#beware or the horse may spread to you too

[swasdoodles]

the horse is spreading

[siriusleee]

i. hidden caches

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi (my bed frame broke this week and a new one was $200 I didn't have), I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

The ending had come quicker than anyone expected. The epidemics and endemics and pandemics of the years past had given false confidence to everyone. We survived the last thing, the news reporters had said, gray building beneath their eyes, and we can survive this. Behind them images of towns being devoured played. 

Bodies can decompose in as little as nine days. The first to go is the soft tissue: the eyes, the tongue, the soft flesh of the cheeks. When bacteria and insects are introduced, the flesh breaks down faster. Bones take longer - sometimes years to fully wear away into the dust that collects underfoot. But these things - whatever turned them kept them covered in a thin layer of adipocere to protect them from the elements. They kept shuffling along long past the time when they should have reverted back to a primordial soup where they lay.

But they still decomposed. The trick was to stay ahead of them, away from the gnashing teeth that transmitted the virus, away from the hands and feet that never seemed to tire. So few people could. Whole towns and cities were decimated, felled beneath the hordes of horror that ambled slowly past, swallowed up by the feet that didn’t stop moving until they wore themselves down to stubs, which were them pulled forward by hands and knees that never tired. 

But yours did. The familiar path towards the north was more overgrown this year than in the past. For a few years, there had been wary companions, eyes that lingered until the snow and frost rolled in to freeze the Biters where they stood. But as the years wanned on the crowd grew smaller and smaller until you only caught hints of others moving north: horse prints, trash left behind, the occasional Biter left decomposing in the bushes. 

This year there was nothing. Either you had moved too early or there was no one left. The latter is too terrifying, so you push it away and think about whatever groups may wander through here after you.

The woods loom tall above you, the snow that fell earlier in the morning just barely dusting the branches above your head. None of it had reached the leaves that are too waterlogged from recent rains to crunch beneath your feet. A blister is rubbing itself raw at your ankle; you know that if you don’t stop to treat it, it will be unbearable tomorrow, but you brush the thought off. You need to reach the marker before nightfall.

The markers had appeared between one trip north and your trip back down. 

West Village - 20km

The first year it had appeared left the group you were with in a tizzy. The group had fractured down the middle. If all of you found each other, how hard was it to think that a larger group had finally banned together? Civilization needed to rebuild eventually.

You didn’t trust the shaky scrawl that printed the words, so you had been with the group that refused to go. The next year there was another marker tacked to the first.

Body snatchers. Beware.

It was amazing to you: how well rumors could start and spread without phones or the internet. For months, every person you and your group came across would give the same warning, and ask you all the same questions. Have you seen the body snatchers? Are you the body snatchers?

Humans turned cannabolids. Farms where people were forced to reproduce. Spits with babies roasting above the fire. You wanted to think that it was the stuff of fiction.

In the third year, there was another argument. The group cleaved in half again when the promise of civilization reared its head. Your group had divided again at the markers, disappearing into the thick woods. 

Almost no one survived the winter that year. You’d held the hands of all the dying and covered them under a thick blanket of snow before dividing their possessions up between the remainder of the group. In the end, there were just three of you. And when the winter rolled away you all broke apart, whatever ties that held you all together broken by the cold. 

The next year you were the only one in your camp. 

The markers had become a sort of prayer to you, that one day you’d meet someone else on the road - some scream and shout that there were others out there even if you were too wary to speak to them.

But it’s been two years - the crude paint of the West Village sign fading, the body snatchers warning falling to the earth unceremoniously. The wood started to rot. 

And you were utterly alone. Around you, the sound of nature getting ready for the winter fills in the ever-present silence that usually surrounds you. It’s been weeks since you’d last seen a person: a lone traveler moving in the opposite direction as you. And you’d hid from them, worried that they were the sort of feral people turned into when they were alone for too long - a body snatcher. Worried that you were that kind of feral. 

You know the markers when you approach them like your body’s memorized the number of steps it takes to reach them. Your chest thumps as you approach the spot where they should be nailed to a tree, growing taller into the air each year. Your boots falter against the wet leaves as you approach the place. 

The markers have been repainted. Or at least the West Village one has. This time it’s nailed to a post in the ground; you bend down to inspect the dirt around the post. It’s packed underneath a thick layer of loam - whoever put it up must have put it up much earlier in the year. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wonder if any members of your former group are still there. 

For half a second, you think about following the arrow, but before the thought can fully form in your head, you let your feet carry you forward on the path. Just ahead is the rest area you’ve always used. Your tree, one with branches high enough that the only things who can see you are the birds whose nests you disturb, erupts from the ground ahead of you.

You climb up like you were taught; throwing your rope onto the first branch you can physically reach and lash it to yourself. It’s more difficult to climb the tree with your pack and bow, but you don’t want to risk leaving it behind for anyone who may come through after you. When you reach the point where the rope reaches the tree, you pull yourself onto the branch. The blister on your ankle is screaming, but you don’t pause until your hammock is secure and your harness is wrapped around you. The cool wind cuts through the thin fabric of the hammock, but it’s not too cold as you peel back your socks to reveal an angry raw spot crawling across your ankle.

Too tired to do much more, you slide your other boot off, tying them together and then to your pack. The gentle sway of the trees makes your eyelids heavy, and you let yourself drift off into the first good night's sleep you’ve had in a while. 

The bitter cold wakes you up, the wind moving your hammock back and forth gently. The darkness spins above you, clouds backlit by the moon. Not for the first time you think about how easy it used to be, curled up with another warm body beneath the thick blankets - how easy it was to switch on the percolator in the morning and wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee, how easy -

You press the heel of your hands into your eyes and try to press away the thoughts that are racing through your brain. Remembering the before drives people crazy; you’ve seen how it can eat people up and you refuse to let it eat at you. So you pull your thermal blanket closer around yourself and try to get some sleep.

But the sun rises earlier than you expected and extra sleep never comes. 

It doesn’t take long for you to pack what little you have back in your pack and descend back down. At the bottom you dig out the little bit of jerky you still have saved from the summer months; it’s disgusting, but it’s enough to push you forward to the next place. 

You walk the entire time with your bow in your hand, waiting for some animal to run out in front of you and meet its mark, but the forest is silent today as you push towards the next stop in your journey north, a small nameless village secluded away from the rest of civilization - just good enough to sleep in for the night. 

The sun has just started to sink below the treeline when the village finally springs into view. The blister on your ankle has popped, and you think you can feel blood rushing into your sock, but you don’t dare stop and check; you don’t want the scent of fresh blood to attract any Biters that may be hidden away for now. Your fingers cramp around the bow and your stomach growls. You’d picked a smooth rock up from the ground hours earlier and popped it into your mouth to try and trick yourself into thinking you were eating something, but it hadn’t worked. If anything it made your hunger worse.

There was salvation coming - on your second year coming through here you’d snuck off from the group and buried a cache. Each year you did your best not to touch it unless it was to refill something inside of it, but this year you knew you’d have to empty it. 

You crunch over tire tracks that crisscross over each other on the main road into the village; they’re dry enough that you know whoever managed to scrape up enough gas to drive in and out was gone, but the thought of someone driving up on you made you nervous, and make your steps quicken. If people were driving through here then you needed to be gone before sunlight tomorrow. 

Weary, you push yourself towards the back half of the village to a little two-story you know well. It had been the same house your group, and then yourself, slept in each year on your way to the north camp; in the back, beneath an overturned chair that was slowly rotting with time, your little cache was stored. 

You shoulder your way through the half-rotted back gate and freeze. The chair is tossed to the side, rusted parts puzzle pieced across the ground. And directly where your cache had been buried is a hole, smoothed over from time and rain. 

You could cry if you had any water left in you to cry. So instead you walk numbly into the house - habit making you click the lock on the door even though it’s long since stopped working. The same thick dust that was here last year is still across the floor, so thick your steps don’t even disturb it. You pass through the living area and up the steps. On the landing, you don’t pause - to the left of you is the nursery that’s always been empty. The first few times you’d stopped here the sight of the broken-down white crib and sage walls made something ache inside of you, and you’d learned not to look. It’s better to just let things alone and try to stifle your imagination.

The attic ladder swings down with ease and you test your weight on the rungs before climbing up - any broken bones and you may as well just shoot yourself where you lay. It creaks ominously beneath you but keeps as you clamber through the hole. You let yourself collapse on the floor beside the ladder after pulling it up, and wrapping a rope around the ladder to keep anyone from pulling it down in the night. All at once, hunger and exhaustion pull you down towards the floor. 

You’ll have to shoot something tomorrow and check the well for fresh water. There are still to many miles before you make it north enough to be safe for the winter, and you won’t make it without water and food. 

You try to distract yourself from the cramping of hunger and how little water is left in your jug by peeling your boots off. As you’d thought, the blister had split and bled, but thankfully your sock had caught most of it. 

You clean up the best you can in the dusty light filtering in from the little window that looks out the back garden and wonder who could have known the cache was there. An old group member who spotted you checking it in the past? Or was it a lucky guess, someone who came through after you and spotted the freshly disturbed dirt and came to the right inference?

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter as you pull your thermal blanket from your pack and lay down, but you can’t quite convince yourself of that lie. 

[xxyumeno]

Name: Ganieda

Other Spelling(s): Gwendydd (Welsh)

Origin: Geoffrey of Monmouth Vita Merlin

Faceclaim: Snow White from SINoALICE

Age: early to mid 30s

Gender: Female

Species: Human/Fae

Family: Merlin (older brother), King Rodarchus of Cambrains (husband; deceased), and Guendoloena (sister-in-law; formerly)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Height:  160cm「5′3″」 / Weight: Unknown

Handedness: Ambidextrous

Hair Color: White / Eye Color: Grey

Body Type: Petit / Slim

MISCELLANEOUS

Ability: Clairvoyance

Gift: Fae Magic

LORE

A sister greatly worried for her brother’s well-being after he had run into the woods of Caledonian due to his madness. Had sent searchers out into the woods to find him. A searcher who had luck on their side had managed to find the maddened Merlin after searching all the wooded valleys and hidden glades and scoured the mountains, searching in places few would choose to trod willingly. Though, it was Merlin who had found them lured out from the music produced by the lyre and the song the searcher sang. He was then brought back to court.

Ganieda long with Guenedolena, her brother’s wife, had run out to meet Merlin when he walked through the city gates. She engulfed her dear brother in a hug and covered him in kisses, grateful to be reunited with him. Happily, together they led Merlin back to King Rodarchus’s royal court where he was received with honors. Due to the roaring voices and many faces and severe lack of human contact, had caused her brother to panic and his madness to return. He had tried to escape back to the sanctuary of the woods, but was unsuccessful.

One day Ganieda had come looking for her husband who embraced and kissed her affectionately when she found him. A single leaf was found in her the Rodarchus removed with laugh while lovingly starting a conversation with her. Merlin had smiled knowingly and laughed upon seeing the leaf garnering Radarchu’s attention and asked for an explanation. Only did he answer if the king promised his freedom to return to the woods as his only gift. It was then he told how the leaf had gotten in her hair, she had laid with a lover under a bush.

With her husband looking angrily at her Ganieda tried to conceal her shame with smile and saying, “Take no notice of a raving madman who cannot tell lies from truth. I will prove his madness!” with it said she went about proving her dear brother’s madness. She had called upon a young boy and had Merlin predict his death this was done three times:

The first prediction was the boy would die in manhood by falling from a cliff. Ganieda then told the boy to go and cut his long hair short and to put on different clothing. The boy came back and Ganieda had Merlin predict the death of the disguised boy. The prediction was he would and meet death in a tree while his mind has shut out all reason.

To her this had proven her innocence when she told her husband her brother’s madness had caused him to predict two different deaths for the same boy. With the next she would further prove her point.

Now she took the boy aside and told him to acquire girl’s clothing and to come back to her dressed in that manner. The boy returned dressed as a girl and Ganieda presented him to Merlin and had him predict the death of the ‘girl’ to this Merlin said, “Girl, or not, death will be in a river!”

To these words Rodarchus laughed at the three different predictions of death for the same boy and was sorry he had doubted his wife. Ganieda was relieved to hear these words, but internally she wept for her brother. Wept for he had spoken the truth and she had falsely proven her brother’s madness.

Ganieda tried to stop her brother from leaving as she appeared in front of him, spreading her arms before him, and entreated for him to stay. Unfortunately, her ply did not work as he thrusted her aside and strode on. Her servants had also tried to stop, but they too failed as they were glared down and left shuddering.

The sister pleaded once more for her dear brother, “Have pity on your wife who loves you and will die for you. Would you have her live out the rest of her life in sorrowful longing for her husband? Say the word and she will follow you to the forest and live as you live. Say the word brother!”

Despite being softened by her words, his madness in him replied, “I will be free of her, free of you, free of love and its binding chains, therefore it is right that she be allowed her chance of happiness and marry a man of her own choosing, but beware should that man ever come near! On her wedding day, I will come to her and give her my gifts.”

Ganieda and Guendoloena watch his departure sorrowfully, but marveled how he could have known about the secret affair of the queen. They were convinced of Merlin’s madness when he had predicted three different deaths for one boy.

As Merlin promised he had returned, riding upon a great stag, to give Guendoloena her wedding gifts. She had run out to greet him and marveling how he managed such a feat. Alas, it did not end well for you see, when the bridegroom, from a high window, looked down and saw the scene he had laughed. His laugh had caused Merlin to look up, when eyes laid upon the man in the window, he flew into a rage realizing who they were. He grasped the antlers of the stag and wrenched them from their sockets and hurled with them with strength at the laughing bridegroom. The bridegroom was met with an instant death when they met his skull with great force embedding themselves into his head.

Following a chase with the stag out running the servants and Merlin falling from the horse into a river he was captured and brought to Ganieda in the royal court.

After some events following Merlin’s predictions about a beggar man and a man buying shoes, along with Rodarchus setting Merlin free. Ganieda once again caught Merlin as he was making his way to the city gates. She told him of her love and begged for him to at least see out the winter in comfort with her. To this Merlin told Ganieda this:

“Dear sister, why do you fight to keep me? Winter will be hard but not as hard as living among the savagery of people, therefore let me be. But, if you will then build me a lodge in the remoteness of the woods where I may watch the movement of the stars and predict the fate of our people. You can visit me and bring me food and drink and keep me company.”

After Merlin had left Ganieda immediately had a lodge built for her dear brother, where she brought him food and drink as well as keep him company. For this Merlin had thanked for all she done.

On a particular day Ganieda was told she needed to return to the castle quick for her husband was dying, by Merlin. He also then told her to come back after the burial and to bring Taliesin with her. For Taliesin had just recently arrived after visiting Gilads in Brittany.

Much to Ganieda’s grief for the words her dear brother had spoken had rung true. Her husband passed away and after the funeral she returned with Taliesin to Merlin’s lodge where she decided to live out the rest of her days.

Ganieda was there when one of Merlin’s servants had come rushing in, all excited like announcing that a new fountain had gushed forth at the base of the mountain. Though, she did not accompany Merlin and Taliesin in following the servant to see this new wonder. When Merlin and Taliesin returned, she rejoiced her dear brother’s senses had returned to him and his madness gone.

Later on, there was an event involving an old friend of Merlin’s by name of Maeldinus. It ended with Merlin inviting Maelidnius to stay and to serve him which Maelidnius accepted. Ganieda was no longer the only one living with Merlin in his lodge. It was now her and Mealidnius, eventually Talisien would come to live with them as well.

After the passing of her husband, Ganieda had lived with her dear brother and his friends. Quite enjoying the closeness of nature and the companionship. There were times Ganieda had become an elevated spirit and would foretell of the events to come to her companions. On a particular day a spirit had come upon her and a long prophecy was told by her concerning the destiny and well being of the Britons. This caused her companions to marvel in wonder. Merlin then spoke approvingly and lovingly that the spirit that spoke to him had fallen silent and the task of foretelling the future was now given to her.

NOTES

Ganieda was born half-human and half-fae when her mother had caught the interest of a wandering fae.

Her magic isn’t quite as strong as her brother’s and she isn’t able to do anything as extravagant as him. When she does use her fae magic, Ganieda primarily focuses on healing and charms.

FATE VERSE INFO

Class: Caster / Rank: 3☆

Attribute: Earth / Alignment: Lawful Good

Cards: Quick, Quick, Art, Art, Buster | Extra Hits: 2, 3, 3, 4, 4 | 5

Traits: Humanoid, Servant, Weak to Enuma Elish

ACTIVE SKILLS A Little Lie: Apply Evade (1 Turn) to yourself. A Small Affair: Apply Charm (1 Turn) to one enemy. Small Abode: Party recovers 500HP

PASSIVE SKILLS: Mixed Blood (Rank C): Charges NP gauge by 3% every turn. Item Construction (Rank D): Increases own Debuffs by 4%. Territory Creation (Rank C+): Increase own Arts performance by 7%

Noble Phantasm:  ??? Work in Progress

STATS Strength: C │ Endurance: B │ Agility: B │ Mana: C │ Luck: B │ NP: D

[just-another-busy-fangirl-writes]

December 22, 2017 - Holiday Edition

I am reposting old fic rec lists.  Unfortunately some of the blogs/stories have been removed, but I am still going to list them for historical reference.

Feel free to tag me in ANY fics you post, and see previous weeks’ fic recs HERE

Hopefully this list helps those of you (us) who want to get away from our families for at least an hour or two over the holidays.  There’s quite a bit of fluff on this list, so hopefully these awesome fics put a smile on your faces!  There were a million more holiday stories that I’ve read the past few weeks, but I tried my best to spread the love to as many authors as I could.  Make sure you check out everyone who’s tagging Kari (@thing-you-do-with-that-thing) and Ida’s (@like-a-bag-of-potatoes) 12 Days of Christmas Challenge, cause a lot of writers are doing that!

Happiest of Holidays to all of you beautiful people!

SMUT

Santa Baby by @impala-dreamer   Dean may not be the Christmassy type, but he sure will try for Y/N…

Let’s Stay Home Tonight by @impalaimagining   You’ve done enough Christmassy crap by yourself, and all you want is your husband to come home. When his flight is delayed and you have a little more time to yourself, you decide to make his wait worth your while.

Sparkling by @kittenofdoomage   Fighting a Krampus was not how you wanted to spend Christmas, but at least you’ve met your soulmate. Even if he is a little… tied up.

Home for the Holidays by @luci-in-trenchcoats  After his flight home is cancelled, Jensen decides to spend Christmas with his co star and long time crush…

Santa Baby by @queen-of-deans-booty   You’ve been waiting all year for this to happen. You got your favorite sexy Santa lingerie and you just know Dean is going to love it on you.

The Bell Still Rings by @sp-oops   Set after 11x09 (and ignores the rest of the season). Just weeks after the Cage fiasco, Jody Mills gets TFW & co to Sioux Falls for some much-needed time off. Sam’s hurting, but man, is he happy to see you. So happy that you’re starting to think your longtime crush on him may not be as one-sided as you thought. Here’s hoping for some strategically-placed mistletoe.

We Love Anyway by @sp-oops   Set after 12x08. So you busted Sam and Dean out of federal lockdown and then skipped town. But now that the holiday weekend is here, and you’re lonely for them. Lonely for Dean. When Donna calls to invite everybody to her Christmas Eve wedding, you head north in a heartbeat. But when you get there, immersed in all the lights and splendor, it’s soon obvious that you’re not the only one pining for someone you didn’t think you could have. Will you have the guts to make a move?

The Cozy Christmas In by @whispersandwhiskerburn   You and Dean are snowed in.

FLUFF

First Christmas by @atc74   Rob and his new wife prepare for their first Christmas together.

Christmas Traditions by @crispychrissy   It’s the Holiday Season and you’re stuck in the bunker with a broken leg. Dean and Sam plan some activities for you after learning about your family’s holiday traditions.

Anything for You by @d-s-winchester   Your ex will be at the Christmas party your office is hosting. Instead of you going alone, Matt offers to pose as your boyfriend.

It’s Cold Outside by @docharleythegeekqueen   Christmas music helps set the mood as Dean and Cas spend the evening with their girlfriend and son.

One Horse Open Sleigh by @docharleythegeekqueen   A Christmas date you’re hoping is leading to a proposal goes in a completely different direction.

All You Want for Christmas by @evansrogerskitten   Jack is excited about his first Christmas as you teach him the holiday traditions. The special day also brings a surprise for you as well.

What You Always Asked For by @imagineteamfreewill   The reader is one of Santa’s elves that travels to a new town each year to make sure even the poorest of children can have a good Christmas. When the boys find a case that links her with a string of recent murders, however, she has to team up with them to help save the children she’s been tasked with watching over.

All I See by @impalaimagining   Jared and reader have been together for a while and decide to spend this Christmas alone in a cabin in Colorado.

What’s Your Hurry by @impalaimagining   You and Jensen host a Christmas party, and before too many guests arrive, Genevieve asked you about your future.

Little Drummer Boy by @jpadjackles   Louden Swain decide to host a small Christmas live stream for their fans. Rob invites a special guest to sing a song with him, and everyone can see the chemistry between them.

Mistletoe Surprise by @just-another-winchester   Dean plans a little surprise for you to show you how he really feels about you.

Cancelled Plans by @katymacsupernatural   Driving through a huge storm, you get Dean to pull over at the next hotel where you are snowed in.

Crackling Embers by @katymacsupernatural   Jared surprises the reader with a trip to a winter wonderland.

Cabin Fever by @luci-in-trenchcoats   The reader and the boys take a break from hunting for the holidays to head up to an out of the way cabin to meet up with some friends and have an old fashioned Christmas together…

Meeting the Parents by @luci-in-trenchcoats   You invite your boyfriend, Jensen, to spend Christmas with you where he meets your family for the first time…

A Very Supernatural Hanukkah by @saxxxology   When Sam finds out you don’t celebrate Christmas, he makes it his goal to make your next Hanukkah the best one you’ll ever have.

The Christmas Con by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Dean explains to you why Christmas isn’t for hunters.

The Gift Box by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Dean has to stay back during a hunt and stare at his Christmas present from Y/N the whole time.

Mistletoe Trap by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Why is there mistletoe everywhere?

Beware the Office Christmas Party by @winchesterprincessbride   It’s that one event of the year that you truly dread: The yearly Sandover Christmas party.  Last year was a disaster, and you are determined to avoid it at all costs. But your BFF Kate is forcing you to go, and the only saving grace is the chance you might run into your office crush.

The Elf on The Shelf Can Kiss My Ass by @winchesterprincessbride   Your daughter convinces you to get an Elf on the Shelf.

You’ll Shoot Your Eye Out, Dean! by @winchesterprincessbride   You introduce Sam and Dean to a Christmas movie that’s old to you but new to them.

ANGST

I’ll Be Home for Christmas by @impala-dreamer   Problems on set and two thousand miles of snow and ice between them means Jensen may not make it home for Christmas this year…

Pre-Christmas Catastrophe by @jpadjackles   Y/N is out finishing her Christmas shopping on one particularly snowy day. It’s smooth sailing until she’s coming home when her car slips on black ice. Luckily for her, she’s got an ambulance officer as a fiance who just so happens to be working that night.

It’s a Terrible Tree by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Sam Wesson is getting a bit tired of his job, but Y/N is the best part of his day.  Can he get their place ready for Christmas dinner with her mother?

SERIES

The Emporium of Christmas Enchantments by @almaasi (on AO3)   Every night when the clock strikes twelve, all the toys in the toymaker’s workshop come to life. Dean is a little wooden soldier, so easily distracted by the pretty dolls. However, in the nights leading up to Christmas, he feels drawn to a very different kind of toy: Castiel, a kindhearted cowboy displayed on the other side of the store. Dean and Castiel spend all their time together, spreading joy and festive cheer throughout their miniature community. But once the Christmas rush comes around, will fate allow them to stay together? (Perhaps… with a little sprinkling of Christmas magic, even the wishes of simple toys can come true.)

Celebrate Me Home by @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit   A Dean Winchester Holiday//Daddy//Bookstore!AU - After having a traumatic experience back home, the reader climbs into her car and begins driving with no place to go. She ends up in a small town in Vermont where she finds more than she bargained for.

12 Days of Dean and Donna: A Christmas Story by @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog   Christmas has become just another day for Dean, not worth celebrating. Donna, on the other hand, loves Christmas. Can she instill him with the Holiday Spirit by Christmas Day?

Another 12 Days of Dean and Donna: Christmas at the Bunker by @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog   Dean invites Donna to spend Christmas at the Bunker.

A Winmills Christmas by @ilostmyshoe-79   Follow Sam and Jody through the holiday season.

12 Years of Christmas by @sis-tafics   Dean and you go back further than your first night together. Actually, Dean’s had his own little secret for years. Told from Dean’s POV

[frederickwiddowson]

Leviticus 14:33-57 comments: cleansing houses

Leviticus 14:33 ¶  And the LORD spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, saying, 34  When ye be come into the land of Canaan, which I give to you for a possession, and I put the plague of leprosy in a house of the land of your possession; 35 And he that owneth the house shall come and tell the priest, saying, It seemeth to me there is as it were a plague in the house: 36 Then the priest shall command that they empty the house, before the priest go into it to see the plague, that all that is in the house be not made unclean: and afterward the priest shall go in to see the house: 37  And he shall look on the plague, and, behold, if the plague be in the walls of the house with hollow strakes, greenish or reddish, which in sight are lower than the wall; 38  Then the priest shall go out of the house to the door of the house, and shut up the house seven days: 39  And the priest shall come again the seventh day, and shall look: and, behold, if the plague be spread in the walls of the house; 40  Then the priest shall command that they take away the stones in which the plague is, and they shall cast them into an unclean place without the city: 41  And he shall cause the house to be scraped within round about, and they shall pour out the dust that they scrape off without the city into an unclean place: 42 And they shall take other stones, and put them in the place of those stones; and he shall take other morter, and shall plaister the house. 43  And if the plague come again, and break out in the house, after that he hath taken away the stones, and after he hath scraped the house, and after it is plaistered; 44  Then the priest shall come and look, and, behold, if the plague be spread in the house, it is a fretting leprosy in the house: it is unclean. 45 And he shall break down the house, the stones of it, and the timber thereof, and all the morter of the house; and he shall carry them forth out of the city into an unclean place. 46 Moreover he that goeth into the house all the while that it is shut up shall be unclean until the even. 47  And he that lieth in the house shall wash his clothes; and he that eateth in the house shall wash his clothes. 48  And if the priest shall come in, and look upon it, and, behold, the plague hath not spread in the house, after the house was plaistered: then the priest shall pronounce the house clean, because the plague is healed.

49  And he shall take to cleanse the house two birds, and cedar wood, and scarlet, and hyssop: 50  And he shall kill the one of the birds in an earthen vessel over running water: 51 And he shall take the cedar wood, and the hyssop, and the scarlet, and the living bird, and dip them in the blood of the slain bird, and in the running water, and sprinkle the house seven times: 52  And he shall cleanse the house with the blood of the bird, and with the running water, and with the living bird, and with the cedar wood, and with the hyssop, and with the scarlet: 53  But he shall let go the living bird out of the city into the open fields, and make an atonement for the house: and it shall be clean.

 Leviticus 14:54 ¶  This is the law for all manner of plague of leprosy, and scall, 55  And for the leprosy of a garment, and of a house, 56  And for a rising, and for a scab, and for a bright spot: 57  To teach when it is unclean, and when it is clean: this is the law of leprosy.

 This passage shows that the word Leprosy is applied to more than just Hansen’s Disease. It is also applied to what is probably mildew and mold in a house. I pointed out earlier not to read back modern definitions into words that were understood differently than we do today in either 2000BC or 1611AD.

As Canaanites were driven from their homes there would have been instances where dampness and vacancy resulted in contamination. We know that mold, caused by a fungus, can cause sickness from mild eye irritation all the way to shortness of breath and fever. We also know that certain types of molds can produce mycotoxins that can lead to death.

The danger of driving out the Canaanites too quickly was noted by God elsewhere.

 Deuteronomy 7:22  And the LORD thy God will put out those nations before thee by little and little: thou mayest not consume them at once, lest the beasts of the field increase upon thee.

 For God’s favorable response to this physical and ritual uncleanness the ceremony to be performed is clearly laid out. It was a matter of the utmost importance for the Hebrew’s obedience and for their health. We might find some of these things odd but so did the people of that era. Note Naaman, the captain of the host of the king of Syria, and his reaction to Elisha’s remedy for his leprosy. Read 2Kings 5:1-14 and understand that this result was totally the hand of God and not because of some magical, healing quality of the river. Obedience was required, then God’s response.

2Kings 5:1 ¶  Now Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria, was a great man with his master, and honourable, because by him the LORD had given deliverance unto Syria: he was also a mighty man in valour, but he was a leper. 2  And the Syrians had gone out by companies, and had brought away captive out of the land of Israel a little maid; and she waited on Naaman’s wife. 3  And she said unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria! for he would recover him of his leprosy. 4  And one went in, and told his lord, saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel. 5  And the king of Syria said, Go to, go, and I will send a letter unto the king of Israel. And he departed, and took with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of raiment. 6  And he brought the letter to the king of Israel, saying, Now when this letter is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy. 7  And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a man of his leprosy? wherefore consider, I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me. 8  And it was so, when Elisha the man of God had heard that the king of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to the king, saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes? let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel.

     9 ¶  So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of Elisha. 10  And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean. 11  But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the LORD his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper. 12 Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? may I not wash in them, and be clean? So he turned and went away in a rage. 13  And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? how much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean? 14  Then went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.

 This should give us some understanding of several passages in the Bible and their meaning. For instance, was there some magic knowledge-giving property of the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in Genesis or was the knowledge that was attained simply choosing to obey God or disobey Him? People pondering the kind of fruit that must have hung from that tree perhaps miss the entire point. It is about obedience not an apple, a fig, or a grape. If you eat the fruit and disobey, God is saying, the one thing I don’t want you to do, that disobedience will kill you. You will begin dying.

And so beware of the kind of daft reasoning that makes Christians search for a large fish that can swallow a man whole and then relying on questionable accounts from sensational news stories that are unverified to prove their point and, in their minds, underscore the truth of the Bible in the book of Jonah. The truth is that God prepared that fish to swallow Jonah and there is no point in looking for a species that can fit the bill.

Jonah 1:17  Now the LORD had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.

[quizzicalmagicalhimachal]

Quizzical – Magical – Himachal

Our parents and grand-parents might boast about how their honeymoon was romanticized by the chilly winds of Manali or Simla but frankly, now these cities are no less than a metro in terms of chaos. Gone are the days when from your hotel room in Manali one could clearly see the mesmerizing Himalays. It takes hours for the traffic to clear and enter the city square where you might be hounded by cab drivers charging over-prized rides to real short distances, icing on the cake would be open drains, plastic litter carelessly thrown...you get the drill yeah? Au contraire, when I chose to step away from these wannabe touristy places and travel to the lesser known latitudes in the Kullu and Kangra district I discovered the rarest of gems located here second to none. Thought once could accuse me of being partial to the other locales, I was personally mesmerized by these 6 Must-Spend-A-Night-Here places.

1) Kasol – A town so small that it does not even have a crossroads! Its a deli-fork serving a chill-pill. Infamous for the reasons known to all, this sleepy town will push you to do everything that you would otherwise fear to do in your city, talk to strangers, slouch in someone’s backyard, walk-into a hotel where you don’t intend to stay but just enjoy the view of gushing river and leave at your will. Don’t be surprised if a stoned server in a shady cafe playing metal music comes to you after an hour of ordering your drink and tells you that somebody in the kitchen had your drink. It stands cancelled! Just laugh your head up and the neighboring table will be kind enough to offer their drink and a freshly rolled bud of magic.

2) Pulga – At first it might seem too much of an effort to reach a small patch of land inhabited by few hundred people where no man-made mode of transport can take you. We figured that it was nature’s way telling us that I made this for me and you can’t bring your trivial wants here. For a mere 500 rupees a night we got a room which we would not have traded for a Royal Penthouse Suite. Snow-clad Himalays at our eye-level occasionally lined by clouds, A neighborhood of modest wooden houses and apple orchards. What more we could have asked for when all this comes with a roof-top restaurant with the I-max experience of a star-studded sky. And when we got served the dinner, the true Himachali Spirit of giving reflected in the sheer quantity of the platter and the size of smile of our new friend.

3) Kheerganga – An adventure sport in disguise. When you hear the melange of words “kheer” (rice pudding) and “Ganga” (Gangs river) one would probably picture it to be a quaint village sweet as kheer and pious as Ganga. Do not be decepted by this innocent sounding name. We came across this maze-like trail to reach the famous hot-water spring located atop a mountain. However, little did we know that the path chosen would be so tricky and lead us dangerous cuts and curves and wild dogs encounter in this 5 hour trek. Should the need arise, race against the time to reach your destination before sunset or else trekking in the dark Himalayan mountain forests with wild dogs lurking around and unclear paths would not be the kind of adrenaline rush you would want to. Cheap tents are available but a spoiler alert – Arachnophobes beware!

4) Malana – Owing to the myths and facts spread over years, Malana is famous for reasons so scripted that it has spread curiosity among travelers that I recommend its marketing strategy should be documented in top marketing reference books. A village no different from other rural spots of Himachal; about 70kms away from the city, you trek for an hour to reach the village, no vehicles only mules or legs take you up and so on. It seems that locals started spreading the rumors of this village being that of the descendants of Alexander, you can’t touch nor talk to them, the Maal (aka. stuff *wink wink*) being THE best in world most of which is just a hyperbole of the otherwise normal practices in almost every village in the foot of Himalays. Nevertheless, this lovely village will leave you spellbound with its sheer beauty and welcoming people and it’s a worth your day irrespective of your intention to carry some Magic back.

5) Dharamkot – A small neighborhood adjoining Mc.Loedganj is a perfect place to stay or dine or enjoy a quiet evening with friends or with your “tanhaai”. If like me, you are not a big fan of noisy and crowded town Mc.Loedganj is turning into, you may choose this hippie zone. A sumptuous meal in an off-beat cafe is what one would totally welcome after a trek from Triund. You might have burnt enough calories by walking in and around Mc.Loedganj even if trek is not on your list and you can totally surrender to a refreshing 3 course meal at this trippy restaurant called Trek-N-Dine. Ideally, my menu would include, a ginger-lemon-honey drink followed by a sinful pizza that would take you to Naples and end it with Hello to the Queen – a dessert without which every trip to the mountains stands incomplete.

6) Bir-Billing – Did you know that India hosts world-cup for games other than Cricket? Did you know Bir-Billing is an internationally acclaimed aero-sports district second only to Switzerland? ... Yes, our very own little hamlet of Bir-billing, is a place where world renowned aero-sports professionals come to practice and teach their sport like Para-gliding, para-sailing hand-gliding. Another place which deserves a mention is Col’s Resort. As the name suggests, a warmhearted, animal-loving, hat-wearing Col. owns and manages a resort with basic yet best possible amenities at a reasonable prize. What’s more that one could say hello to his horses and dogs and take a walk in his tea-estate. This one place deserves a night stay and a full day to explore a passionately  maintained resort property and a village ideal to take back souvenirs for your loved ones. I would recommend at least 1 day more for Tibetan culture enthusiasts as this place has 3 breath-taking monasteries ready to floor you as you walk through its doors.

[gospelmusic]

Catholic Daily Reading - 17 June 2020

Wednesday June 17, 2020 Weekday (11)

Vestment: Green Today’s Rosary: The Glorious Mystery Death Anniversary: OKIGWE: Bishop Anthony Ilonu, 17/6/2012 FIRST READING A chariot of fire appeared, and Elijah went up into heaven. A reading from the second Book of Kings 2 Kings 2:1.6-14 Now when the Lord was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, Elijah and Elisha were on their way from Gilgal. [They came to Jericho, and] Elijah said to Elisha, “Tarry here, I beg you; for the Lord has sent me to the Jordan.” But he said, “As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” So the two of them went on. Fifty men of the sons of the prophets also went, and stood at some distance from them, as they both were standing by the Jordan. Then Elijah took his coat, and rolled it up, and struck the water, and the water was parted to the one side and to the other, till the two of them could go over on dry ground. When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, “Ask what I shall do for you, before I am taken from you.” And Elisha said, “I beg you, let me inherit a double share of your spirit.” And he said, “You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it shall be so for you; but if you do not see me, it shall not be so.” And as they still went on and talked, behold, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them. And Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven. And Elisha saw it and cried, “My father, my father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen! ” And he saw him no more. Then he took hold of his own clothes and tore them in two pieces. And he took up the coat of Elijah that had fallen from him, and went back and stood on the bank of the Jordan. Then he took the coat of Elijah that had fallen from him, and struck the water, saying, “Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” And when he had struck the water, the water was parted to the one side and to the other; and Elisha went over. The word of the Lord. RESPONSORIAL PSALM Psalm 31:20.21.24 (R. 25) R/. Be strong, let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord. How great is the goodness, Lord,  that you keep for those who fear you, that you show to those who trust you in the sight of the children of men. R. You hide them in the shelter of your presence, secure from human scheming; you keep them safe within your tent from disputing tongues. R. Love the Lord, all you his saints. The Lord guards the faithful. But the Lord will repay to the full the one who acts with pride. R. ALLELUIA John 14:23 Alleluia. If a man loves me, he will keep my word, says the Lord; and my Father will love him, and we will come to him. Alleluia. GOSPEL  “Your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” A reading from the holy Gospel according to Matthew (Matthew 6:1-6. 16- 18) At that time: Jesus said to his disciples, “Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street conners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. “And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” The Gospel of the Lord Today’s Reflection Almsgiving, prayer and fasting indicate three key relationships in Christian living. Almsgiving portrays a relationship to the other, prayer to God, and fasting to the self. Almsgiving, prayer and fasting are not virtues or rituals to be trumpeted or paraded but unique signs of relationship between God, others and self to be celebrated in perfect harmony. When Jesus gave, he gave everything including his own life; fasting strengthened him to overcome all the temptations; and prayer kept him always in communion with his father. Let our observance of these relationships help us to develop a Christ-like character that enables us to experience a personal relationship with God. Today’s Saint and Quote: St Emily de Vialar – June 17th Since God does so much for me, what could I not do for him? Personal Devotional "The Lord is our shelter and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble. So we shall not be afraid, even if the earth is shaken". Psalm 46:1,2 - Father, forgive me for neglecting to focus on the crown of life every day of my life. - Dear Lord, give me the grace to follow you till the end of my life. - Pray that every child of God should be conscious of the reward of eternal life which Christian race has to offer and work towards it. Let Us Pray Dear Lord, do not let me be separated from you because of hardship, persecution, hunger, poverty, danger or death. Help me to remain faithful to you in the mighty name of Jesus. Memory verse: Matthew 5:39

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[ofcacthuxandkylosaur]

Shook in a good way or a bad one?

Hello Anon, thanks for asking and sorry for my late answer (busy days, sleepless nights :/ ) This got bit long and also took time to write…

I’d say Shocked because I was so not excpecting this…unfortunately, althought I did like some stuff in the movie and I could have actually enjoyed it had it not been a Star Wars sequel, it was not a really good surprise… Too much OOCness for me.

I am also left with some frustrations and a lot of worries about what will happen in ep IX and what will happen to the fandom…

I put more details (a lot of it being kylux related) under the cut (beware for spoilers (obviously), me being the anxious and dramatic bitch I am, rambling and probably poor english (I am so tired,sorry)).

So first of all, as I said, there were things I liked: Rose (being a badass), Finn wanting to find Rey, BB8 being a badass ass well, Luke being critical of the old  jedi order, Kylo not being able to kill Leia despite trying, Leia being alive at the end of the movie (I didn’t thought It’d hurt so much when I though she died!), R2D2 showing Luke Leia’s message, all those new alien spieces (loved those big cat-horses!!!), lightsaber duels (wow), new and interesting ways to use the force (I am now craving for long distance cuddling/sex thanks to the force), getting to see a lot of Kylo’s face and hair (dashing!),Kylo dropping his robe Obi-Wan style,…

But my main and big problem was how OOC felt most of the characters…

Luke. Luke with a lightsaber above a sleeping Ben and wanting to kill him. No. I mean, they did explained he never wanted to kill but lighted it on out of pure reflex when his jedi senses went tingling, but still…

Hux. Come on, Hux is not an idiot! He is competent and rutheless and sassy. It didn’t bother me seeing Poe making fun of him. I mean Hux is his enemy, of course he would take on the occasion to diminish him/make him look like a fool. What did bother me was Hux’s reaction. Like he wouldn’t realise what was happening!! Only at the end of the movie did I feel like I recognised him (It was relieving reading I was not the only one in the case)! Also I didn’t see him repeating Kylo’s orders as a joke but rather as a proof the he was the one in command (they did obey him!).

Kylo may be the one that upset me the most thought! He turned from Snoke too fast if you ask me (Rey too was prompt to “accept” Kylo) . And him being unable/unwilling to kill her! So what he can kill his father (even if it shatters him) but not a girl he met twice?? This plus the topless scene makes me fear they could make Reylo happen (I do respect people shipping it but I really don’t like it). Since they obviously won’t make Stormpilot happen (I did not have a lot of hope but well) my only hope is now that Finn and Rey end up together (and that the “purpose” of that kiss with Rose was to introduce unecessary jalousy in their relationship (and not a way to destroy all the other parings involving Finn, making Rey “available”)).

And the way he treated Hux hurt me. I know I sound dramatic and all but it did (I was uncomfortable with the strangle and actualy yelled in protest in the cinema when Hux was pushed against the wall). I know they kind of hate each other and that Snoke himself made sure to maintain a rivalry between them, but that was unessessary (I could even argue that if Snoke took the calculated risk to encourage the rivalry, it was because he knew that Hux had the shoulders to take on the competition and that Kylo somehow respected him enough to not kill him/damage him (otherwise the co-commandship would have been compromised)). You don’t see Vader strangle Tarkin, and I can’t imagine him doing so even if the Emperor had died. Plus, Kylo may be a bad guy but he was never shown taking pleasure in inflicting pain for the sake of it, so I don’t see him enjoying hurting Hux for revenge.

On a side note, as much as I like how “Supreme Leader Kylo” sounds, part of me still fail to understand why would Kylo want to be Supreme Leader in the first place and why he didn’t just…leave. Maybe he would want to “take” his master’s position, but the fonction is also highly political, and at that point Kylo was pretty much “fuck the resistance fuck the order fuck them all”. Of course ruling the Order would mean he has troops and equipment at disposal (useful to track Rey, Luke,…) but for that he would need Hux… And where are my Knights of Ren anyway??

I am scared for the Kylux fandom right now. With a new movie coming, the perspective of gaining new shippers was real. But now I feel like Reylo will be the (only) ship that will gain a lot of popularity (again, I don’t mind people shipping it, as long as no one spread hate, but it makes me still sad for Kylux (+Finnrey and Stormapilot)). To be honnest, had I only see TLJ, I would have never shipped Kylux (hopefully I’ve seen TFA and I don’t intend on stopping). The relationship was depicted differently, in a way I don’t like. I am aware I may seem like an oversensitive bitch but I need a relationship to be balanced for me to ship it  And I absolutely hate anything that looks like an abusive relationship to me (of course I am not talking here about consensual practices between responsible adults). I don’t fancy seeing Kylo raising hands on Hux and I would basically rather have had no scenes of them together than having had those. I have read meany beautiful Kylux fic, were I found them to be on character and and I didn’t have this feeling during the movie.

This somehow terrifies me because I felt like there was a Kylux dynamic (now of course everyone has their own headcanons, that’s not what I’m saying) and I am so affraid that all this could be lost. That they may be seen as a violent/abusive couple now besause no. That is never how I’m gonna see them. And that is not how their relationship was depicted in TFA (and yes I know I am not completely stupid, TFA did not declare Kylux canon I am just talking about their interactions in general). And I know my anxiety may seem stupid and ridiculus and anxiety episodes might often look that way, even from the point of view of the anxious person but it doesn’t stop it from deeply shaken you because for you it’s important and frightening. And I have really not been good lately with a weight on my stomac (wella big weight that hurt) since leaving the room and my mind running wild on bad thoughts so.

But enough with my state of mind, their are also two other main things that bothered me and that was

-Snoke’s dead. WTF???(I was in shock in the cinema with my mouth open, yes) How did Kylo turned against him so fast (I can consider the fact that killing his father made him reconsider things but still it was a big turn) and mostly What? Like that? So fast? It was almost too easy! And won’t we have any explainations about him?!? Who is him? What are his motives? Why is he so force-powerful? What was he even doing on this ship in person after being a distant hidden figure during ep VII? (and where did he find those golden bathrobes??). At this point I am almost convinced that he is not dead, that his presence aboard the ship was a force projection (like Luke’s) and that it all was part of the plan, and I am going to be pissed if he is not in ep IX (and if we don’t at least get information about him!).

-The second thing was Holdo’s actions. I was waiting to see her and was happy to see the actrice again (I am also happy everytime 35+ looking actresses get a job) but I found the character frustrating. I can’t find a single reason why she woudn’t inform her fellow resistance members that she did have a plan (a retreat planet waiting for them). Was she afraid of a mole? Was she afraid Poe was a mole (he was strangely careful in the begining of the movie but that’s a bit extreme)?? If not why did she not just told him what was planned? And if she thought there did was a mole or had any other valid reason not to tell it, why did she not at least tell “Yes, I have a plan. I cannot explain it to you yet but there indeed is an other option than to run out of fuel and be killed”. When there begins to be this much tension inside the group it may be time to do something so you don’t destroy each other before the enemy can! ‘You don’t have to wait for the day to believe their is a sun’ well at least tell me there is a sun so I can believe in it and wait for it! How can people trust you if you don’t inform them their is something to trust? If you don’t tell people there is an option of course they will try to find one?!

In the end I felt as if TFA had been made by people who knew and love Star Wars (I had low expectations about it and ended up so happy!) while TLJ was made by someone that wanted to made a sci-fi movie and that’s all. And since I came to see a Star Wars movie I feel somehow tricked…I also had the feeling that things were a little bit rushed, as if this was supposed to be a stand alone movie rather that the middle part of a trilogy… And I am not sure I amgoing to take everything in the movie as canon rather than as the realisator’s own vision…

Wow this got really long, thanks for reading if you did and sorry for throwing my fears and frustrations around but I needed it! And don’t let soft Kylux die please…

[charliexhall]

There are those who have seen, and those soon to beware What your smoke is concealing Just a trail of bones, atop a lemming’s hill All fallen prey All fallen prey

All fallen prey

This house is a witch, luring survivors like children with a candy home in the hopes of devouring them whole. But what didn’t this place have? Food still waiting for it’s expiration date to arrive along with the ability to eat a hot meal - the first in too long. Or even the running water, and Charlie doesn’t understand the mechanics of that, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth. But maybe she should’ve. Because the mansion is poisoned, something in the water or in the air turning its victims a ghastly pale shade. One by one. It’s written on the faces she’s passed, and she’s terrified to ask what’s wrong, what happened.

It isn’t safe to travel alone, not even within the confines of these expansive walls it would seem, but the redhead does anyway, selfishly keeping to herself when it might be better to lend a hand to anyone suffering. But what if that pain is contagious? They’d been here for a few weeks now, she guesses after a tiring attempt to chase back time in her memory until she’s reminded she isn’t entirely sure when she left New York City with this group, but it feels like centuries ago. And if she dwells too long upon that, she’ll remember she’s looking for her family and that hope is a barely living candle, flickering with every brush of a day passing - struggling to survive another night.

The kitchen is quiet and the faint scent of her mother baking swirls in her lungs like an almost forgotten memory. But it’s a comfort, the warmth of chocolate chip cookies filling the air, beckoning her children to her side. It’s the only thing the two of them ever really saw eye to eye on. Once the chubby-cheeked helper, she became merely a consumer after a few years, a teenage mind more focused upon softball practice and hanging out with her friends than baking with her mother. But there had been a handful of moments she can recall hitting the kitchen at just the right time, and sparing the afternoon to kneed dough or cut out Christmas shapes.

It just usually came with regret, her mother only requiring a few minutes before she’d start nagging on something her daughter wasn’t doing the way she’d prefer - not wearing her hair a certain style, never bringing home any boyfriends to meet her parents. The two never saw eye to eye. Because Karen Hall finally got a baby girl, who preferred to run with the boys instead of play dress up. It always caused a small burst of humorous air from her lungs whenever Charlie thought about what her mother would’ve thought of her in college - with short skirts and dragging a strange face home every weekend. That probably still isn’t the kind of daughter she wanted.

No, it’s not. You should be dating like a normal woman your age.

It’s only a joke to think that she, perhaps, doesn’t want to reunite with her mother. Because the first thing out of her mouth would be the question of who in the group she’s seeing or what took her so long, she scared them all to death. Charlie smiles softly to herself, something hopeless in the curve of her lips. She’d take her mother’s nagging tenfold if it meant the woman is alive and she’d find her.

A door slams loudly behind her, somewhere down the hall. The sound reverberates in her shoulders as they lift involuntarily, too occupied with her own thoughts to spend much attention on the world around her. She almost forgot precisely where she is. Tentatively, the redhead peeks down the hall, assuming someone is having a rough night, because that seems to be more common place these days - frowns demolishing smiles, or even stone faces. But the echo of the door doesn’t fit the barriers here. There’s something too familiar in it’s wooden collision.

“Hello?” Charlie calls out dumbly, resisting the urge to slap her palm against her face when she realizes what kind of cliche she resembles.

A flash of a black silhouette catches her eye as it races down the darkened hall upstairs. It might be a bad omen to follow, but the logical side of Charlie’s brain races to fill questions with answers. A group member, of course. But did they spot something in the distance from a window, a threat of some kind? Something hellish or something human? Foolishly, she’s unarmed, her weaponry left with her belongings where she decided to camp for the nights they’d spend here. Her feet follow the invisible path hastily up the curved staircase, taking the right side due to easier access. Her thighs pump power through her legs as she jogs up each step to reach whoever may have needed the help.

But the hall is empty, save for a few shut doors. No sign of the figure.

Charlie’s lips part, either to draw in courage from the air or call out to the person she witnessed as a blur. Because something doesn’t sit right in her stomach. Like the scent of her mother’s baking, still heavy in her lungs, rests with a sickly sweetness as though she’s gorged herself on too many cookies. The building is silent, her footsteps coming to a halt at the start of the hall, peering down the corridor at the few closed doors. No sign of life. No sign of time passing.

A voice in the back of her head silences her inaudible question, the desire to calm her nerves by having some familiar face pop out their head just to assure her everything is fine. Violet. Eli. Samson. Anyone.

A creaking shatters the solitude, darting her gaze in its direction and breaking her concentration on her conscience telling her to just leave it be. There isn’t a hand on the knob of the door, or someone even gazing back at her, just a humanless invitation to the room that she knows she shouldn’t take. But her feet refuse to listen. They move of their own accord, like a trance set by a piper and her toes eager to turn into rats.

The door is even louder, the scent of a treat baking heavier in this room, but it isn’t a kitchen and it lacks an oven. She’s been led to a bedroom. The bedroom of her childhood. There’s trophies on the shelf collecting dust and posters of bands she liked in high school, pictures still on her cork board of her friends. Everything precisely the way she left it when she packed up for college. Her stares drifts about the room as though she were in a dream. Because it had to be a dream; this home in a different town in New Jersey couldn’t have an exact replica of her room.

Still cautiously, she takes a few steps inside, unaccustomed to fear and uncertainty at the sight of her own bedroom when it used to be a safe haven. The door slams shut behind her and if Charlie tosses a glance back, she doesn’t try to open it, accepting her fate locked somewhere familiar. Rounding the bed, there’s an outline of a body on her bed, as though it had only recently been slept in. Perhaps the shape she saw, but there isn’t a sign of life in here except for her. And she isn’t so sure that’s true either.

Still, she sits on the edge of her bed, admiring the vision of her bedroom, still in awe of its beauty. This is her room. Entirely. Her mother is baking downstairs, she can smell it with every inhale. She’s made it home. Maybe she’s truly made it home and those days after the mansion all became a blur as she focused on her destination, her one goal. Her family. Her fingers spread along the sheets of her bed, smiling at the warmth as though she’d slept in it. The carpet pads the soles of her shoes.

She’s just woken up. This was all a bad dream, caused by the stress of living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. She’s home, on a break. Relief floods her bloodstream. How real that nightmare was, she can still recall the faces of the people she traveled with. But names are beginning to escape her. There was a man with a little girl, and a woman who answered her stupid questions. A guy with tattoos that she kept a secret for, maybe. And she thinks one of her coworkers was in her dream. Maybe Violet.

Charlie flops her body weight on her bed, sinking into the mattress comfortably as she closes her eyes. There truly isn’t anywhere like home. She could sleep forever here, in the safety of her own room, in a quiet little town in New Jersey.

The cellphone chimes beside her on the end table, an iPhone plugged into a charger because she’d always been bad about keeping the battery even half way full. It jolts her awake, eyes opening with the thought she isn’t sure how long they had been closed. The ring is familiar yet almost distant to her ear, as though a nap had been interrupted and she’s still partially living in her dream world. The screen lights up with the name ‘Dad’ and she groggily grins. “Hi dad,” she greets as she holds the phone to her ear.

Static crackles on the other end. “Dad?” she questions, plugging her other ear like she might hear him better, or catch a better signal somehow. “Dad, can you hear me?”

Where are you?

“I’m upstairs. In my room.”

Where are you?

“Dad, I’m home. Where are you?”

The voice grows panicked, still her father’s and that’s clear to her but she’s never heard him sound so upset, so out of control. He’s the one who always keeps his composure.

Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

The voice at the other end grows in intensity, until he’s screaming on the other line, voice cracking as he cries out for his missing daughter. “Dad, slow down,” Charlies begs, fear closing her veins until it’s impossible for blood cells to continue traveling through. “Tell me where you are, I’ll come find you.”

But reasoning with the voice only frustrates it more until he’s screaming so loud with such agony, Charlie throws the phone away from her ear in fear. It hits the wooden floor, which she can’t recall having a wood paneled floor before, and slides along until it hits the wall, where a large square hangs covered by a white sheet. She feels like a little girl again, dreading the monster hiding in the shadows of her closet as she stares at the unfamiliar aspects of her bedroom. She doesn’t remember that white sheet hanging from her wall. That’s new.

Her father is still screaming from the phone, the electronic tone of his voice terrifying as his pain reverberates off her walls and beckons her towards the device, if only to shut it up. That can’t be her father, he never loses his cool. And yet, it’s his voice, however much of a shock to her system that might be. Her boots ring solidly along the wooden floor as she treads tearfully towards the screaming phone and the covered object on the wall.

She never had a wood floor. She knows this. She has to know this.

The iPhone leaps after each pause of air her father takes, as though it had come to life with just the sound of his voice. She covers her ears, unable to listen to the anguish of her father as her boot stomps against the cellphone. She’d get a new one. A new phone. Maybe a new dad. A working one that doesn’t cry into the phone. That isn’t him. That can’t be him. He’s always calm. He’s always calm.

But the voice wouldn’t be silenced, still forcing its way through the damaged speaker until it reminds her of the shrieks of those creatures crawling out of the pit made of the city she once called home. “Shut up,” she demands through her tears, “Shut up, shut up shut up.” But the tap dance upon the phone only worsens the effect on her father’s voice. And if it no longer sounds like him, it doesn’t sound like kindness either, or the sweetness of silence. It’s sharp tune pierces her eardrums until they might bleed.

Just when it might shatter and fragment the brain inside her skull, the sound abruptly stops until it’s just her screaming back at it, one long tone to match a harmony to it’s frightening tune. There isn’t a silence to follow. Even the dust settling to the ground drums like her heartbeat. Her lungs desperately search the room for breathable air as she pants out the terror playing its song in her chest. The phone lies shattered on the floor before her, no longer usable. Just silent. And each inhale still fills her nostrils with the scent of something baking, causing her stomach to roll in a revolt to something so sugary and sweet.

The corner of the white sheet flickers to life with a breeze she couldn’t pinpoint and catches Charlie’s eye. It isn’t supposed to be there. She’s never covered up anything on her wall. But what is supposed to be there? What is it covering? She couldn’t remember any kind of picture. There’s too much sudden uncertainty in this room, every detail suddenly untrustworthy when she can’t remember whether or not she had carpet or wood flooring, or even how she got her. A nightmare. No, she’d woken up from a nightmare. She probably just took the train.

Softly, as though she might disturb something delicately, she pulls the cloth from the wall and the fabric pools before her feet on the floor, laying the cell phone to rest under a white grave. Charlie gazes back from behind the sheet, a mirror covered and hanging on her wall. She never had a mirror there. She swore she never had a mirror there. Is her mother making changes to her room in her absence? She swore she wouldn’t.

But she isn’t alone in the mirror. Her family stands with her, shown from the waist up. “Dad?” Charlie questions gently, before her gaze shifts to each face staring at her. “Mom?”

Nobody smiles. Her brothers stand beside her parents, looking exhausted and concerned. Michael’s face is hardened. It’s always been that way, bearing the brunt of being the eldest. Shane looks the most exhausted, always a more gentle soul. Their presence goes unfelt, no warmth behind her back to lead her to believe she isn’t alone. But she turns anyway, unsure of what tricks her eyes are playing. There’s nobody there. The room empty and her bed made. She hadn’t made her bed, had she? A chill rips through her spine. She’s alone in her room.

Charlie turns to confront the family in the mirror, but she isn’t standing in the reflection anymore. Her fathers reaches through the bright glass, fingers knotting in the collar of her shirt as he lift her off the ground and pulls her close to his face. “Run,” he instructs sternly but still something soft in her voice, never raising it to get his point across. He always balanced out her neurotic mother. “Go now.”

He lets go of his daughter then, tossing her towards the ground and her spine greets the floor with a painful collision. She groans at the sparks shooting up her back as she rolls onto her stomach, eyes clenched shut at the impact. But now she isn’t alone when she opens them. A delicate hand slips out from under her bed, pale enough that she might assume it bloodless if she couldn’t see the sickening map of veins running through the arm as it reveals more of itself.

The creature’s nails dig into the hardwood floor as it pulls itself from under her bed and she knows that face as soon as the sun shines beams upon its features. Her brother, Shane. But there’s something dead in his eyes, something vacant as he crawls towards his sister. Charlie shifts until she’s sitting, the heels of her boots pushing along the floor to gain space between her and the gaining creature who stole her brother’s face.

“Shane, stop,” she begs as her back meets the wall and the mirror hangs like a storm cloud above her. But Shane advances still, snarling with sharpened teeth and blood dried at the corner of his mouth. “Please,” she whispers, scrambling to gain her footing as her fingers grasp at the edge of the mirror’s frame to help pull her up. Her dad will help her, the one living in the mirror. It’s a window. To somewhere else. He wouldn’t abandon her. But when she stands and presses her palms against the cool, reflective surface. She can’t break through. And her father and Michael’s figures a mere retreating forms. Backs turned to her as they stumble through some barren farmland she doesn’t recognize.

“Dad! Dad, please! Mike! Come back!”

No one turns. And her mother has vanished, never walking with the rest of the family.

But she isn’t out of the mirror. Just Shane, with his dead eyes and fingers around her ankle as he tugs her down to his level. She collapses with his strength, head smacking against the iron edge of the mirror on the way down, and arms up to guard her face as she struggles weakly against his attack. Her vision begins to fade, arms going limp against her sides as Shane drags her away from the wall. The world goes black, the scent of cookies clogging her nose until she can’t breath at all, or maybe that’s her brother’s weight on her chest.

This feels like another dream, the wood floor cold against her spine as her head lolls groggily to one side. Her vision is shapes and blurs of color, a water painting in dull hues. There’s a pain at her wrist caused by the outline of something feasting on her flesh, but she’s too weak to fight. Her lips form to a word, maybe ‘no’ or ‘stop’ but she can’t hear a sound besides what once was her brother smacking his teeth and lips at her muscle and bone. The pain burns red hot but she cannot move, a throbbing at the back of her skull that paralyzes her.

Charlie’s eyes drift slowly shut, tears escaping and cooling her warmed cheeks. How long they are closed, she doesn’t know, but the nightmare is shut out for a brief period of time. And when she opens them again, the room is changed: a bedroom that doesn’t belong to her. She doesn’t know this room, hadn’t explored it before. The floor is still wood but her cork board is gone and the trophies. There isn’t anything belonging to her. Not even her brother, or the mirror. She’s alone, the insides of her wrist covered with unmarred skin.

Only the tears remain.

[criticalthinkingedu-blog]

The Ransom of Red Chief by O. Henry

It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you. We were down South, in Alabama - Bill Driscoll and myself-when this kidnapping idea struck us. It was, as Bill afterward expressed it, "during a moment of temporary mental apparition"; but we didn't find that out till later.

    There was a town down there, as flat as a flannel-cake, and called Summit, of course. It contained inhabitants of as undeleterious and self-satisfied a class of peasantry as ever clustered around a Maypole.

    Bill and me had a joint capital of about six hundred dollars, and we needed just two thousand dollars more to pull off a fraudulent town-lot scheme in Western Illinois with. We talked it over on the front steps of the hotel. Philoprogenitiveness, says we, is strong in semi-rural communities therefore, and for other reasons, a kidnapping project ought to do better there than in the radius of newspapers that send reporters out in plain clothes to stir up talk about such things. We knew that Summit couldn't get after us with anything stronger than constables and, maybe, some lackadaisical bloodhounds and a diatribe or two in the Weekly Farmers' Budget. So, it looked good.

    We selected for our victim the only child of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset. The father was respectable and tight, a mortgage fancier and a stern, upright collection-plate passer and forecloser. The kid was a boy of ten, with bas-relief freckles, and hair the colour of the cover of the magazine you buy at the news-stand when you want to catch a train. Bill and me figured that Ebenezer would melt down for a ransom of two thousand dollars to a cent. But wait till I tell you.

    About two miles from Summit was a little mountain, covered with a dense cedar brake. On the rear elevation of this mountain was a cave. There we stored provisions.

    One evening after sundown, we drove in a buggy past old Dorset's house. The kid was in the street, throwing rocks at a kitten on the opposite fence.

    "Hey, little boy!" says Bill, "would you like to have a bag of candy and a nice ride?"

The boy catches Bill neatly in the eye with a piece of brick.

    "That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars," says Bill, climbing over the wheel.

    That boy put up a fight like a welter-weight cinnamon bear; but, at last, we got him down in the bottom of the buggy and drove away. We took him up to the cave, and I hitched the horse in the cedar brake. After dark I drove the buggy to the little village, three miles away, where we had hired it, and walked back to the mountain.

    Bill was pasting court-plaster over the scratches and bruises on his features. There was a fire burning behind the big rock at the entrance of the cave, and the boy was watching a pot of boiling coffee, with two buzzard tailfeathers stuck in his red hair. He points a stick at me when I come up, and says:

    "Ha! cursed paleface, do you dare to enter the camp of Red Chief, the terror of the plains?"

    "He's all right now," says Bill, rolling up his trousers and examining some bruises on his shins. "We're playing Indian. We're making Buffalo Bill's show look like magic-lantern views of Palestine in the town hall. I'm Old Hank, the Trapper, Red Chief's captive, and I'm to be scalped at daybreak. By Geronimo! that kid can kick hard."

    Yes, sir, that boy seemed to be having the time of his life. The fun of camping out in a cave had made him forget that he was a captive himself. He immediately christened me Snake-eye, the Spy, and announced that, when his braves returned from the warpath, I was to be broiled at the stake at the rising of the sun.

    Then we had supper; and he filled his mouth full of bacon and bread and gravy, and began to talk. He made a during-dinner speech something like this:

    "I like this fine. I never camped out before; but I had a pet 'possum once, and I was nine last birthday. I hate to go to school. Rats ate up sixteen of Jimmy Talbot's aunt's speckled hen's eggs. Are there any real Indians in these woods? I want some more gravy. Does the trees moving make the wind blow? We had five puppies. What makes your nose so red, Hank? My father has lots of money. Are the stars hot? I whipped Ed Walker twice, Saturday. I don't like girls. You dassent catch toads unless with a string. Do oxen make any noise? Why are oranges round? Have you got beds to sleep on in this cave? Amos Murray has got six toes. A parrot can talk, but a monkey or a fish can't. How many does it take to make twelve?"

Every few minutes he would remember that he was a pesky redskin, and pick up his stick rifle and tiptoe to the mouth of the cave to rubber for the scouts of the hated paleface. Now and then he would let out a warwhoop that made Old Hank the Trapper, shiver. That boy had Bill terrorised from the start.

    "Red Chief," says I to the kid, "would you like to go home?"

    "Aw, what for?" says he. "I don't have any fun at home. I hate to go to school. I like to camp out. You won't take me back home again, Snake-eye, will you?"

    "Not right away," says I. "We'll stay here in the cave a while."

    "All right!" says he. "That'll be fine. I never had such fun in all my life."

    We went to bed about eleven o'clock. We spread down some wide blankets and quilts and put Red Chief between us. We weren't afraid he'd run away. He kept us awake for three hours, jumping up and reaching for his rifle and screeching: "Hist! pard," in mine and Bill's ears, as the fancied crackle of a twig or the rustle of a leaf revealed to his young imagination the stealthy approach of the outlaw band. At last, I fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamed that I had been kidnapped and chained to a tree by a ferocious pirate with red hair.

    Just at daybreak, I was awakened by a series of awful screams from Bill. They weren't yells, or howls, or shouts, or whoops, or yawps, such as you'd expect from a manly set of vocal organs - they were simply indecent, terrifying, humiliating screams, such as women emit when they see ghosts or caterpillars. It's an awful thing to hear a strong, desperate, fat man scream incontinently in a cave at daybreak.

    I jumped up to see what the matter was. Red Chief was sitting on Bill's chest, with one hand twined in Bill's hair. In the other he had the sharp case-knife we used for slicing bacon; and he was industriously and realistically trying to take Bill's scalp, according to the sentence that had been pronounced upon him the evening before.

I got the knife away from the kid and made him lie down again. But, from that moment, Bill's spirit was broken. He laid down on his side of the bed, but he never closed an eye again in sleep as long as that boy was with us. I dozed off for a while, but along toward sun-up I remembered that Red Chief had said I was to be burned at the stake at the rising of the sun. I wasn't nervous or afraid; but I sat up and lit my pipe and leaned against a rock.

    "What you getting up so soon for, Sam?" asked Bill.

    "Me?" says I. "Oh, I got a kind of a pain in my shoulder. I thought sitting up would rest it."

    "You're a liar!" says Bill. "You're afraid. You was to be burned at sunrise, and you was afraid he'd do it. And he would, too, if he could find a match. Ain't it awful, Sam? Do you think anybody will pay out money to get a little imp like that back home?"

    "Sure," said I. "A rowdy kid like that is just the kind that parents dote on. Now, you and the Chief get up and cook breakfast, while I go up on the top of this mountain and reconnoitre."

    I went up on the peak of the little mountain and ran my eye over the contiguous vicinity. Over toward Summit I expected to see the sturdy yeomanry of the village armed with scythes and pitchforks beating the countryside for the dastardly kidnappers. But what I saw was a peaceful landscape dotted with one man ploughing with a dun mule. Nobody was dragging the creek; no couriers dashed hither and yon, bringing tidings of no news to the distracted parents. There was a sylvan attitude of somnolent sleepiness pervading that section of the external outward surface of Alabama that lay exposed to my view. "Perhaps," says I to myself, "it has not yet been discovered that the wolves have borne away the tender lambkin from the fold. Heaven help the wolves!" says I, and I went down the mountain to breakfast.

When I got to the cave I found Bill backed up against the side of it, breathing hard, and the boy threatening to smash him with a rock half as big as a cocoanut.

    "He put a red-hot boiled potato down my back," explained Bill, "and then mashed it with his foot; and I boxed his ears. Have you got a gun about you, Sam?"

    I took the rock away from the boy and kind of patched up the argument. "I'll fix you," says the kid to Bill. "No man ever yet struck the Red Chief but what he got paid for it. You better beware!"

    After breakfast the kid takes a piece of leather with strings wrapped around it out of his pocket and goes outside the cave unwinding it.

    "What's he up to now?" says Bill, anxiously. "You don't think he'll run away, do you, Sam?"

    "No fear of it," says I. "He don't seem to be much of a home body. But we've got to fix up some plan about the ransom. There don't seem to be much excitement around Summit on account of his disappearance; but maybe they haven't realised yet that he's gone. His folks may think he's spending the night with Aunt Jane or one of the neighbours. Anyhow, he'll be missed to-day. To-night we must get a message to his father demanding the two thousand dollars for his return."

    Just then we heard a kind of war-whoop, such as David might have emitted when he knocked out the champion Goliath. It was a sling that Red Chief had pulled out of his pocket, and he was whirling it around his head.

    I dodged, and heard a heavy thud and a kind of a sigh from Bill, like a horse gives out when you take his saddle off. A niggerhead rock the size of an egg had caught Bill just behind his left ear. He loosened himself all over and fell in the fire across the frying pan of hot water for washing the dishes. I dragged him out and poured cold water on his head for half an hour.

By and by, Bill sits up and feels behind his ear and says: "Sam, do you know who my favourite Biblical character is?"

    "Take it easy," says I. "You'll come to your senses presently."

    "King Herod," says he. "You won't go away and leave me here alone, will you, Sam?"

    I went out and caught that boy and shook him until his freckles rattled.

    "If you don't behave," says I, "I'll take you straight home. Now, are you going to be good, or not?"

    "I was only funning," says he sullenly. "I didn't mean to hurt Old Hank. But what did he hit me for? I'll behave, Snake-eye, if you won't send me home, and if you'll let me play the Black Scout to-day."

    "I don't know the game," says I. "That's for you and Mr. Bill to decide. He's your playmate for the day. I'm going away for a while, on business. Now, you come in and make friends with him and say you are sorry for hurting him, or home you go, at once."

    I made him and Bill shake hands, and then I took Bill aside and told him I was going to Poplar Cove, a little village three miles from the cave, and find out what I could about how the kidnapping had been regarded in Summit. Also, I thought it best to send a peremptory letter to old man Dorset that day, demanding the ransom and dictating how it should be paid.

    "You know, Sam," says Bill, "I've stood by you without batting an eye in earthquakes, fire and flood - in poker games, dynamite outrages, police raids, train robberies and cyclones. I never lost my nerve yet till we kidnapped that two-legged skyrocket of a kid. He's got me going. You won't leave me long with him, will you, Sam?"

    "I'll be back some time this afternoon," says I. "You must keep the boy amused and quiet till I return. And now we'll write the letter to old Dorset."

Bill and I got paper and pencil and worked on the letter while Red Chief, with a blanket wrapped around him, strutted up and down, guarding the mouth of the cave. Bill begged me tearfully to make the ransom fifteen hundred dollars instead of two thousand. "I ain't attempting," says he, "to decry the celebrated moral aspect of parental affection, but we're dealing with humans, and it ain't human for anybody to give up two thousand dollars for that forty-pound chunk of freckled wildcat. I'm willing to take a chance at fifteen hundred dollars. You can charge the difference up to me."

    So, to relieve Bill, I acceded, and we collaborated a letter that ran this way:

Ebenezer Dorset, Esq.:

    We have your boy concealed in a place far from Summit. It is useless for you or the most skilful detectives to attempt to find him. Absolutely, the only terms on which you can have him restored to you are these: We demand fifteen hundred dollars in large bills for his return; the money to be left at midnight to-night at the same spot and in the same box as your reply - as hereinafter described. If you agree to these terms, send your answer in writing by a solitary messenger to-night at half-past eight o'clock. After crossing Owl Creek, on the road to Poplar Cove, there are three large trees about a hundred yards apart, close to the fence of the wheat field on the right-hand side. At the bottom of the fence-post, opposite the third tree, will be found a small pasteboard box.

    The messenger will place the answer in this box and return immediately to Summit.

    If you attempt any treachery or fail to comply with our demand as stated, you will never see your boy again.

    If you pay the money as demanded, he will be returned to you safe and well within three hours. These terms are final, and if you do not accede to them no further communication will be attempted.

    TWO DESPERATE MEN.

I addressed this letter to Dorset, and put it in my pocket. As I was about to start, the kid comes up to me and says:

    "Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play the Black Scout while you was gone."

    "Play it, of course," says I. "Mr. Bill will play with you. What kind of a game is it?"

    "I'm the Black Scout," says Red Chief, "and I have to ride to the stockade to warn the settlers that the Indians are coming. I 'm tired of playing Indian myself. I want to be the Black Scout."

    "All right," says I. "It sounds harmless to me. I guess Mr. Bill will help you foil the pesky savages."

    "What am I to do?" asks Bill, looking at the kid suspiciously.

    "You are the hoss," says Black Scout. "Get down on your hands and knees. How can I ride to the stockade without a hoss?"

    "You'd better keep him interested," said I, "till we get the scheme going. Loosen up."

    Bill gets down on his all fours, and a look comes in his eye like a rabbit's when you catch it in a trap.

    " How far is it to the stockade, kid? " he asks, in a husky manner of voice.

    "Ninety miles," says the Black Scout. "And you have to hump yourself to get there on time. Whoa, now!"

    The Black Scout jumps on Bill's back and digs his heels in his side.

    "For Heaven's sake," says Bill, "hurry back, Sam, as soon as you can. I wish we hadn't made the ransom more than a thousand. Say, you quit kicking me or I '11 get up and warm you good."

    I walked over to Poplar Cove and sat around the post office and store, talking with the chawbacons that came in to trade. One whiskerand says that he hears Summit is all upset on account of Elder Ebenezer Dorset's boy having been lost or stolen. That was all I wanted to know. I bought some smoking tobacco, referred casually to the price of black-eyed peas, posted my letter surreptitiously and came away. The postmaster said the mail-carrier would come by in an hour to take the mail on to Summit.

 When I got back to the cave Bill and the boy were not to be found. I explored the vicinity of the cave, and risked a yodel or two, but there was no response.

    So I lighted my pipe and sat down on a mossy bank to await developments.

    In about half an hour I heard the bushes rustle, and Bill wabbled out into the little glade in front of the cave. Behind him was the kid, stepping softly like a scout, with a broad grin on his face. Bill stopped, took off his hat and wiped his face with a red handkerchief. The kid stopped about eight feet behind him.

    "Sam," says Bill, "I suppose you'll think I'm a renegade, but I couldn't help it. I'm a grown person with masculine proclivities and habits of self-defence, but there is a time when all systems of egotism and predominance fail. The boy is gone. I have sent him home. All is off. There was martyrs in old times," goes on Bill, "that suffered death rather than give up the particular graft they enjoyed. None of 'em ever was subjugated to such supernatural tortures as I have been. I tried to be faithful to our articles of depredation; but there came a limit."

    "What's the trouble, Bill?" I asks him.

    "I was rode," says Bill, "the ninety miles to the stockade, not barring an inch. Then, when the settlers was rescued, I was given oats. Sand ain't a palatable substitute. And then, for an hour I had to try to explain to him why there was nothin' in holes, how a road can run both ways and what makes the grass green. I tell you, Sam, a human can only stand so much. I takes him by the neck of his clothes and drags him down the mountain. On the way he kicks my legs black-and-blue from the knees down; and I've got two or three bites on my thumb and hand cauterised.

    "But he's gone" - continues Bill - "gone home. I showed him the road to Summit and kicked him about eight feet nearer there at one kick. I'm sorry we lose the ransom; but it was either that or Bill Driscoll to the madhouse."

Bill is puffing and blowing, but there is a look of ineffable peace and growing content on his rose-pink features.

    "Bill," says I, "there isn't any heart disease in your family, is there?"

    "No," says Bill, "nothing chronic except malaria and accidents. Why?"

    "Then you might turn around," says I, "and have a look behind you."

    Bill turns and sees the boy, and loses his complexion and sits down plump on the ground and begins to pluck aimlessly at grass and little sticks. For an hour I was afraid for his mind. And then I told him that my scheme was to put the whole job through immediately and that we would get the ransom and be off with it by midnight if old Dorset fell in with our proposition. So Bill braced up enough to give the kid a weak sort of a smile and a promise to play the Russian in a Japanese war with him as soon as he felt a little better.

    I had a scheme for collecting that ransom without danger of being caught by counterplots that ought to commend itself to professional kidnappers. The tree under which the answer was to be left - and the money later on - was close to the road fence with big, bare fields on all sides. If a gang of constables should be watching for any one to come for the note they could see him a long way off crossing the fields or in the road. But no, sirree! At half-past eight I was up in that tree as well hidden as a tree toad, waiting for the messenger to arrive.

    Exactly on time, a half-grown boy rides up the road on a bicycle, locates the pasteboard box at the foot of the fencepost, slips a folded piece of paper into it and pedals away again back toward Summit.

    I waited an hour and then concluded the thing was square. I slid down the tree, got the note, slipped along the fence till I struck the woods, and was back at the cave in another half an hour. I opened the note, got near the lantern and read it to Bill. It was written with a pen in a crabbed hand, and the sum and substance of it was this:

Two Desperate Men.

    Gentlemen: I received your letter to-day by post, in regard to the ransom you ask for the return of my son. I think you are a little high in your demands, and I hereby make you a counter-proposition, which I am inclined to believe you will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and I agree to take him off your hands. You had better come at night, for the neighbours believe he is lost, and I couldn't be responsible for what they would do to anybody they saw bringing him back.

    Very respectfully,

    Ebenezer Dorset.

"Great pirates of Penzance!" says I; "of all the impudent - "

    But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. He had the most appealing look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or a talking brute.

    "Sam," says he, "what's two hundred and fifty dollars, after all? We've got the money. One more night of this kid will send me to a bed in Bedlam. Besides being a thorough gentleman, I think Mr. Dorset is a spendthrift for making us such a liberal offer. You ain't going to let the chance go, are you?"

    "Tell you the truth, Bill," says I, "this little he ewe lamb has somewhat got on my nerves too. We'll take him home, pay the ransom and make our get-away."

    We took him home that night. We got him to go by telling him that his father had bought a silver-mounted rifle and a pair of moccasins for him, and we were going to hunt bears the next day.

    It was just twelve o'clock when we knocked at Ebenezer's front door. Just at the moment when I should have been abstracting the fifteen hundred dollars from the box under the tree, according to the original proposition, Bill was counting out two hundred and fifty dollars into Dorset's hand.

    When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home he started up a howl like a calliope and fastened himself as tight as a leech to Bill's leg. His father peeled him away gradually, like a porous plaster.

"How long can you hold him?" asks Bill.

    "I'm not as strong as I used to be," says old Dorset, "but I think I can promise you ten minutes."

    "Enough," says Bill. "In ten minutes I shall cross the Central, Southern and Middle Western States, and be legging it trippingly for the Canadian border."

    And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a runner as I am, he was a good mile and a half out of Summit before I could catch up with him.

[keywestlou]

NERO'S THROAT SLIT

Most believe Nero fiddled while Rome burned. Historically incorrect. Most historians claim it was not possible. At the time Rome was burning, Nero was 35 miles away at his country villa. And, not fiddling. In fact if my memory proves correct, the fiddle was not invented till years later.

Nero’s life nevertheless was strange.

On this day in 68 AD, Nero committed suicide. He implored his secretary Epaphroditos to slit his throat. The Senate had imposed the death penalty upon Nero. Death by flogging. Nero considered the flogging too painful a way to go. Ergo, he had Epaphroditos slit his throat.

His first heinous act was having his mother killed. He blamed the Christians for Rome’s great fire. Christians the scapegoats. He had them burned alive.

Nero was motivated at all times not by justice, but by personal cruelty.

He was the first persecutor of Christians. Among them the apostles Paul and Peter. He had Paul beheaded. Peter crucified upside down.

A sicky.

One of Key West’s most popular tourist attractions is Fort Zachary Taylor. Construction of the fort began this day in 1845.

Still standing next to Key West’s best beach named of course the Fort Zachary Taylor Beach.

Today is one to remember our Arab friends. Especially Saudi Arabia.

It was on this day in 2008 that retail gas prices rose above $4 a gallon.

Our “friends” do nothing for us. I shall never forget the hike in gas prices, 9/11, and other things the Saudis did for us.

I am still in self-quarantine. Today the 90th day. Still ok. It will be a while yet for me.

Florida’s Governor De Santis is Trump’s lapdog. Trump says jump and De Santis jumps.

Florida was one the States that began reopening early.

New coronavirus cases in Florida have increased an average of 46 percent over the past week. One week!

The rise is attributed to “increased testing.” Don’t know if the numbers support the theory.

In the one week, Florida experienced 1,000 new cases per day. The increase came as Florida entered the second stage of reopening last friday.

The reopening did not include Miami-Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties where the numbers are still off the wall.

The weekend was Key West’s first on a reopened basis.

I have spoken via phone to several friends who were out and about.

Friday and saturday nights busy. Sunday night dead. Makes sense. Most of the tourists came in from Miami and Fort Lauderdale attracted by reduced hotel and restaurant rates. They would have left for home late sunday.

The Pier House is open. The Beach Bar by day only. The Chart Room not yet open.

The bars were busy in the evenings. No social distancing. People didn’t seem to care.

The mix friday and saturday nights were locals and tourists.

Tuesday Talk with Key West Lou tonight at 9. Join me. I have tons to talk about re Trump, the police, etc.  Guaranteed I will be ranting  and raving about Trump and the protests. www.blogtalkradio.com/key-west-lou.

Today a big one in the history of horse racing.

On this day in 1973, Secretariat won the Triple Crown. The first horse to do so since Citation in 1948.

Secretariat ran 6 more races. Then put out to pasture.

He fell ill in 1989. He had to be euthanized. An autopsy was performed. It was discovered Secretariat’s heart was 2 1/2 times the size of a normal horse heart. Many believe the size of his heart contributed to his extraordinary racing abilities.

In the 1950’s, Senator Joseph McCarthy was a nut. Not the best of people. Lied about many. Persecuted many.

McCarthy said there were hundreds of Communists in government and in important outside businesses like the movie industry. Spreading Communist poison.

Most of the names on the lists were not Communists, had never been. However McCarthy added their names for publicity purposes.

McCarthy claimed there were many Communists in the U.S. Army.

A young officer was being questioned by McCarthy. The Army’s counsel was Joseph Welch. A tiny old crafty attorney from the Boston area.

McCarthy was beating up on the young officer. Brutally. Welch interjected: “Have you no sense of decency, sir?”

Like an inquiry from on high.

The question was the beginning of the end of the McCarthy hearings and McCarthy himself.

A little Trump today.

Trump is trying a new election message. He is now the candidate of Law and Order. As Richard Nixon was. Birds of a feather.

Trump applying the Law and Order slogan to himself is merely a rattling of old America. He is appealing to his base again. It will not carry him to victory.

Words describe the Washington activities of the past few weeks. First protesters, then demonstrators. Perhaps the other way around. First demonstrators, then protesters.

Whatever, the label that comes next significant. “Uprising.”

The line to an uprising not yet crossed. The country is close, however. Trump is not calming the situation. Rather he is pouring fuel on the fire. It will be a new world if the protesters/demonstrators take down the black steel fencing and march over the lawn to the White House.

Never say never. Did you think the situation would have developed to this point 3 weeks ago?

Disband the police! Wow! Strong language. A major intent.

It has happened already in a handful of communities. Not this week or year. Several years ago.

Camden, New Jersey the largest community.

The police department was disbanded in 2012. The city was out of control. Public corruption rampant. Drugs big time. One hundred seventy open air drug markets. The area known as Heroin Highway. Police falsely placing “evidence” on a person to be arrested.

The slate was swept clean. Everyone on the force went.

The “new” police department operates in a different fashion.

Violent crimes are down 42 percent in 7 years. New police officers go door to door in the neighborhood they are working when first assigned to the area. They introduce themselves.

The police frequently  have a “pop-up- barbecue on a street corner. Hot dogs for the neighborhood. Occasionally a Mr. Softee truck operated by a police officer drives through. The police also sponsor drive-in movies.

Blacks the majority in Camden. Ergo, the police force is composed of more blacks than whites.

Some say the new procedure is working. Others, complain.

Then there is the tiny hamlet of Deposit in New York State. The police department was costing $200,000 a year to operate. The town could not afford it any longer.

The police department was disbanded. One hundred percent. Deposit is now watched over by one deputy Sheriff.

Trump is “military crazy.” National Guard units are returning home. Many other departments were represented in the force opposing protesters. Especially in Washington.

Among others still remaining in Washington are the Border Patrol and ICE. Not many. Enough to make one uncomfortable, however. Four hundred Border Patrol members and 160 ICE agents.

My concern a simple one.

Trump loves the military. Loves force. Enjoys being seen as a tough guy.

I have written and said for the past 2 years that the country needed to beware of Ice and later added the Border Patrol. I see these 2 groups as Trump’s Gestapo.

Don’t say no. Keep in mind Trump wanted U.S. Army troops sent into cities all over the U.S. last week “to control” the protesters. Were it not for 1 or 2 four star generals, it would have happened. Humvees, helicopters and troops coming down the streets of America. Freedom no more.

Jared Kushner has not proven himself to be a leader of anything. If he were not Trump’s son in law he would not have the many governmental positions he convinced Trump to place him in.

Kushner holds several titles at the present time. He is one of the heads of Trump’s reelection committee.

Trump is not doing well.

The word is he is “malignantly crazy” about his reelection poll numbers. He blames Kushner.

Kushner may not be in charge of Trump’s reelection much longer.

Enjoy your day!

  NERO’S THROAT SLIT was originally published on Key West Lou

[hollywoodgothique]

Hollywood Gothique encounters ghosts of the old west at Nightmare in Whiting Woods, along with other spooks in Glendale.

Halloween in the Verdugos doesn’t have much of a ring to it. The region – which includes Glendale, Pasadena, La Cañada Flintridge, Altadena, and La Crescenta-Montrose – is home to several Halloween events, but it has yet to establish a unique haunt identity in the public consciousness, perhaps because Glendale’s proximity to Burbank makes the region seem like part of the more well known San Fernando Valley (even though much of Glendale is in the hills, not the valley). The Verdugos is home to Mountainview Mortuary and Cemetery (staging grounds for the Wicked Lit Halloween Theatre Festival) and Descanso Gardens (location for such colorful pumpkin festivals as Carved and Rise of the Jack O’Lanterns). The region also hosts numerous Halloween home haunts which are every bit as entertaining as, if somewhat less famous than, their San Fernando blood-brothers.

On October 31, 2019, Hollywood Gothique embarked on a Halloween Odyssey to the Verdugos, in order to explore several of these less heralded yard haunts: Nightmare in Whiting Woods, 1400 Halloween Display, Catastrophe Cabin, and others. Though it is too late to visit these haunted houses this year (some were open only on Halloween Night), this information may be a useful reference guide next season.

Verdugos Yard Haunts: The Nightmare in Whiting Woods (walk-through) 413 Whiting Woods, Glendale, 91028 2019 Schedule: Halloween Night, 6-11pm

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Located in the hills of Glendale, far north near the 210 Freeway, this one-night-only yard haunt has kept a low profile during its nearly two decades of operation (which began under the name Nightmare on Vista Court before moving to its current location). Nightmare on Whiting Woods is not on the annual So Cal Haunts list; there is no Facebook page, and the closest thing to an official website has not been updated since August 2013. Online visibility consists of photos exchanged among cast and crew on social media, plus an occasional YouTube video or crowdfunding campaign.

Regardless of staying out of the limelight, the Nightmare in Whiting Woods is extremely popular. On Halloween Night, the narrow, winding road below the haunt is crammed with cars; parking is at a premium; and throngs of costumed trick-or-treaters ascend a steep, narrow pathway up a hill to the property.

The official start time is 6pm, but this means only that sound effects begin to kick in one by one, like an overture building to a symphony of shudders. It is unlikely you will enter before 7pm; nevertheless, it is a good idea to arrive while daylight remains, in order to secure your place before the line spills from the pathway onto into the street below; otherwise, your wait time could exceed an hour.

Is The Nightmare on Whiting Woods worth the wait? Only if you enjoy a superlative walk-through on par with the best Halloween home haunts in Los Angeles.

Whiting Woods’ theme for Halloween 2019 was an old western ghost town. The experience was divided into four sections. First, the wait in line set the mood, taking visitors past a hillside festooned with skeletons, graves, and markers sporting groan-inducing joke names (“Upton Leftus”). Second, the walk-through began on a porch with an ax-wielding woman named Lizzie Borden, leading to the interior of a disreputable establishment, with with ghoulish saloon girls. Third, we emerged into the ghost town itself, where we encountered a variety of creepy characters, including scarecrows and restless corpses. Fourth, we entered an old gold mine, who darkness housed even more hungry ghouls.

Nightmare on Whiting Woods clearly has the square footage to accommodate a substantial haunt, and the different environments were all nicely done. The entire trek lasted about five minutes, but it seemed like more because the haunt contained so much: we expected a brief walk through a haunted saloon; the ghost town and the abandoned mine were unexpected bonus features. There were also some good special effects, including a bar girl turning into a skeleton right before our eyes.

Visitors were allowed to enter in small groups: whether you were front, back, or center, there was a monster available to target you. The scare strategy consisted of having multiple actors, sometimes augmented with mechanical effects, attacking simultaneously from different directions, shattering your comfort zone aggressively and repeatedly. The monsters wore masks or makeup, depending on how visible the lighting conditions made them; some were very impressive, such as the wooden cigar-store Indian that suddenly came to life. Best of all was an enormous skeletal horse, white bones aglow in black light, escaping its coral to trot menacingly in our direction.

Attending Nightmare in Whiting Woods presents difficulty: lines are long, and hours are short. Nevertheless, this is a must-see Halloween event – not quite as elaborate as Rotten Apple 907 or Beware the Dark Realm but easily on par with the other high end yard haunts, such as Murder House Productions.

Verdugos Yard Haunts: Happy Haunts 3552 Prospect Avenue, La Crescenta 2019 Schedule: October 5-31

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  Five minutes north of Nightmare on Whiting Woods was this family-friendly Halloween yard display, loaded with tombstons, artificial Jack O’Lanterns, and inflatable figures of Jack Skellington, Frankenstein, and Yoda. The creepiest figure on view was the demented doll-faced character from Trick R Treat, but we’re sure Yoda could use the Force to keep him at bay, and the smiling ghosts and pumpkins were a welcome invitation to even the most timid trick-or-treaters. Favorite visual: a skeleton taking a bath with soapy “bubbles” lit from beneath the surface.

Verdugos Yard Haunts: 1400 Halloween Display 1400 Andenes Drive, Glendale 2019 Schedule: October 26-27 & Halloween Night, 7:30-10p

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About ten minutes south of Whiting Woods, the 1400 Halloween Display seems to have been a joint effort between father and son, both of whom arranged various decorations and effects on the expansive yard of a large corner house in the hills of Glendale, not too far from Opechee Haunt (more on which below). On Halloween Night, the static displays of mannequins, skeletons, and tombstones were enhanced with a few moving figures, including a pressure-activated jumping spider that sprung when we first set foot on the property. Even better was an imposing figure with a glowering Jack O’Lantern for a cranium, which glowed a hot orange color as he spasmodically thrashed about.

There was lots to see here but spread out over the ample acreage, leaving many possible escape routes, so candy-seekers had little reason to be scared, especially since there were no live monsters.

Much smaller in case, though perhaps slightly creepier, was an unnamed yard haunt across the street…

Verdugos Yard Haunts: Pennywise Haunt (yard display) Andenes Drive, Glendale

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This was a small display, but putting Pennywise on the balcony was a brilliant idea, giving the mechanical figure a platform from which to glower down on approaching candy-grabbers, his raspy voice echoing ominously through the night air. Well done!

Verdugos Yard Haunts: Opechee Haunt (haunted show) 1307 Opechee Way, Glendale 2019 Schedule: October 20, 25-27 & Halloween Night, 7-10p spookyscary.wixsite.com/opecheehaunt

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Less than a minute away from 1400 Halloween, the Opechee Haunt was dazzling audiences with its final show before going on indefinite hiatus. The presentation, Jack’s Halloween JamBOOree! 2, was not only a sequel to 2017’s JamBOOree! but also a continuation of their showcase at Midsummer Scream back in August. Guests in groups of twenty watched a 15 minute pre-show before being escorted to a viewing deck for the main event. Unlike the first JamBOOree! – which was open to viewing from anywhere on the street – this one was more private and intimate. The proprietor wanted to create a theatre-like atmosphere in order to surprises the audience without revealing all the magic, which included a mixed usage of animatronics, lighting, sound effects, and live actors to bring the show to life.

The finale provided a bittersweet moment when Jack and Gus, the main Jack O’Lantern characters bid farewell and adieu. For the general audience, it meant merely the end of the story. For those in the haunt community, it means something more permanent.

-Capsule Comment by Warren So

Verdugos Yard Haunts: Catastrophe Cabin (yard display) 1541 Garden Street, Glendale, 91201 2019 Schedule: Halloween Night, sundown-11pm

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Our next stop was considerably father west than the other Verdugos Haunts – about fifteen minutes on the Glendale and Ventura freeways.

Catastrophe Cabin is a yard haunt that does not feel like a yard – it’s too well disguised by its Halloween overlay. On Halloween Night, its display mimicked a walk-through experience. Bathed in eerie red light, the decor and foliage were so thick they created the illusion of entering a little Halloween world as we trekked up the driveway to a tent where we obtained treats and divination cards revealing mystical secrets about our inner nature. A second, equally packed pathway led to the front porch with a spooky photo op for trick-or-treaters courageous enough to brave masked monsters lurking behind densely arranged props and skeletons.

But that’s not all Garden Street in Glendale had to offer this October 31st. Next door to the left, we stumbled upon…

Verdugos Yard Haunts: Jurassic Island (yard display) Garden Street, Glendale, 91201

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As the name informs you, this yard haunt was home to creatures from the Mesozoic Era, resurrected through genetic engineering. John Williams’ memorable theme music from Jurassic Park filled the air as we approached the treat bowl, which was surrounded by various fierce reptiles, both prehistoric and mythical. Since these were mostly in the form of balloons, they were not too intimidating for youngsters, though a couple of detailed rubber heads were considerably more convincing. With no animatronic dinosaurs, Jurassic Island was more a neighborhood trick-or-treat stop than a travel destination, but it was definitely worth a detour on the way to Catastrophe Cabin.

Bonus points for recreating a famous moment in the film by hanging a toy jeep from a tree.

The Verdugos is also home to Forgotten Hallows in Pasadena and the Garden Path of Doom in Altadena, two yard haunts we did not visit this season.

Photographs by Yuki Tanaka and Warren So.

2019 Halloween Yard Haunts: The Verdugos Hollywood Gothique encounters ghosts of the old west at Nightmare in Whiting Woods, along with other spooks in Glendale.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 5589

And lo! All for their dinner, let  us see if the screech  itself is dawn. A pack of  wolves! D, pale with all its  though for the fruit-tree wild;  in such another, and neist my heart  cries, oh! My ex-lover receive  the mystery by midnight  hour of pillows waved oer  his county, he sate with  your handsome way how to  play my solitarie Brere: for since 

immortal, shun them twere pitty. Yet 

Helene, love, believe a growl like tiles  for a kitchen they gaze on,  she and heart dotes less on Nature  vnidle know, and Years my name, 

and nothing utterd. By many bene,  ride, ride together side. Deep for  a thousand fingers long  and thee wit, better come at the  pained speech coming, and she with  lullaby now take their milky bosoms 

on the greatest number.  Her splendor on my brow with  the present 

than it turns to past. Thats  the teeth o time machine, suddenly  two years on years depart—

and now it happend luckily,  the exact opposite! Or  do you beware of a presence  that tenderest strain I heard a 

hint of such a soft floating  with the rays of  verity. And place,  and far out of Gazing grew to  faults conceald, wherein the  Muses and thee I speed:  from which my hope will have I  slept, kind Nature Hasan—on the  Horse and that dim apartment These  rules did fail, proof makes me dizzy procession 

to their glorious  glow, of Honour most. cooling  around us spread with 

shifting charms my whole youths starward 

longing so lowde: which might make your  forefinger and perplexing waste 

had more red than here remains  unseen, but much untold, by those three talents,  for the garter belt, for 

the island with  any men; and make a bed  of death of perilous beast aboue  all, and that same troade, but balk  the rights they were clawing out, under  thy tongue with Bab-o lest 

they pay. Sweet a flower amang them  a in sarks to me; 

love with too much on one  side. Would not let him speake of shepheard  so nene a kurre, that I may  not breathe oer me cast, give my cold lips a  kiss at last did speake, her  words were left with sapphire— love enduring North.

[josephkitchen0]

Baby Chick Health 101

Chick season is fun, but make sure you're prepared to welcome new chicks to your backyard and keep them healthy. Good baby chick health early on gives your birds the building blocks they need to become healthy adults.

Be Sure You’re Ready One of the most important steps you can take for your birds is to be prepared and know what type of commitment you’re making before you purchase your birds. “These birds are your pets. This is an investment for the long term. People should consider not just buying them at the holidays and think that this a short-term situation. These birds can live for two to three years or up to eight years. It’s not just to get the birds for maybe teaching children about chicks when they’re young and then, in essence, discarding them,” said Dr. Sherrill Davison, director of the Laboratory of Avian Medicine and Pathology at Penn Vet.” Just as if you would purchase a dog or cat, horse or cow, or any other animal, it truly is important to understand that these are animals and that they need care and that care could be a long-term situation. They need to understand that before they go into this.” While the cost of purchasing an individual baby chick is relatively low, there’s more to consider. “I’ve had people say to me that it only costs a few dollars for this bird and they put the value of that animal’s life based on the monetary value, and I think people need to understand that that’s not the way you should be looking at this before you go in. And to truly understand the costs that you may incur with the coops, the feed, the care, and that it does take work to keep the chickens clean and to be able to feed them,” said Davison.

Getting Your Birds and Vaccinations Lots of folks get their day-old chicks from their local feed store and others purchase directly from a hatchery. If you’re making that direct purchase, you’ll have some choices about order minimums, heat packs if you’re shipping in cold weather and available vaccines. If the birds come from a feed store, those choices have been made for you, but don’t be too shy to ask where the birds have been purchased and whether they have been vaccinated or not.

What is Marek’s Disease? Marek’s disease (MD) is a viral, tumor-causing disease that is found worldwide and is so common that most people consider their birds have been exposed whether they show symptoms or not. Only a small portion of exposed birds actually develop the disease. Marek’s disease is highly contagious and is transmitted from bird to bird contact, especially through feather dander and dust. There are four forms of Marek’s disease — skin, nerve, eye, and internal organ. Marek’s disease is nearly always fatal.

For many, the question of whether to vaccinate or not can be tough. Dr. Davison recommends choosing to vaccinate for Marek’s disease. “The only vaccine I would do would be the Marek’s vaccine. That’s given at the hatchery at a day of age,” she said. “I get concerned. You’ll have flocks of birds that never have Marek’s and will potentially never get it. But my concern is the many clients that come here with birds that have to be euthanized because they’re paralyzed and they didn’t get the vaccine. I would prefer them just to have gotten the vaccine and not have to worry about the heartbreak of losing the bird.” Whether your birds are vaccinated or not, proper sanitation is the key to baby chick health and long-term health. “It’s not just getting the vaccine, the second part of the control of Marek’s disease is the sanitation of the coop. If you don’t clean the coop properly and you let things build up, that virus can build up and actually overcome vaccination. So it’s a two-fold approach, you need the vaccine, but you also need the sanitation.”

Getting Set Up and Proper Sanitation Once you’re ready to take the plunge, it’s best to have everything ready and waiting for the day your new chicks arrive.

Baby Chick Health Essential Equipment Brooder Space needed will increase as chicks grow. A minimum of two to three square feet is needed, per chick, from hatch to six weeks old. Six to 10 square feet per chick is needed from six weeks and up. Heat Source Heat lamps are commonly used. Beware of the fire hazard. Brooder plates use less electricity and have less fire hazard threat. Thermometer The temperature should be measured on the brooder floor where chicks are located. Feeder and Waterer Special chick-sized equipment for water and food is available. Bedding Wood shavings work well. Place four to six inches on the floor of the brooder.

“I think the key problem that I’m seeing with baby chicks is they don’t truly have the proper set up with the appropriate heat and the appropriate enclosure. The important thing is to start these birds off correctly,” said Davison. In addition to the right equipment, cleanliness is a must for good baby chick health. “Proper cleanliness of the brooder area is essential because they (baby chicks) can get bacterial infections or the fungal infection, aspergillosis. And they’re very susceptible at a young age to those two diseases. They’re very small so the dose of what they could breathe in could overcome or overwhelm them at a higher rate than an adult would,” said Davison.

What is Aspergillosis? Aspergillosis is sometimes called brooder pneumonia. This is primarily a lung and air-sac disease of chicks. Affected chicks will gasp, lose their appetite, and look sleepy. The disease spreads through the mold, not from chick-to-chick. There is no effective drug treatment or vaccination. Chicks must be nursed back to health and the mold must be removed.

Feeding Your Chicks  One of the first decisions you’ll need to make for your chicks is what to feed them. Chicks should be fed chick starter until they are of laying age, usually around 18 to 21 weeks. If you have a flock of mixed ages, everyone should be switched to starter feed. The starter feed won’t hurt the adult chickens, but the added calcium in layer feed can hurt the chicks. There are choices with chick starter — medicated or non-medicated. The difference between the two feeds is the addition of amprolium in the medicated starter feed. This reduces the number of coccidia eggs that can live in a baby chick and reduces the chance of young chickens developing coccidiosis.

What is Coccidiosis? Coccidiosis is caused by the microscopic coccidia parasite that, unchecked, can damage the gut wall of a chicken when it multiplies to overwhelming numbers in the digestive tract. Outward signs of this disease include chicks that are pale and droopy with ruffled feathers and a lack of appetite. Sick chicks will pass bloody or watery diarrhea. Coccidiosis can lead to poor growth and death.

Medicated feed has its opponents, and not all choose to use it, so it’s important to understand how to prevent your chickens from getting coccidiosis. “The key here is dry litter and making sure you keep things dry and clean because what will happen is coccidia like to multiply in warm, moist areas. And a chicken coop is a wonderful environment for it to multiply in because of the warm, moist environment,” said Davison. “Coccidia is picked up by the chicken eating pieces of litter, which they will do, and then the coccidia goes in and starts multiplying and then they’ll (chicks) excrete more coccidia in their feces and then they’ll pick up more and it just keeps building up and building up until the birds get sick. A little coccidia is ok. Because it will, in essence, immunize themselves against the coccidia, too much is bad.” Some believe bringing dirt from outside into the brooder allows baby chicks to develop gradual immunity. “You don’t know what too much is if you’re bringing dirt in. And you also have the potential for other problems. Are you bringing dirt in or are you bringing in salmonella? If you bring dirt in, are you bringing in E. coli? You’re bringing in things that you may not want to bring in at such a young age because the baby chicks are more susceptible to multiple diseases at that age. What you do is you slowly introduce them to the environment when they’re older and then they have more of an immune status and they can handle more of the coccidia and handle more of the E. coli or whatever else is in the environment.” Heading Outside  The ultimate goal for your chicks is to live in the backyard and as they get older, you’ll want them to go outside. But when is that possible? “The birds during the first couple weeks of life cannot maintain their temperature. And so you do want to keep them in for at least the first three to four weeks of age. You want to keep them in, keep them warm, and make sure that they’re eating and all that,” said Davison. “Then when they’re about five to six weeks of age, if you want them out for a brief visit, that’s great.” Davison recommends the temperature outside for first visits should be at least 75 degrees Fahrenheit. “Watch carefully, see how they’re doing, if they’re shivering and huddling with each other, then it’s too cold for them. And I think that’s key. The birds will tell you whether they’re uncomfortable. If they’re huddling in an area, that means they’re cold.  If they’re spread out, then they’re doing ok. You have to watch the attitude of the bird,” she said. Chicks hatched in the spring can begin to live outside full-time around nine to 10 weeks of age, but it may take longer if you’ve gotten chicks in the winter. Davison advises to carefully watch the night temperatures which can be fickle in the spring. “With the young ones, because they just don’t have a lot of body mass, I would suggest no lower than 50 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s sort of my breaking point,” she said. ***Originally published in Backyard Poultry magazine April/May 2018 and updated as needed.*** Baby Chick Health 101 was originally posted by All About Chickens

[gamingworld87]

Bloodborne

Bloodborne is an action RPG in which you hunt for answers in the ancient city of Yharnam, now cursed with a strange endemic illness spreading through the streets like a disease. Peril, death and madness infest this dark world, and you're tasked with uncovering its darkest secrets which will be necessary for you to survive. Armed with a singular arsenal of weaponry, including guns and saw cleavers, you'll require wits, strategy and reflexes to dispatch the agile and intelligent enemies that guard the city's underbelly. You will utility holy chalices to access an array of vast underground ruins, chock full of traps, beasts, and rewards, to explore and conquer on your own or with other people. Bloodborne’s horror, at a glance, approaches cliché. Yharnam, the city in which Hidetaka Miyazaki’s latest game is centered, is beleaguered with plague, its streets all grime and squalor. Bodies pile in sodden sacks, flies buzz around horse carcasses, while a pram, that beloved prop of the Hollywood set designer, lays on its side at the doors to a forsaken church. There are few places of sanctuary any more for the remaining healthy locals, who tremble and pace inside their homes, under an everlasting curfew, away from the terrors that roam outside their doors.We’ve seen many of those freaks and mutants before too. There are the rabid Doberman and hoe-wielding peasants of Resident Evil. There are the fat crows of Hitchcock’s The Birds. Even the soul-sucking Death Eaters of Harry Potter are hinted at. Jack the Ripper would certainly be at home here in the nooks and crannies of Yharnam’s Gothic sprawl; its cobblestones are ever slicked with Saw-like gushes of blood.

Your primary weapon can extend and retract like a switchblade. In its shorter form, it releases a flurry of strikes at close distance. When extended, it’s slower but with far greater reach. Combos can involve switching between these two states, to showboating effect. Later in the game, you are able to equip gems into the weapon to strengthen it, or add elemental effects that, for example, set your enemy aflame. In your other hand, you carry either a burning torch, to light up the murk, or a ranged weapon (initially a pistol or shotgun – but soon enough you gain access to a range of other vintage firearms, each of which maintains a dilapidated steam-punk feel). It’s not all high tech: when faced with a huddle of enemies, you can hurl stones to lure individuals away, thinning their numbers into more manageable encounters.Combat has changed in other crucial ways. Gone is the flask of life-giving drink quaffed in Miyazaki’s previous games; instead foes liberally drop health-restoring items, which can be guzzled momentarily during a fight. More interesting still: when struck by an enemy, a section of your health bar turns from red to orange. Now you have a few seconds in which to land your own attack. Manage a strike, and the blood you harvest will refill your health bar. It’s a simple change with fundamental repercussions: attack is now the best form of defence, and even when you’re close to death, you can pull yourself back from the brink with a few well-aimed hits. Much later you may equip runes to your character, which work rather like Dark Souls’ rings, infusing your character with specific advantages to further tip the odds in your favour.Bloodborne’s currency is Blood Echoes, an item harvested from foes that can be spent on increasing your character’s abilities or purchasing clothing, weapons or items from a gaggle of ghostly imps that live in a cauldron in Bloodborne’s overgrown copse of a hub area, known as Hunter’s Dream. Die and your current stash of Blood Echoes are dropped at the point of your defeat (or, now, gobbled up by the foe that bested you). You can reclaim them by making your way back to the location (or defeating the victorious enemy), but die en route and they’re gone for good.As such, the greater the number of Blood Echoes in your possession, the more anxious you become as the greater the potential loss that’s attached to defeat. But also, the greater the number of Blood Echoes in your possession, the higher the chance that you’re approaching a new lamp, one of the game’s rare points of safety which, when lit, will offer you a new point of entry into Yarnham. Should you turn back to bank your winnings at the hub world, or press on to the next portal, wherever it may be? It’s an ongoing question.Miyazaki is, perhaps, the medium’s greatest world-builder. His storytelling is always fragmented (the game is so relentlessly hostile that, when you happen upon a friendly character, who offers you encouragement, information or some kind of useful item, the sense of relief may bring you close to tears), but there’s a sense that the iceberg of the fiction sits deep and heavy. This is evidenced in the way in which the world pieces together like a grand and elegant contraption. You will spend an hour questing through some knotted area of Yharnam, praying for a lamp to light, only to find a set of gates that, when heaved open, will create a passageway that brings you back to a previous safe point. While different sections of Yharnam’s surrounding area are accessed via different portals in the hub world, most of these areas can be trekked between on foot. The world is vast but, more wonderfully still, it’s clockwork.

There are, however, places in Bloodborne that are less precise in their layout. Aside from the main quest, it’s possible to create randomly generated dungeons using a concoction of items swirled together in a chalice. These multi-tiered dungeons generate “glyphs”, numerical keys that can be shared with friends, allowing them to download its layout to their game and share in your pain and frustration. Bloodborne continues the Souls series’ somewhat remote form of co-operative and competitive play elsewhere too. Ring a bell and it’s possible to call for another player (they will be teleported into your game to offer assistance). Later, you can also invade other players’ games, to hinder rather than help. The community of players can share messages of support by placing notes on the ground. These warn of traps or ambushes, or simply share a moment of encouragement or relief. “Beware of hound,” reads one; “You’ve come to the right place,” reads another. Bloodborne like its predecessors, will spill its secrets slowly, over months rather than days. Part of the appeal of Miyazaki’s games is this slow-release effect, whereby riddles are unpicked and shared by the community, rather than plainly laid out on the first day of release. It brings players together, where the fiction itself keeps them somewhat apart. Bloodborne is, by any measure, an extraordinary game, one that runs forcefully against the commercial tide, subverting perceived wisdom that contemporary games have to hold their players’ hands, or make their shape and rules explicit from the get-go.Some joy is found in this mystery then. But, elsewhere, the game’s appeal is more plainspoken. Its elegance, precision, humour, and challenge make Bloodborne irresistible. Ultimately, the horror is secondary; wonder is the true transfusion on offer here.

[funnythingshere0-blog]

It would be stupid to think we have moved on from war. Look around

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It would be stupid to think we have moved on from war. Look around

Many of us – and as a Canadian I certainly include myself – have lived so long in what historians are starting to call the Long Peace that we have come to assume that war is an abnormality. Something that may afflict others, from different cultures in far-off places. War for us, we think, belongs firmly in the past. And it is true that large parts of the world have not had to endure state-to-state wars for decades. The majority of the world’s nations have also been spared the scourge of civil wars, although many have known violence from revolutionary insurrection. Stephen Pinker and others have also argued that we are conducting our internal affairs with greater civility and point to declining levels of homicide and physical assault around the globe. (His own country, the United States, is an outlier here with much higher murder rates than in Canada or Europe.)

In my BBC Reith Lectures, I am arguing that we should be careful not to assume that the peaceful parts of the world are particularly virtuous or that they represent a clear trend for humanity’s moving away from war. We have been fighting each other for a very long time – as far as we can tell, from the moment we started to organise ourselves and settle down as agriculturalists. And much of the world today is at war: in Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen, the great lakes district of Africa or Sudan. There are also the “frozen” conflicts so favoured by Vladimir Putin’s regime – in eastern Ukraine, for example – that at any moment could ignite wider struggles.

Much of today’s war is low level, fought with submachine guns, portable rockets, even machetes and hoes, but the great powers continue to prepare for advanced technological war on a massive scale. Moreover, war is making one of those technological leaps that it has made so often in the past, from bows and spears to gunpowder, or from horses and mules to the internal combustion engine. The current generation of fighter planes is probably the last that will have pilots. They will be replaced by computers with increasingly sophisticated artificial intelligence. And while in the 19th and 20th centuries war moved increasingly into new dimensions, whether below the sea or into the air, it is now moving into cyberspace.

The range of weapons at the disposal of military powers is terrifying in its capacity to damage the world and its inhabitants, perhaps even to bring humanity’s long story to its end. Nuclear proliferation has never entirely been brought under control and the arsenals of nuclear powers contain bombs far more powerful than those dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. There are treaties governing the development of biological and chemical weapons, but they are only as effective as the will to enforce them. At the other extreme among weapons of mass destruction are drones and killer robots, which are cheap to make, easy to manipulate and often tiny but deadly.Yet many in the military and their civilian masters continue to think and plan as if war remains a feasible option. John Bolton, the US national security adviser, who seems to have the president’s ear for the time being, has talked about invading North Korea or Iran. Equally worrying, officials and opinion makers in the US and China talk with resignation – or perhaps anticipation – about how history shows that declining and rising powers are bound to fight each other. Once you accept that something is inevitable, you risk bringing it closer. History is not much help when it comes to predicting the future, but it can remind us of the warning signals that always come before wars – the heightened rhetoric, for example, or the inability to understand the other side. What both sides learned in the cold war, sometimes nearly too late, is that they needed to grasp how the other side was thinking and feeling and how it might read or misread signals. In 1983, the Soviet Union became convinced, wrongly, that the United States and its allies were planning a sneak nuclear attack in retaliation for the Soviet shooting down of the Korean airliner KAL 007. Luckily, the west realised this in time and called off a planned military exercise.

Stretcher bearers in Passchendaele, August 1917: ‘The tally of lives lost and resources wasted.’ Photograph: Universal History Archive/Un/REX

The past can show us how wars start, how rarely they turn out as planned and how difficult they can be to stop, much less end in ways that won’t provide fertilisation for future wars. Much has changed about war, but certain things remain constant.

Nations and the individuals who lead them fight out of greed, when they think they can wrest something – land, spoils or people – from another. Conversely, we fight to protect what we have and hold dear. Or wars can be about political ideology and religion, which can have many of the same features. Some of the most terrible wars we have seen have been fought in the name of making a perfect society. When you are creating utopia, existing lives are the price to pay for a future in which everyone is happy. Finally, wars are fought for the most basic of human emotions. Fear, for example, of what others might do. In 1914, the German high command felt the timing was good for war because by 1917, so they calculated, Germany would no longer be able to take on a rapidly strengthening Russia. Feelings about honour – maintaining it, defending it, showing it – have led to wars between countries, just as they do between gangs.

A poster in Weifang, China, shows one of the artificial islands it is building in the disputed South China Sea. Photograph: VCG/VCG via Getty Images

As history reminds us again and again, wars are not always made on the basis of rational calculations; often the contrary. Many commentators pointed out before 1914 that Europe risked a massive and costly stalemate if its powers went to war and that, in the end, no one would benefit. Four years later, that had been demonstrated in the tally of lives lost and resources wasted. War, as Prussian general Carl von Clausewitz said, has its own logic and once started cannot be easily stopped.

We will never agree on the causes – who, what, why – of the Great War, but we should remember that mistakes and incorrect assumptions played a key role in the final crisis in July. Austria-Hungary was determined to destroy Serbia and Germany gave its infamous blank cheque without properly thinking through the consequences. In Vienna and Berlin, they deluded themselves that Russia would not enter a war in defence of Serbia and that, if the war spread, Britain would not intervene to protect France. They could not predict, and we cannot predict today, how nations and their leaders will react in moments of extreme crisis, especially if public opinion is taken into account. If, say, American and Chinese vessels clash in the South China Sea, will those at home insist on standing strong?

So we in the west need to beware of complacency. We are as much a prey to violent emotions, to blundering into war, as the Spartans and Athenians once were. We need to remember war, not so we can draw from it lessons about how to use it and how to win, but to understand how easily it can happen and escape control and how hard it can be to end in a way that gives some basis for a lasting peace. We really do need to think about war if we want to avoid it.

Professor Margaret MacMillan’s Reith Lectures, The Mark of Cain, begin next Tuesday on BBC Radio 4

Source: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/jun/24/stupid-to-think-we-have-moved-on-from-war-look-around-reith-lectures