#Crawford Farms

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

... The other thing is that so many of these businesses are set up with some grand humanitarian goal like solving world hunger or providing technology for developing countries. Because of these goals members work there for nothing, or next to nothing, but the purpose of the business is always gradually changed so that nobody ends up benefitting except for the Moon family. It has happened over and over again.

Graham C. Lester

Sun Myung Moon invested nearly $3 million in a cruel chinchilla farm at Boonville

Moon sells Crawford Farms ranch in Texas in 1999 for a loss of $1.6 million. It was hardly used during 7 years.


New Hope Farms International Equestrian Park

Hak Ja Han’s Las Vegas Peace Palace now closed

Hak Ja Han’s unused Geomun Island Palace

[ghostlypawn]

so hard being a lesbian connie taylor truther in this society

[xtruss]

12 Popular Grocery Store Butter Brands, Ranked

— By Crawford Smith | August . 6, 2023

Can you imagine a flaky croissant without the rich taste of butter? Mashed potatoes would be pretty sad and bland without a heaping helping of everyone's favorite dairy-based fat. That's not to mention the utility it has beyond just its flavor. Finishing sauces with butter helps to give them a velvety texture due to butter's emulsifying properties — the water in butter turning into steam is what gives puff pastry its lift.

It's safe to say that (almost) everything is better with butter, but that doesn't mean every brand of butter is equally great. Any grocery store will stock a variety of sticks, blocks, and tubs at prices that range from affordable to luxurious, and it can be hard to tell which ones are the best to buy. That's where Tasting Table comes in. We picked up a wide selection of butter brands from our local supermarkets and taste-tested them all so we could present our findings to you, ranked from worst to best. For this test, we bought exclusively salted butter and let each option come to room temperature to make a fair comparison between brands. We spread them so thickly on pieces of bread that all we could taste was butter. A couple were disappointing, most were pretty good, and a few were life-changing.

12. Lucerne

First off, we should note that even though this brand, Lucerne, came in last in our taste test, it would still suffice for most of your normal butter needs. If you weren't tasting it on its own as we did, you probably wouldn't notice the weird aspects of its flavor that stood out to us. And Lucerne did have some good qualities. When softened, it held its emulsion between fat and water, preserving its creamy mouthfeel. Some of the butters started separating at room temperature, which gave them a greasier texture. It was also less bland than many of the competing brands, with plenty of fresh sweet cream flavor.

While its initial taste was pleasant, the aftertaste was where Lucerne went wrong. At first, we thought our bread had an off flavor, but then we tasted some of the butter straight from a knife and confirmed at Lucerne had an aftertaste that was a dead ringer for SweeTARTS candy. It had some acidity, but it wasn't the cheesy tang you get in fermented or cultured butter; it was the citric acid-like tingle familiar to any fan of sour candy. The aftertaste had chalky notes to it as well, enhancing the SweeTARTS vibe. We're sure this butter would be fine if you used it in a recipe with other ingredients, but we didn't particularly enjoy it as a spread on bread.

11. Organic Valley

Different brands of butter seem to soften at different rates. After two hours on the counter, some brands almost melted, but Organic Valley remained firm yet perfectly spreadable. Its texture was its greatest asset — creamy and smooth. Other than that, it was fairly unremarkable and didn't have a lot of flavor. It reminded us most of Land O' Lakes, except that it had fewer of the milky, sugary notes that made that brand of butter distinctive. Instead, Organic Valley tasted mostly of neutral fat. There was a teeny bit of umami flavor in the aftertaste, and the butter was seasoned with plenty of salt, but this wasn't enough to overcome the overall weakness of its flavor.

Organic Valley butter didn't have any off-notes, which gave it a fairly significant edge over Lucerne. However, at nearly $7.00 a pound from Sprouts, it cost significantly more than standard grocery store butter. Of course, if you are passionate about animal welfare, you may find the fact that this butter is made using milk from pasture-raised cows to be worth paying extra for. Even if that's true, though, other pasture-raised butters on this list brought a lot more in the taste department.

10. Clover Sonoma

This butter looked fantastic. It had a deep golden color that just made us excited to eat it. The yellow hue is likely a side-effect of the fact that Clover sources milk from cows that have access to pasture — grass-fed butter tends to be darker than grain-fed. The only other butter brand we tried that looked this good was Kerrygold, which you'll find higher on this list. Our eyes primed us for this butter to deliver a world of flavor, but it ended up being mildly disappointing.

Like Organic Valley, Clover tasted mostly like fat, with very little milk flavor or savoriness. To our palates, it seemed undersalted compared to many of the other butter brands. The fat flavor in Clover reminded us of canola oil — it had a mild bitterness and a slight vegetal quality that none of the other butters possessed. We weren't crazy about the hint of bitterness, but it wasn't off-putting. The hint of vegetable flavor gave Clover a bit of personality and lifted it above Organic Valley in our rankings.

9. Grassland Non-GMO

This butter fills an interesting niche in the market. It's a premium butter, but it's not organic — just Non-GMO certified (the cows are fed on crops that aren't genetically modified). It also has a Validus animal welfare certification. We paid $7 for it at our local Sprouts, which was comparable to some of the organic butters. If you're not into GMOs, there's a good chance you prefer to buy organic anyway.

In any case, this was another premium butter that didn't have as much flavor as we would have liked. We will give it points for its sweet cream taste — we could detect some of the milky notes we look for in high-quality butter. However, it also had some of the bland fattiness we encountered with Clover and Organic Valley. A truly great butter needs to have hints of fresh cream balanced with umami and tang, and this product only had one side of the equation. Also, according to the U.S. Food & Drug Administration, there's no real scientific evidence that genetically-modified foods are bad for you, so we don't see any compelling reason to spend extra on this butter brand.

8. Vital Farms

Vital Farms offers the kind of branding (and price tag) that would make you think that it is organic or that its dairy cows are pastured. However, not all of the company's cows have access to the outdoors and its products are not organic or non-GMO. The company is transparent about the animal welfare standards it does follow, though, so you can do your own research to determine if its practices align with your values.

We paid nearly $5 at Sprouts for a half-pound package, which felt quite steep for a brand that is neither organic nor pasture-raised. It did have a pleasant taste; this butter veered more towards the savory side of the spectrum, with some tanginess and a savory edge. The texture was quite nice as well. It stayed creamy and emulsified after two hours at room temperature and didn't start weeping grease. This product's butterfat content is impressive, too. At 85%, it's fattier than most American butter (minimum 80% butterfat) and even some European butter (minimum 82% butterfat). We're still ranking it in the bottom half despite these good qualities because it had less flavor than other butter brands at lower price points.

7. Danish Creamery

Danish Creamery brands its flagship product as premium butter, but there didn't seem to be anything exceptional about it besides the name. It's also not Danish — although the company was founded by Danish immigrants in the 1800s, it's actually located in California. To us, it looked and tasted like average grocery store butter. Nothing about it was bad, but after we ate it, we struggled to remember what Danish Creamery butter tasted like.

This was one of the saltiest-tasting butters on this list, which was our favorite thing about it. It had very little sweet dairy flavor, but the saltiness was perfect for spreading on toast. However, the salt couldn't mask the fact that the underlying product was pretty bland. We don't think we would enjoy an unsalted version of Danish Creamery butter — other than the salt providing savoriness, there just wasn't much going on taste-wise. It was like a more well-seasoned version of Organic Valley. Nevertheless, we like salt and we appreciate that this butter is on the affordable side, so it lands near the middle of the pack.

6. Land O' Lakes

We have arrived at America's most popular butter brand, with $19 billion in sales in 2022, according to the company. As the benchmark for American butter, it's appropriate that Land O' Lakes should land right in the middle of our rankings. It's not spectacular by any means, but it's a solid option that you can find in most grocery stores.

The most notable thing about Land O' Lakes was how sweet it was. It didn't taste like it had sugar added to it, but it was full of the natural sweetness you expect when you eat dairy products. If this is the flavor you want from your butter, Land O' Lakes might be your best option. The texture was excellent as well, with a dense creaminess and no greasy mouthfeel. Ultimately, however, we found this butter pleasant but a bit one-dimensional. Even though we tasted a decent amount of salt, the butter had no real savory qualities — it was sweet followed by a salty aftertaste, with no umami or tang. This brand is one of the best in terms of bang for your buck — a bit over $5 a pound at our area Walmart.

5. Tillamook

When we bought Tillamook butter, we scoffed at its "extra creamy" branding. All butter is creamy, so how could Tillamook go the extra mile, especially since this butter only contains a modest 81% butterfat? We're not sure what kind of magic they're playing with up in Oregon, but this really was the creamiest-tasting butter we tried. It rivaled Land O' Lakes for sweetness while also delivering a rich, fatty mouthfeel. This butter also remained firm and emulsified at room temperature, which we appreciated.

Tillamook was one of the most complex butters we tried flavor-wise, for good and ill. On the plus side, in addition to a ton of sweet cream, this product also delivered some mouth-watering umami in its aftertaste. We appreciated the savory flavor, especially since Tillamook didn't taste quite as salty as we would have liked; the savoriness of the butter helped make up for the relative lack of salt. As for the negative, we detected a faint hint of the bizarre SweeTARTS flavor that bothered us in the Lucerne. It wasn't enough to ruin Tillamook for us, but the sour candy tang did knock this butter down a few spots on our list.

4. Challenge

At under $5 a pound from our local Walmart, Challenge was the least expensive butter we tried for this ranking, and it did quite well given how little we paid for it. This was well salted, which was perfect for using as a spread on bread — for that purpose, we like our butter to be heavily seasoned. The seasoning also worked harmoniously with the flavor of the butter itself, which was light on sweet dairy notes and heavy on savoriness. The aftertaste had a tang that was reminiscent of cheese. Especially at this price point, we were quite impressed by its flavor — it had more taste than many of the premium and organic butters we sampled.

If we were evaluating purely on flavor, Challenge would rank a couple of spots higher, but its texture wasn't great, at least at room temperature. This butter separated more than any other brand as it softened, which gave it a slightly greasy and oily rather than creamy mouthfeel. That wasn't a huge problem for us, though, because we loved the savory, salty, tangy taste.

3. Horizon Organic

Horizon's butter golden-hued sticks are made with pasture-raised milk, and whatever those cows are eating in the fields seems to have made a notable impact on the taste of the butter. This is the butter to buy if you want no sugary notes at all — it was completely devoid of sweetness. Like Clover, it kind of tasted more like oil than butter, but instead of canola, Horizon reminded us of yummy extra-virgin olive oil (the flavor resemblance was uncanny). This butter had a mild bitterness, some soapy (in a good way) notes, and all the bright pepperiness you associate with high-quality olive oil.

Though enjoyable, that flavor would limit the applications you'd want to use Horizon Organic butter. It wouldn't be our first choice for most desserts — we'd reach for a sweeter, more neutral-tasting butter like Land O' Lakes in that context. But for savory food, particularly anything with a Mediterranean influence, this would be our go-to.

2. Nellie's

Nellie's grass-fed, pasture-raised butter was another one with a ton of personality. The ingredient list said it contained lactic acid, and we could really tell; it had a ton of sour, cheesy, and umami flavor. It almost tasted like cultured (or fermented) butter, though it made no claim to be so the label. Either way, the powerful tang of this butter made it incredibly savory. It was a delicious and mouthwatering spread for bread, and we could see it working very well in a variety of sweet and savory recipes as well. It also earns bonus points for its hefty 84% butterfat content.

Unlike the olive oil flavor of Horizon Organic, which seemed like it would be strange in desserts, we could imagine the acidity of Nellie's butter adding a nice contrast to the sugar in pastries. There was also a sweet cream presence, though it was less pronounced than the savory elements and showed up mostly in the aftertaste.

We quite enjoyed this butter, but we could imagine its funky flavor being a little off-putting for some consumers. If you turn to butter for gentle creaminess, Nellie's would be the wrong choice for you. But if you looking for a touch of funk, Nellie's delivers.

1. Kerrygold

Kerrygold may be a little more expensive than some of the other butter brands at the grocery store, but it's worth every penny. It earns its name with its deep, rich, gold color — it almost looked dyed. This was the only butter we could smell the second we opened the wrapper. An intoxicating odor of fat, salt, cream, and grass wafted toward our nostrils. 

The butter is churned from milk produced by Irish grass-fed cattle, and we noticed a noticeable flavor difference between it and American butter, even the stuff from pasture-raised cows. Its flavor wasn't as eccentric as that of Nellie's or Horizon. Instead, it gave us all the standard butter notes — creamy dairy, sweetness, salt, and sharp savoriness — but just with the volume turned up. Thankfully, it had none of the bland fattiness of lesser butter brands.

Kerrygold's rich flavor and soft, unctuous texture were doubly surprising to us considering the fact that the U.S. version of this product is made following domestic butter standards. American Kerrygold salted butter is only 80% butterfat, but you wouldn't know that from tasting it. It was much more flavorful (and even seemed fattier) than Vital Farms butter, even though the latter contains 5% more fat. No matter whether you're looking to use butter in cooking, baking, or as a bread topping, we think you'll find that Kerrygold is a flavor upgrade over your usual brand.

[whoslaurapalmer]

hello. I give you a list of some of my mom's top favorite christmas movies (also some of my own top favs!!) that you should definitely watch if you get the time!!

fitzwilly (1967) -- dick van dyke frequently commits capers so the woman he works for never realizes she's poor -- and also because, he just really loves doing it. he must pull off his final caper to set everything right on christmas eve, in the hallowed gimbels department store. a great cast of character actors in this, including john mcgiver and john fiedler (the voice of piglet!!)

the man who came to dinner (1942) -- the incredible monty woolley, playing an acerbic, egotistical radio host, slips on some icy steps, gets stuck in a house while recovering from the subsequent broken hip, and causes Massive Seasonal Havoc for literally every single person alive. literally the most incredible dialogue you will ever, ever hear, with the most perfect cast to ever come together

the shop around the corner (1940) -- the og you've got mail, with james stewart and margaret sullavan playing the feuding coworkers unknowingly in love with each other (i prefer in the good old summertime (1949), the musical version with judy garland and van johnson (and s.z. sakall!! and buster keaton!!) (and still christmasy, despite the title!!), but! I think we should all see shop around the corner at least once. ernst lubitsch, you know.)

larceny inc (1942) -- edward g robinson parodies his gangster roles in the classic con tale of "recently-released criminal buys store near bank in order to tunnel into the safe". if you've seen edward g play it completely serious in like, double indemnity, PLEASE watch larceny inc, he truly has some of the most incredible comedic delivery ever, as do edward brophy and broderick crawford, also some classic noir and gangster actors having the time of their lives being silly

we're no angels (1955) -- humphrey bogart, peter ustinov, and aldo ray (eric da re's father!!) play escaped criminals who intend to rob a store but end up helping the family who runs it keep it out of the hands of their conniving relative, played by basil rathbone. it can be a little slow but is honestly, very sweet, a little absurd, a little dark comedy, just such a time all around

christmas in connecticut (1945) -- the most Shenanigans to EVER shenanigan. barbara stanwyck plays a magazine writer who's been lying about her life in order to keep her job and write a homesteading column. she cannot cook, or farm, and is not even married. her editor (sydney greenstreet!!) has a recovering soldier come stay at her (unbeknownst to him, actually nonexistent) farm to experience good christmas feeling. Cue The Most Zany Series Of Shenanigans To Keep Up An Absolute Mountain Of Lies

[angelap3]

Maggio 1940. Contea di Crawford, Illinois. "Figlia della Farm Security Administration, mutuatario di riabilitazione che ascolta il fonografo. " Sicurezza medio formato negativo di John Vachon.

[batemanofficial]

i cannot believe people actually find glen powell attractive. he's just so bland to me. he's like if you put chace crawford through like 8 rounds of bland white guy AI photo sharpening. i look at that man and i feel nothing. he's like the celebrity equivalent of béchamel sauce. i firmly believe he was created in a lab to be a human content farm à la sev'ral timez

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Act II- Chapter Twenty-One Su-zakana

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Implied Death, Death, Attempted Murder, Cannibalism, Framing, Guns, Animal Death, Psychopathy

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter @dilfdemolisher

Twisted Minds Masterlist

HANNIBAL LECTER'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT-

Will sits next to Y/N and Jack Crawford sits across the couple as the fish is placed between them. Hannibal pours wine. “Truite saumonée au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side. Beautiful fish, Will.” Hannibal comments with delight. He’s Back.

“It was my turn to provide the meat.” Will responds and I take a deep breath. This man obviously doesn't care for his safety, but I guess I don't either if we think about it. “More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials  of his wild existence find their  way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates. Then: “I hope "providing the meat" doesn't  mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table. As Hannibal sits. Will doesn't answer; Jack answers for him.

 “No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth.  Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness. Chilton has many victims besides the dead.” Jack looks at Will, nods at this. “We will absorb this experience and it will change us. We are all Nietzsche-ian fish in that regard.”

“Makes us tastier.” Hannibal considers Will. “None of our actions were personal.”

“I tried to have Hannibal killed. Isn't that personal?”

“You thought I was a killer. a very Nietzsche-ian fish. Trials of his wild existence find their

way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal serves food onto each of their plates. Then: “I don't blame Miriam Lass for shooting Frederick Chilton. I wanted to kill him myself.“Jack looks from Hannibal to Will. Unwilling to commit.

“Greatest crime now would be to walk away from what we've shared and suffered. In many ways, we need each other. We're the only ones who will know what this feels like.” Hannibal says with looks towards me and Will. 

“This fish is delicious.” I eat my Food and hold Hannibal's gaze.

HORSE STABLE - NIGHT-

Hannibal studies the dead horse's face, running a hand across its neck, almost unconsciously. Jack standing over him. “I agree with the pagans. The horse is divine. All beasts of burden are sacred animals.” I walk over to them,  “This kind of mutilation often presents as cult activity.” Jack says as he watches as  BRIAN ZELLER unpacks his kit next to the WOMB WOMAN, now lying on a sheet of plastic. JIMMY PRICE stands over the horse, photographs the sutures and incision. He cranes his camera, trying to get a good angle in the abdominal cavity. “When an animal's sacrificed, it's presumed the power of the beast will be psychically transported to whoever's offering up the goods.” says Jimmy.

“Which is why sacrificial animals should be healthy, without any defects. This horse was dying.” I say in my approach. I greet everyone with a smile as I sip my coffee.

“Its womb was more or less intact.” An ULTRAVIOLET LIGHT suddenly shines down on her revealing a constellation of SMALL BRUISES on her throat. Brian Zeller is holding a PORTABLE ULTRAVIOLET LAMP. “Victim was deceased before she wasenwombed. Ecchymosis of the subcutaneous tissue is consistent--She was strangled.” Zeller tucks the lamp away, grabs a flashlight and peels back an eyelid to find the whites of the eye are BLOOD RED.

“She was scrappy. Put up a fight.” Y/N, Jack and Hannibal watching and listening nearby.

“The horse is a chrysalis, a cocoon meant to hold the young woman until her death can be transformed.” Hannibal comments, “Transformed into what?” Jack looks at Hannibal with curiosity. I blankly stare at the poor woman who was taken too soon. But the person who carefully sewed her into the womb of the horse is not the same person who killed her out of rage.

“Life. A new life. This is a birth. Or it was intended to be. This is every bit as much about giving life as it is taking it.” I say as i finish my coffee. “What's the thinking?” Y/N studies the macabre madness laid out before her.

HANNIBAL LECTER’S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal sits in his chair, observing Margot by the window. “Mad dogs are put down.”

“That what you hoped to accomplish when you attacked your brother?” Hannibal Inquires “Apparently, I went about “putting him down” the wrong way. He’s still alive. Should have waited until my arm was healed.” Margot says turning her head towards him slightly

“Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good. Did you feel good trying to kill your brother?” Hannibal tilts his head slightly. “Trying wasn’t terribly satisfying.” Margot blinks. 

“What’s your relationship with your brother now? Has it changed?” 

“I think he thinks I’ve calmed down.”

“Have you?”

“Oh, I’m calm.”

“Are you going to try again?” Margot stares, studying Hannibal. “This is where therapy gets tricky.” 

“It doesn't have to be tricky.” Hannibal says calmly. Margot snorts. “I could confess to a murder and you can’t say a word. I could’ve killed someone this morning and you can’t say a word. But if I’m planning to commit a murder…”

“I am ethically obligated to take action to prevent that murder. Be that as it may, if there’s no one

else to protect you, Margot, you have to protect yourself. It would actually have been more

therapeutic if you had killed him.” Margot considers Hannibal's loyalties –

 BAU - MORGUE - DAY-

Jack observes as Zeller and Price hover over Sarah Craber on the examination table.

“She was a horse groom at the stables where her body was found. She was reported missing last week.” Jimmy explains, then Zeller continues. “Her throat's obstructed. Soil. Someone packed it down there pretty deep. There's none in her teeth.” He uses a small tool to remove a CLOD OF DIRT from her throat. There's a RUSH OF AIR as Zeller unplugs the clog. Jimmy leans across the body with an evidence bag, collecting the dirt clod Zeller pulled out and fishing for others.

“I'll check the pH levels, see what organic matter or trace elements we come up with. Should be able to find out where it came from.” Suddenly, Jimmy jumps back, a frightened look on his face.

“She has a heartbeat.”

“She was in rigor–”

“There's no pulse.” Zeller feels for a pulse on her carotid. “She has a heartbeat.” Jimmy swears as he points to her chest. “She has a heartbeat. We have a hand-spread on her neck, but we haven't found anything on her but horse uterus.” Zeller says as he feels her chest.

Zeller opens the victim's mouth. Shines a light inside.

“The uterus isn't always such a safe, nurturing place. Shark fetuses cannibalize each other in

utero. And chances are very good that everyone in this room has absorbed a twin. Mine survived. She has a heartbeat.” Jimmy says as Jack steps forward, feels the woman's chest.

“Something's beating.”

He cranks the rib spreader and CRACK. Zeller continues to crank the rib spreader, cracking the ribs as they spread. A moment as he leans in for a closer look at the chest cavity. A still moment, then: FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP FWUP A ROBIN flutters out of the corpse's chest cavity and flutters wildly about the room. As Zeller and Price cover their heads, Jack stands his ground, unfazed.

HORSE STABLE - DAY-

Horses in the stable stalls. Nervousness communicating between them like an electric current.

WILL GRAHAM Walks backward from FRAME right across the stable in front of the horses, their heads turning to follow him. Will holds a thick case folder under one arm. WILL STOPS. Looks down at the folder. It is open to a CRIME SCENE PHOTO of the barn. The dead horse and Sarah Craber's body. Will closes his eyes. 

The ORGANIC HUM of his CIRCULATORY SYSTEM is loud in his ears. A PENDULUM swings across the blackness behind his eyes. FWUM. FWUM. It clicks into place. WILL'S EYES OPEN. He now stands --

HORSE STABLE - NIGHT-

Deep rural darkness. Will looks to the horses in the stalls. Nervously moving and stamping.

“I don't want you to see me. I don't want you to see what I do. I want to calm you, comfort you.”

He slides cloth hoods over the horses' heads. Strokes their necks. Murmurs gently. Calming them.

“There's so much comfort in darkness. But not for one of you.” Now Will is leading a horse from its stall. The dead horse to-be. It too is hooded and stands calmly as Will strokes its neck. And then slides a large needle into its neck. Will holds the horse's head lovingly.

Will stands over the now-dead horse. WIDE on the open stable doors framed like a proscenium arch. Centered within them is Will Graham; the dead womb woman in his arms. He bears her gently, like Lear carrying his beloved Cordelia. Will carries her to the dead horse. Places her gently on the ground.

next to her, a small, DRAPED CAGE. Will pulls away the drape to reveal the robin which immediately begins to flutter inside. “I took your life and then tried to give it back to you.”

The robin flutters in its cage. Sarah Craber stares, her face smeared with dirt, mouth full of soil… Will takes a KNIFE and begins to slice open the horse's abdomen. It's hard work and takes real effort.

“I find its womb, place you inside.” Will's back to the birdcage. It is now empty. Sarah Craber is gone, too. TIME HAS PASSED and Will is now stitching up the wound in the horse's belly. “I hope that the forces of death and biology will bring you rebirth.” Will stands and stares at his handiwork.

HORSE STABLE - DAY-

Will holds the open file in his hands. “It's a coffin birth.” Y/N and Jack standing nearby. “I thought it was, Decomposition builds up gasses within the putrefied body and pushes the dead fetus out of its mother's corpse. It's really more of a prolapse than a birth.” 

“Not to whoever did this.”

“Whoever did this knew the horse. Knew she was dying because her foal was born dead. Knew Sarah Craber. He's familiar with the stables. He knew when he wouldn't get caught. He works here or maybe used to. He has medical knowledge of animals, but isn't a veterinarian. He considers himself a healer.” Will says he walks over next to me.

“How is this healing?”

“Sarah Craber was reborn. And a mother and her child are finally on the same side of life. This wasn't murder, Jack. This was grief.” I say to Jack as he is considering our next move –

ANIMAL RESCUE - DAY-

Two weathered buildings stand in a rustic setting, the animal rescue and, beyond it, a LARGE-ANIMAL BARN where the black horse looks out over its stall door. The SUV pulls up and stops. Jack and Will in the front seat.

Will and Jack approach the doors and find them open. Share a look and then Jack pulls the door aside and they enter. It is dark inside, but full of low noises...

SCRATCHING, SKITTERING, SQUEAKS and BREATHING. Like the room is somehow alive.

Jack KNOCKS on the doorframe. And the room explodes with NOISE. On every wall, floor-to-ceiling metal cages contain small WILD ANIMALS in different stages of medical care. Raccoons, skunks, squirrels and birds of all kinds. All now going crazy with AGITATION.

“Scare them when ya' knock like that.” Y/N, Jack, and Will turn to find PETER BERNARDONE, a weathered, lean man. Wild-looking himself. A scar on his forehead. “Peter Bernardone?” Jack asks as Peter moves past them, his focus on the animals as he lowers DROP CLOTHS over the cages, immediately quieting them.

“You don't seem curious who we are.”

“Who are you?”

“Agent Jack Crawford. FBI. This is Will Graham. And Dr. Y/N L/N. We'd like to ask you about someone you might have had contact with when you worked at Blackbriar Stables. Sarah Craber. Her body was found recently in very unusual circumstances.” Jack explains as he approaches the wary man. “I heard.” I notice that Peter doesn't like to make eye contact. He’s fidgety, but not erratic.

“There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?” I ask softly, Peter stiffens slightly: “Is 

“Yes.” A flicker of relief flashes across Peter's face. “Who's taking care of it?”

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack asks, not entertaining any talk of the bird. “I didn't know her.”

“Would you mind looking at a photograph for me?” Jack pulls out a picture. Peter shakes his head, turns and murmurs to his animals. “I know who she is, I just didn't know her.”

“Just to be sure.” Reluctantly, Peter takes it. Will is watching him closely.Taking a deep breath, Peter turns his line of sight away from Jack. Reaches for the photo. Looks at it closely, then

repeats the same pattern. Looks away from Jack. Then hands him the photo. Under this, Me and Will exchange looks.

“Peter, you had a head injury when you worked at the stables.” I ask Him gently. “I was kicked by a horse.” Jack looks at Me. “It's an atypical motor response. Peter's ability to look and touch can only happen as separate events. Aggravated by stress, isn't it?” Peter glances at Me, exposed and somehow understood.

“Are you feeling stressed?” Asks Jack. “I'm worried about the bird.” He plays with his fingers anxiously as he looks at the animals. “A woman is dead, Mr. Bernardone. And you're worried about a bird.” Jack says, frustrated. “I'm sad for her, I'm sad for the horse. But I can't help them. I can help the bird.” He turns away and goes to the cages. 

As We walk back to the car: “He knows the victim. He knows the animals involved.” Will says logically. Jack nods. “We'll need a warrant.”

“I don't know if he's the killer, Jack. If he is, he never meant to be. If he isn't, he knows who is.” I say knowingly and usually I am right. Peter might not be the one who killed her but he definitely is the one who sewed her body into the horse's uterus.

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Will sits with Hannibal. Mid therapy session. “You were able to reconstruct his fantasies. One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim's new beating heart. Her soul given wings.” 

“Rebirths can only ever be symbolic. en reborn. en reborn. Wasn't that the goal of my therapy?” Will adjusts himself in his seat. Manspreading. “How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time it nearly destroyed you.” Hannibal Tilts his head.

“Last time you nearly destroyed me. At least I still have Y/N.” Hannibal sighs. “After everything that's happened, Will, you still believe–”

“You can stop right there. You may have to pretend, but I don't.” Hannibal stares at Will, smiles, then: don't. Not with me.

“I don't expect you to admit anything. You can't. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don't lie to me.”

“Will you return the courtesy? Why have you resumed your therapy?”

“Can't just talk to any psychiatrist about what's kicking round my head.” Hannibal gauges Will thoughtfully, then asks: “Do you fantasize about killing me?” “Yes.”

“Tell me. How would you do it?” Will considers that a moment, then: “With my hands.”

“Then we haven't moved past apologies and forgiveness.”

“We've moved past a lot  of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed. And another when I heard Y/N almost died”

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

“Yes. And that I would do anything to keep Y/N safe.”

“I need to know if you're going to try to kill me again, Will.”

“I don't want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter, not now that I finally find you interesting.”

on Hannibal as He slides a FBI file towards Will, The Intitials, C.E.B. on the tab. Y/N Elizabeth L/N. “What’s this-?” Will asks confused. “You should know who you're protecting.” 

FIELD - NIGHT-

That the grave is at the center of FIFTEEN other graves. Nowwe see POLICE VEHICLES. BAU TECHS move in and out of FRAME. Large SPOTLIGHTS turning night into day. Brian Zeller stops his work as he sees Will Graham approaching in long strides towards Y/N. A long beat. Then he approaches Will.

“I owe you an apology.”

“You don't owe me anything.”

“I thought you were a killer. Didn't want to hear anything else. So I wouldn't consider anything else.”

“The evidence was compelling.”

“Didn't stop Beverly questioning it. If she thought we'd listen, maybe she'd have come to us.” She didn't. And there is the pain for all of them. Brian Zeller holds out a hand. Will shakes it. As they part, reveal Jack Crawford and Y/N standing behind them, letting them get it done. He looks at Will. “We tracked the soil in Sarah Craber's mouth to this vicinity. Methane probes did the rest. Found her empty grave. Then found fifteen others that aren't so empty.”

“If Peter Bernardone knew about Sarah Craber's grave, then he knew about all of them.” 

“Still think he's not a killer?”

WILL GRAHAM’S CAR - DAY -

I get into the passenger seat of Will’s car. We sit there for a moment in silence, watching the FBI personnel vehicles leave. “Y/N…..” I turn my head and look at him. What's that look on his face? Why is he looking at me like that? What does he know? Will sighs deeply. “Why didn't you tell me you killed your mother….”

My eyes widen. No. Those files were sealed. Jack assured me- “Will- I- How-” “Hannibal had the file” My brows furrow. “He shouldn't have had access-” “Y/N just tell me-” I look down at my Hands, flashes of the gun, bodies and blood splatter comes back. “I had just come home from cheer practice…..I was sixteen and I was the oldest of 7 children…..” I tear up remembering my Brother's Faces. “I was the only girl ...When I got home that day…. I didn't expect to see my Brother's bodies on the floor……” I hear Will take a deep Breath. I've told this story many times…but it's never easy.

 He grasps my Hands. “I tried to look for a pulse on any of them but ...they were all gone. Even my dad. When i saw my mom i was holding my youngest brother Peter. Mom was covered in blood but didn't have a scratch on her….”

“She Had Killed my family, and she was going to kill me too” Will lifts my chin, “I’m so sorry….” He hugs me as I cry in his arms.

ANIMAL RESCUE - DAY-

Will sits on one side of the examination table. Peter sits on the other side. The bird is between them, acting as a buffer as Will coaxes conversation out of Peter. “Said you're worried about the bird. Thought you might like to see it.”

“Isn't this evidence?”

“I'm not FBI. I used to sort of be FBI. But now I'm really not.”

“What are you?”

“I'm figuring that out. You might say this is some kind of therapy.”

“I've already got a social worker.”

“Therapy's not for you, it's for me. The agent I was here with. He's coming back with a warrant. He'll arrest you, impound your animals. And it will break your heart.” Will says 

“I didn't kill anybody. I didn't, but that's not always relevant. What did you do, Peter? They found Sarah Craber's grave. How did you find it?” Will says  Peter's attention drifts from Will, focusing on the robin. “Funny how you can develop an individual language with an animal only you can understand. No one else knows, not even other animals. This one's already speaking to me.”

“This one's spoken to you before. At some point, almost every culture believed birds carried our souls the afterlife They can't all be wrong” “You think I think this bird is Sarah Craber? She's gone, she's everywhere and nowhere.”

“Tell me who killed her.” Peter goes still, thoughtful. He regards the bird. “After something so ugly, I just wanted something beautiful for her.”

“You were grieving her. You couldn't save her, but you could bring poetry to her death.” Will says calmly.

“I wanted you to find me. If you could find me, you could find him.” Peter says as he watches the bird. The caged bird. Maybe Peter himself is the caged bird, trapped by his shadow. “Do you have a shadow, Peter? Someone only you can see. He's someone you considered a friend. He made you feel you weren't alone. Until you saw what he really is, and it made you even lonelier.”

“No one will believe me. He'll make sure no one will believe me.”

“I'll make sure they do.”

BAU - INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT-

Y/N is with CLARK INGRAM, late 30s, neat, smiling. The TWO-WAY MIRROR is at Y/N’s Back. Mid conversation: “Every social worker enjoys some aspects of the job more than others. There are cases that you reach and cases you don't reach.” Clark regards, “Your notes on Peter Bernardone's file are drastically different than the ones from his last case worker.” I say as I go through his reports and look up at him. 

“The social services system is far from perfect. It's common to omit certain information on difficult cases to clear a path in the world for those stuck in the weeds.”  I nod my head softly,“His sort of traumatic brain injury can make someone more vulnerable to psychological disorders.” 

“Post-concussion syndrome. He's had persistent cognitive problems. Confusion, paranoia, rage. Would have refused his case if I'd known.” He says his eyes are emotionless. Hello shadow…..“You don't seem to feel sorry for your client. A surprising lack of empathy in a social worker. “ I say looking into his eyes.

“Bernardone has accused me of murdering sixteen women.” He says with a clench of his jaw but his composure never breaks. “How does that make you feel?” I write down his actions, and what I observe. “Right now I'm feeling inconvenienced. I'm being detained on the word of one very damaged individual.”

“You're not being detained, you're being interviewed. The FBI is just being thorough.”

I bend to scribble a note. Ingram's smile falls. When she looks up, he smiles again. Automatic. A mask. “What are you writing down?” “An observation.”

“About me?” I smile at Ingram and seemingly instinctively reaches out to touch Ingram's hand on the tabletop. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He pulls his hand away. His face changes, eyes become still and cold. Then he smiles again, forcing charm back through.

“Did you know Sarah Craber?”

“No. Peter talked about her extensively during my house visits. I'd say he was obsessed with her.”

“You think Peter Bernardone is capable of murder?”

“I'm not a psychiatrist, Dr. L/N.” Y/N nods, makes another note.

“I'm curious, Mr. Ingram. Why did you become a social worker?”

“Society needs caring people.”

“It also needs a few psychopaths to  keep the rest of us on our toes.”  He leans forward, the smile gone now. “There is no evidence I did this. It's a statement of fact for him, not of innocence. And if you want to know how I feel, I feel like I don't want to be here anymore. If I'm not being detained, I'd like to be on my way.” I watch him without speaking.

ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT-

Oddly quiet and still. Dark inside, but the low noises we've heard before are absent. Peter walks inside and senses something is wrong. Turns on a light to find – THE WALLS OF CAGES Are all empty. Their doors thrown open. The food and bedding tossed haphazardly about.

Peter moans deep within himself. Turns and exits --

Peter comes out running and heads for the large-animal barn. He rushes inside.

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT-

The horse lies dead on the floor amidst the pens and stalls. Bleeding out from a head wound,  next to a bloody hammer. Peter drops to his knees and strokes the horse's head. A shadow falls across him and he turns to see Clark Ingram standing behind him. Incongruously, Ingram holds a bloodied hammer, a tuft of black horse hair stuck to the blood.

“What have you done, Peter? I'm worried about you. You've been expressing a lot of rage recently.” Peter stares at him as if he were mad, tears welling.

“So often in my line of work, I see people take out their resentments on those closest to them. It's a sad fact of human nature. And your brain injury leaves you prone to extremes of emotion. The way you think is compromised. Peter, you're destroying your life.” Peter is realizing how realistic this version of events sounds. Shakes his head. Agitated. Hating the kernel of truth behind these lies.

“Sarah was a sad reminder of all the things you'll never have. And that's the very horse who

kicked you in the head.” Peter looks at the horse. “She was scared, she didn't mean to.”

“Some will say this was a long-time coming. I know I will. Already have. Sixteen women, Peter. You killed the first shortly after your accident. You killed them because you weren't worthy of them.” Clark sounds so plausible. He smiles at Peter, suddenly his eyes are so cruel. “You Killed them”

“If I had killed them, it's because I decided they were worthy of me.” His cruelty and malice are too much for Peter who quietly eyes the hammer in Clark Ingram's hand .

 ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT-

Hannibal's car comes in and Will exits. Will rushes toward the shelter with a now awake Y/N trailing behind him. Will and Y/N enter. Scan the room. Realizing the place has been ransacked. Will stares at the devastation. Hannibal appears behind him. Will draws his gun, turns and rushes back past Hannibal.  Y/N and Will run across the yard to the large-animal barn.

“Peter?! Peter Bernardone?!”Will enters the barn.

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT-

Peter Turns and looks at Will and Y/N. His face is streaked with blood. A cut on his head. Peter is kneeling before the dead black horse, a pool of blood spreading around him from the terrible wound in its abdomen which he is fin Hannibal appears at Will's shoulder. Will lowers his gun.

Will and Hannibal are still looking at Peter on the floor by the dead black horse.ishing stitching. The horse's belly is horribly distended. “Peter….is your social worker inside that horse?” I ask softly. Peter nods.

“We are hardwired to see human beings everywhere. Every animal. Every life. We're all human.”

“Even God is personified.” Hannibal says softly. “He couldn't see that. He forfeited his humanity. I forfeited mine. I used to have a horrible fear of hurting anything. He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.”

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal  situation is normal behavior.”

“He deserves to die.” WILL, sad for Peter. “But you didn't deserve to kill him. I want you to come with me, Peter.” Peter nods, stands and allows Will to lead him from the building and out into the darkness beyond. HANNIBAL Taking in the scene, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air as he sniffs it. He turns away and considers the night sky.

the dead horse in the background. The flesh undulates. Guts spill. And then, as a BLOODIED HAND forces its way out, grasping for ground.

ANIMAL RESCUE - NIGHT -

Peter Bernardone moves sadly through the wreckage, righting things, picking up cages, etc. Like a bereft mourner in the space of a lost loved one. The absence pains him  “Cowbirds lay their eggs in other birds' nests. Tricks them into raising their chicks. But a robin knows when it's being used.”

“Did you know?”

“I didn't want to know. If a robin removes a cowbird's egg from its nest, the cowbird will destroy that nest, eggs and all.” “Out of spite?” “It's not spite. Spite is uniquely human. We just don't understand why the cowbirds do it.”

“What was done to you was cruelty for cruelty's sake.” Peter opens empty cages, as if to coax the animals home.“Some of them will survive on their own. Some of them won't. Some of them will come home. But I won't be here when they do, will I?”

“No.” “I hate him.”

“I envy your hate. Makes it much easier when you know how to feel.”

“Makes what easier?” “Killing them.”

“I didn't kill him. I wanted him to wake up in death and choke on it.”

ANIMAL RESCUE - LARGE-ANIMAL BARN - NIGHT -

the black horse's body to reveal Clark Ingram as he stands, fouled with blood and slime. Hannibal has his back to Clark. Smiling as he feeds a handful of meal to a PIG in a stall.

across the floor, past Hannibal, toward Clark. As we get close, we RACK FOCUS from Clark's nightmarish slick face to the steel of the hammer still clotted with gore… He bends and picks it up. Reveal Hannibal watching, bemused and impressed.

“Mr. Ingram.” Clark stands still, momentarily thrown by this polite greeting.

“Might want to crawl back in there, if you know what's good for you.” Hannibal turns his head and Will Graham steps out of darkness, coming INTO FOCUS as he enters the barn, gun raised before him. Hannibal steps to one side. Watching, fascinated. Will approaches Ingram.

As Will approaches with the gun, Ingram sees murder in his eyes and drops the hammer. it drops into the dirt and falls sideways. Clark holds out his arms and drops to his knees like a

penitent. Smiles up at the advancing Will. 

“Officer, I'm the victim here.”

“I'm not an officer. I'm a friend of Peter's.” His face falls as Will cocks the hammer. “Peter's confused.” the barrel of the gun to the cocked hammer and then Will's face beyond.

“I'm not. Pick up the hammer.”

“Will.”

“Pick it up.”

Will's finger tightens on the trigger. His gaze and expression become steely and inscrutable.Hannibal moves to Will, a devil on his shoulder, whispers: “It won't feel the same, Will. It won't feel like killing me.”  “It doesn't have to. I know what it will feel like. It'll feel good.”

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don't do this for him. Not for Mr. Ingram's victims or their many friends and relatives who would love to see him dead. If you're going to do this, Will...You have to do it for yourself.” I say as I kiss him on the cheek softly. My hand stroking his arm.

“Please don't.”

“You would be wise to remain silent, Mr. Ingram.” I say firmly. To see him dead would make me glad. Wish i could do it myself, but not today…not right now. I want to see what Will would do.

“This is not the reckoning you promised yourself, Will.” His finger so tight --the trigger CLICKS -- the hammer FALLS -- HANNIBAL'S FINGER, between the hammer and firing pin. Will looks at Hannibal as Hannibal slides his hand around Will's and pulls the gun away. Hannibal talks quietly to Will and I: 

“With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict either of you. I can feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me. You truly are a Butterfly Y/N.”

[oneforthemunny]

Please are we all about to start our periods?😭

But Baby Cooper thoughts? Do the other babies have names? I think you said another boy and then a girl but I don't remember their names. Sorry if you've already answered this!

i don't even have a period anymore so idk lol. my body is fucked and my life has been so hectic i haven't gotten around to going back to the doctor whoops.

i think that it was crawford and caroline?? i believe those were the names but that genuinely was from like a year ago lmao. i remember them all being 'c' names but i'm open to suggestions <3

baby coop thought of the day is he loves going to the farm supply store with eddie bc they always have little baby ducks that like to go down the little slide into the water and he loves watching them <3 (please tell me there's some other hicks out there who know what i'm talking about lmao)

eddie likes to take him alone to give you some "alone time", but really it's because he knows if you saw the way cooper squealed and laughed when he saw the ducks, that you'd be begging him for ducks. and he's already got the goats and chickens, he can't take on anymore lmao.

[cyanbugremix]

Redacted OC - Wrenley

I made a redacted OC!

FACTS ABOUT THEM!

Full name: Wrenley Orin Crawford

Pronouns: They/Them

Sexuality/Romance/Gender: Pansexual, Non-binary

Magic: Water Elemental

Job: Harvester for their family's vineyard/winery business in Dahlia (Farm called Whisper Springs Vineyard) and also works at the farmer's market stall.

Pet: Pip the rabbit

Likes: Finding frogs, making mini origami, playing COD and Fortnite, pranking, being active.

Personality: Excitable, Brave, One-track-minded, Adaptable. Enneagram Type 7.

Other fun facts:

Has moderate hearing loss (can't hear low pitch and quiet sounds).

Has tattoos (Has one on their left arm is a cherry blossom, and a water lily on their right thigh).

As a little kid, they would run a lot (just anywhere no matter what reason), and they needed those toddler backpacks with leashes so their parents could find them.

Wrenley also has a scar on their right eyebrow, because they ran into a metal pole as a kid.

They prefer Cheez-Its over Goldfish.

Always has opinions on what water tastes like.

Has an older sister. Father runs the winery business- took over after their Mother passed away O.O (the business used to be her main job).

- - -

And the picrews I made while I figured out what they looked like

Thanks to my friend @pandoraroid for naming the bunny, and coming up with other ideas, with me :)

[noxexistant]

hiii nox i love ur headcanons of the delanceys and i would love to hear their obscure sources!! it sounded rlly interesting ^__^

[visibly vibrating] hi yes i would love to do that please let me do that, thank you so much for asking

the delanceys were raised catholic

in uksies, tommy boy is catholic (or some brand of christian) and has a cross necklace he wears - when he scabs and is interacting with the delanceys, morris holds the cross pendant on his necklace and prays with/over him in the background of that scene, in a subtle silent exchange. it's easy to read as a manipulation tactic to keep tommy as a scab - and, well, it is - but morris seems to pray very naturally and sincerely, and interacts very carefully/reverently with the necklace.

we also know the boys were raised on a farm, which combines well with the idea of being raised catholic.

morris has blue-brown heterochromia

mike faist, who originated morris' role, has blue-brown heterochromia! specifically sectoral heterochromia. his eyes are mostly blue, with one having a small section of brown, so i reflect that in my morris design.

the delanceys' father was abusive

the "guess he didn't take care of me" exchange. we find out that the delanceys beat the shit out of their father for a paycheck, and oscar talks about him with pure contempt. notably, the newsies also seem to know about the delanceys' father, enough to identify him. we're also told in morris' broadway trading card that he was abandoned by his parents, which isn't exactly top-tier parenting. leading into:

the delanceys' mother is dead

she isn't mentioned at all in the show, and is clearly also out of the picture. alex prakken, who played oscar delancey in the national tour and has one of the more complete backstories for the brothers that he's shared, calls oscar and morris "orphans" - which lends itself well to the idea that one parent is dead and the other abandoned them, in order to make both backstories (the trading card's and alex prakken/devin lewis') correct.

the delanceys were raised in the refuge

this is anthony norman's backstory for the boys! he played oscar in the national tour after alex prakken, and also played him in livesies.

i also combine this too with the trading card backstory that they worked on a family farm and were then abandoned - it makes perfect sense that, upon being abandoned, they'd end up in the refuge.

morris is autistic

this one is a little more nuanced, but it's a headcanon i've held for years and hold very close to my heart. it's more in how he's played than the writing of the show, but it's also in details i've noticed across actors, from mike faist to devin lewis to george crawford (my beloved). morris is played by all of them as quiet and overly-aggressive and restless, he has no patience and is incredibly quick to anger, he has no sense of self-preservation or danger, he is Constantly stimming. in uksies especially, he is constantly playing with his fingers, climbing the railings above the main stage and dangling from them (while oscar looks on with distinct concern), and he always seems a touch disconnected from the world around him. we're told by various sources, including oscar's trading card, that he's stupid and prefers to engage with physicality - doesn't seem to understand or engage well with jokes or sarcasm or mockery. in livesies, he is constantly pain-stimming/self-harming by punching hard objects - and also does so in uksies when he gets angry, including lashing out blindly at oscar and then appearing guilty about it.

altogether, he just exhibits a lot of classic autistic traits and symptoms, and seems to engage with the world in a very autistic way.

oscar has dyscalculia

"oscar can't count to twenty with his shoes on."

i THINK. that is all of my major headcanons with canon roots but if there's any more that anyone is curious about, please absolutely ask i love waffling about the delanceys <333 and thank u so so much for asking about these this was so fun!! i have been wanting an opportunity to do this forever

[pesky--dust]

After Hannibal tried to eat his brain, Will has a scar on his forehead always exposed. The only witness to this was Jack Crawford. Hannibal couldn't finish his job because they were kidnapped by Manson Verger's men.

At the Muskrat farm, Will also suffered other injuries. Do you think it was revealed during Hannibal's trial that it was Hanniabal who gave Will the wound on Will's forehead? Or was this Will's "sweet secret" and that's why he kept that scar exposed, as a mark of belonging to Hannibal?

This became very important question to me.

[sillysoraya]

I've been messing around in my Austen sims hood again for the first time in ages, and what a fun group they are! Nothing very serious, realistic, decorated etc. just fun seeing who gets on best.

I dropped out a bunch from uni into houses and apartments in the main hood ,as I didn't think they all suited uni life (Robert Martin on his own farm, Catherine Morland, Fanny Price & Harriet Smith share a house together which I've actually called Mrs Goddard's Parlour House haha, Lydia & Kitty Bennet share an apartment, George Wickham & John Willoughby share an apartment, and Frederick Wentworth is sharing his house with fellow Adventurer James Benwick for now).

Having these sims leave campus might cause some shifts in the relationships that have been developing though, as many of these sims were in raptures with those still at uni! Things haven't developed as much as I'd like in their lives in general as most of the time I load the hood, tweak personalities etc., have a bunch of them mingle on one lot, then save and leave haha.

Here is the beautiful but cruel Caroline Bingley for starters, the rest under the cut.

Henry Tilney and John Willoughby have been all over each other since the beginning, but Willoughby's dropped out, so I'm not sure how that will go over with them both and if they'll stay true or look elsewhere (sweet Henry please don't be attached to him!).

Strangely enough, their girls Catherine Morland and Marianne Dashwood haven't felt particularly bothered by this turn of events...

Frederick Wentworth has been very physical with Mary Crawford, but again, maybe their eyes will wander now Frederick has left campus for life in the main hood.

Edmund Bertram has been very openly affectionate with many of the ladies. With Fanny Price recently moving away, perhaps Mary Bennet or Anne Elliot will take up more of his thoughts now? He has 3 bolts with all of them. But James Benwick (bottom right with goatee) is smitten with Fanny and Anne too.... fight!

Elinor Dashwood has both Edward Ferrars and Christopher Brandon chasing after her, and she has 3 bolts and crushes on both. Who will she choose?

Lizzie Bennet and Charlotte Lucas are still all over each other constantly, and now rolling engagement wants. Maybe they'll stick it out and move in together after graduation?

Augusta Hawkins and Philip Elton are very happy together, which is good as no one else is interested in them! I can see these two becoming a permanent thing.

A cute pairing I didn't anticipate - George Knightley and Jane Bennet! To be fair, Mary Bennet kept rejecting and then bullying him, so I think Jane is a better choice!

Harriet Smith and Robert Martin are both very sweet on each other (Robert was a little obsessed actually), and with both heading back to the main hood, maybe it won't be long before Harriet joins Robert on his farm? He could do with the help at least!

I think giving Jane Fairfax the loner trait was a bad idea - she's constantly picking fights with the cafeteria worker and has minus relationship levels with almost everyone!! Might need to switch that out for shy or something...

[flock-of-cassowaries]

OK, I know I’m a little bit hard on Jack Crawford, but I’m starting to see why he suspected Will.

Because they just clearly stated that they were going to go to the farm where the Angelmaker grew up… but instead they definitely went to the barn behind Will’s house?

And like, okay; maybe Will needed to make a pit stop. Maybe he’s one of those people who only poops at home, and his house was on the way, and Jack took pity on him.

…but then they went into Will’s barn and just coincidentally found their suspect dead in there?

Like, that’s sussy AF.

How would that guy even know where Will lived? How was he even aware of Will’s individual existence, for that matter.

Honestly, I’m not sure I understand why Non-Agent Graham wasn’t arrested on the spot.

(I know they definitely just already had all the cameras there, and I wasn’t supposed to notice that that is totally the same property. And on the first watch, I didn’t. )

But….

Will’s house, from a Street View from 2021 (it has since been demolished to make way for ✨suburbs✨):

Will’s house’s barns:

The “1.5 Story Tail” of the original 1866 structure that is Will’s house:

[hauntedjohnny]

A PROPER KISS

connie taylor/julie crawford

wc: 2k summary: a dive into connie's history of kisses as a game of spin the bottle adds another one to the list

"Aren't we a bit old for spin the bottle?" Connie mumbled into the beer bottle, downing the drink at the thought.

Sonny chuckled under his breath, grabbing the now-empty bottle from her hand. "And you call me the stick-in-the-mud?"

Connie opened her mouth in retort, but Sonny cut it off with a teasing finger waggle. "You go sit your ass down. Imma get you another drink to drown your sorrows."

Connie's eyes followed his finger, now pointing at the crowd of intoxicated teens gathering around the stained shag rug that sat in the middle of the room. Her mouth closed into a thin lip to prevent an annoyed huff from escaping, arms crossed as she surveyed the faces of her potential suitors. Boys and girls alike hung off each other, eager to drunkenly kiss. Nerves began to knot in her stomach; yes, she had kissed people before, but never for a crowd of voyeurs.

It was only when Connie's worried eyes met Julie's that the knots loosened. Her grey eyes twinkled when Danny leant forward to whisper in her ear, never breaking eye contact, even when she pushed at his chest with a giggle. Now with her full attention on Connie, her tanned hand raised and ushered the redhead towards the group. She feigned consideration with a scrunched face before shaking her head. Unswayed, Julie's lower lip pushed against her top as she tilted her head, eyes filled with pleas. Connie always prided herself on her stubbornness, but tonight she lowered her head with a defeated sigh, a warmth blooming in her cheeks as she's reminded how easily she crumbles under Julie's gaze. Those damn puppy eyes.

Julie's eyes continued to burn into Connie's figure as she shuffled her way to the circle, feet dragging in reluctance as she scoped out a point of entry. She knelt between two girls she recognised from her biology lectures before a large shadow loomed over her to place a glass bottle in the centre of the group. Everyone perked up and quietened down as the shadow declared the beginning of the game. Connie stared as the bottle glimmered in the low light of the basement, turning into a blur as it chose its victim. Distracted by a loose thread on her trousers, the shrill cheers sounded so far away as she shrank into her memories.

As a child, most afternoons were spent at her neighbour's house while her parents finished up the day's work on their farm; homework at the dining table before they were allowed to run around until her parents called for dinner. George was in the same grade, so their parents thought they'd make good friends, sometimes poking at the potential for more. They were right—almost. She spent hours playing with George until their knees were slick with mud and their hair was tangled in knots, with George's older sister keeping watch from the porch as she flicked through a book. Connie never admitted it to anyone, but her favourite moments weren't with George at all but rather with his sister, Jane; she buzzed whenever she would help with a troublesome math problem or gossip with her as she waited for her parents. She had a smile that could light up a room and a voice that could melt the hearts of the wicked. Jane was everything Connie wanted to be. Jane was everything Connie wanted.

Subconsciously, she began spending more time at their house, coming over on weekends, staying over for dinner. More time with George meant more fleeting moments with Jane. Until, one night, Jane brought a boy over for dinner. An unfamiliar twist burrowed in Connie's chest as they shared a kiss before sitting down to eat. His mother lightly scolded George as he gagged at the display of affection before exposing his newfound feelings to the table. Something about a certain redhead making his heart feel funny. Connie was oblivious to the conversation unraveling in front of her, one hand indenting her cheek as the other pushed around the peas on her plate; she was scouring her brain as to why she didn't feel so good, but she couldn't find the reason. She wanted to go home.

The flickering light of the porch greeted her farewell as she left that night, giggles from the open window souring her already bad mood. George stood by the front door, admiring Connie as she picked up her bike from the floor and turned back to wave. Hearing the taunting voice of his mother in his head, he impulsively ran towards her and pushed his lips against hers. Connie stood frozen with confusion and embarrassment. Teeth clashed against her bottom lip as panic bubbled in her gut. She tried her best not to scrunch up her nose as she felt his warm breath on her nose. Without thought, her clenched hands moved to his chest to push him away. She refused to meet his eye as she got on her bike and pedalled away, leaving George in the glimmering glow of his porch. Her mind raced as she rubbed the sleeve of her shirt against her lips until they were raw. Her first kiss disappeared into the horizon behind her. She never went back.

Homosexuality was never a subject of conversation in her household—that is, until it became legalised in Illinois. She never understood why her mother spat in disgust at the news. It's not proper. Connie instinctually scoffed at the word. Proper. Connie, you can't wear trousers to church; it's not proper. Connie, you can't spend the evenings playing outside anymore; it's not proper. Connie, you can't get a job in science; it's not proper. Connie was never proper enough for her. The idea of being a housewife made her gag. The idea of being with a man made her gag. She thought her kiss with George was due to the childish 'cooties' mentality, but as she grew, her friends started to date and spoke in awe about how magical the feeling felt. She knew she wasn't like them. She wished she was—prayed every night until she was 14. A new couple moved in down the way at 14; that's when she knew this life was something she could obtain. It's when she knew she could be different. But, based on the town's reaction to difference, she knew that her life couldn't be found in Paris, Illinois.

Her second kiss confirmed her suspicions. Bradley, the boy who asked her to prom. She'd considered not going to prom until her mother harped on about it every mealtime. After numerous arguments, she bought the first dress she saw and said yes to the first guy who asked. One night of torture before her inevitable freedom. Standing in the doorway, feeling like a dress-up doll, she forced a smile on her face as Bradley's arm tentatively hovered above her waist. A flash from the camera blinded her as her mother cooed behind the camera. My pretty girl growing up to be a proper lady. The smile on Connie's face melted into a grimace at the word. Why don't you give us a kiss? A familiar panic bubbled in her gut. Connie's eyes flickered to Bradley's as she held her breath, the grimace never leaving her face. Bradley complied, giving a quick peck to the corner of her mouth as another flash of white captured the moment. The moment Connie decided she never wanted to kiss a boy again.

The thought of kissing some random college boy in a dingy basement caused her heart to drum against her chest. The thought of kissing some random college girl in a dingy basement made it drum harder. Would they laugh and jeer? Would they know? Connie wasn't ready to find out. She wiped her clammy hands against her trousers to try and soothe herself, eyes jumping from person to person as if someone were listening to her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she watched the smoke dance around the light fixture above them. Unaware, a sea of eyes turned to stare at her tense form. A nudge to her shoulder brought her eyes to the bottle, staring down the barrel of the gun. The chosen victim.

Like a deer in headlights, Connie's eye caught Julie's; two energies with complementary polarities attracted to each other, bound by space and time to be brought together. Their magnetic field repelled the rest of the world, merely observers on the outside. Resistance was futile. Julie crawled through the circle towards her prey. Hypnotised by the way her beaded necklace swung back-and-forth, Connie began drowning in the sea of Julie, stormy eyes, now inches from her own.

She had felt the warmth of Julie's hand on her skin before—on her back when guided through a crowd, on her hand when passed a pencil, on her arm when Julie laughed so hard she needed to hold on to something. On her thigh, however, the hand felt heavy, burning a hole into the fabric of her trousers. Her other hand brushed a stray hair to reveal her face, gently cupping her chin. The gesture left a trail of sparks along her face, the warmth spreading across her cheeks. Julie's circling thumb gently soothed the burn, eyes flicking down to slightly chapped lips. Connie rolled her tongue over the cracks, insecurity stirring as the light reflected off Julie's glossed ones. Green met grey once again. A stand-off between friends.

For the first time, Connie's brain felt empty. The only thing she could think of was Julie—the smell of her coconut moisturiser, the feeling of her strong fingers running through her hair, the taste of her honey lip-gloss. Her brain couldn't catch up to the feeling. Julie clouded her mind, like the smoke swirling above, suffocating her until she dizzied. Connie gasped for a breath she didn't know she needed, grasping the brunette's cradling wrist to ground herself. Julie's warm breath against hers was a lifeline, the cogs in her brain springing into action as the air entered her lungs. She started kissing back. It was as natural as breathing. It felt proper.

Julie's hand laced deeper into Connie's hair, threads of red entangled between her fingers. She pulled the girl closer as their tongues brushed together, causing Connie to raise from her numbed ankles in ecstasy. Eyes flutter closed as a soft whimper gets swallowed by Julie, her mouth curling at the sound for her ears only. Before she could let out another sound, Julie pulled away, wiping Connie's lips with her thumb. All Connie could do was stare with a dumbfounded glaze in her eyes as their chests rose and fell in harmony. Julie lingers for a moment longer, memorising the sight of Connie's swollen lips complementing the blush on her cheeks. The sound of Julie's soft laugh causes a smile to creep onto Connie's face. A solemn oath between friends.

Noise from the crowd did nothing to lessen the feeling of pride in Connie's chest, embarrassment turning into a mere memory. Ginger strands fell in her face as she tried to hide her growing smile. Julie's eyes never left her as she returned to her place in the circle, only breaking contact when another person leant forward to continue the game. Connie peered up between her eyelashes to watch Julie retreat, the girl casually leaning back against Danny as if she hadn't just changed Connie's life. Everyone moved on without a second thought, cheering as the bottle chose its next victim. The weight on her shoulder lessened. Breathing felt easier. She may not have gotten the girl, but she got what she needed. Maybe she would be okay.

A sudden sensation of cool condensation on her arm ruined the moment, shocking her system as she jumped at the intrusion. Sonny had returned with her sorrow-drowning drink, but she no longer had any sorrows to drown.

"Did I miss anything?" Sonny inquires, raising a knowing eyebrow at Connie's warm cheeks and glazed eyes.

Connie simply shakes her head, grabbing the bottle to take a sip, the coolness calming her singing fingers. Sonny continued to analyse her as she refused to meet his eye, turning her head away from the inspection. Something glistening in the dim glow caught his eye.

"You have a lil something..." Sonny trailed off with a smirk, reaching to wipe the sticky substance from the corner of Connie's mouth.

Connie swiped at his hand, begrudgingly removing the remnants of the kiss herself. Her cool fingers lingered, electricity buzzing between the tips and her tingling lips. Sonny chuckled knowingly at the sight, resulting in a jab to the ribs.

"Shut it, Williams."

[bitter69uk]

“Lucy Harbin - born and raised on a farm. Parents - poor. Education - meagre. Very much a woman - and very much aware of the fact.”

Yes! See Joan Crawford portray deranged axe murderess Lucy Harbin when Lobotomy Room (the FREE monthly cinema club devoted to cinematic perversity) presents William Castle’s berserk 1964 horror shocker Strait-Jacket on 18 January! The film turns sixty THIS month – let’s commemorate it over cocktails at Fontaine’s bar! Numbers are strictly limited – contact the venue to reserve now! Full putrid details here.

[kindred-sims]

"Miss Millicent is expecting you, if you would please come inside..."

Henry couldn't deny how much he'd been trembling in excitement upon he and Louisa's arrival to the Crawford home. As soon as he'd gotten home from school that day, he'd made a quick change into his Sunday best, running a comb through his mussed up hair, and proceeded on the trek up the hill.

Louisa hadn't been very pleased to come along and had mostly complained during their walk, but Henry didn't care. Nothing could dampen his joy right now, absolutely nothing.

As they followed the maid inside, Henry couldn't help but marvel at the inside, just as he had the outside several days ago. It was such a grand parlor, and perhaps the grandest building he'd ever been in in his whole life. Before now, the fanciest place he'd ever set foot in had been the church, but this?

This was something else.

"Henry! You're here, you made it!"

A high pitched voice cried out, and in a flurry of ribbons and bows, Millicent had thrown her arms around in a joyous hug. Louisa stood back, looking as if she were about to snicker, while Henry stood there dumbfoundedly, his cheeks heating up.

Why oh why had his mother made him bring his sister along?

"Ahem."

Henry looked past Millicent as they broke apart, his gaze falling on a well-dressed and proper looking lady in the doorframe.

"You must be Henry, was it? My Millicent has been talking nonstop about you for days now," She spoke elegantly as she walked over, smiling cordially.

"Yes ma'am, um. Thank you, for having my sister and I over," Henry tried his best to remember his manners, careful not to stumble over his words. "You, erm...you have a very beautiful home."

Mrs. Crawford looked delighted at the compliment, her eyes twinkling.

"Why thank you, young man. How kind of you to say," she said. "Of course, you and your sister are very welcome. Please, make yourselves at home. Millicent, why don't you show your guests to the parlor?"

"Yes, Mother."

Millicent guided both Henry and Louisa toward the parlor after this, the maid departing to the kitchen to retrieve the refreshments, while Mrs. Crawford excused herself to the gardens.

A short time later, tea and cookies were served to the group, as promised. Everything looked and smelled so delicious, yet Henry could hardly manage to take a bite in between his conversation with Millicent.

The two picked up right where they'd left off, talking about anything and everything they could manage to think of. Louisa, meanwhile, wasn't one for conversation, and fully took advantage of the free cookies, eating as many as she could without spoiling her dinner whilst stuffing the rest into her apron pockets.

In the end, she figured the visit hadn't been so bad. She still liked the farm better, though.

Henry on the other hand, found himself wishing he could've stayed longer.