that Robert even seemed to be truly smitten with the golden haired girl. They couldn't keep their hands off of each other.

Or so she was told. She couldn't attend their lavish wedding, not when her sister was still out there somewhere.

Day and night she worked in searching for (y/n). Northmen scattered across the vast land took part in looking for her.

They'd nearly given up.

And then Jon Connington delivered a letter in (y/n)'s handwriting.

She and Rhaegar had eloped. Rhaegar couldn't marry Elia Martell, he didn't love her but there was absolutely no way that Aerys would let him marry (y/n) Stark. Even (y/n) had kept her love for him a secret from everyone in her family.

Getting married as soon as they could. They had a short honeymoon for the war started shortly after. Jon Connington was entrusted with (y/n)'s safety, and though he wanted to be with Rhaegar on the battlefield, he held (y/n) in high regard. He agreed without much hesitation.

Soon she discovered she was pregnant. The pregnancy wasn't going well for her. She was constantly sick and weak. She didn't have long.

In her note, (y/n) specifically wanted Lyanna, Ned and his new bride to come. Only them. They were not to tell anyone else. Cat was loathe to leave her own baby Robb but knew how important this was for Ned and his family so of course she agreed to go. Leaving Robb pained her.

Jon was but a week old by the time they arrived to the Tower of Joy. The Sword of the Morning himself stood guard at the tower's entrance.

The babe was healthy. The same couldn't be said of his mother.

She was gaunt, so gray. This wasn't the sister Ned and Lyanna grew up with. Her smile was still the same though, even if it was a little strained. To each of them she spoke to, having the other two wait.

All of them, including Jon Connington and Arthur Dayne were to take this secret to their graves.

(y/n) died two days later.

"I know that look."

Lyanna jolts at Ned's voice, ripped from her melancholic memories. She presses her lips together. Ned grew into a fine lord. A horde of children filled the halls of the castle. Among them was the boy they thought their bastard brother. "Sometimes I can't help but think about her when I see him. He has her big, sweet eyes."

Ned nods. "He does." He rests his forearms on the wooden rail and looks down into the courtyard where Jon swung his sword in the way that Arthur Dayne had shown him that morning. Off to the distance was Jon Connington watching with a close eye. Theon and Robb are trying it out as well.

Jon was thriving. No one caught on to the truth of him. Never even breaching the surface. Many asked who the mother was since Ned agreed to claim fathership over him.

Bittersweet for the siblings watching their nephew grow up without his real mother and father. It was better this way. (y/n) wanted her son to grow up in the north opposed to the death and discrimination he might receive from being raised in the capital. Not just that, but Robert Baratheon was now entirely against the entire Targaryen line. He was already trying to locate the missing Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys with plans to execute them if they're ever found. Children. It was insane that his queen was supporting the king's search for them. His claim to the throne was in danger as long as there was even one Targaryen left alive. And unfortunately Jon was included.

That day his sister died, Ned swore to her that he would protect Jon with his life; even if that meant protecting him against his own friend he thought of as a brother. Lyanna, Ned and Cat had spent sleepless nights speaking about the possibility of Robert finding out about Jon. Their voices hushed, only the quiet flame in the fireplace bore witness to the secrets being discussed.

They would never allow the secret of Jon's parents to become public knowledge. (y/n) entrusted Jon's life to them and they would not disappoint her. They would defend the boy with their life and take his secret to the afterlife.

[winniemaywebber]

those “stay with me” prompts I LOVE!!! 🥹🥹 I can’t wait to see what you do with them bestie. I’d love to see:

scene 1, dialogue 17 with Olive & Dougie

scene 13, dialogue 2 with the darling Crosbys?

(and if you could slip a hand kiss anywhere in there I will be forever grateful ahhh love ya bestie!!)

hi my darling!!! thank you so much for the requests!!!

from the "stay with me" prompts list (inbox is still open for more of these!)

both requests are under the cut <3

Scene 1 Dialogue 17 - Dougie x Olive

"eyes lighting up as soon as your significant other enters a room" & "don't go anywhere I can't follow."

“Coffee before you go, Captain?” Olive asks Dougie as she enters the briefing room. She sees his pretty blue eyes light up as he sees her walk in, as he hears her speak to him. It makes her stutter, falter, hoping her knees don’t give out during the exchange. “No sugar,” she says, clearing her throat. “I know you’re–”

“Already sweet enough on you, my girl.” 

“Darling,” she breathes, kissing him gently. “Hello.”

“Hi, honey,” he replies, returning her affections just as sweetly. “How are you?”

“Nervous, as I always am when you have to be up in the sky for hours at a time. But,” she exhales, trying to settle her nerves. “I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere I can’t follow,” Olive whispers, holding Dougie tightly. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, my love.” He pulls a final cigarette from the packet, it having been decorated with a cute little heart. She imagines him scrawling it on there during the briefing, Dougie one for always wanting to keep his hands busy. “Saved the last one for you.”

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’d just run out myself.”

“Luckily, I’m always here to save the day.” He pulls her close to him, holding her the way he always does - nuzzling his nose into her neck and breathing her in, her lips touching the exposed skin of his as it peeks out of his sheepskin collar just slightly. Over his shoulder, she sees Everett and Valencia in a similar embrace, whispering sweet nothings to one another. Murmuring her worries into him and him reassuring her. They’d be home and back with their girls in no time. 

“You know I would never, baby.”

“Doug, we’ve gotta run. Jeep is waiting,” Ev calls, his hand clutched in Val’s as he makes his way to the door. “Love you, honey,” he says, quickly planting a kiss on Val’s red lips. 

“You got it, Maude,” Ev calls as he exits, holding the door open for Dougie.

“Love you more.”

“Keep each other safe, for fuck sake,” Olive laughs, kissing Dougie one final time. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I love you, Ollie,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it three times.

“I love you too, darling. To the end of the Earth.”

“And back again.” 

Scene 13 Dialogue 2 - Jean x Harry

Asking the other about their day & "can we cuddle?"

Harry and Jean Crosby are getting settled into a new life - it was decided some weeks ago that Croz would like to be the one staying home with their son while Jean returned to work at the Switchboard with her beloved friend, Josephine Rosenthal, the aforementioned now blissfully married to pilot Robert Rosenthal, Harry’s closest confidant. 

It hadn’t exactly been a tough decision; Croz wasn’t fond of his new job and Jean felt like she was going stir crazy, staying at home with a child that had just begun crawling and getting into absolutely everything possible - anything he could get his cute, chubby little hands on. It was Josephine, in fact, that had made the suggestion, when she had called in to the Crosby home one night after work with an apple pie her mother-in-law had made.

Everybody in the house seemed happier with this plan in place, Bing absolutely adoring his new role. He had taken to it very well, making dinner and tending to the baby, spending some time with Rosie in between his busy schedule as a lawyer and still finding some time alone with a book while his son slept. He seemed lighter, more jovial somehow, the years of stress from war melting away before everyone’s eyes.

“Gee, Mrs Croz,” she had said, a tone of surprise in her voice. “You look frazzled, doll.”

“I am,” she groaned, pulling her son away from the side table in the living room before he tried to stretch himself up on it. “I feel like I’m going round the twist.”

“I can see that,” Jo exhaled, picking her nephew up from any impending danger and cooing all over him, planting kisses on his red cheeks and leaving adorable lipstick marks. “You know, your seat is still empty at the Switchboard. Maybe they’d be happy to take you on again.”

“Do you think?” Jean replied keenly. “I’d have to talk to Bing first, of course, but–”

“Oh, no, how terrible for him. More time with his son and escaping a job he can’t help but be vocal about how much he despises? Whatever shall he do?”

***

“Hey, bud, mama’s home!” Croz cries as Jean opens the door to the living room. 

“Oh, hello my little sunshine,” she greets, taking him from her husband’s arms. “Good day?”

“Tip top as always,” Croz replies, kissing his wife on both her cheeks and then her mouth. “Dinner is ready.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she responds, still somewhat taken aback by his attentiveness. “I’ll put this little fella to bed while you finish up.”

“I’ve got it, my little wife,” he says, making his way to the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Hm, tough. I’m still not used to using my brain this much. My head hurts a little.”

“Oh, darling,” Harry comforts, pulling her into his arms. “Well, go relax after all this is done. I’ll draw you a warm bath.”

“Lovely.”

***

With their son sound asleep in his crib, Harry decides to join Jean in the bathroom, carefully propped on the edge of the tub. “How are you doing?” she asks, trying to cover the concern in her voice. “Are you still happy with what we’ve decided?”

“My goodness, yes, darling. I love it, staying home and getting as much time with our son as possible. I feel like I missed so much before I returned home, and feel awful you took it all on by yourself. I’m so happy to do this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, my dear. I’m very sure. Now,” he pauses, rubbing her legs with the lavender soap he’d bought for her last time he and Rosie were in the city. “Can we go cuddle after this?”

[lemonhemlock]

Hi! Sorry for the new ask but brainrot consumed my brain and i needed your counsel.

So i was thinking about Otto marrying Alicent to Viserys and ,as you said once how Otto doesnt understand abuse and how him and Viserys are kind of similar .But then it kinda got me that they're also very different ,with Otto being more politically smart ,decisive and empathetic in some sick way towards people (the way he generally manipulates Alicent and the page thing with Rhaenyra,altho i think it was Alicents idea ).So ,for me ,someone like Otto cant really respect Viserys ,despite the fact that he wants his daughter to marry him .BUT ,in the deleted scene of him and Alicent discussing which crown Aegon would wear ,the fact that he seems displeased by her comments and her choice of crown made me rethink a lot of things.

All of this mess of thoughts is to ask ,do you think Otto respected Viserys? .I dont wanna paint Otto as a mustache twirling villain who gives no fucks about his daughter to the point of him marrying to a someone he doesnt respect ,but i dont really know .

Have a good day/night!

Welcome back, Red Roses, hope you had a great weekend!

I think Viserys does embody traits that Otto likes and that he does enjoy being around him. We are used to him being a walking zombie, but Viserys in episode 1 was a very personable and charismatic fellow, well-read, diplomatic and, honestly, rather fun. He can tell a story, crack a joke and seems to be the kind of person you could share a beer with. However, he doesn't neglect his duties and understands that being King involves a lot of boring meetings and going through the motions, which he generally accepts good-naturedly. If you think I'm exaggerating, compare this with how Robert treated his job.

However, Viserys can also be indecisive. I don't think he's stupid at all, not even short-sighted really, he possesses political acumen in the sense that he understands what people want of him and what he is expected to do, but he is such a people pleaser and a chaser of his own desires, that he relies on non-confrontation as a modus operandi. And, in turn, that makes him also rely on his councilors a lot.

So, honestly, I think that Otto perhaps admired some of Viserys' qualities and not others - a mixed bag, like every other person, really. He probably would have felt mixed feelings about any potential son-in-law, but Viserys trumps everyone else every time just by occupying the highest office in the land and making Alicent his queen, which automatically turns him into the best candidate in Otto's eyes.

Broadly-speaking, Viserys' reign was peaceful, so for general admin stuff I think he performed pretty decently. So, on that front, coupled with his good-natured personality,* I'd say he earned Otto's approval. But he was not a true visionary or have an over-arching plan in mind like Jaehaerys, who did a lot of modernization work, and whom I suspect Otto would consider a better King. Especially since he got to serve under both. And Viserys truly made a mess with the succession, which affected Otto's family directly, so that weakness for Rhaenyra & Daemon would be what Otto might draw up as points of criticism.

*We're ultimately talking about white privileged men here -> their definition of good-nature and kindness and fairness.

[writer-of-various]

Doubt

Nancy has doubts, William is quick to shut them down.

Nancy is not like other women. She took her dead cousin's identity and joined the Army, and spent a good portion of her life as a soldier who's been hardened by war. Upon the end of World War II, she found herself realizing that life is too short, and with her heart completely in the hands of the one and only William Pierson, they got married as soon as possible before they were sent to Korea.

Spending her days calloused by war, her personality different from the women back at home, she finds herself doubting her marriage with Pierson in 1954, where they returned to the states and were trying to live past the wars they've seen and experienced. She seeks a job, and she gets lucky when her files show her as a veteran, unlike the other females in her neighborhood who decided to seek jobs. She hated staying at home, she didn't know how to cook to even save her life, and she just wasn't like the other girls. She's slender but with lean muscle, not all soft or curvy. She struggles with make up, because she never had time to learn or put some on. She cuts her hair short, resting on her shoulders in crazy curls, and she wears pants and blouses and boots. Her lips barely curl up in a soft smile, they're almost always in a scowl, her eyebrows frowning as she settles a piercing stare at anyone who dares look her way.

She doesn't hate her body, she doesn't hate herself (in that sense of confidence or her body image, but she hates herself because of all the men she couldn't save.) She just thinks that William deserves someone better, a nice girl with a nice body that's soft; a girl who knows how to cook and clean and likes to stay at home.

She reaches out to Robert Zussman, the boy she served alongside with and the kid she considers a son. He lives with her and William, just until he gets accustomed to the world and finds a place to settle. Her and William don't mind him living with them, in fact, it feels like their lives are complete. Like they have a kid of their own.

"Y'know Will doesn't care about that stuff. I'm surprised he even settled down, with how much he loves to work." Robert says, taking a sip of the coffee he made because Jesus Christ can he make a good coffee. Even with crappy Army rations.

"I know, but I just can't help thinking. I always get weird looks from other ladies, and I see girls starin' at Will and he never acknowledges them but I feel that–"

Robert cuts her off with a noise, "Nancy Turner Pierson shut the hell up." Maybe if he didn't reenlist, and left the Army as the Private she remembered from D-Day, she would have slapped him across the head. But he recovered for a year and reenlisted, this time as a medic, and he left the Army as a Master Sergeant. And he had a authoritative voice that commanded respect and full attention, so Nancy bit her bottom lip and felt like a little kid under his scolding stare.

"You are beautiful, amazing, and a fucking badass with a great ass," she snorts and he smiles, "I know trying to be welcomed back in the real world is hard. It is, and it sucks that others don't understand us...they will never understand us. But you are perfect in your own way, and William loves you for that."

"He's right." Both Nancy and Robert jump at the voice of the aforementioned man, turning their heads to see him leaning against the dining room doorway. Robert pats her bicep and gives them a smile before leaving them alone, and William takes his seat across from Nancy. He reaches out and gently grabs her hand, caressing the back of her palm and Nancy looks away in a futile attempt to hide her flustered face. Only William Pierson can make her feel this way.

"What's going on, sweetheart?" He asks softly, and Nancy shrugs, pulling her hand away and immediately missing the warmth and comfort.

"I just...I have these thoughts in my head, that I'm not good enough for you. I never had this issue before, I was always so confident, but..." she trails off, avoiding eye contact.

"But?"

She winces, "But I feel like you deserve better. I don't cook, I don't clean all the time, I mean, our roles are reversed and you don't seem like the type of man who wants to stay home most of the time."

"I like staying home. I never had a home I felt comfortable in, I never had the things we have now and I just want to enjoy them, makeup for all the time I lost as some normal, civilian guy. I mean, I didn't think I would get so invested in writing, but here I am, writing books and being poetic. That's something I expected of Joseph or Robert, hell even Ron, but I'm here and happy and very much in love and grateful for you and only you. I don't think other women would fancy a stay at home husband." William immediately cringes at the last part, and Nancy chuckles.

"You ain't a stay at home husband. You work too. You're just the dream man any sensible girl is dying for. And I'm lucky to have you, forever." Nancy gives him a coy smile and he chuckles, getting up from his seat to lean over and kiss her.

"I love you, Nance." He whispers, bringing her into an embrace. She wraps her arms tight around him, afraid for a second that he'll disappear, because how did she deserve such an amazing man? "I don't know how I deserve you."

She laughs and kisses him briefly, "I don't know how I deserve you, baby."

"You deserve each other! Now shut up and get to work!" Robert's voice rings from the living room and they both laugh, pulling away but smiling up at each other like idiots in love. Nancy may have doubts, but her husband would always be quicker to shut them down.

[sequinsmile-x]

All's Fair - Chapter 1

Emily and Aaron have loved each other since they were children. War might be the thing that finally brings them together, but it could also be the thing that tears them apart forever.

A Hotchniss AU, set in 1917 and beyond.

-x-

This is something I've been working on for a little while, and is very much inspired by a recent re-watch of Downton Abbey.

This also is my 150th fic on Ao3. Which...is absurd and amazing and just about everything in between. Thank you all so much for all the endless support <3

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Full list of warnings and tags can be found on the Series Master List

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

April 1917 

Emily had always loved the spring. 

The sun was warm when it hit her face, and the days were longer. Leaving her more hours to spend wandering her mother’s estate. Just her and a book as she escaped the expectations she would never live up to. She’d walk as far as she could away from the house and find a spot to waste the day away, hoping that somehow, in some way, her life would turn into more than this. 

She sits in amongst the grass, one hand holding up her poetry book and the other running through the daises she had chosen to sit by. They were her favourite flower, something beautiful in their simplicity, of how they grew wherever they could.

“You know they’re weeds, right?” 

Emily rolls her eyes playfully as she closes her book and puts it down next to her, looking up at the man who had disturbed her peace, the only person she’d ever allow to do so. 

“You tell me every spring,” she replies, putting her hand over the top of her eyes to block out the sun so she can look up at him, a smirk on her face, “Shouldn’t you be working, Aaron?” 

He shakes his head at her, his hands on his hips as he looks down with a smile she liked to think was just for her. 

“I would be if my boss's daughter wasn’t right in the way of where I’m supposed to be working.” 

She looks behind him to see the lawn mower, and scrunches up her nose, “That sounds very boring,” she says, patting the grass next to her, “Come sit with me.”

“Em,” he sighs, “You know I’d love to but-”

“Please,” she says, smiling tightly at him, and turning serious, “I could do with a friend today.” 

They’d grown up together. He was only three years older than her, the son of her mother’s old caretaker. When they were kids, the difference between their lives, between what was expected of them both didn’t matter to anyone. The fact she was the only heir of the estate and he was the son of the live-in caretaker didn’t matter. It still didn’t matter to her and Aaron, and Emily knew he was one of her only friends. He was the only one she completely trusted to have her best interests at heart. Everyone else she knew through her mother, and there was always a seed of doubt about their intentions. 

After Aaron’s father died, he was the obvious option for the job - he’d watched him do it his whole life, much more hands-on with the work than his brother Sean ever had been. It was then, Emily just shy of her 20th birthday, that her mother suddenly deemed her friendship with Aaron inappropriate, and tried to stop them from spending any time together. 

It was one of the reasons she’d walk the grounds for hours, keeping him company whilst he worked, wanting nothing more than to spend time with him. 

She knew she loved him, and that he loved her back, but they could never acknowledge it. Trapped in the lives they’d been forced into by chance and happenstance. 

Aaron sits down next to her, never one to be able to say no to her, and picks up the book she’d discarded on the grass. He smiles as he reads the title from the front page.

“Mountain Interval by Robert Frost?” He asks, his eyebrow raised at her as she rolls her eyes, reaching for the book he purposely holds out of her reach, “You and your poetry.” 

“It’s one of the few things I can enjoy around here that Mother approves of,” Emily says, sighing as he opens the book in front of her, giving up on trying to get it back, “Plus, she can’t read French as well as I can, so I can buy all the racy ones and she won’t know.” 

Aaron chuckles at her, “Robert Frost though? A bit more…simple than what you usually go for.” 

She smiles as she flops back onto the grass, looking up at the sky. “That’s why I like it,” she explains, turning her head to look at him, “Just because it’s simple doesn’t make it any less beautiful.” 

He returns her smile before looking back at the book, reading the first page to himself as they fall into companionable silence before he reads the last few lines out loud.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, 

And I− I took the one less travelled by, 

And that has made all the difference”

Emily ignores the flutter in her belly as she so often did when he was around, the pull towards him that she felt all the time. So much between them went unspoken, and she knew it always would. That nothing could happen between them, that a fantasy life where she got to be happy with him would always be the road that they could never travel. 

“Well,” she says, swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat as she covers it with a smile, “If you get bored with being the caretaker of the estate, you could have a career in professional poetry reading.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he deadpans, finally closing her book and handing it back to her. 

“Actually,” she says, sitting back up, “I refuse to let you do that. What would I ever do if you weren’t here.” 

His smile falters for a second, guilt he knew he deserved to feel like a vice around his heart. He thinks of the letter he’s already written her, one he’ll leave for her to find after he’s gone. He knew she was the only person who would be able to talk him out of it, his love for her his Achilles heel, so he’d kept it from her. Asked her mother to do the same when he handed in his notice just a week ago. 

He brushes past it, “Why do you need a friend today?” He asks, and her initial response is a sad smile. 

“I’ll give you one guess,” she replies humourlessly, looking back down at the daises on the ground, playing with the soft petals of one between her fingers. 

“Your mother?” He asks, and she chuckles.

“Isn’t it always her,” she sighs sadly, shaking her head, her body still thrumming with anger over the news her mother had so casually delivered her over breakfast, “She…” she clears her throat, looking up at him as she continues to gauge his reaction, “She told me this morning that one of the Doyles, Ian, asked for my hand in marriage,” she swallows thickly, “And she accepted the offer.” 

Aaron feels like his world had come to a stop, his heart seizing in his chest at the mere thought of her married to someone else. 

“She…she did what?” He chokes out, his hand balling into a fist. He thinks of the letter he’s already written for Emily, of the look of relief on her mother’s face when he handed in his notice that suddenly made more sense. 

“I’ve only met the guy once,” she exclaims, pulling her legs up to her chest, her skirts pooling around her as she wraps her arms around her knees, “He spent the whole night staring at me.” 

“How can she do that to you?”

She laughs humourlessly, resting her temple on her knees to look at him, “For the same reason she’s always been able to do anything, Aaron. Because she can. Because I’m close to becoming a spinster-”

“You’re 25,” he replies, his frustration breaking free as he clenches his teeth. It makes her feel better in a twisted way, that he was so affected by the news. It felt nice to know someone else cared so much. 

“Well, as she’s said multiple times, she was already married and had me by my age,” Emily replies, “Apparently he’s going to do it officially in a couple of weeks, and it is expected that I say yes.” 

“This is insane Emily, it’s 1917. Surely you have a choice these days.” 

“Women like me rarely have a choice, Aaron,” she says, sadly closing her eyes to force back the tears she refused to shed, “I have a duty. I was born with one. And that is to marry someone and have children.” 

He sighs, shaking his head as he leans forward, and he places his hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly. 

“I’m sorry, Emily.” 

“I’m sorry too.” 

She thinks it might be the closest they will ever come to admitting in another life, they could have had more. 

___

She barely eats any of her dinner, excusing herself early to her room, her sadness a heavy weight in her stomach. She’s sat on her bed, a book open on her lap, simply staring at the wall. A knock on the door snaps her out of it, and she sighs.

“Come in,” She says, relieved when it opens to reveal JJ, an everpresent kind smile on her face as she steps into Emily’s room, “Oh JJ, I’m glad it's you.” 

“Your mother sent me up,” she says, sitting on the edge of Emily’s bed, “She’s worried,” she smiles as Emily rolls her eyes, “She is my boss,” she shrugs. 

“Technically Rossi is your boss,” Emily says, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she mentions the head butler, “And she’s his boss.” 

“Semantics,” JJ says waving it off, picking an invisible bit of lint off of her maid’s uniform, “Are you ok? It can’t have been an easy day.” She asks, and Emily knows she genuinely cares. She was her friend, another member of staff from the house who she knew she could trust.

“Not really,” she admits, closing her book and sighing, “This whole thing with the Doyles is just…it’s ridiculous. We all know the rumours about Ian, he’s a vicious-”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” JJ says, tilting her head as she furrows her brows, “What about the Doyles?” 

“Mother told me…” she drifts off, a sick feeling dropping in her stomach, “Wait, what are you talking about?” 

JJ hesitates for a second before starting, “You know it’s being reported we’re joining the war in Europe?” 

“Yes,” she says, her stomach twisting even further, “I read it in the paper, what's that got to do with anything?”

“Hotch has…well he’s signed up to join the army,” JJ says carefully. It takes a moment for her words to register, for their meaning to wash over Emily. 

She stands up, scrambling off of the bed, “He’s done what?” 

“It’s the talk of the house,” JJ says, standing up too, “He handed his notice in a week ago, Rossi has advertised for his role. I thought he would have told you.” 

Emily chokes out a bitter laugh, “No,” she says, shaking her head, “No, he didn’t tell me.” 

___

He knows it's her the second the door to his home opens, her furious footsteps down the path unmistakable. One of the many things about her he’d recognise anywhere. He turns to look at her, unsurprised to see the fury on her face, the way her arms are tight around herself. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” She asks, her eyes fixed on him, unyielding in her gaze. He sighs and goes back to folding the shirt in his hands dropping it in the bag in front of him. 

“I wrote you a letter,” he replies, picking it up off of the small end table near his couch and handing it to her. She snatches it from his hand, the envelope crumbling slightly as she folds her arms again, “It explains everything.”

She chuckles humourlessly, shaking her head at him, “You really weren’t going to tell me to my face? You were just going to leave?” 

“Em,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he’s forced into a conversation he’d tried to avoid for both of their sakes, “You would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“Of course, I would have,” she exclaims, stepping closer to him, shaking her head, “It’s war, Aaron. I read the papers I know what’s going on over there,” the next words catch in her chest, scratching at her insides as they make their way out, “You could die.” 

He places his hand on her elbow and she pulls away from him, the first time ever the always too brief physical affection between them felt too much to bear. 

“Emily, I know that, but I have to do it. It’s the right thing to do. It’s my duty, just like you were talking about earlier.” 

“Don’t talk to me about duty. And screw the right thing to do,” she shouts, not caring that she sounded selfish, like the spoiled brat everyone always mistook her for. “What about me? You’re really going to just leave me here? If you die…” she drifts off, aware she’s on the precipice of saying one of the many things they never talk about. 

Aaron reaches out for her again, his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shake it off this time, the tension visibly leaving her body as he touches her. 

“If I die…” he says, leading her into saying what he already knew. What he’d written in the letter she had crumbled in her hand. One of them had to say it, and she’d always been braver than him. 

“If you die, I’ll spend the rest of my life missing you,” she admits, a crack to her voice as she says it, her eyes shining with tears he knows she won’t shed, “I can’t lose you, Aaron, I…I love you. You know that. Surely you know that.” 

For a moment, the world stops. He can no longer hear the chirp of the birds outside his house or feel the warmth of the fire behind them. All he can see, hear or feel is her and this moment they’ve been avoiding for years. The air is thick with it, with the admittance she can’t take back. 

“Emily-” he starts, cupping her cheek as he wipes a tear away from her skin. He’d never been quite this close to her before, had never felt the soft skin of her face. She cuts him off, shaking her head at him slightly. 

“And I know I’m about to be engaged to someone else, and that there are so many reasons this can’t work, but…I do. I have done since we were kids.” 

“I know,” he says, leaning forward so his forehead is against hers, something so intimate about it she heaves in a deep breath, “I know you have, and I love you too.” 

“Then stay,” she says desperately, pulling back to look at him, “Stay here and we’ll figure it all out. We can be together.” 

“It isn’t that simple,” he replies, desperate in an entirely different way, “I’ve signed up now, if I rescind that I could go to prison for desertion,” he feels a pang in his chest as her chin trembles, the force of the emotions she’d been trained since she was young to hold back clearly taking their toll. “And what about your mother? About the Doyles?” 

“I don’t care about any of that,” she says, reaching up and cupping his cheek, “I don’t care. I don’t love him, this is just some business deal my mother has cooked up because she thinks me being married will make me more upstanding…” she drifts off, her desperate rant fading as it turns into an idea, “That’s it. That’s what we can do.” 

Aaron uses the hand on her cheek to make her look at him again, confusion colouring his expression as their eyes meet. 

“What are you talking about? What can we do?” 

She smiles at him, a familiar glint she always had in her eyes when she teased him for being dense. 

“We can get married.” 

-x-

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[aknightonthetown]

Just because I learned all of this when I read this book in Secondary School and want to do something during the downtime, I will be just going over the life of Robert Louis Stevenson. Will do this in various parts over the course of the story so that I don’t write one massive fuck off page. He was born in 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland, to a family of Lighthouse Engineers. His Father, Grandfather, and Uncles all being engaged in the engineering and design of Lighthouses. From a very young age it was clear Robert had inherited a weak chest like his Mother and Father, frequently having troubles with Coughs and Fevers. These issues would only be exacerbated by both damper climates and recurring bouts of Illness (while at the time it was viewed as Tuberculosis, some modern people think he may have had a different illness).

Because of his illness Robert had to take long periods away from schools (being taught by private tutors) and even when he did go to them he frequently had troubles due to being eccentric and strange looking. Despite being a late reader (learning how to read around 7 or 8) he would still dictate stories to his mother and nurse. While his father did hope for him to join the family trade he was still happy with his son having the hobby of writing stories, as he had done the same as a young boy before his father had forced him to stop (even paying for Robert’s first publication at the age of 16 “The Pentland Rising: A Page of History, 1666“). Stevenson eventually joined the University of Edinburgh, studying an Engineering degree. However from the very start he brought no enthusiasm to the education, putting much more of his energy into trying to avoid classes and making friends through The Speculative Society, a society dedicated to public speaking and writing. Despite this his father still took him every holiday on a large trip to see the families Engineering Works. Stevenson still enjoyed the trips, but less for the engineering and more for the potential inspiration for his writing. By the time Robert finally told his father he planned to make his living through writing in 1871 (when Robert was 21) his father was described by his mother as “wonderfully resigned“ to this fact. His parents convinced him to read law at Edinburgh University and be called to the Scottish Bar for some Job Security in case his writing went poorly. In his 1887 poetry collection “Underwoods”, Stevenson reflects on his choice of profession: “Say not of me that weakly I declined The labours of my sires, and fled the sea, The towers we founded and the lamps we lit, To play at home with paper like a child. But rather say: In the afternoon of time A strenuous family dusted from its hands The sand of granite, and beholding far Along the sounding coast its pyramids And tall memorials catch the dying sun, Smiled well content, and to this childish task Around the fire addressed its evening hours.“

[chiefhalliday]

❝ the new york city police department strives to foster a safe and fair city … and solve the problems that create crime and disorder through an interdependent relationship between the people and its police … ❞

[ sky - 23 - she/her - gmt - no triggers ]

tw: death, cancer, injury ↴

✧･ﾟ— B A S I C S

— NAME: Rowan Jameson Halliday

— NICKNAME/S: Ro (by those closest to him)

— D.O.B.: 6th January 1950 (age 74)

— GENDER, PRONOUNS, SEXUALITY: Cis male, he/him, demisexual

— HOMETOWN: New York City, NY, USA

— CURRENT RESIDENCE: Brooklyn

— AFFILIATION: Law Enforcement

— JOB POSITION: Chief of the New York Police Department

— EDUCATION: High School ; NYPD Academy

✧･ﾟ— P E R S O N A L I T Y

— MBTI: ENFJ – the protagonist

— POSITIVE TRAITS: Considerate, charming, selfless, patient, observant, loyal

— NEGATIVE TRAITS: Meticulous, stubborn, reserved, modest

— LIKES: reading, hot drinks, homemade food, history, baseball, old films, flowers, classic cars

— DISLIKES: tardiness, prejudice, injustice, insects, bitter food, hot weather, pranks, heavy metal music

✧･ﾟ— R E L A T I O N S H I P S

— MOTHER: Lenora Florence Halliday (née Jameson)

— FATHER: Winston Robert Halliday (deceased)

— SISTER: (SEE WANTED CONNECTION)

— ‘THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY’: Loren ‘Evie’ Yvaine Hawkins

✧･ﾟ— A P P E A R A N C E

— FACECLAIM: Tom Selleck

— EYE COLOUR: Blue-green

— HAIR COLOUR: Black with flecks of grey

— BUILD: Tall

— HEIGHT: 6’ 4”

— SCARS/BIRTHMARKS: A small scar from a stab wound on his right thigh

— BODY MODIFICATIONS: N/A

— CLOTHING:

✧･ﾟ— F A V O U R I T E S

— FOOD: Cream cheese bagels

— DRINK: Root beer and whisky sours

— BOOK: The Call of the Wild by Jack London

— FILM: Bullitt (1968)

— TV SHOW: The MLB and any kind of nature documentary

— SEASON: Winter

— COLOUR: Blue

✧･ﾟ— B I O G R A P H Y

— Rowan was born at 2:36am on 6th January 1958 in New York City, NY, to Winston and Lenora Halliday. He also has a sister four years his junior.

— From a young age, Rowan had a great admiration for both of his parents. Being a police officer himself, Winston taught his son the values of trust, comradeship, respect, and a sense of purpose. They would play baseball together for hours on the weekends, go to the cinema, and even go on fishing trips out of state. Lenora taught her son patience, kindness, dedication, and optimism. Before retirement, she was an actress (mainly working in theatre and television) and then later a tutor at the prestigious Juilliard School, but she would always let Rowan offer his own creative insight in her work.

— Rowan was bullied at school until his father taught him to fight back. He’d do his best of ignore the boys that picked on him, but when they started to push him and hit him then Rowan knew he had to do something about it. So when the boys got a taste of their own medicine and were finally put in their place, Rowan got into trouble with the principal, but wasn’t punished by his parents- in fact, they were proud of him- and the boys never bothered him again.

— Rowan always worked hard at school. He got top grades in his English and gym classes and average grades in the rest, but he already had his heart set on following in his father’s footsteps to become a police officer. After graduating high school, he enrolled in the academy where he greatly excelled and gained a name for himself as a sharpshooter in target practice. However the process wasn’t as straightforward as Rowan thought. Whilst he was outstanding at his job, he had a tendency to doubt himself and thought that he could never live up to his father’s expectations and reputation. His mother was always trying to reassure him that he didn’t have to be a replica of his father and that he should just be himself: the considerate, brave, loyal, and benevolent man that he grew to be.

— Upon graduating from the police academy, Rowan was assigned to the 13th precinct in Manhattan South, staying for 6 years, before being transferred several times as his career progressed. He passed the sergeant’s exam first time around and a year later, when Rowan was 27, his father was shot in the line of duty during a drive-by and spent a week in the hospital. The injury effected his mobility and was forced to take early retirement. Rowan hated seeing his father so depressed and once Winston was able to travel the two went upstate to fish together for a weekend.

— Rowan had just received his promotion to Captain when his father got sick and not long later died of pancreatic cancer. It was a time when Rowan was considering changing careers, but after finding a letter written to him by Winston before he died, Rowan was spurred on to continue in the NYPD and he always keeps that letter close to him as a reminder.

— Fortunately, Rowan himself was never shot, but came close on a number of occasions. The worst injuries he suffered were a broken arm and a stab wound to the thigh- both of which left him doing administrative duties for several weeks. During this time though he gained an appreciation and respect for members of the NYPD who weren’t officers or detectives, understanding the importance of the so-called minor roles that were actually just as important. If he ever saw an officer or detective treating a sketch artist or a secretary badly he would waste no time in standing up for them.

— Despite being qualified for the job, and with several commendations to prove it, Rowan never wanted to be the police chief. When he was the top choice for the job, he initially turned it down, citing that he was too old and due for retirement, not a promotion. But his modesty was dismissed and after a little more persuasion (particularly from his mother and sister) he took the job. He knew that being Aaron Keaton’s successor would come with its trials and tribulations, but Rowan is prepared to give it everything and to make a difference to people’s lives.

✧･ﾟ— W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S

— FAMILY FIRST: Family has always been important to Rowan, especially after the death of his father. This wanted connection would, most importantly, be for his sister (any FC who could pass would do!), but maybe also for his niece/nephew. You would have free reign with their career, personal life, etc., but would have a tight knit relationship with Rowan. Bonus points if the niece/nephew followed Uncle Rowan into law enforcement!

— THE RIGHT HAND: This connection, of course, would be for the deputy chief of police and Rowan’s most trusted confidant. Their opinions and views matter most to Rowan and not only would they be close friends, but they would work side by side in ensuring the people of New York City are safe and that crime rates come down.

— REMEMBER WHEN: I would absolutely love for Rowan to have a former partner or good friend who he worked with back on the beat. They could meet up often, reminisce about the good old days, and attend each other’s family gatherings amongst other things.

— BROKEN TRUST: On the other hand, your muse could be a former partner who turned bad (or perhaps they were corrupt all along) and a once great duo formed on trust and friendship was ruined by the poison of crime and corruption. Part of Rowan hopes he never sees his old friend again so he doesn’t have to punish them, but that would be an occupational hazard of being the police chief.

[preyofolympus]

Worried About Bernard (You know that I won't let you fall) by etpereatmundus on Ao3

TWs at the end!

Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? Or alternatively, am I hallucinating?

It had been a week since operation 'Get the Fuck Out of the Dowd House' began, and three days since Bernard Dowd had got an apartment, over which he’d been gradually moving his stuff all the way across the city at night. His third trip in one night had resulted in an attempted mugging, which he laughed off, ignoring the six foot something assailant, who seemed so shocked anyone would dismiss him that he just watched the blonde go. Bit by bit, his new home was coming together. His bed, for now, was just whatever blankets and pillows he could pile up, but soon he’d pay Gotham skip a visit. Maybe even see if there were any mattresses with a small enough amount of mould to be considered not yet lethal.

Luckily his parents never went into his room (unless Robert wanted to storm in and tell him off for whatever stupid reason). Hopefully, with some careful acting, Bernard had managed to be the perfect son. He’d give the man of the house no reason to find any fault with him, even if he had to bite his tongue and smile whilst doing everything- whilst ignoring the Things lying about the house.

With night three came the final night of the escape plan, when his parents were out at some fundraiser they would use as a tax write off, so he didn’t even have to wait for them to sleep to get started. Thanks to the grand old Dowd family name, and the grand old relatives they had, ‘old’ being the important part and ‘had’ being past tense, Bernard had been the recipient of six separate wills in his lifetime. His aunt even sent money every so often, as a ‘sorry I went nuts and got arrested’ gift to her only nephew. So thank god for dead relatives and rich gay aunts, really. With the help of both, he’d have enough cash for about five months rent before he even needed to think of getting a job. He still would, of course, just to keep himself stable as long as he could, but as long as he got the hell out before his parents noticed his emptying room, he’d be sorted.

<<<<

>>>>

No hitches. Perfect. In fact, his plan worked so well he half suspected his father knew what was going on, and just wanted him out of the house.

<<<<

>>>>

Three days into living alone, Bernard was starting to realise one thing; he really didn’t sleep as much as he should have at home. Even when he was on guard in his new environment, Bernard didn’t feel half as anxious as back in the Dowd house. His security was lacklustre, but after a trip to hobby craft, and purchasing a few bells and strings, he’d rigged his own little alarm system around every window and door he could, even his bedroom door, which he strung up before going to sleep on his throne of pillows and blankets each night. The makeshift security gave him at least a baseline level of comfort, not to mention the many knives hidden around the house, just in case. Even in the belly of crime alley, sleep came much easier than at home with his prick of a dad.

Maybe it was because crime in Crime Alley made more sense than the random outbursts that rocked the Dowd household. Burglars were just looking to put food on the table, gangs were just looking to gain power, vandals were just putting their mark on their territory. Most of them weren’t hurting others without some kind of personal gain, they needed the money, needed to kill others to keep themselves and their loved ones safe, needed the drugs and alcohol to forget whatever they wanted to forget. Logically, it added up at least.

Obviously, not all of it was the kind of crime he could understand. The gangs he avoided, and the vandals he tried his best to ignore, keeping his head high, his hands in his pockets, happy to be perceived as either a threat or a nobody, as long as they left him alone.

<<<<

>>>>

Finally, after almost a week of not going to Wayne Manor overnight, Tim called to have ‘a talk.’

He’d dropped by the evening Bernard saw the Things, ‘just to check in’, much to Robert’s ire. Unsurprisingly, he’d been turned away at the door, and had been turned away three more days in a row with the excuse that “Bernard is unwell, and unable to talk to his friends at the moment.”

In all honesty, Robert Dowd’s thinly veiled disdain towards Tim had, for once, worked in Bernard’s favour. He’d been able to move out relatively easily, making sure to watch out for any Red Robin shaped figures in the skyline. He’d actually caught a glimpse of a longer haired figure one night, likely the elusive and preferably avoided Batwoman, which he allowed himself to geek out over before hauling his bags down the road.

It wasn’t that he felt he couldn’t tell Tim, it’s just… well…

Maybe he couldn’t tell him. Maybe he shouldn’t. Not like crazy people ever turn out well in Gotham. He couldn’t risk losing Tim because his own mind had begun to fall apart. Even if he wasn’t going crazy, that meant superpowers, which meant Batman would kick him out of Gotham. Bruce Wayne seemed nice enough, but Bernard had heard some unappealing stories about how Batman felt about metas. Stories he didn’t want any part in.

“Hey Bear, haven’t seen you in a few days. I was just wondering…” Tim began.

Well that was short lasting, but could he really expect anything different from the world’s greatest detective? So I was wondering, why did you move out Bernard? Are you leaving me too bernard? Are you going crazy Bernard?

“…do you want to go on a double date with Steph and Cass tomorrow? They’re missing you, and the rest of the family is too if you want to stop by after, even if half of them won’t admit it. Damian was searching up how to become an animal rescuer on my laptop when he thought I wasn’t looking the other day.”

Oh.

Bernard smiled. “I’d love that. When on the clock and where on the map?”

It was a weird little phrase they’d started to exchange, and Bernard couldn’t remember where it started, but he liked the kookiness of it.

“Tibet’s Diner on Morrison street? Just on the edge of mid and downtown. About six in the evening?”

“I’ll see you then.”

<<<<

>>>>

After seven days of holding his breath, Bernard thought it would be impossible for anything to take it away, but seeing Tim smile at him after so long apart showed him what being breathless truly felt like.

The window to the diner was all that separated them, and Tim had yet to look up and see Bernard, so he allowed himself just a moment to take in the scene.

Tim sat opposite Steph, clearly bickering with her whilst studying the menu intently, most likely debating over which food was the best. His nose scrunched as if he were trying to think his way around a good argument. He did the same thing when they were cornered, down in the catacombs when they were up against the chaos cult, an unconscious tic as he readied himself for a fight. This, of course, had only solidified with Bernard that Tim was Red Robin.

Opposite him, Cass was mostly out of view, but one of her hands snaked around Stephs shoulders as she gesticulated wildly. An accusatory yellow painted finger flung out towards Tim, and his palms slapped together around it. Not a moment later, and he jumped back as the pair attacked him, slaps reining across from all angles. He laughed, his head tossed back as his arms went up in defence, and when he opened his eyes, they locked onto Bernard. He grinned.

Bernard inhaled, taking in the air that was pushing the limits between cosy and uncomfortably warm. The smell of fried goods and old leather chairs mixed, making his head feel fuzzy as he took his seat, sweeping Tim into a side hug.

God, he missed him.

Of course, he’d missed Cass and Steph too, but there just wasn’t anything like missing Tim. He was habitually quiet when relaxed, preferring just to be in the same room chilling than going out all the time, which suited Bernard perfectly. After their first few dates, they’d pretty much only stuck to hanging out at the manor or skate parks, getting way too much takeout to be anywhere near healthy, and sitting in silence for a good half of the time.

But even then, there was just a there-ness to Tim’s presence. He was made to be around, and not being around him the last week hadn’t helped Bernard’s growing anxieties about his new living situation, his parents finding him or the Things he’d begun to see. After the Things and his mom being see-through, he hadn’t really seen anything else, but sometimes he’d see shadows moving at night, and know someone was walking around the corner before they did. He wondered what it could mean, but wasn’t too sure if he wanted to find out.

Either Bernard was crazy, or he was something more, and neither of those fared well in Gotham.

“Bear, are you good?” Tim leant into Bernard’s hug, his head resting on his.

Silky dark hair tickled Bernard’s forehead, and he sighed.

“All good, now you’re here.”

Steph laughed. “I had to confiscate Tim’s phone when he texted you for the fifth time in a day, and Cass had to sit on him to stop him from trying to break into your place when your dickhead dad didn’t let him in.”

Shit. Tim would sometimes check in on Bernard after his patrols, even if he thought Bernard didn’t know. Sometimes, the roof opposite his parent’s place would have a dark figure dart away just as he looked up, and he knew who it was, even though he wasn’t really meant to. Some would describe the check-ins as Edward Cullen type of behaviour, but really Bernard knew he was just checking in to ease his own anxieties. Bernard did the same, in his own way, checking for any social media updates on the Bats to catch a glimpse of Red Robin.

Bernard sighed, trying his best to talk rather than strategize. “Yeah, he’s just being his usual self, which sucks. Either way, even if he doesn’t let the people in I want in, it does feel kind of like having a guard dog. Safe, in an odd sense.”

Lies lies lies.

“If it helps, on nights I don’t come round to yours, I’ll call in, deal?”

“Deal,” Tim agreed, but not with enough enthusiasm to leave Bernard satisfied that he wouldn’t snoop around.

Time to really drive it home.

“I guess his new motion sensor system is why I’m feeling way safer, y’know? I can’t even see it, but he showed me how it sounds when it’s tripped, and there’s no way in hell anyone could get in without us knowing,” Bernard shrugged.

“Motion sensor system...?” Steph leant in. “To keep others out or you in?”

Too far too far too far.

“It’s not exactly Fort Knox,” Bernard laughed. “But it’s secure enough for me to feel safe, or at least pretend I am and believe it.”

A bell chimed, the door opening behind Tim and Bernard. A group shuffled in, settling in at the end of the bar farthest away.

Snarls rose up as the door drifted shut.

Bernard whipped around, hand flying to Tim’s arm. What the fuck kind of villain walks into a diner that barely makes fifty dollars an hour? Besides, snarling never really meant anything good. Though it didn’t sound like Croc, and something in the back of Bernard’s head suggested he count his blessings. He didn’t listen.

A group of seven men sat at the counter, roughhousing each other as the teen behind the counter eyed them warily. At first, Bernard wondered if it was the men themselves making the snarling noises, but motion closer to their booth caught his eye, and he started as a Thing brushed past. Shit.

The Thing wasn’t the same as the Things back at his home. It was red, lazily bubbling like lava slowly oozing out of a volcano, heat burning Bernard’s cheeks- ten eyes flared back at him, seemingly daring him to look away first. To show weakness. Its form was unmistakably some wolf, and soon more joined, turning the room into a furnace.

“Bear, is there something wrong?” Tim nudged him, concerned.

“No,” Bernard said, dragging his gaze from the slowly amassing Things.

He wondered if he should bring up the group- alert the others to their less than friendly presence. The Things that had begun pacing the diner seemed irate at best, dripping fangs snapping at anything that moved. Despite how clear it was to him that something was seriously wrong, as far as the others were concerned they weren’t even worth a se

In less than a minute, the one had become five, as the group behind them became louder.

Bernard felt eyes scanning him, and looked up to see Cass scanning him up and down, and for a second Bernard wondered if her Batgirl costume covered her face to stop the Gotham criminals from pissing themselves. The glare sure enough made him feel trapped in the booth, even though ketchup dripped into her lap as she gave him a once over. He wondered if she could read minds. Wondered if Batman was too scared to enforce the no Metas rule on her.

Steph nudged her, rolling her eyes. “I thought we agreed not to do the scaring the boyfriend routine now he’s a month into the relationship.”

“I’m not trying to scare him,” Cass protested, as Steph planted a kiss on her temple, poking her side.

“Yet somehow it’s so effortless for you, love.”

“Either way, I don’t think you’re the only one giving us looks,” Tim muttered, rolling his eyes in the direction of the group behind them.

Sometime after Steph kissed Cass, they’d gone quiet. Shit. At least Bernard didn’t have to bring them up and risk outing his powers.

The Things now filled the shop, some standing on the bar and tables, all glaring at their table. Since he left his parents’ house, Bernard had begun to see more and more Things. Some seemed to show the shittiest side of people, and some seemed to show the best. He’d even seen one on the news, attached to a reporter for the Daily Planet, that looked like a giant bird stood sentry, glaring at the camera. They all seemed to say something about the people, about their intentions.

The Wolf Things? Well, it wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination. Pack mentality.

“I think we might actually want to get going,” Steph whispered, her hand flying to Cass’s under the table. “I’m getting some real shitty vibes right now, and I don’t think this burger is worth sticking around for whatever they have in mind.”

“I second that,” Tim muttered, tensing at Bernard’s side. “I know the men’s bathroom has a big window, what about the ladies?”

“No, only a small one that doesn’t open, but we could run out the fire escape next to it, though they’d see and know where we’re going.” Cass glared down at the ketchup spill in her lap. “Not to mention they’ll probably get more confident if they think we’re avoiding them. If they think we’re scared.”

Steph scrunched her nose. “You could go out of the men’s toilets, we don’t need you walking past with us, and we can meet up out back.”

Tim shook his head. “No chance. If we leave through the front we leave together.”

“I agree,” Bernard remarked under his breath, “but where do we actually go? We aren’t exactly close to yours, we can’t go to my parents, and it’s not like we have a car or anything to get away in. Unless you have relatives nearby,seeing as. I’m pretty sure my aunt is still locked up somewhere.”

The group mulled over their options in silence, eyes all darting towards the group at the end of the counter.

The Things had begun to circle, snarls and barks making Bernard’s head spin.

“Shit, what if we leg it to Crime Alley? We aren’t really kids anymore, but I’m sure Red Hood might help us if he sees us being chased.”

The group stared at Tim, various levels of agreement in their expressions.

Bernard probably agreed the least, all too aware his new apartment was just outside of Crime Alley. Fuck fuck fuck. As if this evening wasn’t going to shit enough, now they wanted to go directly to the place he was trying to keep secret. If they found out he left home, they’d find out why, and they’d find out about the Things he’s seeing.

Bernard swallowed. “You sure they’re definitely gonna chase us? Maybe they’ll just shout some shit at us and stay here.”

“None of them are ordering,” Steph observed.

“Not to mention they’re all looking back and forth between us and the exit,” Tim joined in.

“And they’re dressed to run,” Cass finished. “Which means we need to give them a reason to run as late as we can. It’s a matter of when, but if we act right, we can at least give ourselves enough time before we have to run. Not sure about you, but I don’t think I’m really up for running all the way to Crime Alley.”

Fuck shit fuck. Bernard sighed, trying to think of a way to get away from the assholes giving them the eye and not risk giving away where he lives.

“How do you know Hood is even on patrol now? We might just get to Crime Alley and get mugged for our efforts.”

Not the strongest argument against secret vigilantes, but he hoped they would concede in case their identities were compromised for knowing Red Hood’s patrol route.

Steph shook her head. “I used to live in the Bowery where he patrols, and I was on that secret Discord server Hood had for all the Alley kids. I left when I turned eighteen, but he hasn’t changed his schedule since he started. He’ll be on patrol by now. He has these distress points kids can run to, marked by secret signals of his. I’m sure we could find one without much effort.”

Tim nodded his agreement. “I had to use one when I got kidnapped once, though I don’t know if it’s still there. If we do go and he doesn’t use it anymore we’d be fucked, cause it’s in an abandoned take away place, it’s a real dead end once you go in.”

“I think there’s one in the old plaza that got shut down last summer,” Steph suggested. “it’s not as old as the one you’re on about, so it’s probably still in use-“

Hot breath rolled down Bernard’s neck, and he jumped and a Thing howled in his ear, hand once again flying to grab Tim’s shoulder. He looked to the group, who had definitely caught on to the sudden movement, and had begun to stand.

“Bernard, what the- are you ok?” Tim jumped, almost in sync with Bernard, head snapping to his boyfriend.

“I’m- there’s- I- I think a fly or something landed on me. They saw me jump though, if we’re going we need to make our move now.”

Tim nodded, turning to the others. “I say we all go out through the front, don’t look at them, don’t engage, nothing. Keep your heads up, don’t let them think you’re scared. Got it?”

The group all silently agreed, eyes hard and set on the door as they rose to their feet. Bernard trailed after Tim, with Steph and Cass taking the rear. Even though he knew the secret double lives the Wayne kids lead, there was something about the way they silently communicated that eluded him- somehow they seemed to have a dozen conversations at once, undetected beneath the very few he had the privilege of picking up. Somehow on the way up they'd all decided to flank him, protect him, and he didn’t even realise until he saw the Things giving them the slightest bit of distance as they made their way to the door.

Even if the Things attached to the group gave them space, it only barely seemed to translate in the men as they eyed the passers by. Anyone could see the silent conversations they had, each one vaguely hesitant to make the first move, say the first word.

If anything, it gave Bernard comfort- their silence communicated a fear despite their intentions, whereas the Wayne kids all knew their shit, moved like liquid and struck like lightning- they were ready, and they were sure of exactly what they were doing.

The Things jostled Bernard as he went past, and he tried to brush off the lava goo that fell on him without the others noticing. The others never saw the Things. It was why he still thought he might be mad, when none of them seemed to notice Things attached to them, brushing past them, their goo spilling all over their clothes. They did notice other things that he did- the waiter keeping his distance at the other end of the counter, the way the group of men tensed as they got closer, the twitch of their fingers towards their pockets.

Bernard kept his eyes fixed on the door.

Kept his chin up.

Kept his expression neutral, even bored.

Kept his hands in his pockets, just like he was walking the streets the other night.

He could be seen as either a threat or not, as long as it kept him safe. As long as it kept the others safe. Threat or not, none of it mattered as long as they kept safe. As long as they stayed together.

Threat or not.

Tim reached the door. The bell jingled. One of the men stood forward.

“Hey, blondie, that your girlfriend you were kissing?”

In front of Bernard, Tim tensed, hand pausing for just a fraction on the handle before he carried on. Knowing Steph, she was probably biting her tongue bloody just to keep her mouth shut.

Tim was out of the door, with Bernard following close behind when the guy who spoke tried again, voice raised.

“I said, is that your girlfriend you’re kissing, blondie?”

“Move,” Cass muttered, teeth gritted.

Tim reached back, hand clasping Bernard’s.

Behind them, Steph yelled out, voice sharp as a harsh crack rang out, and the guy who spoke sprang back with a cry.

“FUCKING RUN,” she bellowed, pushing both Cass and Bernard out of the window, and they did just as she said.

Four pairs of feet slapped against the wet concrete, yells that Bernard couldn’t make out in his panic rising up all around them. Some came from their own group, some from the guys behind them, who had quickly taken up chase behind them.

Each alley blended into the next, indistinguishable with the same run down cars, boarded up corner shops and dead flower pots against the backdrop of the Gotham City smog.

The Things took up chase too, each attached to one of the guys sprinting to catch up with them. Some snapped at their heels, clawed at them despite the fact only Bernard could see them. Tim squeezed his hand, dragging him along, even though he was the one of them that took track back in high school- clearly patrol left Tim a lot of time to practise his sprinting skills.

Bernard only hoped his long distance was just as good.

“They’re catching up!”

A blonde streak blurred past him, and Bernard almost laughed as Steph sprinted past them, Cass tight to her side. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, spurring him on, exhilaration giving him wings as he flew along the dank alleyways leading them towards Crime Alley. A small, guilty thought wriggled into his mind, half wishing they’d be caught by the group before they got there. They couldn’t know… they just couldn’t… could they?

No, of course not. He knew his reasons, and he wasn’t wrong. Just keep running towards Crime Alley. Don’t think. Just run.

A Thing snapped at his jacket as it flapped behind him, and he screamed as it dragged him down.

The concrete met his face with enough force to turn his vision white.

The first thing that came back into focus was Tim yelling, his hand cupping Bernard’s cheek. Then a Thing snapped in his face, and he punched it. A howl of pain drowned out Tim’s panicking, and Bernard was dragged to his feet again, running before he even knew he was moving.

Behind them, the group yelled a rainbow of abuse Bernard was too shocked to try and make out. In front, Cass and Steph ploughed ahead, unaware they were a full block ahead of Tim and Bernard, hair whipping wildly in sync.

“…there, we’re almost there, we’re almost- almost there! Don’t slow down Bear, please. We’ve got this!” Determination added a grit to Tim’s voice Bernard had only heard from under a domino mask.

“Tim,” he gasped, stitch burning both sides of his ribs. “I can’t…”

“No- no, Just- fuck it, just run- don’t say you can’t do SHIT!”

And despite it all-

Bernard laughed.

<<<<

>>>>

Crime Alley came into sight five minutes later, with the four running in at just above a jog. Blood trickled down Bernard’s head from when he fell, and Steph clutched a rubbish can lid shed used to deflect a thrown bottle. The group of guys had fallen out of sight three blocks ago, but the Things never did, still snapping at them as they went, their hot fury never dissipating despite their declining speed.

“Here! Holy fuck we’re here. Come on.”

Tim dragged Bernard into what at first looked like any old back alley, before it opened up into a small square before them. Old, half-dead trees strangled with trash waved their branches at them in the wind; cracked cobblestones jabbed into Bernard’s thing sneakers, and he went up onto his tiptoes to avoid cramp, despite the ache in his muscles from their sprint; trash cans full of ash stood still across the square like pieces on a chessboard, and right in the middle, Red Hood’s sign.

A red ribbon, tied to an old bench, flapped lazily in the low breeze. Tears of relief sprung to Bernard’s eyes.

Steph knelt down, hands flying over the bench, clearly searching for something- some way to actually signal where they were to Hood, Bernard concluded.

“Aha!” she jumped up, a grin stretching across her face. “Of course that drama queen installed a fucking flare gun, god I love him.”

She raised the gun high, covering her eyes, and Tim swore.

“Shit, Steph wait-”

BANG.

Orange light flooded the square flying up and out into the open air. Smog caught the light, turning from white to a dangerous scarlet.

Tim shot Steph a look. “Steph, I mean this with all the love in my heart, why the fuck would you do that? They now know we’re here.”

And true enough, yells not even a block away rose up with the flare, quickly growing louder as they approached. Things snarled, lava flying in every direction as they began to work themselves into a renewed frenzy.

Steph raised her finger. Then lowered it. “You may have a point there.”

Cass sighed, poking Steph. “When we get out of this, I’m telling the group chat. Time to hide and cross our fingers.”

“Damian will never let me live this one down,” Steph groaned, as she turned and sprinted towards a nearby shop, slipping through some open boards and disappearing.

Cass disappeared before Bernard had even looked back from the hole Steph had crawled into, and Tim was already making his way towards a low wall. He turned back to Bernard, nodding at him to follow.

“Here, we can hide on the second floor, just need to scale this wall.” He pulled himself up, sliding onto a window ledge and reaching down for Bernard. Tim took Bernard’s hand, placing it on a hold Bernard didn’t even realise was there. “I don’t mean to hurry you, but I'm hearing their footsteps, B. Just one more-”

Then, everything went to shit. Or even worse shit. Double shit.

A Thing ragged on Bernard’s trouser leg, and he kicked back at it on reflex. His grip slipped, and he fell back, landing on the Thing he’d knocked away. A scream rose as he fell, but a man’s scream, one he didn’t recognise, loud enough to almost drown out Tim’s hissed curse.

“Don’t,” he hissed at Tim, who was angling himself to jump down after him. Bernard scrambled to roll over, ducking behind a wall as the sound of yells and heavy footfalls rounded the corner into the square. He let out a silent prayer that the red of the flare would make him blend into his surroundings rather than give away his less than stellar hiding spot. Because praying always worked so well for him.

“Where the fuck did they go?” barked one of the group.

“They can’t have got far, just split up.”

Bernard cursed silently, looking around as best as he could for a hiding spot without drawing attention to himself. A crumbled down wall wasn’t exactly concealed, but neither was running across the open square for a hiding space. Luckily, the lack of shouts signalled that Tim had stayed hidden instead of jumping out and playing hero, meaning Bernard could focus on himself over worrying about his boyfriend pulling some stupid vigilante shit off shift. For once.

The closest hope he had was the door to a shop about three metres away, which had the bottom glass plane smashed in. He grimaced at the jagged glass still stuck in the frame. It was his best chance, even if it was a shit one, much better than waiting in the open and hoping some vigilante would show up before his terrible hiding place was discovered. The flare had finally gone out, so Bernard’s chances of blending into the background with his bright fuschia shirt and light blue skinny jeans had drastically reduced, because why not add some fun difficulty to it all? He sighed, and began to shuffle into a position to run to the door.

“Yo, they were definitely here, look at this flare gun. Fucking sick.”

“Stop fucking around and look for the rich assholes, Johnny. That blonde bitch will pay for slapping me with her pretty necklace, I’m sure it’ll catch a good price.”

A laugh rose up, sounding like it was only on the other side of the low wall. Bernard froze.

“Fine, but I go dibs on that lanky one’s watch. I bet it was made of real silver.”

Bernard’s breath hitched as footsteps grew closer, and Things began to crowd him from all angles. He bit back a yelp as he leant on a rock, the stone digging into his forearm. Oh. Maybe his prayers worked.

He picked up the rock, pulling his arm as far back as he could with a wall to his back, praying it would work.2a

The rock flew across the square, low to the ground, and smacked into a broken window. The glass, already smashed, dislodged and fell to the floor, even attracting the attention of the Things nearby.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Obviously one of them, dumbass.”

The footsteps on the other side of the wall came closer, heading in the direction of the sound. Bernard held his breath, eyes squeezed closed as they passed the wall, maybe five metres from his hiding place.

“HEY, ASSHOLES, I’M PROPOSING A TRUCE! Come out now, and we’ll be nice about taking your shit. Poor Cory here has the most dogshit migraine, so we’d be eternally grateful if you could do us this one solid. You really do owe us it, if you think about it. I mean, slapping me, with rings on no less, and really giving us a literal run for our money, especially after flaunting it in our area.”

Silence.

“Fine, at least it’s more fun this way.”

The Things snarled as the group began their search, one snapping its jaws so close to Bernard he flinched back into the wall.

And dislodged a stone.

He groaned as the group slowly turned to look at him, grins slowly spreading on their faces.

“Does that truce still apply?” He winced, still frozen in place.

A Thing snapped at him again, and he smacked it away with a deft backhand.

The guy closest to him, a blonde guy with a permanent scowl, gasped, falling to his knees as he grasped his head.

“What the-“

A rock flew out from above Bernard, landing square in Johnny’s forehead, and a crack sounded as he fell to the cobblestone ground. Bernard winces in sympathy. Above, he swore he heard Tim mutter an apology.

“That’s it-“ a larger guy cracked his knuckles, storming towards Bernard.

A laugh, and he was on the ground, before a dark figure landed in front of Bernard, obscuring his view.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling before he grasped his arm, steadying himself.

“Tim, just be careful. We were running from them for a reason.”

A gruff laugh that certainly wasn’t Tim’s met his ears. “You call for my help and then tell me to be careful? And who is this Tim twerp? I know I have a much better name than that.”

Bernard jumped back, stepping aside so the low evening light could highlight the red and brown outfit of the Red Hood.

He squeaked a little, not that he’d ever admit.

The Red Hood, face covered by the emotionless helmet, studied Bernard for a moment, head tilted. The Things slinked back, their heat dying as they retreated to the sides of the guys they were attached to, who all shrank back from the Hood in unison. One even whimpered.

Red Hood paused. “Did you just… whimper? Fuck that’s embarrassing. Ok, I’m gonna gloss over that, and get to beating your asses. Got it?”

The guys exchanged looks, then ran.

“Well, that was quick,” Red Hood observed, voice peppy. He clapped his hands. “Alright, that’s me done, now I have a drug bust to sort out. Ciao.“

Tim dropped down. “What an ass.”

<<<<

>>>>

Half an hour and three bus rides later, the group of four finally made their way back to Wayne Manor, each leaning on the other in their exhaustion. Tim slumped over Bernard, who leant on Cass’ shoulder, who was getting a much needed piggyback from Steph. Something she was oddly happy to do.

Alfred met them with a towel still in one hand, and Damian scowled behind him.

“We saw you walking down the drive, are you quite alright?”

Damian huffed. “Who cares? Drake! You said you would show me your photo collection so I could have drawing references when you get back.”

All Tim could do was groan in response.

With a laugh, strained as it was from the persistent stitch in his side, Bernard nudged Tim forward.

“No disagreeing with Master Damian,” he grinned, squeezing Tim’s hand as they made their way inside.

“We literally got chased for no good reason and now I have to put up with the Gremlin, what karmic bullshit is this?” Tim sighed, kicking off his shoes. “You’d think I was a villain or something.”

“TIM!” The room shouted in unison, all heads shooting towards him.

He raised his hands in defence, rolling his eyes. “Sorry, sorry.” He leant into Bernard’s ear. “I’d be a supervillain, Megamind taught me well.”

Bernard laughed, smacking his arm. “You don’t have the fashion sense to be Megamind, Mr. ‘I wear the same hoodie I stole from Dick every day of my life’. Maybe Minion.”

“Minion? Bernard, are you trying to get me to break up with you? Oh my god that was a low blow. You know-”

“Oi, gayboys, close the door, you’re letting all the cold air out.”

At the top of the stairs, Cousin Miguel-Jason Todd looked down on them, face scrunched in a gruff scowl. His hair was wet, and he rubbed it with a fancy grey towel Bernard just knew Alfred picked out, detailed at each end with white embroidery.

He sighed. “Whatever, you both look like shit. I’m guessing you’ll be taking over the library for the night, right?”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” Tim agreed, seeming almost bewildered by his brother/ fake cousin’s begrudging… not niceness. Maybe neutrality? Understanding at best? “Do you… want to join us?”

“Fuck no.” He paused. “Though I will be reading in there for a while, so don’t disturb me.”

“Fine.”

Bernard felt his skin crawl with the awkwardness in the atmosphere, and was grateful when Tim made his way to the library. Even so, despite the stand-off, Tim smiled.

<<<<

>>>>

On the library couch, with the ache in his ribs finally disappeared and his mind finally quiet enough to let him relax, Bernard took time to take in the family he’d been missing the last week. He took time to watch slight shadows jump around the house, watch small, calm Things skittering around the sleeping bodies. Took time to look at Tim, resting for once on the couch opposite him, a Thing that looked like a caterpillar crawling lazily across his face.

In the corner, Jason had conveniently drifted off to sleep before leaving like he promised, after slowly drifting closer to the conversation throughout the night. He seemed to move whenever Bernard wasn’t looking. Just like a ghost. Like Ghostmaker. He made a mental note to write in his Ghostmaker conspiracy book when he got back to his apartment Jason’s seeming teleporting ability.

He sighed, finally rolling to a comfortable position, plugging in his earbuds. What a fucking day.

As he drifted off, he didn’t notice the Lo-Fi music slowly fade into a flute chorus.

TWs

Ok, there's not much really, but some very loosely implied homophobia, basically the group in the diner only really starts to be noticeably intimidating/ aggressive after Steph and Cass kiss, but no slurs or owt are thrown. Other than that, its just a basic chase scene where they try to jump the kids. Read on and see if they succeed or not!!

If you think there's anything else serious I should tag, just comment it and let me know

[steliosagapitos]

~ "The style called Regencia serves as a transition between the pompous and solemn style of Luis XIV and the more graceful and light style of Luis XV. In fact, because of the many years that Louis XIV reigned (from 1643 to 1715), even if his biznieto Luis XV succeeded, the regency of his uncle Felipe de Orleáns, lasted a short time, about eight years, because in 1722 he took that power, and therefore the period that give title to the style is really very short, so we have to assume, and so we see it, that the furniture of this era existed before and continued even after. During the last years of Louis XIV's reign, furniture with influences from the Far Eastern art began to appear, and the evolution of its lines became more flexible and its decoration lighter. The furniture from the end of Luis XIV's reign is not far from the furniture of the Regencia.

It seems as if there is a pendulum in the evolutionary process of furniture, that from one end out to the other; an action in one direction, and then the consequent reaction; and that is, without a doubt, a fact that we see repeated frequently throughout the history of art, and which in many cases is caused by fatigue or by the desire to escape monotony. Certainly when it comes to decoration, and furniture, important pieces of this, which are in much greater contact with people, even before this feeling of urgency can be produced, or the appetite for new forms, which does not happen with architecture and other beauties arts if not in the least. So, we see that the style of Luis XIII was cornered by the majestic style of Luis XIV, and that the same will happen to the Regencia, for another lighter and funnier, which is Luis XV.

It is the moment, as we enter the 18th century, in which we see the furniture takes wavy silhouettes, and the "rocaille" or rococo begins. Within the Regencia style, there are two moments: the first, which is connected with Louis XIV, and the second, already more exaggerated, which falls within the abuse of the rock, but still maintaining a more or less straightline in some parts, and not disconnecting completely from the symmetry who presided in the previous era.

It is a time of more refined tastes, we would say more selective, with greater sensitivity, which makes woods of softer tones of pink and amaranth accepted, as if they responded to a more human feeling, separating from the dazzling grandeur of Louis XIV and the impressive severity of his palaces. It seems as if the furniture were for a more intimate life and of smaller proportions and, indeed, we see it, in the multitude of them that exist for different uses, and that correspond to several rooms, as if not all should be mundane life, and there were corners and pieces to not be on constant display. Thus, the departments meant for intimate lounges are coming out, the female lounge called "boudoir", linked to the bedroom, the dining room, the library and other smaller rooms, which are used for specific purposes.

Just as during Luis XIV had the furniture artists as representative as Boulle, Le Brun and others, in the Regencia style there are also, and we must quote first of all Charles Cressent (1685.1768), who was granted the title of "first ebanist" of the Regent, and that, oriundo de Amiens, son of a family of sculptors and ebonyists, was able to assimilate both jobs very well, showing such fondness for the former, who, in most of his works, revealed more to be the sculptor than the ebonyist, for the magnificent golden bronzes that decorate them stand out.

Charles Cressent, for the shape of his furniture, is inspired by the compositions of architect Robert de Cotte, giving the skirt of the lower part of the comforts the winding profile that they retain throughout the Luis XV style, the so-called crossbow profile. Cressent puts in fashion the comforts called "Regencia", "Chartres", "Bagnolet" and "Charolais", names we see in the catalogues of the time. In marquetry work, it is worth noting that, instead of ebony veneering, they do marquetry using wood dyed in different colors. Also during the Regency we see the works of the painter and recorder Gillot. Chinese and monetary motifs are spreading, so celebrated at those times, that Cressent employs them in decorating its bronze. Such "simiesca" ornament, so popular during the Regency, is found on two dining room side furniture of the Wallace collection, and on two consoles of the Ferdinand collection of Rothschild (monkeys playing musical instruments and child swinging a monkey).

Cressent’s masterpiece is, without doubt, the three-drawer desk located in the Louvre Museum, in which decorative masks are taken from the decorative repertoire of Boulle, while the funny female busts, called heads “d’espagnolettes”, placed at the corners, make you think of Cotton candy. Further towards the end of the Regency is when, because of Watteau's paintings and the drawings by Meissouier and Oppenard, the rock or rockocó began to be introduced, inspired by rustic constructions, decorated with rocks, seashells waterfalls and water games, with their "magots" and grutescos, and it continues during the following style of Luis XV. Woods from fruit trees are used, and veneers from exotic woods, such as lemon tree, pear, violet, rose and also from the roots of some trees. The material element that is widely given in this style is the use of bronze, which is continually seen on handles and pulls, on locks and other fittings, as well as in the embossed ornaments that contour the furniture. It should be indicated that furniture of this style still carry the lower travesaño called Chambrana, in a crossed shape, that connects the legs, and whose characteristic disappears with Luis XV. Together, within some curves that wrap the furniture, symmetry in its composition, the rock works and decoration are emphasized, as parts subordinate to a set, but they stand out; not so later, in that everything is a revolt, silhouettes and ornaments. Among the most commonly used furniture, the comfortable ones are first, which can be referred to as the style furniture. Comfortable they have many bronze overlays, Cressent, Caffieri, and Gaudreaux, excellent museum pieces. They're losing their belly form as we get into the style and move on to the next. The chest of drawers originate from multiple pieces of furniture, one of which is the desk or secretary, with the tilted lid that, when opened, becomes a desk." ~

[misspeppermint2003]

Fact: Bob's parents Robert and Dorothy are both first appearing in the 2003 film "The Knights of Can-A-Lot". A few years later, he returned to Bobsville in the spring, as he was bored, and he wanted to work. On the same day, Dr. Florence Mountfitchet called for the repair of the old castle. Instead of Bob, the leader of the yard, Robert answered the phone and introduced himself as Bob the builder. This caused more confusion throughout the project until Bob, Robert and dr. Mountfitchet were not stuck in the castle dungeon. There, in front of Mountfitchet, they clarified who is who and from then on, Bob took over the role of the leader of the project. Later, Dorothy came to Bobsville for the Medieval festival and to see her husband, her son and his crew. Mr. Bentley called her by her real name Dorothy. Dot and Robert used to live in Bobsville when Bob and Tom were babies and teenagers.

In the pre-original series years, Robert was a builder when Bob and Tom were still children. At that time, he lived with his wife Dorothy and children in Bobsville, where his fifteen-year-old son Bob later helped him build and equip a house with a yard, which was later known as Bob's Yard. During the construction, young Bob decided to become a builder, just like his dad and he never looked back. Later, when Bob had grown up and took over the management of the yard, Robert left Bobsville for many years and moved to another place with Dorothy.

Later in "Project Build It", a few years later, when Bob started his project in the Sunflower Valley, Robert returned to Bobsville as the new owner of Bob's Yard. He occasionally came to Sunflower Valley to help his son.When Bob moved his operations to Sunflower Valley, and Robert took over in Bobville, Dorothy took over Wendy's old position as secretary. However, she is hopeless with modern technology, as demonstrated when she was utterly confused by a fax machine. In "Scoop's Recruit", she joined Robert to run the Bobsville yard office. Just like Robert, Dot calls Bob "Bobby".

Also, Robert was a kind, optimistic man who loves his job. As seen in The Knights of Can-A-Lot, he has a great desire to work.

[dilawarmughal980]

Timothy Hawking: Amazing Facts You Need to Know

Timothy Hawking is now 43 years old. Born on April 15, 1979, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, Timothy is the third child of Stephen Hawking and Jane Hawking. He has two siblings, Robert and Lucy, who are also accomplished in their respective fields. Timothy Hawking has made a name for himself in the marketing field and now works as a brand developer and legacy manager, protecting the copyright of his father’s work.

Who Is Timothy Hawking?

Born in 1979, Timothy Hawking stands out for his relationship with renowned physicist Stephen Hawking and his remarkable achievements. While his path seemed predetermined, he pursued his interests, focusing on a career in marketing. His Timothy hawking education in French and Spanish highlights his diverse intellect.

Beyond academics, his pivotal role in safeguarding the late icon’s legacy through the Timothy Hawking occupation, what Timothy Hawking do for a living goes far beyond mere brand management. Despite sharing a name with an unrelated actor in the Hawks film Timothy Dalton, curiosity remains high about Timothy Hawking, reflected in his discreet life and continuous growth on his journey. Timothy Hawking’s achievements truly reflect what Timothy Hawkes do and their dedication to the esteemed Hawking legacy.

Timothy Hawking’s Early Life and Family

Timothy Hawking was born to parents Jonathan Jones and Jane Hawking. Many speculate that renowned physicist Stephen Hawking is his biological father, but clarifications confirm that Timothy Hawking’s biological father is truly Jonathan. Despite this, Stephen Hawking raised Timothy Hawking as his own.

Education and Academic Achievements

Timothy Hawking, unlike what some may assume, is not Stephen Hawking’s biological son. His father, Jonathan Jones, and his mother paved the way for his education. Despite this, Timothy has forged a significant career, as shown on his Timothy Hawking Wiki page. His journey started with a solid foundation in language, earning degrees in French and Spanish. This education led Timothy to a career far from theoretical physics. What does Timothy Hawking do for a living? He ventured into marketing, utilizing his academic achievements.

Timothy Hawking’s Amazing Career

Timothy Hawking’s career has been impressive. He pursued education in French, Spanish, and Marketing, which led him to his first role as a Timothy hawking job at Cogent Elliott, where he worked on Range Rover brochures, displaying his skills. Later, his career took him to Rees Bradley Hepburn, which allowed him to develop further.

Role at The Stephen Hawking Foundation

Timothy Hawking plays a pivotal role at the Stephen Hawking Foundation. Timothy is not hawking Stephen Hawking’s biological son, but his commitment shines brightly. Timothy Hawking, son of Timothy Hawking biological father Jonathan, inherits a profound legacy. His education fuels his passion, steering his job toward promoting science education and safeguarding intellectual properties, honoring both Stephen Hawking and Timothy Hawking’s father.

Timothy Hawking Wife/Girlfriend and Relationship Status

Regarding his personal life, Timothy Hawking has kept many details private. This includes insights into Timothy Hawking married status or Timothy Hawking kids information. Currently, there is no public record of a wife or girlfriend. This secrecy adds mystery while focusing on his professional endeavors listed on his Timothy Hawking Wiki page instead of personal ties.

Timothy Hawking Net Worth

Timothy Hawking’s financial situation is intriguing. Estimates suggest that by 2024, Timothy Hawking net worth is between $50,000 and $1 million, owing to his diverse marketing career and stewardship of the Hawking legacy as part of the Stephen Hawking Foundation. Additionally, involvement in different projects contributes to his earnings Read More

[ljones41]

"RANDOM HARVEST" (1942) Review

"RANDOM HARVEST" (1942) Review

Between 1936 and 1942, author James Hilton enjoyed a prolific period of successful collaborations with the Hollywood studios. Some of those collaborations included writing screenplays for a handful of movies. However, three of those collaborations featured the screen adaptions of a handful of his best-selling novels. One of tho latter proved to be his 1941 novel, "Random Harvest".

Like some of Hilton's previous novels, "Random Harvest" proved to a very popular piece of work that became a major best-selling hit. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) purchased the film rights to novel and set an adaptation of it in motion. Mervyn LeRoy served as the movie's director and both Ronald Colman and Greer Garson were cast in the leads.

Unlike Hilton's novel, screenwriters Arthur Wimperis, George Froeschel and Claudine West abandoned the flashback narrative device for "RANDOM HARVEST". Because the novel had kept the duel identities of "Paula Ridgeway"/Margaret Hanson a secret until the very end, the screenwriters had decided to take a different approach, realizing it would have been difficult to maintain such a secret in this particular film, especially since the characters' faces - especially the leading lady's - must be seen. So . . . instead of treating the November 1918 sequence as a flashback, the screenwriters began the movie at that very moment with a British Army officer named "John Smith" confined to an asylum as an unidentified inmate.

On the day the war ends, the asylum's gatekeepers abandon their posts to join the celebration in the nearby Midlands town of Melbridge, and Smith follows him into town. There, he meets a music hall named Paula Ridgeway (stage name). Following a violent encounter with the leader of Paula's traveling theatrical group, she leads Smith away from Melbridge and they end up at a small Devon village. There, the couple fall in love, get married and conceive a son. Two years after they first met, Smith heads to Liverpool for a job interview at a newspaper. After a taxi hits him, while he was crossing the street, Smith regains his memories of his true self - Charles Rainier, the son of a wealthy Midlands businessman. Charles' return occurred on the day of his father's death and within a few years, assume control of the family's business. Unfortunately, Charles has lost his memories of his three years as "John Smith", including his relationship with Paula. The latter eventually discovers his whereabouts after a few years. When Paula - or Margaret Hanson - realizes that he does not remember her, she becomes his executive assistant in the hopes that her presence will jog his memories of those lost three years.

"RANDOM HARVEST" is not a perfect movie. What movie is? However, I can only think of one or two aspects about it that failed to impressed. It is quite clear that most of "RANDOM HARVEST" had been filmed inside a soundstage or on the MGM backlot. I have no general issues with this. In fact, I really admired Cedric Gibbons' art directions and Edwin B. Willis' set designs for the Melbridge street scenes. But there is one particular sequence - "Smith" and Paula's time in Devon - that looked particularly fake to me. I just did not find the Devon countryside featured in this movie convincing. But I really had a problem with the film's costume designs and hairstyles. "RANDOM HARVEST" was set during the years between 1918 and 1935. The movie had been shot and released in 1942. Robert Kalloch's costume designs did not reflect the movie's time period, as shown in the images below:

There was nothing about the dresses, suits, gowns, shoes and even the hairstyles that seemed to convey 1918-1919, the 1920s, or the early-to-mid 1930s.

But aside from these quibbles, I must be honest. I really enjoyed "RANDOM HARVEST". I have always enjoyed "RANDOM HARVEST". Between Mervyn LeRoy's direction and the screenplay written by Claudine West, George Froeschel and Arthur Wimperis; MGM released a movie that I believe proved to be one of the best romantic films I have ever seen. But the film's romance was enhanced by World War I's consequences upon Charles Ranier/John Smith's life and memories. "RANDOM HARVEST" not only struck me as a romantic film, but also a melancholic and sometimes, heartbreaking movie. Also, for a movie with a running time of 125 minutes, "RANDOM HARVEST" managed to maintain a steady pace, thanks to Mervyn LeRoy's direction. I found this mind boggling, considering I have found the pacing of many old movies from the 1930s and 1940s to be rather slow . . . almost to the point of dragging the movies to a stop. Thankfully, "RANDOM HARVEST" managed to convey a poignant and melancholy romance without putting me to sleep.

Certain aspects in the film's narrative managed rise "RANDOM HARVEST" above the usual tearjerker. The emotional impact of World War I upon Charles resulted in the creation of the melancholic and sad man struggling to deal with his amnesic state during the film's first half hour or so. Another scene featured Kitty Chilcet's - the stepdaughter of Charles' sister and his fiancee - discovery that he was not in love her. It proved to be one of the film's most haunting and emotionally devasting moments. One fabulous scene featured the revelation of Charles' secretary Margaret Hanson as Paula Ridgeway, the music hall entertainer he had married not long after the war. This revelation had led to a heartbreaking conversation between Margaret and Charles' former analyst and head of the Melridge asylum, Dr. Jonathan Benet, in which he advised her not to force her true identity upon Charles for the sake of his mental health. What made the film's second half even more poignant was Margaret's struggles to remain silent about hers and Charles' past, while stuck in what seemed like an arranged marriage between businessman and secretary.

"RANDOM HARVEST" managed to earn seven Academy Award nominations. Two of them were in the acting category - Best Actor for Ronald Colman and Best Supporting Actress for Susan Peters. For me, the two acting nominations served as a hint of the film's level of acting skills from the cast. There was not a performance that did not trouble me. The movie featured solid performances from Bramwell Fletcher, Rhys Williams, Melville Cooper, Jill Esmond, Alan Rapier, Ivan F. Simpson, Margaret Whycherly and Arthur Margetson. Una O'Connor and Reginald Owen both provided brief, yet entertaining performances as Melbridge citizens that Charles/"Smithy" had encountered on the night he had left the asylum. Henry Travers gave a poignant performance as doctor that the pair had befriended during their stay in Devon. Dutch actor Philip Dorn gave an intelligent, yet surprisingly emotional performance as Dr. Jonathan Benet, the gentle head doctor of the Melbridge asylum, who fell in love with Margaret/Paula years later.

Susan Peters reached the peak of her career in her portrayal of Kitty Chilcet, the step-daughter of Charles' sister. She gave an intelligent, yet lively performance as the charming, yet patient schoolgirl who managed to win Charles' heart. But in one scene in which Kitty realizes that Charles had memories of another love that would lead him to regard her as a stranger, Peters elevated her game and gave a subtle, yet skillful performance that led to an Oscar nomination for her. Of the three main leads, Greer Garson did not receive an acting nomination for her performance in "RANDOM HEART". Which seemed a pity to me, because I believe she really knocked it out of the ballpark as Margaret Hanson/"Paula Ridgeway", the music hall entertainer-turned-secretary who managed to win over Charles with her quiet wit, charm and warmth. Her rendition of the music hall song, "She's Ma Daisy", is something to behold. I believe Garson really shined in the film's second half, as her character struggled to nudge Charles into regaining his memories as "Smithy" and at the same time, keep her emotions and other identity in check during her "marriage of convenience" to him. In the end, Garson ended up being nominated for her performance in "MRS. MINIVER". She won in the end, but I cannot help wishing she had been nominated for her performance in "RANDOM HARVEST". For years, I have always pinpointed Ronald Colman as an actor known for his charm, dash and some pretty good acting skills. But in recent years, I have realized that I had underestimated just how skillful an actor he truly was. I thought he had given a phenomenon performance as a World War I amnesiac, who discovers he is a scion of a wealthy family. In scenes that featured "Smithy"'s confusion during the film's first thirty minutes, his confusion over his growing emotional dependence on Margaret and especially that one moment in which he regarded Kitty as a stranger, when his memories as Smithy returned briefly made me realize what a superb actor Colman truly was. It seemed a pity that he did not win the Best Actor award for that year.

It seems a miracle to me that Hollywood or anyone else has never considered making another serious adaptation of James Hilton's 1941 novel. Granted, that filmmaker or television producer would probably have great difficulty overcoming the ghost of the 1942 adaptation. I might as well say it . . . "RANDOM HARVEST" is excellent adaptation of Hilton's novel. Mervyn LeRoy did an excellent job in maintaining a strong pacing for such a melancholic story. Screenwriters Claudine West, George Froeschel and Arthur Wimperis had made some changes that proved to be very effective for the film's narrative. But without the excellent cast led by superb performances from Ronald Colman and Greer Garson, who knows if "RANDOM HARVEST" would have become the classic it now is.

[vroooom2]

You'll become richer than ever with this free AMA even if you don't give a damn to your business & employees security. What's the actual value of 45min of your time invested for your team safety? Just a dime, that will save you tons of energy, wasted into stressful situations, to focus on your end goal as a CEO: make money.

🗨️The fact that you're putting sensitive data in a hostile environment [social media platforms/cyberspace] is the definition of risk, and clearly you're prioritizing something else over security.

🗨️So be real. Say security is your third or fourth priority. But never lie to me and tell me it's your top priority.

🗨️> security is our #1 priority. Every company ever after a security breach lol

🗨️My respect for an org would increase by magnitudes if they were that honest. "Security was our #4 priority, but we've bumped it up to #3." I'll settle for "Security is important to us". (I created/posted the image below after a recent disclosure made that all-too-common claim.)

🗨️See also local governments, and some state governments. The small towns especially worry me because a fair number of them barely have enough resources to perform essential services (desktop support, maybe the ability to pay fees/taxes online), a feature they share with SMBs. Even if you somehow dropped a security appliance with all the bells and whistles there's nobody on staff to monitor and react.

🗨️It's all about threat modelling and risk mitigation rather than security absolutism.

🗨️Threat Hunting is a process / methodology and 99% of the time does not need a dedicated team. True value of a thrunting process: gap identification and remediation of said gaps through delivery of net new capabilities or improvement of existing ones (new controls or telemetry or improvements to existing / business process adjustments etc ). Easier to get resources allocated in existing teams who have knowledge of the land both technically and operationally (business) and establish mechanisms to feed findings through the flywheel vs dedicated teams.

🗨️Doing the right things in security does not require a ton of time. You just need to patch critical vulnerabilities, especially when they're exposed on the internet like the recent Citrix gateway hack. I suppose you could say that's max priority but it's not max resources.

🎧

Fei-Fei Li, a pioneer that helped lay the groundwork that underpins modern generative ai models, is pushing for a human-centred way of dealing with ai—treating it as a tool to help enhance—and not replace—humanity, while focussing on the pressing challenges of disinformation, bias and job disruption.

Fei-Fei Li is the founding co-director of Stanford University’s Institute for Human-Centred Artificial Intelligence. Fei-Fei and her research group created ImageNet, a huge database of images that enabled computers scientists to build algorithms that were able to see and recognise objects in the real world. That endeavour also introduced the world to deep learning, a type of machine learning that is fundamental part of how large-language and image-creation models work.

« Guerre d'influenceur. Guerre d'influence.

Définition d'un influenceur du Robert: "personne qui influence l'opinion, la consommation par son audience sur les réseaux sociaux."

Influenceur est devenu un métier militaire. C'est le domaine des combattants de la "guerre informationnelle". Une guerre qui peut être offensive ou défensive. On attaque et on contre-attaque l'adversaire par les armes de l’information ou on contre l'information/désinformation de l'adversaire.

Cette guerre n'est pas nouvelle. Elle a porté différents noms. La nouveauté est que la puissance et la variété des Réseaux Sociaux en a décuplé la puissance en permettant de faire basculer "l’opinion publique" amie ou ennemie dans votre camp ou contre votre camp en quelques secondes et quelques clics.

La guerre informationnelle est donc une synthèse de la guerre cyber/informatique (le vecteur), de la guerre des "narratifs" (éléments de langage) et du triptyque connaitre/anticiper/contrer. Bref des technologies et des hommes.

Trois organisations sont centrales pour nos combattants français de l'information d'influence:

- Le ComCyber et ses cyber-combattants offensifs ou défensifs.

- Pour la production de contenus, il s’appuiera notamment sur le Centre interarmées des actions sur l’environnement (CIAE), basé à Lyon où, depuis 2012, les armées conçoivent en partie leurs «opérations civilo-militaires» et d’influence.

- La nouvelle "Cellule Anticipation stratégique et Orientation" de l’État-major des armées. Une "cellule" composée d'une douzaine d'officiers, dont beaucoup ont fait un passage dans la "communication" militaire, sous le commandement d'un officier général qui a exercé la fonction de porte-parole de l’EMA. Une fonction de porte-parole que le CEMA, le général Burkhard a exercé lui-même de 2007 à 2008. Cette cellule fournit les "narratifs" et "contre-narratifs" aux chefs militaires, aux cyber-combattants qui vont alimenter les RS et à un cercle d'"influenceurs" extérieurs sélectionnés. Ce sont d'abors des analystes qui travaillent en lien avec la DGRIS, la DRM, le quai d'Orsay,...

Une cellule essentielle pour que le CEMA puisse assumer ses responsabilités de chef militaire dans le nouveau domaine officiel de la guerre que constitue la "guerre de l'information".

La guerre du XXIème siècle sera informationnelle ou la guerre ne sera pas.

La distance la plus importante dans la guerre est celle qui sépare nos deux oreilles.

La guerre en Israël est véritablement la première guerre informationnelle du XXIème siècle.

Elle fera référence et elle ne touche pas que les RS. Il suffit de comparer la façon dont Le Figaro et Le Monde couvre cette guerre pour comprendre que, RS ou médias traditionnels, chacun est au service d'un positionnement politique, d'une vision idéologique de l'homme, du monde ou de la guerre.

Tout est information. Tout est guerre de l'information. Parole d'influenceur.» 🪶82un0