#the case of the belligerent ghost

[ineffabletwaddle13]

Holmes pokes/ touches Watson with one finger from the first day they met and Watson quickly picks up the habit himself, and even starts poking Lestrade too

[tossawary]

So, in SVSSS, Shen Yuan makes a few really interesting assumptions when he sits down to speak properly to Airplane Bro for the first time. The first assumption is that Shang Qinghua is a transmigrator. Two of the other assumptions he makes, connected to this first one, arguably contradict each other slightly in fascinating ways. (I will put the full relevant scene fragment / quotation from these chapters under the cut at the end.)

Shen Yuan's assumption that Shang Qinghua is a transmigrator appears to be built first and foremost on the fact that he heard SQH say, "WTF!" during the conference. Shen Yuan also reveals: "At the time, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t heard him particularly clearly, so he hadn’t paid it any mind. But afterward, the more he’d thought about it, the more suspicious he’d grown." (Ch5)

So, Shen Yuan belatedly decides that he hadn't misheard this one accidental slip during a chaotic attack that damaged him both physically and emotionally. He decides that he definitely heard that correctly! He's confident enough that he invites Shang Qinghua over to his house and then immediately and calmly accuses his fellow peak lord of treason.

Shen Yuan very casually says: "How was it inadequate? You clearly overexerted yourself. You even found demonic creatures like the ghost-head spiders, Nu Yuan Chan, and bone eagles—none of which ever enter the Human Realm of their own volition. How could Shixiong rebuke you for inadequacy?" (Ch4)

Shang Qinghua sputters, jumps to his feet, turns red, blusters with offense, sneers, brushes Shen Yuan's hand away.

"“Why wouldn’t I? I have a clear conscience. Why would I fear a false accusation?” With a sneer, Shang Qinghua brushed away his hand.

“Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky?” asked Shen Qingqiu." (Ch4)

When Shen Yuan says Airplane Bro's ID, Shang Qinghua pauses and says, “You… How do you know my ID?” (Ch4) And the scene immediately switches from a confrontation between two peak lords regarding treason to a transmigration reveal.

But hey, let's go back to that first version of the scene! What if Shang Qinghua hadn't been a transmigrator? Shen Yuan must have mentally reviewed what happened at the conference and all of their previous encounters, but he still could have been wrong in this assumption. He might have misheard and misinterpreted.

In which case, throwing out Airplane's ID wouldn't have stopped the scene and Shen Yuan would now have to deal with a belligerent traitor who 1) isn't admitting to what he did and/or 2) may turn violent in self-defense. Shen Yuan even admits: "He’d only wanted to study Shang Qinghua’s reaction to this name to determine if he had also read Proud Immortal Demon Way—but given his reaction…he wasn’t just a reader, was he?!" (Ch4)

Shen Yuan has no proof of Shang Qinghua's crimes and everyone thinks he's out of his mind with grief, probably searching for someone to blame, though Yue Qingyuan might indulgently open an investigation anyway and might actually end up finding something. If this had been Original Shang Qinghua, this confrontation could have broken out into a fight.

It was reckless. But I'm not reading it as "recklessly stupid" so much as "recklessly aggressive".

If Shen Yuan had been focused purely on revealing a fellow transmigrator, he could have opened this conversation with something like, "Have you ever heard of the writer 'Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky'?" And whatever answer he received then would have told him if he was dealing with a fellow transmigrator, who could be disarmed by this revelation, or if he was dealing with Original Shang Qinghua, who would just be mildly confused. Once he had that information in hand, Shen Yuan could go from there.

But no, Shen Yuan opens with Shang Qinghua's crimes first. Which makes me suspect that he is angry with the man for causing the disaster at the Immortal Alliance Conference. If Shang Qinghua hadn't let in the demons, Shen Yuan wouldn't have been forced to push Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss. I personally don't think that Shen Yuan would have minded here if this confrontation had turned violent. He's perfectly capable of dealing out violence. He's a pretty good fighter, even with the Without A Cure issue, and with his confidence here... I'm going to assume that Shen Yuan thinks he could take Shang Qinghua in a fight. He may be right.

He's probably also confident that Yue Qingyuan would side with him if he had to kill a fellow peak lord (a traitor) in self-defense. I agree with this assessment. I think Shen Qingqiu's reputation would take a hard hit, as would Cang Qiong, but Shang Qinghua is a traitor here. If they could find any proof whatsoever, then the other peak lords would probably begrudgingly go along with this story.

To be clear, I don't think that Shen Yuan is entering into this conversation thinking about killing Shang Qinghua. I think he would attempt capture first. But he IS entering into this conversation resolved to either 1) unmask Shang Qinghua as a transmigrator or 2) unmask Shang Qinghua as a traitor and accomplice to murder. He accuses the man before anything else! This is going to end in a transmigrator reveal or in eventual violence.

If Shen Yuan is wrong, he cannot take this accusation back. He is either finding a "friend from his hometown" or he is making a very serious enemy here. If Original Shang Qinghua manages to pretend he's innocent and shake off these accusations, clearing any trial Cang Qiong holds for him, then he's presumably going to be secretly gunning for Shen Qingqiu from then on.

Shen Yuan is betting a LOT on not having misheard a phrase that he admits he didn't hear very well! He admitted that!

I do think Shen Yuan starts this confrontation off being angry - angry at Shang Qinghua, angry at himself, angry at the situation - underneath his calm. I think he's ready for a fight if necessary. I kind of think he might want one on some level. I think he's feeling a little reckless in his fresh grief and loneliness.

Because the other option is that Shen Yuan entered this conversation unprepared for the possibility of being wrong about there being another transmigrator. And also unprepared for getting a really bad reaction from Original Shang Qinghua. And I'd really like to think that Shen Yuan is smarter than that. Shen Yuan can be pretty clever. It is totally possible that he is just not thinking beyond his assumption here, though. Shen Yuan can also get caught up in his own ideas and emotions sometimes.

I think this would make a fun Alternate Canon / Canon Divergence AU: "Shen Yuan is completely wrong about Shang Qinghua being a transmigrator and has just revealed to Original Shang Qinghua that he knows what the man did. Uh oh."

ANYWAY! That's just the first assumption that Shen Yuan makes: Shang Qinghua is another transmigrator. Connected to this first assumption are a couple other assumptions about this other transmigrator that are both also really interesting.

The second assumption is this: "As the one who’d masterminded the event (or the logistics of it), Shang Qinghua was subject to the irresistible pressure of the plot[.]" (Ch5) Shen Yuan assumes that the plot forced Airplane Bro to smuggle these beasts into the Immortal Alliance Conference, much like he himself was forced to push Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss.

I would have to go check the Airplane extras to be sure, but we don't know that this is true. I do remember from the Airplane extras that the System would have been cool with Airplane Bro killing Mobei-Jun, who is arguably an incredibly important character to many PIDW plotlines. I've often interpreted this as Airplane Bro having far more freedom to make his own decisions. We the audience later confirm that the System forced Airplane Bro to stay with Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and to become the head disciple of An Ding Peak. We don't know for sure that the System put pressure on Shang Qinghua to make the invasion of the Immortal Alliance Conference happen. It's implied when Shang Qinghua gets the return home feature from the System that he doesn't see it often.

Shen Yuan doesn't know these things. Shen Yuan is assuming here their transmigration experiences are very similar. Shen Yuan doesn't really directly ask.

Personally, I do think that the System was involved somehow, even if Airplane Bro's consequences for failure or disobedience weren't nearly so dreadful. With a second transmigrator and their desires in the mix, and the beginning of the real plot with Luo Binghe, it's possible that System put more restrictions on Airplane Bro and locked him onto this path (freeing him after the original outline with the romance deviation is complete). I personally headcanon that Airplane Bro could have wriggled out of the Immortal Alliance Conference without any serious punishment from the System, because I think it's funny if Shen Yuan's most hated event could have suddenly not happened if only Airplane Bro had decided not to do it, but I think that that Airplane Bro didn't try to buck the System because 1) he was generally okay with keeping the plot on track and 2) he was unwilling to challenge Mobei-Jun by resisting any orders on this front. He chose to save Mobei-Jun, now he has to live with that.

Shen Yuan doesn't seriously take Airplane Bro to task for all of the deaths and injuries at the Immortal Alliance Conference. I think a large part of this is that Shen Yuan not-unreasonably assumes Airplane Bro was forced into doing it by the System and Shen Yuan simply doesn't really interrogate Airplane Bro thoroughly to be sure. I think he unconsciously wants this assumption to be true in part because that means there's someone who really understands what he was forced to do to Luo Binghe, he's invested in the Endless Abyss being necessary, but also because now he isn't alone generally and has someone to help him fake his death. Shen Yuan is first and foremost out to save his own skin at this point in the story.

To be clear, I think it's very reasonable for Shen Yuan (and the audience) to assume that another transmigrator is also being strictly forced to follow the plot. He doesn't know Shang Qinghua is the author at first. He doesn't know just how different their transmigration experiences have been. The assumption is valid. It's just not actually certain.

The third assumption by Shen Yuan here is what really stood out to me during my reread. It's what made me start thinking more seriously about this confrontation and its setup. Shen Yuan thinks to himself: "As the one who’d masterminded the event (or the logistics of it), Shang Qinghua was subject to the irresistible pressure of the plot—yet he hadn’t released the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python that should have starred in numerous scenes. This was suspicious in itself, but if you considered the possibility that he had failed to do this intentionally in order to hinder the development of the plot—to sever the tragedy of Luo Binghe’s fall into the Endless Abyss at its roots—it made sense." (Ch5)

In the original PIDW, a Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python appeared at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and opened the Endless Abyss with its spatial-rift-creating scream. Mobei-Jun does it in SVSSS, appearing hundreds of chapters early. (I wrote a long meta piece on how I think Luo Binghe's seal works, and why it had to be something or someone with space-manipulation powers breaking it. It's under the "luo binghe demonic seal" tag.)

Shen Yuan noticed that the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python failed to appear and also decided that Shang Qinghua was genuinely surprised by Mobei-Jun's appearance instead. Shen Yuan assumes here that the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python's absence was an intentional act on the Shang Qinghua transmigrator's part in order to stop Luo Binghe's fall into the Endless Abyss. This is a WILD assumption!

It's possible that Shang Qinghua just failed to get one. It's possible that there was one somewhere else in Jue Di Gorge, but they simply didn't run into the creature.

It's also possible that Shen Yuan is right. Maybe Airplane Bro decided to quietly remove the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python from the conference, single-handedly preventing 1) Luo Binghe's demonic seal from being broken and 2) the Endless Abyss from being opened. Maybe he thought the System would overlook this until it was too late? But something about this interference made Mobei-Jun suspicious and he showed up to investigate instead.

Or Shang Qinghua organized Mobei-Jun's appearance and interference somehow, because MBJ breaks the demonic seal cleanly in SVSSS, whereas PIDW Binghe needed the Xin Mo sword to completely remove the seal only partially broken by the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python.

We really don't know what Shang Qinghua was doing. Or what Mobei-Jun was doing.

I think this assumption is fascinating, because Airplane Bro being able to omit the BMRP kind of contradicts the assumption that he was forced by the System to ruin the conference. Not completely, of course. Shen Yuan may be assuming that Shang Qinghua's System-given quest spoke of beasts generally, rather than the BMRP specifically, and Shang Qinghua was trying to work futilely around the System's wording in order to prevent Luo Binghe's fall. It's possible that the System did not tell Shang Qinghua directly to ensure the opening of the Endless Abyss. The System may have only demanded that he assist in the demonic invasion generally.

But these assumptions still bump up against each other in interesting ways, to me, even if they don't directly contradict each other. Shen Yuan thinks that pushing Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss was demanded by the plot, but he also thinks Shang Qinghua's meddling with the BMRP could have stopped it somehow? Or that Shang Qinghua simply tried to stop it by removing a necesssary plot device and the System compensated with Mobei-Jun, because Luo Binghe's fall is an inevitable event? Shen Yuan thinks Shang Qinghua was forced to release beasts on the conference, causing a great deal of death and injury, but he also assumes that Shang Qinghua was able to pick the beasts on some level. Maybe he's assuming that Mobei-Jun picked the beasts and Shang Qinghua simply got rid of the BMRP somehow?

It makes way more sense that Mobei-Jun both collected the beasts and released them into the conference, using his spatial manipulation powers, and Shang Qinghua only helped with intelligence and keys to the security. Shen Yuan comments on how dangerous these creatures are. I really don't think that Shang Qinghua collected them personally or put them into Jue Di Gorge personally; I think that would have been pretty dangerous and that lots of people on An Ding Peak and beyond would have noticed during event planning and setup. And if Mobei-Jun did most of the work (and entered the conference properly himself in SVSSS, rather than just disappearing without being seen in PIDW, I assume), then I don't really see how Shang Qinghua could have done much of anything to stop a BMRP from getting in. Maybe he asked Mobei-Jun to avoid BMRPs, please, and that made Mobei-Jun suspicious?

My assumption here is honestly that Shen Yuan isn't thinking too hard about what Shang Qinghua is personally responsible for, because he just doesn't want to think about it. If this is Original Shang Qinghua, Shen Yuan can bring him to justice. If this is a fellow transmigrator, then Shen Yuan has an accomplice / friend. He's trying to move forward so he doesn't have to look back.

I don't think his assumption that Airplane Bro got rid of the BMRP on purpose is out of nowhere. I think it's pretty reasonable to assume another transmigrator, if there is one, might have been seeking to change the plot for the better somehow and the System didn't allow it. I just think this particular assumption is a little wild, because Shen Yuan doesn't really confirm it. (I haven't thoroughly reread the whole scene. I could be wrong about this.) Shen Yuan does not clearly confirm Shang Qinghua's intentions or motivations. Or Mobei-Jun's.

Shen Yuan and Airplane Bro go on to have a different transmigrator argument, distracted by the revelation that this is the author and not another reader, and Shen Yuan doesn't try to confirm his theories. He doesn't ask Shang Qinghua if his wild (if plausible) assumption is actually correct. Like Shen Yuan doesn't really want to know for certain whether or not they could have changed things.

But, anyway, wow, that assumption is an interesting and funny Canon Divergence AU plot! What if Airplane Bro quietly removed the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python from his traitorous invasion, and Mobei-Jun didn't show up instead, so Luo Binghe's seal simply didn't break and the Endless Abyss never opened? Would the System still demand that Shen Qingqiu push Luo Binghe into an Endless Abyss that isn't here? Would the System glitch? Would the System simply have to recalculate because it wasn't specific about what it needed Shang Qinghua to make happen here? Would the System just let Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe go back to Cang Qiong again?

~

RELEVANT QUOTATION (end of "Chapter 4: Conference" into the very beginning of "Chapter 5: Bai Lu"):

Shang Qinghua said nothing but sighed along with him. “Ah, Luo-shizhi was a heroic youth, such a pity. Those demons brought such disaster upon us; they are truly hateful. The whole world mourns with us. Shen-shixiong, my condolences.”

“If Shang-shidi truly felt it was a pity, this tragedy would not have occurred,” Shen Qingqiu said faintly.

At this, Shang Qinghua stiffened. After a moment, he seamlessly smoothed things over with a smile. “What does Shen-shixiong mean by that? Is he rebuking our An Ding Peak for inadequate administration? If so, Shidi should truly apologize.”

Shen Qingqiu refilled his teacup. “How was it inadequate? You clearly overexerted yourself. You even found demonic creatures like the ghost-head spiders, Nu Yuan Chan, and bone eagles—none of which ever enter the Human Realm of their own volition. How could Shixiong rebuke you for inadequacy?”

“Peak Lord Shen—to make such outrageous accusations!” Shang Qinghua shot to his feet, his face rapidly changing colors.

Shen Qingqiu put his hand on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. “Why is Shang-shidi getting so excited?” he asked solemnly. “Let’s sit down and talk. Let me say something. Do you dare respond?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I have a clear conscience. Why would I fear a false accusation?” With a sneer, Shang Qinghua brushed away his hand.

“Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky?” asked Shen Qingqiu.

In that instant, it was like a bolt of lightning from the heavens had struck Shang Qinghua in the head, rendering him unable to speak.

After a long time, he managed to stammer out, “You… How do you know my ID?”

In that moment, it was like Shen Qingqiu had also been burnt to a crisp by the aforementioned bolt of lightning.

He’d only wanted to study Shang Qinghua’s reaction to this name to determine if he had also read Proud Immortal Demon Way—but given his reaction…he wasn’t just a reader, was he?!

After three long seconds, Shen Qingqiu jumped on him.

“It’s you?! How could I not know your ID after reading your entire fucking novel?! If you hadn’t let something slip when Mobei-Jun appeared, I really never would have known what hole you’d really crawled out of, ‘Great Master’!”

Volume 1, Chapter 4: Conference

The moment Shang Qinghua had seen Mobei-Jun suddenly appear, he had accidentally let out a “WTF!”

At the time, Shen Qingqiu hadn’t heard him particularly clearly, so he hadn’t paid it any mind. But afterward, the more he’d thought about it, the more suspicious he’d grown.

As the one who’d masterminded the event (or the logistics of it), Shang Qinghua was subject to the irresistible pressure of the plot—yet he hadn’t released the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python that should have starred in numerous scenes. This was suspicious in itself, but if you considered the possibility that he had failed to do this intentionally in order to hinder the development of the plot—to sever the tragedy of Luo Binghe’s fall into the Endless Abyss at its roots—it made sense.

Volume 1, Chapter 5: Bai Lu

[ash-rigby]

I'm doing a raffle where 3 winners get to request a story from me.

I’ll be taking submissions until January 9th and will draw names on the 10th.

Please read all the below information before entering.

Basic Rules/How To Enter:

You must be a follower of this blog.

You must have your age/age range in your bio and be 21 or older (there are personal comfort reasons for that age minimum; sorry 18-20 folks). I won't accept "I'm not comfortable showing my age but I swear I'm 21+".

Reply to this post, send a non-anonymous ask, or DM me to say you want to enter the raffle. Only do this once; spamming will get your name taken off the list and you may get blocked if it's severe enough.

Don't send your request at this time. We'll talk about what you want if you win.

Once I draw the winners, I’ll make a public post listing them and they’ll be contacted via DM (we can move over to Discord at that point if you would prefer). I ask that winners respond to the DM within a week’s time or I may assume you’ve ghosted and draw another person in your place (so if you’ve entered and aren't one to check tumblr every day, just make sure you take a peek over here sometime between the 10th and 17th in case you've won).

The stories won't be worked on at the same time. They will be completed and posted in the draw order of the names. You're basically winning the ability to choose the direction of my next three stories.

If this goes well (i.e. there's enough interest), I will likely run similar raffles in the future!

My DMs and inbox are open for any questions.

Things to Consider:

Requests are required to follow my guidelines of what I do and do not write about. Please familiarize yourself with them; particularly the "don'ts"

I won't be accepting requests for stories involving your OCs. This will be available through paid commissions when I start taking them.

I also prefer to keep my erotica in the realm of original fiction, so I won't be accepting requests for fanfiction.

Requests can be for reader inserts rather than the 3rd person POV of my typical work. I'll be using the 2nd person method ("you", "your" etc.) due to personal gripes with ''y/n''.

In case it wasn't obvious, requests will remain oneshot short stories, so don't expect that I'll write a multi-chapter slowburn for you for free.

Any requests for groups can't exceed threesomes.

You can request monster/monster stories that exclude a human character entirely.

You can request stories involving characters of mine. They can be continuations of existing works or new ones entirely. I'm happy to write about any one of them.

Also Note:

I value my time, effort, and mental well-being. If you start acting belligerent or entitled during our correspondence, I hold the right to reject your request, potentially block you, and pick someone else. General rule of thumb: be respectful and patient 💜

Good luck, and thank you!

[mk-writes-stuff]

Hello hello! Could I ask you:

9. Has any of them had to be saved from the brink of death? Were there any consequences after?

10. Has any of them had to be revived / brought back to life? How did this affect them?

From the torturing your OCs ask tag. <3

Hi! I’m always open for asks :)

CW for mentions of drugs and overdose, cancer, slavery, and death

Have any of them had to be saved from the brink of death? Were there any consequences after?

You’d think the number would be a lot higher, but I can only think of one in Seven Stations (book 1 at least). Arguably you could count Cassie as well when she chopped her arm off but I’m not counting that one, I think she wasn’t as close to death as anyone suspects she could be

Going to need to dodge spoilers here a bit but it’s actually our clone boy Sel who has a near-death experience. He gets poisoned and requires emergency medical treatment to keep his heart beating. He does survive this but is comatose for a month or two and, even after significant physical therapy, is unable to walk more than a few steps unaided

As for Pirates’ Roost, I’ve got a list:

Amelia - nearly died of poisoned wounds fighting Captain Jetti and required emergency medical treatment

Tatum - twice, actually, nearly died in the jungles of Ixalan from an infected cut on their hand and was rescued last minute by the crew of the Soaring Gull; and nearly died of cancer trying to get to Orazca in time before being saved by a stranger with too many snakes and an encyclopedic knowledge of poisons, which kicked off an entire other plot arc (actually its three times now that I think about it, they overdosed on pain meds once too)

Malcolm - was nearly murdered by Tatum’s dumbass brother, only survived because Julian was able to give him an antidote to the sleeping meds he was given

Apatli (said dumbass brother) - was beaten up and left to die in a gutter, found by Malcolm and taken to safety

Morrigan - nearly died in a fire, was accidentally saved by Jetti who she swore a life debt to

Onora (merfolk carpenter of the Sea Star) - burned his gills to the point of being unable to breathe hunting for the Belligerent to help them rescue slaves that Captain Dray had taken

This might happen too often in my stories lol

Have any of them had to be revived/brought back to life? How did this affect them?

Okay so generally in my stories there isn’t a way to bring someone back from the dead per se. I‘ll give you what I’ve got though (there aren’t any examples in Seven Stations, sorry)

There are two characters in Pirates’ Roost who come back as ghosts after they die. One of them is a sailor named Bartholomew who Malcolm was friends with when he was younger, whose spirit inadvertently anchored onto a compass his murderer had (ghosts in Pirates’ Roost need an anchor, either something they’re very attached to or something made out of a special mineral from the sun at the center of the world, the compass was the latter). Malcolm finds his compass some time later and they spend some time together before Bartholomew gets tired and asks to have his spirit set free from the compass so he can move on to the afterlife

The other one is a more significant character - a shipwright named Wallace. He was the captain of the Soaring Gull/Drowned Gull before Jetti and when he was murdered, his spirit anchored to his unfinished submarine prototype because he was just that passionate about boats (he’s hella autistic in case you can’t tell). He was left in an abandoned warehouse with the submarine for a while but was eventually found by Merry and Tatum and joined their crew as their personal ship designer. He’s quite peeved that being incorporeal means he can’t draw ships anymore but he just makes other people do it for him. He eventually gets his anchor shifted to a chunk of cosmium (inner sun mineral) so he can move between ships and pilot them via cosmium wiring

Anyway sorry for the massive ramble, I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for the asks :)

[arda-ancalima]

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Naruhodou Ryuunosuke, Sherlock Holmes | Herlock Sholmes (Dai Gyakuten Saiban), Natsume Souseki (Dai Gyakuten Saiban), Mikotoba Susato, Iris Watson | Iris Wilson, Tobias Gregson (Dai Gyakuten Saiban) Additional Tags: Humor, Case Fic Summary:

Natsume bursts into 221B Baker Street with a new mystery: he was on his way home when he saw a ghost, and then that ghost punched him in the eye! Can they find the truth behind the savage spectre, or is Natsume cursed to be haunted forever?

This fic was co-created with my brother Klint, and is an adaptation of episode 5 of the 1954 Sherlock Holmes TV series produced by Sheldon Reynolds, using much of the original dialogue from the show. At the moment, you can watch this episode on archive.org or find the series on tubitv.com. It's a lot of fun and I would recommend it! We thought this story would be a good fit for poor Mr. Natsume. :)

Contains minor spoilers through case 2-2.

(For @tgaa-gen-week Day 6 - Investigations: London Side!)

-

It was a quiet evening at 221B Baker Street. Following three back-to-back trials, Ryunosuke and Susato had a mound of paperwork to complete that kept them working until ten o’clock. Iris kept them company in the sitting room while diligently typing away on her latest story, and Sholmes tinkered with the machine on his desk.

They were all startled by a frantic pounding on the front door. Iris hopped up to let in their caller, who turned out to be Soseki Natsume. While their new friend was uneasy at the best of times, on this occasion he looked a fright. His tie was askew, his face bore an expression of wide-eyed terror, and one eye had a dark bruise around it.

“Dear me, my good fellow,” Sholmes said, leaning in to get a better look at his face. “Another one of your vigorous academic debates? Who struck you?”

Natsume could barely speak. Iris went to fetch tea and something for his eye while Susato helped him sit down.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” she said with concern as Iris pressed a steaming cup into his hand. “What’s happened?”

He downed the tea, the cup rattling violently as he returned it to its saucer. “Y-Y-You said it yourself,” he said, his words quivering as much as his hand. “It was a g-g-ghost!”

“A ghost?” Susato gasped.

“And…without any warning at all…h-he hit me in the eye!”

Iris raised her eyebrows.“I think you’d better have another.” She refilled his cup of tea, which he sipped slower this time, and gave him a handkerchief soaked in herbs to put on his eye.

“And now I’ll begin again,” Sholmes said, put out to have been ignored for so long. “Who struck you?”

Continue reading on AO3

[improbablecarny]

oh my god ya'll are so fucking people to people who don't like horror. it's great if you enjoy it but some of us just get scared too easily so we can't enjoy in the same way! there's no reason to write paragraphs upon paragraphs about how we're judgmental and don't appreciate the genre and are making "asses out of ourselves" just because some of us have a lower threshold for fear than you!

I specifically said it's okay if you don't like horror movies and I could not care less if you personally do not like them, especially if it's for reasons like this. What I WAS objecting to was people being belligerent, ignorant assholes over subjects they know nothing about. I used horror as an example because it was what I was dealing with (guy getting on my case for being part of the "lowest common denominator of weirdos" for liking fake movies about ghosts and monsters), but it absolutely applies to ANY subject where people have to deal with cruel and ignorant remarks directed at them for a profession*, hobby or general interest.

(*I'm talking about people being snobby to minimum wage retail workers or, idk, telling librarians that all they do is "read books all day" or something, not being a cop or designing military weapons or whatever)

Anyone who's owned a pet bug or gotten into specific music scenes or have a niche interest in, idk, doll collecting or something, have come up against people who know nothing but act like they know everything for the specific purpose of being mean to someone for no reason. This is not the same thing as having actual criticism or just not liking something because it doesn't fit within your interests or preferences. There are much more malevolent manifestations of this in, say, people who deny climate change and say climate scientists are lying/don't know what they're talking about because "the weather is normal where I live".

I don't care about superheroes, I think the MCU is a blight, but I'm not walking around being a jackass to people with encyclopedic knowledge of comic books and personal investment in these characters! I'm not making asspulls about half-remembered badly-received story arcs or pointing at Rob Liefeld to make the claim that all superheroes suck and you're stupid for liking them! Why? Because I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about, and though I'm not particularly interested in learning much more, that doesn't give me the high ground to mouth off at people who know this stuff better than I ever will. In fact, a whole ton of the notes on that post are people discussing their similar experiences with mindsets like this, but in different genres/media/topic/etc!

like I'm sorry but if you read the "paragraphs and paragraphs" of what I wrote, but missed this part:

If you’re just not interested in horror, or if you dislike certain subgenres of horror, then that’s fine, you’re not obligated to like anything at all. but smugly announcing that you don’t like horror because you dislike a handful of VERY specific non-universal tropes is just as stupid as saying that you hate comedy because you don’t like adam sandler movies.

Then maybe you can go back and read it again, this time trying not to get offended over the fact that there are people out there more knowledgeable than you on subjects you aren't even interested in.

"I don't like horror because I get scared easily" that's cool!

"I don't like horror because everyone who likes horror is a regressive freak and a danger to society because i saw one that i didnt like in 2006" is not!

[kattahj]

Rules: List 10 of your comfort shows, then tag 10 people

Tagged by @katiekeysburg about a month ago. This took me forever, sorry!

Tagging some mutuals from my notes: @minutia-r @sorry-bonebag @re-bee-key @theendofcake @beccaelizabeth315 @anotherlovr @lotesseflower @morathicain @firlalaith @lena221bee

Interpreting this as shows I watch when I want to feel happy and warm and cared for. I don't often rewatch shows, so some of these are ongoing and others are just ones that made me feel good when I did watch them.

Apologies to all the other feel good shows I've had along the way thst didn'tmake the cut. :-)

What's My Line: A game show from the 50s/60s where the panel guesses people's occupations, and also who the celebrity guest is (they're blindfolded for that one). If you want to watch light banter, low-stakes games (extra points are frequently handed out), and hear about jobs you didn't even know existed, this is perfect. Available on YouTube for free, too!

Taskmaster: Another low-stakes game show, this time with celebrities having to perform absolutely ridiculous tasks. This frequently involves not so much thinking outside of the box as thinking outside of the planet. Also, the two hosts have an amusingly dom/sub thing going on.

Queer Eye: Five gay people come to a person, or sometimes a group of people, to fix up their appearance, home, and personal lives. The results can be quibbled with sometimes, but for the most part, this is like a warm hug.

Ghosts: A young couple move into a house that turns out to be haunted. Since they're now so deep in debt that they can't move, they have to make friends with the ghosts. Exists in two versions, UK and US. The UK fans will swear up and down that theirs is the only good version, but the truth is that both are good, and as a comfort show specifically, the US version may be more effective, since it's softer and cuddlier.

Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts: In the future, humans live underground, mutated animals ("mutes") roam the earth, and everyone is at each other's throat. Until a girl named Kipo accidentally ends up on the surface and decides to make friends with all the animals, which she turns out to be surprisingly good at. Also, there's lots of singing.

Press Gang: Childhood favourite show that still holds up, about a group of teenagers making a newspaper together. Good drama, good humour, and also, the editor is a smart, ruthless girl named Lynda, who has lots of Belligerent Sexual Tension with Spike, one of the reporters and resident rebel, in a classic 80s/90s romantic trope. In case that's your kind of thing. :-)

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power: Girl who was stolen by the Evil Horde as a child discovers that she's actually the destined hero of the Princess Alliance, their enemies. Sweet story, very queer, and with surprisingly nuanced villains. Doesn't quite measure up to Kipo in my book (I know most people disagree), but almost.

Julie and the Phantoms: Musically gifted teenager discovers that the ghosts of a dead rock band "lives" in her garage. From the creator of High School Musical, but so much better. Sadly cancelled after only one season (very unfortunate timing with covid).

And since I've been watching all these Asian QLs lately, naturally I need to add the softest of those:

She Makes My Heart Flutter: Short and sweet about a lesbian bar owner who gets her routine changed when her niece comes to work for her. Only takes a little bit more than an hour to watch, and it's lovely the whole time.

Old Fashion Cupcake: Office romance about a 39-year-old manager whose midlife crisis is interrupted with the help of the 29-year-old working for him, who dares him to try new things and experience life like a young girl would. Lots of tasty food in addition to the romance.

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

‘Ship Bias’ // alright gimme something im listening .. :)c

Ship Bias

Scourge x Surge

Shout out Moon for selling me on this ship, two belligerent dorks who punched each other until it became ritualized. One of those extremely rare pairings where Scourge actually helps to make the other person better? At least in this case he ends up being someone who completely embraces them "as they are" while refusing to be pushed away when they self-isolate.

Scourge x Shadow

On one hand I like this just because it's spicy Sonadow and Sonadow always has and always will be a top tier ship - two competitive rivals pushing each other and being able to keep pace, altered by the fact that instead of Sonic being the one who gets Shadow to open up, it's Shadow getting Scourge to reevaluate his shit.

Scourge x Tikal

Another ship that was stumbled on completely on accident with Winter that sort of just... spiraled off from Scourge having a connection to a Master Emerald into him ending up with a ghost therapist who has similar daddy issues and who he's now fixated on overturning reality and the narrative for. Nice girls are his weakness.

Scourge x Fleetway

Inspired by some piece of fanart that completely activate my neurons, I've actually discussed a variant of this with a friend - sort of the "Evil Sonic x Evil Sonic" pairing. Anyway, the idea of Scourge being the responsible one for once is very funny to me - the only idiot with a leash on the living apocalypse.

Also will shout-out Scourge x Nicole which is one of the funniest ships I've stumbled onto here and I'm looking forward to writing more of with you LMAO

[retlasute]

॰ In The Rich Man's World ॰

Word count: 5800

☆ Table of contents

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Chapter 15 - Southern Nights

You could feel your companions close by, surrounding you in the darkness. Gyro hummed a stupidly catchy song and Johnny carried the heaviest canteen of water; you could hear the creak of the leather bag against the material of the saddle and the water shaking inside, moving as Slow Dancer walked.  

It was a torturous journey to the station, there's nowhere darker than the 19th century in the middle of a cloud-covered night. You could see the tiny glow of the many fireflies that passed by from time to time, silhouetting Johnny's head and shoulders with sudden patterns of light. Gyro was bent forward, resting his arms on Valkyrie's neck. Louise was also bent over, curled up on a blanket beside you. The three of you were uncommunicative.  

Johnny slowed down, getting off the dirt track, full of bumps, which ran along the top of a hill.   

"I can't see anything.'' He said. He hadn't spoken for so long that the statement came out abrupt and hoarse, sounding belligerent.  

"Well, of course not.'' Gyro said impatiently. "Let's set up camp here.''  

Johnny grumbled in response and slowed down even more, dismounting. Gyro's nerves were obviously tense and tired, but Johnny's were too. Only Louise seemed calm, unaffected by the growing air of exhaustion in the place.  

You slid off your horse as soon as more lamps were lit. You glanced at Louise, who rode ahead, impetuously, to the clearing they had chosen to camp in. Watching the pale figure wander like a ghost in front of you, you were forcefully reminded of the trail you had taken to the Devil's Palm, your last night in the 20th century. Louise remembered too; she hesitated and you heard her mutter something nervously in mid-voice, but then her hand caught your elbow - whether to encourage you or to beg for your support, you didn't know. The gesture reassured you, either way.  

It was a cloudy night, with a moon, but very dark, with nothing but the light of the newly lit campfire to distinguish the trees around you. You stopped and sat around the fire. Johnny, evidently exhausted, slept immediately and Gyro seemed to be putting the finishing touches to a safe camp - both against insects and wild animals.  

Just like every other night, you were the last to sleep.  

Trembling with nervousness in the vast clearing, you grabbed your elbows and approached the fire, where you dropped to your knees. Your impulse was to take advantage of the privacy to have a hysterical outburst. On the other hand, you feared that if you gave vent to your short-lived emotions, you would never be able to curb them again. You closed your eyes tightly and watched the red flicker of the firelight on the back of your eyelids, trying to calm yourself down.  

After all, you weren't in any danger at the moment, and you were about two days away from the train station. Johnny seemed to know every peasant and every tinker, every farm and every mansion in four parishes. A message from Joe Kid would travel through the network of news and gossip as fast as wind-blown clouds pass over the mountains. That is, of course, if he wanted to attract any attention, which was not the case at the moment. 

"Don't be ridiculous.'' You muttered. ''Those two men are almost soldiers. Of course you'll make it.'' The echo of your words against the crackling fire was somehow comforting. ''And that being so,'' You continued firmly, still talking to hear yourself. "you and Louise will go home.''  

Right, you thought suddenly. And Creed's men will be waiting for you when you arrive to get the corpse back. You and Louise are the women who dug up the corpse and, with it, all its coveted miracles. That was your only attribute of value.  

The sheer indignity of the image provoked a small but welcome burst of anger that made the fear recede a little. You tried to fan the flames of anger by getting up and pacing back and forth, thinking of new names to call Creed the next time you met him. In your compositions, you caught the eye of one of your companions. 

The shadows under the trees were as black as ink. Orange light flickered in the damp, muggy wind. You meditated for a while, finally taking advantage of the fact that Gyro had kept that bottle of wine. It wasn't a cold night, but a glass of wine would be nice; you chose one of the cups Gyro offered and took the wine in small sips. Sometimes he was also the last to sleep.  

It was mid-October. The beginning of boreal fall. You could no longer remember how many days ago you had made your unexpected trip into the past.  

Could there be something about the time of year? No, probably not; perhaps the corpse and the devil's palm were the only factors. You asked Gyro to pour you more wine. 

Could it be that only a few people could break through a barrier, solid for all the others; maybe something in the genetic? Who knew? Many other people have been in the Devil's palm and with the corpse, and none of them disappeared like you and Louise. You asked yourself, for the thousandth time, why you had done all that. Why did you steal the corpse? Why did you and Louise do it? Some kind of hysterical outburst? Criminal tendencies? Whether you were criminals or crazy made little difference at the moment. You should have left it alone, stayed at home, and let yourselves meet your destinies at the right time.   

"The right time...'' You said aloud. "And what would be the right time?'' Gyro looked at you in confusion.  

''Huh?'' He exclaimed.  

"Never mind.'' You said, too distracted to care much about what he thought of you. ''We'd better buy some more wine in the next town.''  

You finished your wine surrounded by ghosts. Gyro and Johnny were nothing more than walking corpses from the past to you. When you were born, they were probably already dead, rotting and disappearing. When you graduated, no one remembered them. When you finished the Ecclesiastes Project, only distant and empty echoes of their existence were rescued in a university library. It was disheartening to look at those two men after hearing all their history, all their achievements, their conquests, their passions and their defeats... a hundred years from now, forgotten amidst the dust of their bones. 

The next morning, you were always woken up to a sort of lottery between Johnny, Louise and Gyro. Any alternative was better than Gyro, since he always made a point of taking the blanket off you or pushing you into the cold grass.  

Like most other days, it was sunny. You were so tired of your new routine that you didn't do much more than drink the hot tea Johnny insisted on making and then doze off in the saddle. Today, however, you woke up with renewed energy and determination for some reason - which you'd imagine was the fact that the end of this ride was approaching.  

"What's going to happen to the horses?'' You asked Johnny at one point.  

"What do you mean?'' 

''I mean what's going to happen at the train station. Will they stay?'' 

''Of course not. There are wagons for horses, didn't you know that?" 

''Oh... do we need to pay for the horses' tickets?'' 

He snorted a laugh, looking back at the road as if he found it funny.  

''Of course not, why would we pay for horse tickets?'' 

''Well, I don't know! In a century we won't be using horses or... or trains!''  

''But how it is when you have to travel long distances?'' 

''Well, Louise and I went from Washington to New Jersey in my car, but we could have taken a bus or... I don't know, a plane. We just didn't have the money.'' 

And so the travels were punctuated with vague but sometimes useful conversations.   

"Hey, Johnny.'' At one point, after a few hours, Gyro said. ''Isn't all this funny?''  

''What?'' 

Then he gave a nostalgic, slightly ironic smile.  

''What else, Johnny? Two years have passed, and here we are traveling in the middle of nowhere again. And I was thinking I was going to be able to live until my retirement.''  

''Ah, those two years of rest weren't bad... but I missed it.''  

''What? Don't tell me you missed that damn race.''  

''Maybe. But I missed you too, Gyro.'' Johnny said without objection, and that clearly disconcerted Gyro. ''I guess things were simpler during the race, right? Just collect the parts of the corpse and ride.''  

"'Hm, and try not to die in the process.'' Gyro said dismissively, but it didn't sound like a sincere sentiment.  

''Yes, of course, that was important too. But much more exciting than living in New Jersey, if you ask me.''  

"Living in New Jersey must be more exciting than living in Naples.'' 

Despite being aware of the remarkable events that Gyro and Johnny told you about, you didn't have a very clear idea of what those two experienced. You didn't know what it was like to cross the country on horseback, let alone what it was like to fight for the corpse. It was appropriate to say that you had never, in fact, taken a life-threatening risk close to what they had experienced. Their deeds were worthy of renown, and you still didn't have a good idea of why all this wouldn't stand the test of time.  

It was interesting, however, to hear them talk and reminisce about their past glories.  

"I can't complain that we're back in action.'' Johnny finally said.   

''You're right, it may be good for both of us.'' Gyro agreed in a softened, humorous voice. ''And nothing screams back in action more than meeting two women from the future.''  

Yes, the universe has a sense of humor as peculiar as Gyro's, you thought as you watched him laugh and lean back in his saddle, looking at you and Louise.  

"Did you ladies know that I've already lost a leg and an arm? Completely blown off!'' He said proudly.   

"Your legs and arms look well attached to your body to me.'' Louise commented, amused.  

''Yes, of course, it was thanks to the meat spray of a friend of ours.'' He glanced slightly at Johnny. "Soundman. Do you remember, Johnny?''  

''When he attacked us on the Mississippi River? How could I forget that? We almost died because of you.'' 

''Oh? Because of me? What do you mean?''  

''You could have told me what the lesson was to be able to defeat him once and for all, without taking so long.'' 

''Well, you should have met the condition so that I could tell you!''  

''Did you really prefer to almost die waiting for this instead of just handing me your belt?'' 

''Saying that you couldn't do it four times was that hard, Johnny? You've never been that proud, it was simple!''  

You, hopelessly confused by the conversation, looked at Louise, who seemed more than interested. Knowing from experience how difficult it was to divert her attention from this kind of talk, you simply looked back at the long road, hoping to fall asleep in the saddle again.  

Louise asked very useful questions that generated interesting answers. Both you and she assured them you would be delighted to hear more stories and, although Gyro and Johnny placidly accepted your oblivious behavior, they also paid attention to Louise's interest.  

''(Y/N) told me some tales about the Devil's Palm, and it seems that they are partly true. Especially the one about magical powers... stand abilities, right? We've been to the Devil's Palm, do you think we have something like that?" 

Gyro stared at her incisively for a moment, his head tilted to the side like an old hawk, but finally seemed to decide that her curiosity about their opinion was genuine.  

"I think traveling a hundred years into the past is already a magical power, isn't it?'' He said.  

It wasn't a satisfactory answer, but very logical - within the parameters of the situation - and perhaps right. You were ahead of most of the answers, although you couldn't put aside your nap to hear everything. In response to Louise's attempts to find out what kind of connections Gyro and Johnny had, the two men were, at least on Johnny's part, elegantly evasive. Like a corrupt politician in an interview.   

Gyro had no problem answering the most inoffensive questions. Making use of all the modulations, all the coarse gestures, posture and voice that you've previously known, to stare at you with perhaps a tenuous glint of crystalline irony.  

How was the last stage? Oh, insane. How? Barbaric. Why did you give up the race? We were badly injured and the race was no longer important. And Diego Brando? He went his own megalomaniac way. Whoever wounded you fought for a long time? Only as long as he could stand it. And who was he? Just the current president. Simply the 23rd President of the United States, no objections, no contradictions. But was he also looking for the corpse? Obviously yes. Is he alive? Obviously not. And what was he like? "Oh, he was funny" Gyro concluded with an abrupt sigh, taking the canteen of water in his hand and drinking it.   

The ride had been like all the others, the difference being that it might be the last. The sour autumn night had fallen much faster than the other days.  

"Damn, I feel like my butt is getting flatter and flatter because of this saddle.'' Louise said as you dismounted from your horses in a clearing.  

"You at least used to exercise.'' You said. ''At least a lot more than I did. My butt is in more danger.''  

''Ha! That didn't sound very good, (Y/N).''  

You laughed, realizing what you had said. Your laughter made Johnny look back slightly, forgetting his task of stretching out the sleeping bags, but soon returning.  

"Um, maybe it's not like that...'' Louise commented distractedly, crossing her arms as she looked back at Johnny.  

''What?'' 

''Maybe horseback riding has just the opposite effect. I mean... just look.'' She nodded slightly in Johnny's direction.  

It took you a few seconds to understand, but when you did, you wondered how you'd never noticed it before, strange and inappropriate though it was.   

"Holy shit... it's bigger than mine!'' You said.  

"Right? Nineteenth-century-cowboy my ass, I'm sure that's silicone.''  

"But isn't silicone just for boobs?'' 

"Some singers use it in their butts, too.'' 

"It seems uncomfortable..." You sighed, shyly looking away from Johnny and then towards Gyro. ''But look... Gyro also rides on horseback.''  

When Louise looked, her coppery eyebrows rose in amazement.   

''Damn! So it's fifty-fifty? Our butts can become two balloons just as they can become two frying pans?''  

"Keep it down, Louise!'' 

And you both laughed, attracting the attention of both Gyro and Johnny who, curious, approached when their current tasks were done.   

"Good to know you ladies are having fun.'' Said Gyro, with a hint of irony. ''Especially after the things we've told you.''  

''Ha, yeah.'' Louise agreed jokingly, hoping to distract from the previous subject. ''Murder, religious and state terrorism, conspiracy... You both sound like very dangerous people.''  

It only worked a little; one corner of Gyro's mouth lifted and a green eye glinted over his shoulder in your direction.  

"Oh, I am, but Johnny... I'm not sure.'' He said, mockingly.   

"Well, at the moment you seem pretty harmless.'' You said.   

This was totally untrue; with his hair messed up, no hat, sweaty and dirty and purple circles under his eyes from the long journey, he looked scary.  

Gyro laughed, surprisingly deep.  

"Harmless as a pigeon.'' He agreed. ''I'm too hungry to be a threat to anything other than a meal. But let a loaf of bread that's just been baked pass by and I won't answer for the consequences! Nyo-ho-ho!''  

And so they went back to work. Johnny had caught two good-sized rabbits earlier and it was up to Gyro to gather twigs to light the fire. They walked back and forth in the shadows, doing chores and muttering little comments while Louise got ready for bed and you brushed the horses without much skill. The two men moved with unusual slowness, seeming to disappear into the night, discouraged by fatigue.  

''Find a place to sleep, (Y/N).'' Said Johnny, stopping to help you take care of the horses while Gyro went out to fetch some wood. The night was so clear that the only use for the fire would be to warm up the camp. "I'll take care of the rest.'' 

It wasn't even necessary to heat the camp with a fire. The temperature hadn't dropped since night fell, but the air felt cooler near the water and you perked up a little.  

"I can't sleep if I don't get a shower.'' You said, pushing your soaked blouse away from your chest. "I feel terrible.'' Your hair was sticking to your temples with sweat and you felt dirty and itchy. The water in one of the surrounding lakes looked cold and inviting.  

Johnny gave you a sympathetic look, smoothing his hair out of the way of his cap. 

"I can't say I don't understand you. But be careful, there may be animals or strangers in the area. Take a knife and shout if you need help, don't go too far from the camp so I can hear you."  

You laughed as you looked at him.  

''Jeez, take it easy, Johnny... I'm going to take a shower, not to the battlefield.''  

''Then be careful with the water. The lakes in this area are very deep and the streams are fast-flowing, with strong currents.''  

"I'll stay close to the shore.'' You pointed downstream, where a small point of land marked a bend in the stream, its willows shining silver in the moonlight.   

''Hm... there should be a counter-current. Be careful.'' He said again, and squeezed your shoulder to say goodbye.  

When you turned around, you left Louise and Johnny at the camp. Down the slope, the rushing of the stream masked most of the ordinary sounds of the night. You saw a bat blinking in the middle of a moonlit patch of water, searching for insects too small to see, and disappear into the night. If anything else crept into the dark, it was silent.  

There was a grassy area around the point below the willows. You undressed slowly, enjoying the feel of the breeze coming off the water through the damp fabric of your clothes, and the final freedom when the last pieces of clothing fell to the ground, leaving you naked for the night.  

You happily waded into the water, which was surprisingly cold compared to the warm night air. The ground beneath your feet was mostly mud, but it became fine sand a meter from the shore.  

Although it was a flowing stream, you were at the top and the water was fresh and sweet. You drank and washed your face, clearing the dust from your throat and nose.  

You waded in up to your thighs, thinking of Johnny's warnings about currents. After the stifling heat of the day and the heavy night air, the feeling of coolness on your bare skin was a great relief. You scooped up the cold water with your hands and wet your face and chest. The drops ran down your stomach and dripped coldly between your legs.  

You could feel the pressure of the water coming, lapping gently against your calves, and carrying you towards the shore. But you weren't ready to get out yet. There was no soap, but you knelt and dipped your hair several times in the clear water and rubbed your body with handfuls of fine sand until you felt your skin thin and shiny.  

Finally, you got up and lay down on a rock, languid as a mermaid, in the moonlight, with the warmth of the air and the sun-warmed stone comforting your now cold body. You combed your hair with your fingers, spreading drops of water. The wet stone smelled of rain; dusty and tingling.  

You felt very tired, but at the same time very alive, in that state of light awareness in which thinking slows down and light physical sensations increase. You ran your bare feet more slowly over the sedimentary rock, taking advantage of the slight friction. 

A noise in the water made you look ahead, above the rock you were lying on. Nothing moved on the surface of the water but the twinkling of stars, caught like fireflies in a spider's web. As you watched, a golden head appeared in the middle of the current, and water dripped from its broad shoulders. The muscles stood out against the delicate movement of the arms that pulled the blonde locks back, heavy with the water. Gyro swam closer to the shore, floating like a child having fun in a natural pool, watching the little fish with his face immersed.  

Then he stood up again and stopped for a moment on the brighter side of the stream, his back to you, his tanned skin a dark shadow framing his blond hair. Like a primitive painting, you thought. Something out of Rousseau, with his contrast of total savagery, immobility and beauty.  

You had to hold back your laughter when he turned around, looking lost as he gazed around, his buttocks white and taut in the half-light. Then he dived again, disappearing like a newt. There was nothing left but the flickering white silhouette under the water, comfortable and unaware of your presence. There was nothing on the shore but trees, hiding what might be behind them. And what was there? You asked yourself. More trees, answered the logical part of your mind.  

"A lot more...'' You murmured, your eyes following Gyro.  

Your body was illuminated by the moonlight, with cold domes dotted with transparent droplets. What a magical place, you thought. What magical men. The night was silent and calm, but with a languid atmosphere that was like floating in a warm sea. Near the coast, the sky was clear, and the stars shone like diamonds, with a clear, intense light.  

Civilization, even the primitive kind you were beginning to get used to, was nothing more than a thin, growing line on the edge of the continent. Some good miles from the coast, you were beyond the outskirts of the city and the countryside. And beyond that point, there were some more good miles... of what? Of forest, certainly, and of danger. Adventure, too... and freedom.  

It was a new world, after all, without fear and filled with temporary joy, because now you had the help of Gyro and Johnny, and you knew you couldn't get any better than that. Separation and grief were also behind you now that you had Louise by your side. Not even thinking about your old life was causing you remorse. Of course, you missed it terribly and thought about it all the time, but you knew there was nothing good waiting for you there, which made the distance a little easier to bear. The good coexistence with Gyro and Johnny that was gradually being achieved also helped a lot.  

You remained lying on the rock, the trapped heat of the day radiating from its surface into your body. You were happy just to be alive. The drops of water dried on your shoulders as you looked on, turning into a layer of moisture and then disappearing altogether.  

Small clouds of mosquitoes flew over the water. You couldn't see them, but you knew they were there because of the sounds of fish jumping to catch them in the air.  

Insects were an omnipresent plague. You examined Gyro and Johnny discreetly during the ride, they were always pulling voracious ticks and mites out of their skin. They covered themselves in the juice of crushed pennyroyal leaves. This prevented them from being eaten alive by the clouds of mosquitoes, mites and powderposts that lurked in the sun-darkened shadows of the woods. But it didn't stop groups of nosy insects from driving them mad with buzzing and invading their ears, eyes, noses and mouths. 

Strangely, most of the insects didn't attack you and Louise. She joked that you used so much insect repellent that it remained on your skin, but you thought it was something else. Even after you had finished your swim, the insects showed no interest in disturbing you.  

You thought it might be a manifestation of the evolutionary strangeness that protected you from colds and simple illnesses there. The bloodthirsty insects, like the microbes, had an evolution similar to that of human beings, and were sensitive to the slight chemical signals of their hosts. As you came from another era, you no longer had the same signals and, consequently, the insects no longer saw you as prey.  

You stuck your fingers in the water and splashed a few drops on a dragonfly perched on your rock, just a transparent shadow because its colors had been taken over by the darkness.   

Squinting again to see if Gyro was still there, you caught just a glimpse of his body before he disappeared. You watched the subtle movements of his body, the light changing in the angles of his face as he wiped the water from his eyes. That man had a strange aura. It was like observing something from another world, with that sensation that made your palms tingle with the desire to touch him out of sheer curiosity. To touch it to see if it was made of human skin or ivory. Whether his hair was real or like that of a gorgon.   

Then a warm breeze blew past you and Gyro disappeared. You then lay face down on the rock, as if it was going to protect you from something. And you felt that cold chill in your stomach as some creature from the depths was about to pull your feet. That feeling wouldn't go away until Gyro was back within range of your eyes.  

"Where the hell are you, Gyro Zeppeli?'' You murmured softly.  

"Right here.'' Came the gruff reply.  

Startled, you looked around, unable to turn around for fear of breaking away from the protection the rock provided. He was in the stream, in front of you, two meters away, with the water up to his hips. Lines of hair appeared dark against the pale glow of his body. His hair was loose around his shoulders, framing a bone-white face in the moonlight, unblinking eyes as alert as a wolf's. Completely wild and immobile. 

"You scared me!'' 

"How can you be scared by something you've already seen?''  

You stopped and blushed pathetically. Then Gyro moved and walked towards you, respecting the cover the rock provided for you, but at the same time not minding being naked in front of you, even though you couldn't see much apart from fleeting shadows in the dark.  

"I got here first, you already knew I was here!'' You immediately defended yourself in any way you could.  

He laughed in such a way that you could feel the resonant vibration in his chest.  

''To be honest, I didn't know you were here. Johnny told me you'd gone to bathe in a lake, so I came to the stream, and here you are." 

"I didn't tell him I was going to a lake.'' 

"But he told me you were in a lake. In the end, can we agree to blame Johnny?'' He said, swatting an annoying mosquito away from his shoulder, looked at you and then at the stream. ''The meat's already on the fire, don't you want to come back and eat?''  

You shuddered at the thought of eating the stringy, bitter meat of a rabbit stretched out on a stick, dripping brine on the coals, its lifeless boiled eyes staring at you.  

"No, it's all yours.''  

He looked at you slightly.  

"You know you can't live on fruit and oat bread, right?''  

''If I'm alive so far, yes, I can.'' 

''What did you eat in your century to be so picky now? Golden apples?'' 

''Ah, let me think...'' You paused to think, looking up and then at the stream, searching for something in your memory. Or at least something you'd love to eat right now. ''Beef stew. I always ate at my parents' house and at a restaurant near the building where I worked. Have you ever tried it?''  

"I don't think so, but I know what you mean.'' 

''Oh, my... let's stop talking about this before I get hungry.''  

''Right, if you say so...'' He squirmed, the wet strands of hair sticking to the ridges of his back. ''God, it's hot as hell!'' 

"It'll get hotter in a century, don't worry.'' You assured him. "And absurdly colder in winter.'' 

''Hmm... maybe.'' He brushed his drenched hair away from his forehead. ''It's a good thing I won't be alive to see it.'' 

''You never know... in high school, when I studied how women suffered in the 19th century, I thought how lucky I was to have been born in more modern times... and look at me now, riding horses and bathing in streams.''  

He leaned on the rock you were standing on with the grace of a heavy log, laughing.  

''The difference between you and me, signorina archeologa, is that I don't stick my nose in where it doesn't belong.''  

"Are you sure?''  

He didn't answer, which proved how unsure he was. The two of you remained there for a while, you refreshed, lying on the rock and he on the other side leaning on it, respecting your space and the limits to which the rock hid your body. The last drops of water evaporated from your skin. On the other side of the stream, the willows lay their leaves in the water, their tops against the dark of the rising moon. Beyond that point, the willows took up the entire area, miles of virgin forest, and civilization now occupied no more than a foothold on the edge of the continent.  

Gyro saw the direction of your gaze and guessed your thoughts.  

"This is all going to be very different, isn't it?'' He nodded in the direction of the dark leaves.  

''Ah, a bit.'' You said. ''The roads will be paved. Not cobblestones, but covered in that hard, smooth stuff, asphalt." 

"Um, that doesn't sound bad.'' He grumbled in amusement.  

You ignored him and continued, looking at the moving shadows as if you could see the huge cities that would one day spring up there.  

"There will be a lot more people here. New states, like Oklahoma... that's where my parents are. But for now...'' You shivered slightly, despite the hot, humid air. ''For now, it's just Indian land being wiped out. There's nothing there.'' 

"Yes, nothing but bloodthirsty natives.'' He said with ease. "And wild animals, of course.''  

"Ah, yes.'' You agreed. "I think so.''  

That idea was disturbing. Of course you knew, academically and vaguely, that the woods were inhabited by natives, bears, and other forest dwellers, but this general idea had suddenly been replaced by a particular and stronger awareness that you could easily, and unexpectedly, bump into one of these dwellers.  

"What happens to them? To the natives?'' Gyro asked curiously, peering into the darkness like you, as if trying to guess the future among the moving shadows. "They'll be defeated and repelled, won't they?''  

Another slight shiver ran through you, and your toes twitched.  

"Yes, they will.'' You said wistfully. "Dead, a lot of them.''  

"Hm, I can't tell if that's good or bad.'' He said. ''Bad for them, for sure. But at least there won't be any more conflict or danger.''  

"You can't blame them for the conflicts.'' You protested.  

''Well, certainly, if one of them hurts me, I'll blame him a lot.'' 

''Ah, well...'' You sniffled and tried again. ''Well, what if a bunch of strangers came and tried to kill you and throw you off the land where you've always lived?'' 

"I can't say they haven't done that.'' He nodded very dryly. ''If they hadn't, I'd still be in Naples.''  

''Well...'' You hesitated, realizing how difficult it was to try to have a conversation about history and politics with a man from the last century. ''Didn't you feel like killing the bastards who did it?''  

"Kill the king? Oh yes, I wish, but I didn't do it. I didn't cut off his scalp or rip out his guts either.''  

''Hum, maybe you have more to learn about resistance here.'' You mumbled, giving up for the moment. ''What happened in Naples? I thought you came here of your own free will.''  

He was silent for a while, but gave in.  

''So there are things about me that you don't know?'' 

''I didn't say I know everything about you.'' You protested. "I only know what Thom told me.'' 

''Thom? Um...'' He bore an expression that gave away the readiness of a question that was forming in his head, but that couldn't be said before he answered his own. ''I didn't do my duty as the king's servant, that's all. In Naples, disobedience and betrayal go hand in hand, and the king doesn't like either. But out of respect for my father, I was just... well, exiled." 

''Exiled? What did you do, anyway?''  

"Let's leave that for you to find out when you're home''. He cut off your question with asperity. ''Who is this Thom and why does he know so many things about me? Or rather, why did he tell you these things?''  

You stopped and shook your head wistfully, tasting the very poison of personal questions. What would you answer? A manager of one of the Speedwagon Foundation buildings. Forty-something, still slim, muscular and insinuating, a very handsome man. The women at the university where he did his research clustered around him at cocktail parties like bees around a honey pot, emitting little buzzes of excitement.  

What else would you answer? You, being the particular young woman who just stands in your corner, staring at Thom wistfully over your drink. Who later gets drunk, tearful and incoherent.   

"My boss.'' That's what you answered, your voice sounding distinctly incomplete. "He was looking for old records kept at the university, and you were there.''  

''Your boss? Thom?'' He questioned with a knowing look. ''Do you call your boss by nicknames, like he's your friend?''  

You gritted your teeth and didn't answer, hoping he would quickly forget about it.  

"It's getting late.'' You said. ''Let's go back and eat that rabbit.'' 

[ardenssolis]

@tenkoseiensei said (inbox):

his hands are still slick and he laps what's left up, tongue gliding along the length of his palm and fingers. at first, the way he demonstrates his gift is careless: the way one might abruptly show a brand new leash to a dog. but he steps into the dim, nocturnal mood-light of their lavish chambers, and his prize makes itself better known. gold and brilliant gemstones glittering beneath the light, a pendant whose grandest price was the scarlet proof of murder clinging to its delicate chain. der doppelganger sneers, his crooked rictus practically paralyzed into place by its own belligerent poisons. 'for you,' he coos, 'because i was so sure that flowers wouldn't have impressed you.' already he drifts to decorate the other, undoing any clasp to circle his piece about the other's neck and shoulders, though if the demon refused, a halt would most certainly oblige.

'do you know about these jewels?' he hums and murmurs. 'they've sent little children down into the mines to fetch them. they work and end up beaten like slaves, or until they die.' but rubies, sapphires and diamonds were eternal and valuable, so unlike fragile bodies good for nothing but begging beyond their uses; so was greed, infinite, feasting on them, on everything, swallowing the world in its insatiable entirety. 'still, there are always jewels, and there are always buyers. but i saved this piece for you, love. just and only you. happy valentines,' a hum and purr, lips cruel-mocking. 'for never once leaving my side amidst my efforts to create a more beautiful world. let's all be rich and happy, let's cherish our wonderful lives together! did you get me a gift, as well?' the question is sudden, and he's likewise all too expectant. 'even if you didn't ... i'm sure you can come up with something smart. after all, aren't you supposed to be a clever demon?'

     TODAY HAD BEEN FAIRLY peaceful – a peculiar word to use when one was bound to hedonistic, violent doppelganger who went from one extreme to another in the span of a few minutes. However, because it had been so peaceful today, he should have known that it would be shattered like glass the moment the other had the opportunity to do so. Before he had even caught sight of the Doppelganger, the scent of blood was unmistakable as it drifted through the air and tickled his senses. What poor fool had they murdered, he wondered? Was it someone at the wrong place at the wrong time as could usually be the case? Or had they been sought out and cut down with a purpose? Ozymandias supposed it didn’t matter what the answer to that particular conundrum was. A long sigh passed his lips, the book he had been reading now closed with an audible ‘thump’ right before he placed it to the side away from potentially bloody fingers. Soon the Doppelganger stood before him, unsettling grin tugged at the edges of their lips as if stuck in place no differently from a body’s rigor mortis.

     ‘For you,’ they had said, presenting jewelry to him that would have certainly earned a pleased hum from the vain demon…had it not been caked in crimson. What intrigue he might have worn, was soon replaced by disappointment and exasperation. Rather than allow them to place such around his neck as was, he slipped it from their hand instead, examining every expensive glimmer with intense scrutiny. ❝You could not just be normal on this day, could you?❞ And bring a normal gift too? Like a box of chocolates and whatever else humans fancied on Valentine’s Day. Even the words that flowed from this creature’s mouth was enough to kill the mood. Children in mines farming rare gems and stones for the most bare bone of wages (if wages were granted at all)… Why was that long winded statement even needed? Doppelganger knew ten ways to kill a scene without even meaning to kill a scene.

     It would almost be hilarious how atrocious they were at any of this. Not at all shocking, he supposed, considering their nature as a hungry ghost was to thrive on misery and negativity the same way one would just as happily enjoy a birthday party. A long, draw out sigh escaped him then, fingers gliding through dark hair for a moment before he continued. ❝I do,❞ he lied with a wave of his free hand, gold meeting wild gaze. ❝But you will have to wait until a little later. It will be a surprise that should please you.❞

     He was a clever demon indeed.

[ineffabletwaddle13]

The Adventure of the Resident Patient by Arthur Conan Doyle: “As our visitor concluded, Holmes sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door.”

Ronald Howard Holmes just goes straight to putting the hat on Watson’s head

[cielsosinfel]

reading log

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon: I got half-way through this before I had to put it down. It starts off very strong- young girl escapes a Black supremacist religious cult compound where she was married to the leader at 13, has twins in the woods, has to navigate survival when the cult is after her, she has cult trauma, and on the other side is an anti-Black society. But when her kids are grown up enough to start talking (at... three years old... full complex sentences, which probably gets explained later on) the pacing gets... so frustrating. And I don’t always agree that “show, don’t tell” is a hard rule a writer has to follow for their book to be good. But this book is ALL TELLING. It does that thing, where instead of showing you character-building and relationship-building scenes, it just gives a sentence or two saying “yeah this happened” AFTER introducing a scene where that information/development is relevant. Once the babies are grown up enough to hold full conversations, there are these constant asides explaining their personalities, but it has no relevance to what they’re saying/how they’re behaving in that scene? And things they did while growing up, and how they interact with each other and their mom, that we never actually see. Just a sentence or two saying “this happens/happened.” This is like most of the book by the point I dropped it, it felt like.

There’s also just a lot that stretched my suspension of disbelief to breaking point (the MC abandoning her literal infant children in the woods, where she has been trying to keep them safe from a would-be murderer hunting them down for weeks and months, so she can go fuck a stranger, and it’s never like... discussed that her babies are just out there for hours alone...)

I might try it again later and push through... I really liked the author’s first novel An Unkindness of Ghosts, and short stories published online... But this just be a case of one single book by a good author not working for me lol.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

THIS ONE I WAS OBSESSED WITH And i prattled on and on about it on Twitter and Discord... I might just collect things I’ve already said there lol

This is a Sci-fi cave horror story, where our MC is Gyre, a woman desperate to make enough money to get off her backwater mining-dominated planet and find her mother, who vanished without a trace years ago. To get that money she lies her way into a highly lucrative caving expedition, claiming to have much more experience with professional dives than she does (that is, 0.) This is extremely heavy with atmospheric and psychological horror in the best way. Also it’s canon gay in the most fucked up way and I’m obsessed. The further into the cave Gyre, and the reader gets, the deeper both get into the fucked-up web of manipulation and deceit being spun by Gyre’s employer, Em, a  woman who she only knows as a cold, distant voice over her suit’s speaker systems, and who is her only connection to the surface.

The progression of Gyre and Em’s relationship is sooooooo fucking good, and impactful, and SEXY AS HELL. Em is terrible. She is hyper-controlling, with no compunctions in straight-up hijacking Gyre’s suit, forcing drugs into her system and effectively taking control of her body, for her own good. Em is also a huge woobie... just a huge woobie whose coping mechanism is manipulation and gaslighting. Even as they come to understand one another’s issues and actions and horrible personality traits, there’s never a moment where the tension is gone, where the reality of how terrible they both are is. Gyre, rash and belligerent and slowly losing her grasp on reality the deeper into the cave she gets, keeps looking for those moments where Em stops being a monster and always gets her hopes up, that finally, finally this is Em at her best, finally Em has let go over everything that makes her behave the way she does. But obviously its not that simple. Obviously Gyre is continuously disappointed. 

The ending just blew me away and was better than anything I could have expected. It’s a book about two women who go through complete, utter, excruciating hell together, psychologically eviscerate one another, rip into the sinews of each other to tear one another apart, and then come out unable to separate themselves from each other. Their relationship is full of hate, and pain, and fear, and distrust, and endless pools of grief, yet also this intense co-dependent love forged from countless near-death experiences and having only each other to rely on. It’s so hot. It’s whump central!! Jesus christ. I really do not know how to describe it in words that truly capture how good this book was. I also really don’t want to spoil it but it feels inevitable. Please just read this if you want women being horrible to each other while losing their sanity in haunted caves.

Also ehehe. ehehehehehehehe. 

Slow Damage (cw for n s f w/ noncon discussion)

This counts as a book when its a 60 hour long visual novel. Actually I only completed two routes (Taku and Madarame) and am halfway through Rei’s and am takig a break. But it counts. I think this is actually my favorite Nitro+chiral VN for overall plot; the story is extremely engaging and I’m enjoying bits and pieces being revealed as I go through each route.

Also I LOVE the translation/localization SO MUCH. You can tell how much care was put into choosing just the right words to get across characters’ personalities and relationships into English, while also making it very enjoyable to read. And I LOVE the choice to translate Rei’s fem neesan vibes into Valley Girl-wannabe club queen vibes, so much. The way he and his friends speak really bring me back to my days hanging out with fems and queens in gay bars/clubs, it all sounded so naturally written and like a lot of care was put into it.

There’s some word choices that made me go ???? but overall I think this is one of the most smoothly translated and localized visual novels, or any Japanese media, I’ve read. The twitter drama complaining about the translater being horrible was dumb as hell, okay lol. 

But I also think it’s one of my least favorites in term of actual erotic content lol... Somehow it feels EXTREMELY tame? Like, there’s dubcon, there’s guro, there’s yandere kidnapping petplay, there’s forced drugging, there’s a lot! But none of it lands right or like... goes as far as I’d expect it to... it feels like a lot is being held back. Maybe N+C games were always like this, and it’s just less impressive to me now that I’m an adult and not in middle school? IDK.

Taku’s route especially was disappointment cus he’s the only DILF Towa gets to fuck, and is explicitly the daddy kink route. But his good and bad end just left me really cold. Madarame got to me a lot more, because his entire thing is noncon petplay and caretaking and eye trauma kink, which is like, my entire fucking jam, hello. But it felt so emotionally EMPTY... I think that’s generally my issue, is Towa is a protagonist who doesn’t /care/ about anything, who is emotionally numb, and who is such a masochist that he doesn’t even react when people force themselves on him, he actively enjoys it. N+C is usually noncon kink central so a protag who just loves everything anyone does to him doesn’t hit. Madarame route was also nice because Towa FINALLY showed emotional reactions of fear and anger, but then it like fizzles out near-immediately as he just goes along with everything Madarame does, because Towa just does not care. I did end up liking the Madarame bad end though, there’s that!!

I guess I just realized the big appeal for me in N+C games is the poor pitiable protags who are terrified for their lives and being terrorized, and Towa is like, impossible to put in this position, because he is the world’s most extreme masochist...  Also I really wanted more with the other DILFs in the game (Toono, Sakaki) but even when Toono has Towa held captive, forced to crossdress, and forced to pretend to be Toono’s lover to freak out Taku, nothing happenssssss whyyyyyy there’s so many opportunities for fucked up shit that go nowhereeeeeee

ok thats my horny brain review of Slow Damage’s first two routes, thanks for your time

[whitepolaris]

The Witch's Castle at Macleay Park

Forest Park, a five-thousand-acre reserve just went of downtown Portland, provides a dramatic change of scenery from the urban sprawl surrounding it. Entering it is like being swallowed into another, more primeval world. Extending for eight miles along the Willamette River, it is the largest urban forest in the United States. A portion of its southern end is designated as a separate area, Macleay Park. The entire expense boasts more than seventy miles of trails for walking and biking, but one spot in particular has become the prime destination for many seekers of the weird.

Walking about a mile on the Lower Macleay (aka Balch Creek) Trail from Macleay Park will lead you to the gutted ruins of a stone building popularly known as the Witch's Castle. Weathered and moss-laden, it certainly looks as creepy and foreboding as its name implies. The legends surrounding it are appropriately unnerving.

Stumping the Balches

Part of the mystique surrounding the Witch's Castle, called the Stone House by the Portland Parks and Recreation Department, is inspired by events involving the original landowners, more than 150 years ago.

In the 1850s, Danford Balch and his wife, Mary Jane, lived with their five sons and four daughters in a cabin on 350 acres of the surrounding forest, which they'd acquired in a land claim. In October 1858, Balch hired a young laborer from Vancouver, Washington, named Mortimer Stump to help him clear some land. Stump temporarily moved in with the family and immediately became smitten with fifteen-year-old Anna Balch, the eldest daughter. Anna returned his affection, so one day Stump asked Balch for Anna's hand in marriage.

As Stump's employer, Balch thought of himself as socially superior to Stump and his kin. He refused Stump and then evicted him. After Mortimer Stump and Anna Balch eloped in Vancouver on November 4, Anna moved in with the Stump family.

On November 18, the couple, along with Stump's father and brother, took the Stark Street Ferry to Portland to pick up supplies. They ran into drunken Balch, who belligerently insisted that Anna go home with him. Cuthbert Stump, the father remarked, "You are making a great fuss about your child; she is an ordinary little bitch and I do not know what the hell you want of her!" Balch retrieved his double-barreled shotgun at home and returned in time to catch the Stumps boarding the ferry back to Vancouver. Balch followed them onboard. Whatever deliberately (as the Stumps claimed) or by accident (as Balch insisted), his double-barreled shotgun went off, blasting Mortimer Stump in the face and killing him.

Witnesses quickly disarmed and subdued Balch, and he was arrested. A trial was scheduled for the following spring, but soon after his arrest, Balch escaped and hid in the forest around his homestead. Evidence suggests that Balch tired faking his own death, because Mary Jane identified a drowning victim as her fugitive husband. Yet police found him eight months after his escape, on July 23, 1859.

When the case finally went to trial, several neighbors testified against Balch and even implicated Mary Jane, who they said was just as angry about Anna's elopement. According to the witnesses, she constantly nagged her hard-drinking husband to fulfill his oft-repeated vow to kill Mortimer Stump. For Balch's part, he denied even knowing the witnesses, insisting that he was being set up. In the end, Balch was convicted of murder and sentenced to hang.

On October 17, 1859, Danford Balch earned the dubious honor of becoming the first person to executed in the state of Oregon. An apocryphal story has his daughter Anna attending the hanging with the Stamp family.

Ghost Wars and Satanism

By 1897, rest estate developer Donald Macleay owned a portion of the former Balch property. Frustrated with the taxes on the impractical forested hillside, he donated it to the city of Portland and its name became Macleay Park. Other surrounding properties were converted into parks in subsequent years.

Among the legends derived from the Balch-Stump conflict is the (probably mistaken) belief that Danford Balch's hanging happened somewhere in the park. Many people also believe the Witch's Castle to be the remains of the old Balch home. Actually, the eerie structure is what left of a Depression-era restroom.

It's said the restless spirits of the Stump and Balch families dwell around here, feuding for eternity in midnight "ghost wars." Over the years a few curious people who came here in the dark of night supposedly disappeared, perhaps into a ghostly netherworld. Others were eventually found wandering on the park trails, as lost in the mid as they were in direction. The rest were apparently spared, perhaps so that they could warn others away from the Witch's Castle . . . or perhaps to lure them there. These otherworldly tales allegedly attract other sinister activities, such as late-night satanic rituals that include torture and human sacrifice.

[derrick-riches]

Mort the Troll

Mort the Troll froze to death in the early hours of a Saturday morning in early February. A few days later, he was buried unceremoniously in the Veteran's section of the city cemetery. I doubt anyone was in attendance. In the early spring, the site of his winter encampment was relandscaped so that no one else would find refuge next to the grating where the warm air was vented from the library.

            Where Mort spent his summers was a mystery. In wintertime, he came with a large blue tarp that he would tie to the large steel vent. Air flowed out, inflating the tarp into a tent that stayed warm regardless of the harshness of the winters on the mountainside.

            The vent sat under an architectural feature that imitated a bridge. A bridge that went nowhere and was only occasionally used by lost students or Parry the Pervert. Living under this bridge, in a dead-end corner around the back of the library, Mort, which wasn’t his name, had come to be known as the library troll, or just the Troll.

            This was in the earliest days of Berners-Lee’s little computer experiments when only a few computer aficionados might use the term troll to refer to a combative contrarian on Usenet forums. For those who called Mort a troll, they referred purely to the bridge-dwelling type.

            Most of the time, Mort was a ghost. He ignored people, and they him. He moved about campus, digging through garbage cans or simply huddling someplace to stay warm. At times, he became belligerent, yelling at lone students. Often in racist and sexist rants. He had a way of eroding any sympathy his plight might induce.

            This isn’t to say that attempts to aid him were not made. There were, in those days, a number of Vietnam Veterans on campus either as staff or professors. By means I was not privy to, they had concluded that Mort was a fellow brother in arms. They finagled him through the doors of the nearby VA hospital on a few occasions. Mort would refuse to provide his name, rank, or serial number. In kind, Veteran’s Affairs would refuse him care.

            A collection was gathered, and a room at the old-school hotel just off campus was reserved. This was the kind of hotel that had monthly rates. Mort was checked in. He promptly stripped the room of anything useful to him and carted it back to his tarp tent hanging off the side of the library. Further attempts to aid Mort were not made by his fellow veterans.

            A sorority once took on Mort’s case as a community service project. They raised money with car washes and bought him clothes, camping equipment, and nonperishable foodstuffs. During their presentation to him, photos were taken. Their smiles quickly disappeared once Mort launched into a precise and detailed explanation of all the things he intended to do with their various orifices. Still, gifts of food and clothes were left through the winter for Mort the Troll.

            My own encounters with Mort were more frequent than I liked. His section under the bridge was near the staff entrance, so it was inevitable that our paths would cross more than a few times. Usually, he ignored me. Sometimes, we would have a few minutes of conversational clarity. Typically, he talked about the weather.

            Once, he reminisced. He spoke about a time before the war, his war. It was difficult to follow, but what I gathered was of his days in high school somewhere in Idaho. For a moment, he wasn’t Mort the Troll. The person he once was seemed to shine through. It all ended abruptly when he caught sight of a young woman walking to class. I won’t repeat what he said. Suffice it to say, it involved chewing on the part of her.

            The last time I had seen Mort, he had thrown an empty plastic bottle of mouthwash at me. It was a generic brand that could be bought at the Crystal Mart a few blocks away for three dollars. Mort went through several bottles a week.

            That Saturday morning in February had been preceded by a small ice storm that blew out a transformer, plunging lower campus into darkness. The University had a central boiler from which most of the buildings were heated. One year, a pipe had burst, creating the great ice volcano that destroyed the bookstore’s parking lot.

            The power had been restored shortly before the library opened. While heat had flowed to the building during the power outage, the ventilation system failed. I arrived at work that morning to find a building unevenly heated, computers down, and general chaos. Amid the confusion, I didn’t think about Mort. Not until around 11:30. Not that it would have made any difference.

[bookoformon]

3 Nephi 19, Part 3. "The Opinion."

The Earth orbits heaven not the other way around. To be Baptized asnd receive the Holy Ghost is acceptance of the superiority of God over all things and to trust His scriptures are here to help not hinder our ability to hope for peace on earth.

Without the benefit of these Offices prayer has no purpose. Now Jesus through His Prophet, this Book of Mormon speaks of praying to Him which is unorthodox as the only prayer the Gospels command to us is the Our Father. Why it says to do this, we will find out:

15 And it came to pass that while the angels were ministering unto the disciples, behold, Jesus came and stood in the midst and ministered unto them.

16 And it came to pass that he spake unto the multitude, and commanded them that they should kneel down again upon the earth, and also that his disciples should kneel down upon the earth.

17 And it came to pass that when they had all knelt down upon the earth, he commanded his disciples that they should pray.

18 And behold, they began to pray; and they did pray unto Jesus, calling him their Lord and their God.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 15: The Value in Gematria is 7010, זאֶפֶסאאֶפֶס, zepesapes, "the starting line stripe."

v. 16: The Value in Gematria is 8296, חב‎טו‎, "the hit." = "wake up."

v. 17: The Value in Gematria is 6351, וגהא‎, "and then..."

v. 18: The Value in Gematria is 4695, דוטה‎‎ ‎, dota, "her opinion."

We know religion is full of laws and also many opinions as to what God and the Christ expect of humanity if certain conditions inherent to the relationship are to be met. The Gospels do not have to be historically correct or accurate in every detail in order to perfectly pertain to life on earth. They were written a very long time ago. The Book of Mormon is essentially an opinion, a type of polemic that stirs up a topic and causes a little strife through its resolution.

A polemic is something that stirs up controversy by having a negative opinion, usually aimed at a particular group. A piece of writing can be a polemic, as long as it gets someone's goat. Polemic comes from the Greek polemikos meaning "warlike, belligerent." It's like challenging someone to a duel of ideas.

The use of the pronoun her in this case suggests the opinion favor what is called Binah, "the construction of valuable meaning" vs. any other kind of end point for the discussion, specifically that humanity and the greater good must benefit from the conclusions drawn from the opinion.

If one is not praying for hope and strength and direction for humanity at this time, one is praying for the wrong things. We have allowed fools, freaks, and fuckups to drag us all into the crevasses of hell once again, and we need a fast way out, the fastest.

The Republican Party and its allies, a contemporary Nazi organization have helped Valdimir Putin start a world war through their invasion of Gaza in Israel. They have to be stopped. Prayer for forgiveness for allowing these despicable individuals to catch us unawares is a good place to start our opinionating as to what to do next that is utterly Godly and good for the rest of the world.

[lexie-squirrel]

Sherlock Holmes (1954) (Episodes 1 - 10)

У меня не было никаких ожиданий от этого сериала, потому что раньше я про него толком ничего не слышал, и я с некоторой тоской смотрел на приличное количество эпизодов. Кто же знал, что в этом сериале прячется один из самых прекрасных Холмсов, которые я видел?.. Рональд Ховард оказался самым настоящим сокровищем - он куда страннее и чуднее книжного Холмса, больше всего напоминает Холмса из “Этюда в багровых тонах”, то есть он живой, улыбчивый, подвижный и молодой. Его Уотсон, который отнюдь не толстяк, а эдакий коренастый крепыш, хоть и отвечает за комедийную часть их дуэта (впрочем, Холмс в комедии ему не уступает), не является непроходимым тупицей и может, при случае, засветить кулаком неприятелю в морду. Большая часть эпизодов сняты по самостоятельным сценариям, но в тех десяти эпизодах, что я успел посмотреть, было снято их практически канонное знакомство в лаборатории (но само дело не было “Этюдом”), а еще здесь была немножко вольная экранизация моей любимой “Долины страха”. Сами эпизоды идут по 26 минут и за это время Холмс успевает не только раскрыть дело, но и подурачиться с Уотсоном. Господи, какие же тут прекрасные домашние сценки на Бейкер-стрит, смешные диалоги и сценки, а эти их вечные пикировки с Уотсоном! Вообще у этого сериала общая атмосфера очень... эм, придется прибегнуть к английским словам... lighthearted и whimsical. Они не скатываются в чистую комедию и это уж точно не пародия, а в первую очередь все же детектив. В первом эпизоде The Case of the Cunningham Heritage, в котором произошло знакомство Холмса и Уотсона и их приезд на Бейкер-стрит, они вовсе не расследовали убийство Дреббера - хотя убийство было, и главной подозреваемой была одна леди. Инспектор Лестрейд - непривычно крупный, усатый и лысый мужчина - тут тоже присутствует, как один из главных и постоянных героев сериала. Уотсон, узнав потом, что все лавры достались именно Лестрейду, пошел с газетой ему чуть ли не морду бить за Холмса. Во втором эпизоде The Case of Lady Beryl делом как ни странно в основном занимаются Уотсон с Лестрейдом, потому что Холмс слишком увлечен химическим опытом и Лестрейду с Уотсоном пришлось Холмса одевать в четыре руки и тащить за собой. Третий эпизод The Case of the Pennsylvania Gun был, как можно догадаться по названию, той самой экранизацией “Долины страха”. Здесь Холмс одержим рыбалкой и везде ходит с удочками и даже тот самый узелок с гантелей вылавливает именно своей удочкой. Помимо этого констебль замечает, как Холмс (пусть и за кадром) катается по перилам дома убитого - между прочим, это было важно для раскрытия дела, а не просто так, ради развлечения! Четвертый эпизод The Case of the Texas Cowgirl был крайне странным и комедийным - на Бейкер-стрит заявилась типичная ковбойша с сильным американским акцентом, у которой в номере гостинницы обнаружился труп и Холмс чуть ли не под дулом револьвера должен был ей помочь в этой ситуации. В пятом эпизоде The Case of the Belligerent Ghost" Уотсон заявился домой с фингалом под глазом и утверждением, что его ударил самый настоящий призрак. Разумеется, Холмс не может не взяться за это дело (и мимоходом не сыграть над Уотсоном беззлобную шутку). Впрочем, дело оказалось гораздо серьезнее. В шестом эпизоде The Case of the Shy Ballerina в результате забавной путаницы шляпа Уотсона оказалась на найденном трупе, что сделало Уотсона первым подозревамым, и Холмс подтрунивал, мол, Лестрейд, следите за Уотсоном, как бы он через окно не сбежал. В седьмом эпизоде The Case of the Winthrop Legend с трудом можно опознать “Пять апельсиновых зернышек”, только здесь будущие жертвы помечаются серебряными монетами и это часть семейной легенды. Поэтому Холмсу с Уотсоном пришлось ехать в фамильный замок, где Холмс после отбоя чуть случайно не пристрелил Уотсона из арбалета, а потом после совершенного убийства (не им и не Уотсона) ползал по ступенькам. Восьмой эпизод The Case of the Blind Man's Bluff отличился тем, что Холмс впервые предстал в маскировке - в том числе и для того, чтобы разыграть бедного Уотсона, который даже велел вошедшему Лестрейду арестовать этого человека - а потом сообщил Холмсу, что это уже чересчур и он отправляется искать себе новую квартиру... Хотя, разумеется, сам эпизод был не про это и весь его сюжет, в общем-то, кроется в спойлерном названии. Девятый эпизод The Case of Harry Crocker был абсолютно прекрасен - и, как ни странно, не из-за Холмса с Уотсоном (хотя они, как обычно, были хороши), а из-за крайне экспрессивного Гарри Крокера, фокусника и мастера побега, которого обвинили в убийстве и который вечно сбегал от полиции (и мастерству которого страшно завидовал восхитившийся Холмс!). Ну и десятый эпизод, последний который я на данный момент смотрел, The Mother Hubbard Case был про потерявшуюся маленькую девочку... только она отнюдь не была жертвой. Здесь Холмс неоднократно использовал свои навыки взломщика - к ужасу Уотсона. “Вы что, взломали дверь в его кабинет?!” “Ш-ш-ш, вы хотите, чтобы нас арестовали?” “Нас?!”  Впрочем, тут был и еще один забавный момент, когда Холмс не был уверен - положил ли он в заварочный чайник, собственно, чай или все же змеиный яд?.. (Потому что они у него в одних и тех же склянках, а чай он вечно заваривает на своем химическом столике!). Какое же это счастье, когда на тебя нежданно-негаданно сваливается шикарный Шерлок Холмс! Может, он и не так сильно близок к книжному образу Холмса и является более вольной трактовкой, мне он куда ближе многих признанных и любимыми всеми Холмсов, включая Рэтбоуна, Ливанова и Камбербетча. Даже жаль, что имя Рональда Ховарда не так на устах, как имена других исполнителей роли Холмса... И как же хорошо знать, что впереди у меня еще немало эпизодов с этой парочкой! Как там говорил в одном из эпизодов мальчишка-посыльный, понаблюдавший немного за ними в гостиной? “Вы чокнутые как мартовские зайцы! Вы оба!” И это правда.