#bell urn

[thesilicontribesman]

Prehistoric Pottery Photoset 4, Great North Museum, Hancock, Newcastle upon Tyne

[critterbitter]

A trip down memory lane! Though the tower seems to have changed…

Celestial tower! Built during the direct aftermath of the Founding Unovan Civil War, it remains a cultural landmark in memory of those lost in the fire and storm.

Time has dulled the scars left behind by the twin dragons. Today, the tower is primarily used as a mausoleum (the preferred method of burial are urns) and, well, a tourism site. Legend says if you climb to the top of the tower and ring the bell, you can lay your ghosts to rest. But mostly? You can ring a GIANT bell.

Course, you gotta GET to that bell first.

Masterpost for more pokemon shenanigans here!

[benzedrine-calmstheitch]

Good Omens season 2 referencing Powell & Pressburger films

Crowley's angel hair is modeled after Kim Hunter's hair as June in A Matter of Life and Death (1946).

Maggie's shop is called The Small Back Room in reference to 1949's The Small Back Room.

The red ballet shoes on the door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death are a nod to The Red Shoes (1948). (Note : the klaxons sounding in Heaven at the end of episode 1 are said to be a nod to the alarm bells in The Other World in A Matter of Life and Death. Personally, I don't think they sound at all alike; they are only similar in both being alarms. Plus, it's an audio reference, which I don't have the skill or patience to include here. But it's there!)

In The Small Back Room, Maggie has a poster for the film Stairway to Heaven displayed. A Matter of Life and Death was released under this title in the US.

The tartan hills welcoming Aziraphale to Scotland are a reference to the tartan hills welcoming Joan to Scotland in I Know Where I'm Going! (1945). And of course, the third episode is itself titled "I Know Where I'm Going."

Jim drops the book My Best Games of Chess, 1924-1937, by Alexander Alekhine, onto a table in the bookshop repeatedly as he is discovering how gravity works. This book is featured prominently in A Matter of Life and Death.

When Aziraphale enters The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, I Know Where I'm Going! is playing on both televisions (I'm pretty sure I found the right scene to match this screenshot). You can also make out the name 'Pressburger' on one of the posters in this screenshot, but we'll get to that later. . .

The family name on the mausoleum where Aziraphale and Crowley hide out with Elspeth and Wee Morag is Archers. It's never clearly seen in the show, but it can be seen in this BTS photo of the model used for Crowley's embiggening. The Archers was the name of Powell and Pressburger's production company. The interior of the tomb and the urns outside the full-size set also reference the Archers, and Powell & Pressburger individually.

In Mr. Arnold's record shop, one of the posters on the wall is for a UK music tour; either the band or the tour is titled Met By Moonlight. This is referencing Ill Met By Moonlight (1957), the final film Powell & Pressburger made together. (I personally think this one is a reach, as the title of the film is a line from A Midsummer Night's Dream and thus not really clockable to the outside viewer as a direct Archers reference, but apparently the intent was there so we're counting it!)

The Pressburger posters are more clearly visible during the Gabriel and Beelzebub rendezvous scene in The Resurrectionists pub. We can see they advertise 'Pressburger Scottish Lager,' which is of course a nod to Emeric Pressburger himself. (Unclear if Michael Powell has his own label that we just don't get a clear view of. . .)

-- -- -- -- --

I clocked a couple of these myself, but they are all referenced in the X-Ray trivia on the Prime Video player. Would love to know if anyone has clocked anymore that aren't divulged. . .

[lullaby1000]

all remaining pieces of my latest collection : silver wish bell with handmade freshwater pearl clapper, gossamer falling pearl bracelet, silver swallow charm, wisteria bronze urn, pearl bronze cross keepsake, cyclamen bronze bell & lily earrings in bronze with hand dyed raw silk . all available @soulestsoil on instagram <3

[praline1968]

💙💙

MON GALOPIN

Tu nous quittais le 13 octobre 2010 me laissant anéantie à vie.

Je me recueille devant ton urne chaque soir, et la bougie sera allumée ce soir pour te rendre hommage 🕯️ 🕊️

Merci de tout mon cœur pour tout ce que tu m’as apporté durant ton vivant, cet amour inconditionnel qu’on ne trouve pas chez les humains 🙏🏻 🙏🏻

Je ne t’oublierai jamais, je t’aimerai toujours 💗

(Poème écrit pour tes 20 ans le 12 février 2011)

🤍 MON GALOPIN 🤍

Mon petit cœur, Mon petit amour,

Mon fidèle compagnon, mon ami le plus cher,

Ce 12 février marque pour nous un jour anniversaire,

Celui qui, ce beau jour de 1991, en Ardèche, t’a vu naître,

Tu aurais eu 20 ans aujourd’hui, si seulement tu avais vécu,

Mais la grande roue impitoyable de l’univers ne l’a pas voulu.

Nous espérions tellement l’atteindre ce chiffre de 20,

Pour continuer ensemble vers de beaux lendemains,

Nous voulions tant battre tous les records connus,

Mon petit cœur, mon petit amour, t’en souviens-tu ?

Il y a 2 ans, un AVC sur toi, violemment s’abattait,

Te privant de l’usage de tes pattes, cruellement paralysées,

Devant le pénible spectacle, le désespoir nous envahissait,

Et des torrents de larmes de mes yeux jaillissaient.

Alors qu’à l’unanimité, la grande majorité te condamnait,

Après tant et tant d’efforts déployés et renouvelés,

Durant des heures entières et de longues journées,

Soudain, dans un ultime élan, tu te relevais et tu marchais.

Devant l’étonnement de nos grands yeux écarquillés,

Cet incroyable miracle, de bonheur nous remplissait,

Je t’ai admiré pour cette force unique, cette volonté.

Exceptionnel petit chien, battant, tu l’as toujours été,

Ce jour béni d’entre tous fût le plus beau de ma vie,

Dans cette douloureuse épreuve, tu m’as tant appris.

Cette rage de vivre, depuis, tu l’as toujours gardée,

Le 13 octobre 2010, un nouvel AVC destructeur te frappait,

Cette fois, brutalement et sournoisement, te terrassait,

Enfermant ton petit corps dans une paralysie totale,

Signant ainsi au fer rouge la condamnation finale.

Durant la dernière nuit, tes appels au secours retentissaient,

Et me contraignaient à prendre la décision tant redoutée,

D’abréger tes jours et ta souffrance, et choisir de te délivrer,

Effroyable décision que je ne pourrais jamais me pardonner,

Je le sais, tu voulais vivre encore et ne jamais nous quitter.

Sur la table du vétérinaire, ton petit corps sans vie gisait,

Devant mes larmes de désespoir et ma terrible détresse,

Dans un ultime pleur, tu me suppliais de m’accrocher.

La piqûre contenant le poison mortel ne voulait pas agir,

Sentant mon immense chagrin, tu refusais encore de partir,

Avant que tes yeux et ton cœur ne s’éteignent à jamais,

Me laissant là, abandonnée, impuissante et brisée.

Alors, en hommage à ta force et ton énorme courage,

Comme un emblème, je porte ton collier à mon poignet,

Pour que ton combat ne soit pas vain et ne finisse en mirage,

De me relever et d’être encore plus forte, je te promets,

Afin que ton âme si pure et si belle, puisse vivre en paix.

J’attends maintenant le jour béni de nos retrouvailles,

Ce jour sacré qui nous verra toi et moi à jamais réunis,

Ma seule volonté enfouie au fond de mes entrailles,

Celle de te retrouver enfin pour l’éternité, au paradis.

Je t’aime, à jamais, pour toujours,

Mon petit cœur, Mon petit amour.

💙💙

🎤 Michel Pépé ~ L’ascension céleste 🎧

[pruechaosbracket]

ROUND 2-B: The Goose VS Klaus Hargreeves

About The Goose: A mischievous Goose that torments people in their everyday lives and has a habit of stealing bells. They have a to-do list of many ways to mess with the town's folk, which includes; Breaking off the head of the Shopkeeper's broom, Scaring the Old Man to break the dartboard, Dropping a bucket on the Burly Man's head, Using the sprinklers on the Groundskeeper, Locking the Groundskeeper out of his own garden, Tricking the Tidy Neighbor into throwing and breaking fancy vase, Making the Boy buy back his own glasses, Tricking the Messy Neighbor into cutting the Tidy Neighbor's rose, Making the Groundskeeper hammer his thumb, Stealing the Old Man chair as he sits down, Traping the Shopkeeper in the garage, and Stealing the miniature town's bell and taking it all the way back to their nest.

About Klaus: an ex-student of the Umbrella Academy who can see, talk, and be possessed by the dead, but is afraid of the power thanks to his adoptive farther and thus he uses drugs and alcohol to turn it off. He's also some-what immortal, having technically died numerous times but brought back via both restarting his heart and God sending him back to earth, but ironically enough he survived two apocalypses one of which he inadvertently caused along with a fight between the Umbrellas and Sparrows, and Project Oblivion; which also wanted to destroy the world, although all of these were on different occasions. He went sober for 30 day and right after getting his chip he did drugs, died, and had his heart restarted in an ambulance. He celebrated his father's death, tried to steal money from his mansion, broke every rule he had, and danced with the urn/ashes. He accidentally stole a time-traveling-suitcase and went back in time with it, where he joined the Vietnam war and started a cult, both on also accident. He claims that he can lock-pick with his teeth, threw a fire extinguisher at a temporal anomaly, and he stole a ride with his brother and tried to get him to bring them to dinner.

[pixelfez-dialtown]

"Oliver, should I be concerned? Your partner borrowed a cookbook from me somewhat recently (a cookbook which by now is overdue may I add)"

(@library-bell-rings)

“Yeaaaahhh,,,uhhh,,, Retro- CANT COOK.. uhhh I think we burnt it- like.. I think we had to buy it its own urn,,”

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 3

Rating: E

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2]

Notes: I’m setting this as though The Tournament never took place and MacAvoy just contined on his downward spiral. This will not have spoilers for The Tournament but it will have spoilers for Safe, kind of. Also, I’m sorry for my poor geography. Pretend anything geographic that doesn’t make sense makes sense :’)

tws: alcoholism, homelessness. If I missed a warning, I’m so sorry–please let me know and I will add it ASAP!

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

In the light of a new day, some of Belle’s fever had abated. She was acting like a silly schoolgirl instead of an adult with her dream job to fulfill her.

After unlocking the library door, she turned to wave at the man in his wheelchair who always sat outside the convenience store across the way.

“Morning!” she called. 

“Morning!” 

“I’m about to make some coffee, do you want some?” 

He raised what she knew to be his change cup in agreement, and she turned back into the library. That’s how it should be—Belle should just help people as best she could and then not dwell on them forever.

It was hard, though, when the person you couldn’t stop thinking about had been coming into your library for six months now and always made you laugh and treated you better than anyone else ever had. 

“Except,” Belle muttered to herself, almost dropping the coffee filters in her agitation, “Except it’s not very kind to say you’ll be somewhere and then never show up. One might argue that that’s a dealbreaker.”

One might. She scooped coffee grounds into the urn. One might also argue that Nosty showing up at all was a good thing, and she should be worried instead of angry that he hadn’t last night. 

Belle didn’t need to have that argument with herself though because no matter what, she began worrying about Nosty the second he left her field of vision and didn’t stop until he returned, whole and unbloodied. 

She paused in her scooping, staring at the pile of grounds. In all of her internal dialoguing, she’d lost count. It was looking the way it usually looked, so she added two more scoops for good measure and then set it to brew.

She should think about Father MacAvoy. The chances that he hadn’t gone home and immediately had a drink were low, but she hoped he’d at least considered getting help. Perhaps if she’d known him better, she’d have volunteered to sit vigil by his bedside for the first few nights, but she barely knew him at all. 

What would her father say if he knew about the company she kept? “Belle’s always been happy with her books,” he used to say to his friends. “My odd little girl.”

Her heart panged. She missed her father. But maybe she hadn’t always been happy with her books. Maybe she’d always needed more, and now she’d passed all the stages in life where people made friends. What would Nosty say? That she was filling the void with strays.

The coffee finished and she made a cup for her friend across the street, grabbing a banana and packet of biscuits she knew he liked as well. 

She headed back to her office, forcing herself not to scan her surroundings constantly on the hunt for Nosty. He would come back eventually. He always did.

Apparently, he already had. The food she’d left for him, labeled with his name, was missing from the fridge, and the bottle of fabric spray she kept for him was on her desk instead of in the cabinet. Was he lurking around somewhere, or had he come in the night and left before she arrived?

She ignored the sting of that thought. Nosty could have been in the building still—he may have been loud and brash, but if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. 

With a groan, Belle flung herself into her chair. If only she’d made friends with reliable schedules in grad school, then maybe she could just do good deeds and go home without getting attached to anyone. 

An echoing groan answered her from the closed bathroom and Belle yelped, feet carrying her from the chair before she had the conscious thought. Maybe Nosty was here, lying injured on the bathroom floor.

When she pushed the door open, though, she almost wasn’t surprised to find Father MacAvoy curled up by the trashcan, barely conscious.

****

Of course, she had no way of knowing what either man had been thinking last night. Had Father MacAvoy come and eaten Nosty’s food, then collapsed on her bathroom floor? Somehow, she doubted that. Perhaps Nosty had come with the intention of waiting for her, seen Father MacAvoy, and left. 

Who knew?

All Belle could say was that there was an unconscious priest on her bathroom floor and food gone from her fridge. Sitting at the empty circulation desk and pretending to work was easier than untangling whatever she was feeling, so she busied herself with filling an online cart with dresses she could never afford so she could pretend that someday, she’d do more than live paycheck to paycheck. 

She felt like she might be within her rights to be angry with both of them—Nosty for his disappearing act and Father MacAvoy for, well, the exact opposite. All she felt was confused. 

After about half an hour, she filled a paper cup with water from the cooler and headed back to the bathroom. Father MacAvoy sat against the wall now, head tilted back and eyes closed.

“Father?” she whispered, and he startled awake.

“Belle.” He looked all around, finally settling on the water in her hand. “I didn’t expect—”

Belle waited for him to finish and, when he didn’t, she handed him the water.

“You’re welcome here any time, Father.” 

He mumbled something, accepting the water with a quick nod of thanks. She didn’t have the energy to ask him to repeat himself. 

“Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. She wasn’t surprised. 

“I’ll be out front,” she said. “You can come find me when you feel better.”

He nodded, not meeting her eyes, and she ruffled his hair to show she wasn’t mad before heading back out.

****

She could have sworn that hours passed before she looked at the clock again, but it had somehow only been another thirty minutes. A few retirees had wandered in and checked out some books, but this early in the morning on a weekday meant that there was little to distract Belle from her own thoughts.

Every time the door moved, she perked up, but of course it was never Nosty. She still wasn’t fully certain he wasn’t somewhere in the building. 

A few minutes later, she turned at a shuffling sound and found Father MacAvoy shambling toward her, hand shielding his eyes from the overhead lights. 

“Good morning!” she said much more cheerfully than she felt.

“Morning.” He leaned on the front of the desk like it was the only thing holding him up. “I’m so sorry, Belle. I thought I passed out in bed.”

“It’s fine.” 

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, and she plastered her bright smile on. “What’s wrong?”

And just like that, the floodgates she’d been holding in all morning—so stupid, what was there even to cry about?—broke, and her eyes filled. She bit her cheek to keep it at that, but soon Father MacAvoy was stumbling around the desk to pat her clumsily on the shoulder.

“There, there,” he said, and she had to laugh. This was what a priest was supposed to do, and yet it felt so awkward and unnatural.

She reached for a tissue and found that Father MacAvoy was already holding one out to her. After dabbing at her eyes with care for her mascara, she tossed it in the bin and swiveled to face him. “I’m sorry, Father, that wasn’t about you at all.”

“What was it about?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “I’m just tired. Do you want to sit up here with me?” 

He nodded, so she found him a chair and pulled it up behind the desk with her, bringing a water bottle as well. 

He leaned back in his chair, and she didn’t have the energy to pretend that she hadn’t been clothes shopping, so she went back to it.

“That one’s nice,” he said when she’d scrolled past a page of evening gowns. She opened it in a new window and tried not to grimace. It was floor-length and full-sleeved purple satin. In theory, it wasn’t bad, but Belle couldn’t imagine ever wanting to wear it. 

“Very priestly of you,” she said, closing out of it. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s dark and all-covering.”

He snorted. “Fine. What would you pick out?”

Belle hadn’t been intrigued by anything on that page, so she clicked through a few more and then stopped, bringing up a sleeveless golden a-line with lace paneling. 

“If I was rich and got invited to benefits that cost more than my rent, I’d wear this.”

Father MacAvoy didn’t speak, and when she turned to him, he cleared his throat.

“It’s lovely,” he said. “Elegant.”

She smiled. “I think so.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He pointed his chin at the screen. “All these dresses cost at least a month’s rent.”

She shook her head. “Just trying to take my mind off of things.”

“I am a priest, you know,” he said. “You can talk to me, even if I am disgraced.”

She clicked through a few more pages, not even looking at anything, then closed the window. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. Though she was friendly with some of her coworkers, it wasn’t like she could tell any of them about Nosty. Besides, she was their boss.

“I’m worried,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at him, so he gestured for her to continue. “About Nosty.”

“Ah.” 

She swallowed, having nothing to fiddle with now that she’d closed the window. 

“Why are you worried?” he prompted.

She folded her arms, hugging them to her chest. “I never know when he’ll show up or what he does when he’s gone. Is he not here because he just isn’t, or is he not here because he’s hurt? Or worse?”

“It’s tough,” he said. “Caring about someone who’s never safe.” 

“I wish—” She paused, not sure what she wanted to say yet. 

“You wish?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “He has a hard life. It’s not fair for me to put my feelings on him.”

“It’s okay. You can have feelings.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I won’t tell anyone.”

It was almost comforting to talk to him without being able to see his face. Was this what confession was like? 

“I just wish I knew if he cared about me, I guess,” she said. “If he knows that it bothers me when I don’t know where he is, or if that’s just who he is.”

“I’m sure he cares about you,” Father MacAvoy said. “Who wouldn’t?”

Belle chuckled without humor. “That’s very kind of you to say, Father, but I’ve always been odd, and it’s only once I grew into being conventionally attractive that anyone ever gave me the time of day. So, to answer your rhetorical question, most people wouldn’t.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, being conventionally attractive isn’t even close to your best quality,” Father MacAvoy said. 

Belle’s cheeks pinked, and she looked down at her lap. “Thank you, Father,” she said. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Please,” he said. “Call me Joseph. I feel like an imposter when you call me Father.”

The pink flush in her cheeks deepened, guilt creeping along the back of her neck. She wasn’t Catholic—or even religious—but she felt like she’d be committing a sin to use his name. Still, he’d asked her directly. It would be rude to call him “Father” now.

“Okay,” she said. “Joseph.”

She glanced at him, thinking he’d been watching her, but his eyes were unfocused, staring off into space. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

He shook his head, settling back into the present. “Nothing. I just—haven’t been called by my own name in a long time.”

****

Father MacAvoy—Joseph—was good company, even during the after school rush, even when he got sick again in withdrawal. Belle felt less alone just having him sitting there. Maybe what she’d needed all along was companionship, not Nosty specifically. Maybe, when she went home tonight, she’d worry about him a normal amount that a person would worry for a friend.

A hot, anxious pit settled in her stomach. It was Friday. Belle didn’t work weekends. That meant she wouldn’t even have a chance of seeing Nosty until Monday. Even if she came in her off time, sat in a chair for every open hour, he wouldn’t be there. He knew when she worked, and even though the weekend staff knew about the snack cart, they wouldn’t have taken kindly to him entering from the back door, taking over Belle’s office, making himself a sandwich.

“Belle?” Joseph poked his head into her office. She realized she’d stopped packing up her bag and was just standing there, frozen with worry over Nosty. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll just be a minute.” Maybe, to keep her mind off things this weekend, she could lock herself in Joseph’s church and scrub it from top to bottom. There was enough dust and grime to keep her mind off of everything. 

“I’ll be outside, unless you need help?” 

She shook her head. “No, no, you go.”

He eyed her like he didn’t quite believe her, but she slapped her bright smile on and he left. Just to make sure Nosty hadn’t been hiding in her office this whole time, she shoved everything into her purse and did a sweep of every possible hiding spot—closet, cabinet, shower, toilet. Nosty was nowhere.

She turned out the lights and stood in the dark for a few seconds, thinking maybe he’d appear from the shadows. When nothing happened, she sighed, locking up her office when she left. 

As she walked out, she shut lights off. When she’d first started, closing the library had scared her, but now she relished the quiet, loved the way it felt like tucking her home in for bed. Some low lights stayed on all the time, and the gentle dim light centered her, made her feel a little more like she could survive the weekend.

Then, a hand snaked out from between two shelves and grabbed her, and she yelped as Nosty yanked her into his chest.

****

For a second, all she could do was stare up at him, one wrist caught in his hand while the other rested on his shirt pocket.

“Nosty,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like he never disappeared. It wasn’t like it was even unusual for her to not see him for a day and a half. The only unusual part was that she’d pined for him like he’d been lost at sea.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he growled. She didn’t give her knees permission to turn to jelly at the sound of his voice, but they did it anyway. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He lowered her hand to his chest and then slipped both arms around her, holding her against him. “Didn’t you miss me?” 

“You said you’d come last night.” That was it, wasn’t it? For the first time, he’d said something definite, and it had been a lie.

He pulled her closer, and she curled into him. How could she ever explain to anyone that Nosty’s arms were the safest place she’d ever known, even as she wanted to rip herself away from them and scream?

“You were busy,” he said. 

She didn’t understand why he was so jealous of a priest. He should have been proof that Joseph was not her type.

“Have you been here all day?” she asked. “Or did you just come in?”

He ducked his head to kiss her on the temple, soft, the way his first kiss always was. She stiffened her traitorous jelly knees. 

“I’m here now.” He kissed below her eye. “What’s it matter?”

She pushed against his arms, holding herself away from his chest. “You’ve been here all day, haven’t you? I’ve been losing my mind wondering where you were, and you were just punishing me.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He tightened his arms, pulling her closer. “I wouldn’t punish you.” 

“Then what?” She pulled his arms apart, stepping away from him. “There was no one here worth hiding from. No other employees, no huge groups of kids. Just me.”

He raised both hands, and she noticed a new cut on the heel of his palm. It didn’t look like a knife wound, but she wondered how he got it anyway. 

“If I’d known this was the fucking welcome I’d get, I wouldn’t have bothered, hey?” 

“Oh my god.” Belle pressed her hands over her eyes because if she continued to look at him, she’d let him talk her out of being angry. “Oh my god, I’m going crazy.”

“Aye, fucking mad.” 

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut harder. “I can’t do this, Nosty. I can’t spend every minute you’re not here out of my mind with worry, pining after you, wondering when you’ll bother to throw me a crumb, I can’t.” 

Rough hands—hands she knew wielded knives, became fists, bruised, beat, battered—closed around hers, easing her palms off her eyes. 

She watched Nosty as he pulled her hands to him, pressing one to his heart and the other to his lips.

“I have to go,” she said. “Father MacAvoy needs a ride home.” 

She didn’t move as he kissed her knuckles one at a time. He held her hands so gently, she could have gotten away with no effort. 

“Don’t go,” he murmured into her fingers.

“Nosty—”

“I was jealous.” He switched to her other hand, this time pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. Something loosened in her chest. 

“And?” she said.

“I didn’t want to fuck it all up.”

 It was the most honest thing he’d ever said with words. She wanted to fall into him.

“I was worried about you,” she said. 

“Don’t go,” he said again. “Belle, don’t go.” 

He kissed up her arm and she wanted to stay. God, did she want to stay. But she’d already left Joseph outside for too long. He would worry.

“I have to,” she said. 

“Fuck him,” Nosty growled, scraping his teeth along her wrist. Her knees would never be the same again. “Stay with me.”

“Come to my flat.” The words were out before she could stop them, and then she couldn’t take them back. She didn’t want to anyway—if Nosty was at her flat, she wouldn’t have to worry about him. 

“Your flat, eh?” He wrapped her arms around his neck, cradling her around the waist again. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to invite a monster over the threshold?”

“Then come to the cinema with me.” A horrible, desperate feeling dwelled in her chest, but she met his bright eyes anyway. “Spend time with me.”

“The cinema?” He glanced around the dark library. “In public?”

“Tonight.” 

He narrowed his eyes, searching her face for who knew what. She didn’t know whether he found it or not when he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers.

“Why?” 

Wrapping her finger around one of his locks, she took the opportunity to kiss the corner of his mouth while his eyes were closed. It always felt like Nosty had her at his mercy, that she was helpless to do anything but follow where he led. Relishing this moment of being the one leading, she kissed the other corner. He opened his eyes.

“I want to go on a date with you,” she said. 

“You’re mad,” he said, then snorted when she tugged on his hair. 

“You’re the one who kissed me first.”

“Aye.” 

He kissed her then, one hand clutching the back of her head, fingers tangled in her curls. When he pulled away, the only thing holding her upright was his other arm around her waist. 

“Stay with me here,” he hissed into her lips.

“Go on a date with me.” 

He pulled back just enough to search her face again, and she tried to mimic the grin he gave her when he was pretending to be mean. He must have recognized it because he snorted.

“Fine,” he said. “A date it is.” 

“Really?” she asked before she could stop herself. She didn’t want him to change his mind.

“Really, love.” He brought his mouth to her neck and pressed a tiny, fluttering kiss to her pulse. “But you’ll owe me.”

He bit down, and her knees buckled, but even her trembling limbs couldn’t stop her happy laugh.

****

MacAvoy hadn’t actually seen Nosty, but he’d seen what he thought was the edge of his kilt, and even though he didn’t relish the idea of sharing Belle with him right now, he’d spent all day watching her wilt. How could he do anything other than give them a minute alone?

The minute turned into five, ten, and MacAvoy realized he should have brought a water bottle with him. His head pounded and the soup he’d forced down at lunch was starting to speak to him from beyond the grave.

Then Belle scurried out of the library, flushed and happy, and his stomach calmed a fraction.

“I’m so sorry.” She rushed around in her heels, unlocking the Ford as she did, and MacAvoy collapsed into the passenger seat.

“No need,” he said. “You look happy.”

She beamed at him as she threw herself into the driver’s side, but didn’t say anything more. He was glad that Nosty had turned her mood around, though he hoped he wasn’t just stringing her along. She deserved someone who would actually be there for her.

Someone like you, you sot? the mean little voice in his head sneered. He clenched his teeth, watching her back out of the little parking lot.

“You know,” Belle said as she checked behind her. “I’m not happy the circumstances, but I’m so grateful you were here today.”

He stared at her, taken aback. No one had been grateful for his presence since the last time he officiated a wedding, and who knew what year that was? They probably weren’t even that grateful because he was surely tipsy, if not wasted. 

“Why?” 

She shrugged. “I really needed a friend.” 

He didn’t know which was more unbelievable—that a good samaritan like Belle considered him a friend, or that he’d somehow managed to make a friend simply by blacking out drunk in her place of work. God, if it was that easy to befriend someone, why was he so fucking lonely?

“Me too,” he said. 

“So,” she said. “Are you going to drink tonight?”

Cutting right to the chase then. MacAvoy swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“You seemed better today.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t drink as much last night. That’s why I really thought I passed out in bed, I swear.”

“It’s okay.” She reached over the console and squeezed his shoulder. He wondered vaguely if it was possible to evaporate.

“It won’t happen again.”

“I’d rather find you in my library than read your obituary in the paper.”

“Well,” he looked out the window to hide the redness in his cheeks, “Doubt you’d find my obituary in your paper. I’m on the other side of London.”

“I’d find out.”

They sat in silence, still comfortable, but MacAvoy felt more tense. Of course he would ruin the atmosphere. 

“Just so you know, I don’t work weekends,” she said. “So try not to show up in the library until Monday, okay?”

He paled. What if his drunk brain forgot and someone else found him there? What if that person called the police? 

“Are you holding mass on Sunday?” she asked.

That startled a humorless laugh out of him. “This Sunday? Doubt it.”

Belle turned the radio on, and he couldn’t have felt guiltier if she’d flogged him. She was doing him such a kindness and he couldn’t even answer her nicely?

“No one would come,” he said.

“How do you know if you don’t hold it?”

He watched London go by out the window, considering. If he was honest, he didn’t want to hold mass. He was so out of practice, what would he even say?

“I’m not ready yet,” he said. 

One hand still on the wheel, she reached over and squeezed his hand. He swallowed, and he was sure she could hear his throat open and close. 

The whole drive to the church, even when they talked about mass or drink, Belle all but glowed. A sudden, horrible thought appeared—what if she and Nosty had been ten minutes because they’d been—

He shook his head to clear the thought, regretting it when everything inside of him sloshed angrily. He refused to even imagine that Belle’s mood would be so turned around by a quick hookup hiding out in the middle of the library. His training told him to insist that she not even entertain thoughts of sex until marriage, and he knew that wasn’t modern, but he could at least hope for Belle’s intimate moments to be in a comfortable bed with someone who loved her and didn’t just string her along like a rag doll.

She pulled into the parking lot but again didn’t get out of the car. “What will you do all weekend?”

Surprised, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

She dug through her purse, coming up with a piece of receipt and a pen, and then scribbled something on it before handing it to him. “If you get bored or need a friend, please call me. I promise I don’t have a social life you’ll be interrupting. Well—” She flushed, beaming again. He wished he could make her look like that. “Don’t call me tonight.”

“Big plans?” he asked, shoving away thoughts of Belle screaming Nosty’s name. He needed a drink. Maybe a vomit.

“I hope so.”

To his surprise, Belle pecked him on the cheek before he got out of the car. Was that a common thing for her, or was it just because of her good mood?

“Oh, Joseph!” she called, rolling down her window.

“Aye?”

“On Monday, maybe come to the library when it’s open instead of in the dead of night?”

Feeling both appreciated and chastised, he nodded his assent, then waved as she pulled out and zipped off. 

As he shuffled his way into the barren church, he could no longer run from his own thoughts. He saw Belle pressed against the shelves, clothes torn by Nosty’s rough, violent hands. He couldn’t jog to his room fast enough to escape the vision of Belle’s bare leg hiked up on Nosty’s waist, breasts pressed to him, head thrown back in ecstasy.

Why? He’d been plagued by his demons for years, why were they coming for him now, like this? He’d always preferred the temptation of vice to the temptation of sex. Sex involved other people, but drink? He could ruin himself with alcohol all on his own, and he had. Couldn’t the devil just leave it at that?

He whispered a mantra of vodka, whiskey, gin over and over, but even that couldn’t quash the reel playing out in his mind, and as he shook off the day’s clothes and flopped onto bed, he imagined Nosty readying his cock, twice the size of Joseph’s own and ready to plunder.

What did it say about him that he didn’t even feature in his own sexual fantasies? Was this even a fantasy, or just a horrible waking nightmare?

The bottle of backup-vodka lay on the nightstand where he’d left it, still two-thirds full. He gulped it down, the burn in his throat finally clearing his mind. 

The truth was he was happy for Belle that she had someone who made her happy, even if it was Nosty. At least, he wished that was the truth.

With a groan, he set the bottle back on his nightstand. He’d need to ration it, or he might be seeing Nosty’s ever-growing cock all weekend.

[Chapter 4]

[cringefaecompilation]

jester of course invites bell's hells to her wedding AND ludinus so when they show up they said they carpooled with him and it's fearne holding an urn of his ashes

[christian-dubuis-santini]

Des élections en Ukraine par Philippe Muray, il y a vingt ans…

«À quelques années de là, et à la faveur des troubles consécutifs aux élections ukrainiennes, on pouvait constater qu'une amélioration notable été apportée à la démocratie.

Les Ukrainiens venaient de voter pour le mauvais candidats, l'orthodoxe, le pro-Russe, celui dont ne voulaient à aucun prix ni l'Union Européenne Christophobe ni les États-Unis Démocrates, ni d'ailleurs non plus un seul médiatique occidental.

Il fut donc aussitôt établi que cette élection n'avait pu être obtenue que par une immonde tricherie ; mais de toute façon celà importait peu : il fallait qu'il y ait eu tricherie puisque le «verdict des urnes» ne correspondait pas avec ce qui avait été décidé qu'il serait.

Il n'était pas question de laisser plus longtemps des gens vivre, penser et voter autrement que selon le nouveau catéchisme torché par les robots sans entrailles de l'Europe divine anti-chrétienne.

Dans cette nouvelle bouffonnerie, à Kiev la terre fut bleue comme une orange et la révolution devint une rave permanente en centre-ville, une sorte de Nuit blanche conforme aux Nuits Blanches de l'Occident décomposé.

Ici, il s'agissait de tuer un dernier adversaire récalcitrant : l'âme russe, rétive aux centres-villes et incompétente en Nuits blanches.

Avant même le retripatouillage de ces élections tripatouillées, l'issue de celles-ci ne faisait donc aucun doute puisqu'elle avait été décidée en bas lieu.»

(Philippe Muray, L’envie du pénal, in Essais - Les Belles Lettres, 2005)

[thesilicontribesman]

Prehistoric Pottery Selection, The Museum of Archaeology, Durham

[detroitlib]

View along canal, with man leaning on bridge panel in center of frame. Bridge is made of elaborate metal panels, with urn full of plants on end. Arched stone bridge on branching canal. Recorded in glass negative ledger: "D/Parks-Belle Isle, August 1898." Emulsion slightly damaged at edges and corners.

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

[callmearcturus]

Writing this script is a nightmare

Prose comes so easily to me that shifting gears like this and trying something so different is wild. I'm writing this first draft by hand in a spare notebook and I keep SPIRALLING out on tangents like oh hell's bells I brought up this project with my mother and she mentioned that Augie has his wife's ashes not in an urn but split between three tupperware containers and great, now I have to talk about the implications of THAT AS WELL.

This handwritten draft is a fucking mess of diversions and digressions, but it's also literally causing me to realize even more critical evidence for my reading. I have unraveled even more shit about Asteroid City just by WRITING this rough draft where I presume to be qualified to explain this movie to another human being.

Augie's wife is in the tupperware (1 of 3) and Conrad died in a car crash, do you see the connection? Do you get it?

I WISH I DIDN'T GET IT. I WISH I UNDERSTOOD A LITTLE LESS ACTUALLY.

[lupitovi]

Shaka Ponk - Tout le monde danse 

Je sors à peine de la crise de nos quarantaines  Et je me traîne, j’me traîne. Les autres sont repassés sur le même thème Mais je ne suis pas la même, pas la même. 

Même si tout le monde danse en belle Assemblée et que le beat cogne Même si quelques-uns pensent à se rassembler et que les flics cognent 

Everybody dance Everybody dance 

Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody 

Tout le monde danse quand ces gens-là claquent des doigts Mais moi je danse pas. 

Tu dis que l’amour existe et que le SYS t’aime Mais je suis ken, j’suis ken Tout le monde s’écrase, toute le monde rejoue la même scène Mais ça ne vaut pas la peine, pas la peine. 

Même si tout le monde danse pour ne pas penser (Ou ne pense qu’à dépenser) Même quand tous ces gosses pensent à tout balancer c’est du mineur en majorité. 

Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody  

Tout le monde danse quand ces gens là claquent des doigts Mais moi je danse pas. 

Je danse pas cet air, Je danse pas les fausses guerres. Je danse pas quand on me dicte tout et son contraire. J’danse pas quand ces gens là claquent des doigts. Les aiguilles de fer dans des clés de bras, j’danse pas . Je danse pas pour le beat qui s’agite dans le ministère Big Pharma, j’danse pas Quand la vie s’enterrent sous les carrières leurs messages d’amour pour la terre, j’danse pas. 

 Les badass qui t’défoncent, qui t’effacent, qui t’encrassent l’art,  la terre et les artères en fêtant des lois, votées au pas de l’oie, dans des orgies romaines , Paris 7éme. 

Je danse pas Et je prends pas la pose, pour qu’on nous fourre des doses sous hypnose médiatique les Trois Singes en laisse, pour une Presse en sbire Ne rien voir, ne rien entendre et ne rien dire 

J’danse pas Quand ces gens-là claquent des doigts,  Je pense pas, comme ces tâches qui croient que pour que rien ne s’effondre, il suffit de s’en foutre. Et ce cri de la Vie, que personne n’écoute. 

J’danse pas pour les mass médias, pour les putes à clic et les politiques qui s’échangent des gosses par millions de minois mijotés,  asservis pour les putes à lobbies sur insta. 

J’danse pas sur la peur, les coups bas, les muselières aux infirmières Les docteurs bannis des médias pour laisser les antennes aux promos de la haine d’un faux candidat. 

J’danse pas pour ces mioches au pouvoir  Des urnes fourrées au désespoir J’danse pas pour ces sales gosses ripous qui cassent le vivant comme un vieux jouet dont on se fout. 

J’danse pas Si on me prends pour une bonne J’danse pas Quand on me prend pour conne Je danserai toujours pour ma belle Daronne pour pas que sa Nature ne nous abandonne. 

Tout le monde danse quand ces gens-là claquent des doigts Mais moi je danse pas. Tout le monde danse quand ces gens-là claquent des doigts Mais moi je danse pas. 

Mais comme il suffit de ne pas s’en faire et se faire notre mère la terre Comme il suffit de ne pas s’en faire Comme il suffit de ne pas s’en faire.

Ne pas s’en faire et se faire notre mère la terre Il suffit de ne pas s’en faire Il suffit de ne pas se faire chier. 

Mais comme il suffit de ne pas s’en faire et se faire notre chère mer Comme il suffit de ne pas s’en faire Comme il suffit de ne pas s’en faire. 

Ne pas s’en faire et se faire notre mère la terre Il suffit de danser binaire Il suffit de ne pas se faire chier.

Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody dance Everybody

[obi-wann-cannoli]

Then, one is never done with conscience. make your choice, Brutus; Make your choice, Cato. It is fathomless, since it is God. One flings into that well the labor of one’s whole life, one flings in one’s fortunes, one flings in one’s riches, one flings in one’s success, one flings in one’s liberty or fatherland, one flings in one’s well-being, one flings in one’s repose, one flings in one’s joy! More! more! more! Empty the vase! tip the urn! One must finish by flinging in one’s heart.

Somewhere in the fog of the ancient bells, there is a tun like that.

It not one pardonable if one at last refuses! Can the inexhaustible have any right? Are not chains which are endless above human strength? Who would blame Sisyphus and Jean Valjean for saying: “It is enough!”

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables, 5.6.4, “The Immortal Liver”

[fortunatelychaoticphantom]

Highlighted Posts - Fandom Topics

For some explanation, see serious topics post.

Avatar the Last Airbender / Legend of Korra:

Aang, forgiveness and violence in The Southern Raiders (meta).

Aang’s (lack of a) character arc (meta) + same response, posted independently from the original chain post with a bit of revisions (meta).

Avatar, violence and last second anti-killing rhetoric (meta).

The actual advice the past Avatars gave Aang (meta).

Aang vs. Ozai final battle and Star Wars influences (meta).

The Great Divide is good actually (meta).

Aang being rewarded by the universe? (meta).

Third season Scorched Earth plan out of left field (meta).

Bloodbending and Energybending (meta).

Katara didn't have a “plot armor” in the final battle with Azula, she's the epitome of a warrior (meta).

Katara and non-lethal battle winning (meta/joke).

Katara didn’t beat Pakku (meta).

Katara didn’t choose Aang “over” Zuko (meta).

Anastasia!Zutara AU (headcanon).

Mai and Zuko, what should have been (meta).

Mai happily joined Azula to hunt Zuko (meta).

Kanna and Pakku... why??? (meta/joke).

Gender equality in the Fire Nation and WW2 equivalents (meta).

Legend of Korra, the status quo and the institution of the Avatar (meta).

Making Korra’s dad chief is just… awful (meta).

Harry Potter:

The Malfoys didn’t have a redemption in canon (meta).

Michael Gambon is great, you guys are just mean (meta).

Snape, Dumbledore and the Defence against the Dark Arts (meta/joke).

No thanks, I don’t need a young Snape movie (joke).

What Harry’s reaction to his name being pulled from the Goblet should have been (joke).

The Tri-Wizard tournament has no rules (meta).

Star Wars:

Star wars and Pirates of the Caribbean are the same story (meta).

Kylo Ren and redemption in the Star Wars universe and Hollywood [tlj post] (meta).

DC:

so... does Superman have an appendix? (joke).

Why Selina Kyle never goes to Arkham (joke).

The Scorpion King/Wonder Woman comparison (joke).

Marvel:

Infinity War and the horror of the snap (meta).

Who’s the avengers’ designer? (joke).

Black Panther and The Lion King similarities regarding women (meta).

Shipping in the MCU (joke).

Antman and family (joke).

Pirates of the Caribbeans:

Elizabeth and Will’s relationship is the heart of the movies (meta).

The best things about PotC (meta).

Disney:

I sort of wrote a one-shot about the bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast (fanfiction).

Belle in the Hunchback of Notre Dame (meta).

Del Toro, monstrosity and Beauty and the Beast (meta).

Inner Workings is amazing (meta).

Frozen’s Anna and Hans (joke).

Quasimodo is awesome (meta).

Around the world with Captain Phoebus (joke).

Pocahontas’ ending is subversive as fuck (joke/meta).

Hercules didn’t know who Hades was (joke).

Other:

Bullshit “feminist” retelling and Mad Max Fury Road (joke/meta).

“Feminist” retellings explanation (analysis).

She-Ra and the inherently good protagonist (meta).

I hate the ending of She-Ra (meta).

Once upon a Time, Regina and redemption (two diverging threads of the same post) (meta): First and Second.

Ross Geller isn’t that bad, you guys are just mean. Or: The unbelievable cruelty of what Carol did to Ross (meta).

Bella Swan and Hermione Granger comparisons are bullshit (meta).

Twilight and depression (meta).

New Moon reread comments (meta).

The Good Place is the greatest show in history. But also I have thoughts (meta).

The single most beautiful Geralt and Jeskier art ever made [The Witcher] (fanart).

Dimitri wanted to find the real Anastasia all along in hopes that she survived the revolution [Anastasia 1997] (meta).

Godzilla, Pacific Rim and Hollywood: between grim-dark and camp (meta).

Wednesday Addams and the usurpation of the summer camp for rich white kids (meta).

Debbie Jellinsky is the best [The Addams Family Values] (joke).

Achilles and Patroclus sitting in an urn. K.I.S.S.I.N.G. (joke).

Of course the Jewish women are the witches in Oz the Great and Powerful… (joke/meta).

Bird Box and mental illness (meta).

My problems with Carmen San Diego (meta).

Ice Princess and teenage movie tropes. Or: They're lesbians Harold (meta/joke).

Lord of the Rings life goals (joke).

The School of Good and Evil and that little bit of antisemitism… (joke).

Game of Thrones / House of the Dragon genetics are weird (joke).

Why wouldn’t I keep talking about old fandoms? (joke/analysis).

I hate Barbie. Sorry. (meta).