I made friends with a lady-vulture at the World Center for Birds of Prey in Boise. She was stolen from her nest in the wild and raised with people who had no idea how to properly provide for her care. She has imprinted on humans as a result and cannot be released. What a darling little ham she is! If there weren’t bars and a window on her enclosure she probably would have snuggled right up to me. <3
He calls you late at night, and you can’t help holding your breath, waiting for a drunk confession of love, because this must be the time that daydreams become reality.
His voice is barely an exhale, but you hear every syllable because that’s how you always listen to him: so very closely. “Can you come pick me up?” It’s slurred, though his voice is just a whisper.
He’s drunk, but he isn’t in love.
So you slip out of your house, and you start the car, easily agreeing because it’s him. It’s him and it’s him and it’s him, and that is any and every excuse you’ll ever need. Street lights pass in a blur as you get closer and closer to him, and you don’t know why it’s always like this—why does every road and every map lead to this boy?
You like to think that it’s fate.
Your road ends where it always begins, and you stop in front of a bright house in the dark night, and various bottles and different people are scattered across the lawn, and there he is, walking toward you, and he’s drunk and he’s exhausted and he looks like hell, but it’s him—it’s him and it’s him and it’s him. He gets into the car, and he slumps in the passenger seat, and you want to say something—you want him to say something—but silence swallows you whole as you start the car and pull away from the curb.
And you drive, and you drive, and you try to focus on the yellow lines in the center of the road rather than his ragged breathing or your erratic heartbeat, but the lines are blurred and your heart won’t still.
Finally, he mumbles something, and you wish that you didn’t hang on to every word he says. You wish that this wasn’t fate’s plan because this is not the ending you’d always dreamed of. You wish that you weren’t listening close enough to hear him say her name, to hear him mumble, “She’s beautiful, and I don’t fucking deserve her, but god, I wish I did.”
Because he’s drunk, and he’s in love. He’s just not in love with you.
H.L. // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #42
This theory is going to work against most of my ‘A’ or ‘A.D’ theories but…. I think that Alison Lauren DiLaurentis might be ‘A’ this time. (or ‘A’ all of the time)
Since the summer finale I can’t stop thinking about how Spencer literally risked her life for Ali and how she has ALWAYS protected her. In every scene that ‘A’ has targeted Ali and the Liars together, Spencer stands in front with her arms and body shielding Alison. It’s her natural instinct.
Funny enough, it’s actually all of the Liars natural instinct, to protect Ali before themselves. Why is that? Because Alison conditioned them to protect her at all costs.
She knew that if she was ever in danger and asked for their help that they would run to her rescue. Even if she were crying wolf… even if she were lying…
And ever since then (with the exception of when they let her get arrested for Mona’s murder) they have never once let Ali down. She ensured that. She played them like they were dolls… or puppets. Just like ‘A’.
Why didn’t ‘A’ capture Alison if she is their favorite doll? Is Alison the ultimate puppet-master?
Jenna even gives the audience a little foreshadowing before the doll house and reminds us all that the Liars have always been Alison’s puppets.
“Like they were her dolls…”
“We’re coming full-circle on this show.” -Marlene King
Back in the pilot episode after Aria gets the very first ‘A’ message she automatically assumes it’s Ali. And she’s not the only one..
In fact, Emily and Aria both admit to each other that they think ‘A’ is Ali. How could it be anybody else, right? Alison is the only one they told their secrets to. “Friends share secrets, it’s what keeps us close.”
It’s been right in front of us this whole time and we chose to not see it. We chose to see Alison as a victim based off of what we have learned about her and her family, but that doesn’t excuse her actions. It doesn’t change her past.
The Liars only dismissed Alison as an ‘A’ suspect after the police found her “remains” buried in her backyard. It was a perfectly well thought out plan, don’t you think? ‘A’ sends the Liars their first message and then Alison’s body is mysteriously found and she’s declared dead, making her appear as a victim rather than a suspect. Classic ‘A’ move. Classic chess move. Check.
Alison being ‘A’ would make things come full-circle.
It would tie the Liars into the plot and it would explain how ‘A’ has always been one step ahead. Alison knows the Liars better than they know themselves and it wouldn’t have been hard for her to anticipate their next move. She is who the Liars thought was ‘A’ in the very beginning and how ironic that ‘A’ now goes by ‘A.D’, Alison’s initials.
I’ve framed the photo. It sits in my cubicle in the same spot it has occupied for the last two years. It’s a reminder for me to work harder. A reminder of all the pain that was caused by moving too slow.
Seventeen kids went missing that summer. Snatched from their bedrooms without a trace of who had done it. This case cut deeper than any I worked on before. Every day another parent would come to me and ask “why haven’t you found my baby yet?” And I would have to say “I’m trying. I promise.” After the sixteenth disappearance, we got a photo in the mail. There was writing on the back. Two words.
If you didn’t know better, you might think the picture was kind of beautiful. It’s of an old gravel road that winds delicately up a hill. The picture is taken from the middle of the street, the lens aiming up its path. One side of the road is lined by a patch of bright autumn leaves that look like they’ve recently fallen. The leaves are matted down slightly, as if by a heavy rain. In the center of the road there is a small basket. The camera is angled so you can’t see inside of it. On either side of the road there are gigantic pine trees that cast crisscrossing, haunting shadows.
Our department was able to find this location but there was no evidence. No basket in the street. Nothing in the woods. They dismissed as a false lead, but something about the photo got to me. I kept it on my desk for the next year, just trying to figure out what it meant. All I wanted was to tell those parents what happened to their kids.
There was just something off about the picture. Something that felt really unnatural about it. I thought about it all the time. The basket. The leaves. The pine trees. Then one day it clicked. Fallen leaves and pine trees. Pine trees don’t have leaves. They have needles. Needles don’t turn those colors and they don’t fall off in the fall. The pile of leaves wasn’t natural.
After a year of staring at the picture, a year of telling parents that I couldn’t find their kids – I finally figured it out. I dug a hole where the leaves were in the photo. There was a basket buried underneath the dirt. It held a child’s skull. Dental records matched it to Michael Blasters. One of the children who had gone missing.
I ordered an excavation of the area. The other kids were buried nearby.
Only one complete skeleton was found. It was a child that disappeared only a few days before we got the photo. Unlike the rest, her body was in a coffin.
There was a note pinned to the front of her dress. The same handwriting as the photo.
Summary: Two brothers and their best friend saved the world, over and over again. Ever since you were a little kid, you’d hear the stories. But, it’s just an old legend, right?
Out of everything in Gram’s story, that one word had stayed with you for years. You couldn’t have been much older than five or six the first time you heard it, but every day since, that name – Winchester – had been bouncing around incessantly inside your head.
Of course, Gram wasn’t always the most reliable source in the world. She’d caused quite a number of “boy who cried wolf” situations in her old age, so not many folks in town took anything she said seriously. Only the sheriff believed her, but maybe that was because she had her own crazy tale to tell.
This is a map produced by the Imperial Library in Saarthal by the Imperial Cartographer Association. It describes in great detail all the roads, population centers, provinces, nations and empires of Tamriel in the 4th era, set before the beginning of the ‘Great Endeavor’. It accompanies in the compendium “Histories of Tamriel” and is considered the most accurate maps of that time.
This map is based on the Beyond Skyrim Tamriel heightmap by Morcroft Darkes which is used with permission.
Coming home from church this morning there was a large black snake (probably a black racer) coiled and upright on the street. I didn’t realize it wasn’t a stick until the car had already passed over it and I saw it no longer upright in the rear view mirror.
I was so upset about having potentially killed one of my favorite kinds of snakes that it took me probably ten minutes to realize it had been in the center of the road, not where my tires would’ve been. Even then, I was afraid I’d maybe bopped it too hard on the noggin and killed it.
Heading back out later, I realized it was nowhere to be found on the street. Given the lack of scavengers in the area, it’s unlikely something would’ve gotten to it that fast if it was dead. Which means it’s probably okay, I hope, just very disgruntled. Poor snake.
HAPPY PARTY TRAIN 3RD single PV is finally up and lots of things to love about this PV. There is cute child version of Aqours members, nice background scene change, Uchichi got a girlfriend, glowing costume, Train that fly into the sky while releasing color hearts but I guess the highlight of this PV is the Mari x Dia scene- *Ahem* I mean that glowing colored railway tracks so just like the Yousoroad would this be…. Kanantracks? XD
Slow motion smooth, circling around the crystal drop of water, oblong reflections of my archway life, hinting the crimson, the feeling of more silk and paused bliss. I walk in too many mazes. I look for the labyrinth at the center. A straight road turns at ninety degrees. Four of those I’m in a cell. I no longer feel alone. My mind decides to guide me. I have reached some evolutionary memory and know my yearn. Smell lime juice and praise the palm tree. Sand in my toes melting into my veins. I love myself. I dissect. I love myself. I burst.