#Constable Suicide

[devulove-blog]

ಹೆಂಡತಿ, ಮಾವನ ಕಾಟ: ರೈಲಿಗೆ ತಲೆಕೊಟ್ಟು ಹೆಡ್‌ಕಾನ್‌ಸ್ಟೇಬಲ್ ಆತ್ಮಹತ್ಯೆ

ಬೆಂಗಳೂರು: ಪತ್ನಿ ಹಾಗೂ ಪತ್ನಿ ತಂದೆಯ ಅಂದರೆ ಮಾನನ ಕಿರುಕುಳದಿಂದ ಮಾನಸಿಕವ��ಗಿ ಭಾರಿ ನೋವು ಅನುಭವಿಸಿದ ಹೆಡ್‌ಕಾನ್‌ಸ್ಟೇಬಲ್ ಒಬ್ಬರು ರೈಲಿಗೆ ತಲೆಕೊಟ್ಟು ಆತ್ಮಹತ್ಯೆ ಮಾಡಿಕೊಂಡಿರುವ ಘಟನೆ ರಾಜ್ಯದ ರಾಜಧಾನಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ನಡೆದಿದೆ. ಹುಳಿಮಾವು ಪೊಲೀಸ್ ಠಾಣೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹೆಡ್‌ಕಾನ್‌ಸ್ಟೇಬಲ್ ಎಚ್.ಸಿ.ತಿಪ್ಪಣ್ಣ ಡೆತ್‌ನೋಟ್ ಬರೆದಿಟ್ಟು ಆತ್ಮಹತ್ಯೆ ಮಾಡಿಕೊಂಡ ಪೊಲೀಸ್. ಮೃತದೇಹವನ್ನು ಸಿವಿ ರಾಮನ್ ನಗರ ಆಸ್ಪತ್ರೆಗೆ ರವಾನಿಸಲಾಗಿದೆ. ಈ ಘಟನೆ ಸಂಬಂಧ ಬೈಯ್ಯಪ್ಪನಹಳ್ಳಿ ರೈಲ್ವೇ ಪೊಲೀಸ್ ಠಾಣೆಯಲ್ಲಿ…

[rightnewshindi]

दिल्ली के ज्योति नगर थाने के हेड कांस्टेबल में देसी कट्टे से गोली मारकर की खुदकुशी, जानें परिवार ने क्या बताई वजह

Delhi News: पूर्वी दिल्ली के ज्योति नगर थाने की पुलिस कालोनी में हेड कांस्टेबल (Head constable suicide in delhi) ने देसी कट्टे से सिर में गोली मारकर खुदकुशी कर ली। मृतक की पहचान विकास के रूप में हुई है। शव को कब्जे में लेकर पोस्टमार्टम के लिए भेज दिया है। परिवार ने पुलिस को बताया कि विकास पिछले कुछ दिनों से अवसाद में था। 30 अगस्त से ड्यूटी भी नहीं जा रहे थे। वह शाहदरा जिले के पीजी सेल में तैनात…

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt XVI good omens season 2 (still not traumatic) episode 3 EDINBURGH

HELLO IT'S ME IT'S THE OFFICIAL GOOD OMENS MASCOT WHY DO I STILL KEEP INTRODUCING MYSELF IDK. If you don't know who I am, thank God and Satan for their mercy and flee. Also, the day after I post this, I'll be watching the last three episodes on livestream for the first time so. You know. I'm hyped on the energy of this being my last day not enveloped in tears. Take the summary:

Before the episode starts, someone asks why Crowley said in the last episode that Aziraphale couldn't fall because look at him, all angelic when Crowley looked the same as starmaker. I reply that "Crowley thinks he deserved it, he sees Azi as something beautiful and untouched while he probably sees himself as idk marked in some way so god kicked him down."

I am told that I am learning too fast to weaponise the narrative to induce angst. So then I say oh, I go too fast for you. Tears ensue.

The episode begins! Everyone shrieks about Edinburgh, David Tennant, how it is their favourite episode, and SCOTTISH CROWLEY.

We open with lesbians being gay, and then Muriel enters as Inspector Constable! They are very sweet and very determined to do their job right, and they are adopted by Crowley and Aziraphale just like Jim.

Crowley sits on Aziraphale's chair's arm. The maggots all swoon.

Fine, I also swooned.

Aziraphale gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-mansplain-manipulate-manwhores his way into getting Crowley to give him the Bentley keys (BOUNDARIES. BOUNDARIES.).

WHAT PLENTY OF USE DO BOTH OF YOU GET OUT OF THE BOOKSHOP?

The really ineffable plan is whatever the fuck was happening in Aziraphale's brain when he somehow went from London to Edinburgh via Loch Ness (check the map) and then proceeded to disguise himself as a detective who pretends to be a journalist.

Crowley slays in sleeve garters and a cardigan keeping house in the bookshop meanwhile, does not sell books, instead cleans with Jimbriel and periodically yeets book stacks into corners when distracted.

Aziraphale reads his old diary entries about Crowley, a (6000+) 13 year old with a crush.

MINISODE MINISODE. They are in Edinburgh during the mid 1800s. Victorian outfits, check. Scottish Crowley, check. Capitalist Karen Aziraphale, che-wait what.

Huh. Well. There's a wee bit of body snatchin' going on, to sell to doctors for medical research because there aren't enough murderers, and to make enough money to survive.

Aziraphale channels his inner capitalist judgemental Karen and ruins that plan, come on Aziraphale you have religious trauma but you're better than this, and long story short, Wee Morag dies after Aziraphale realises his error, her friend Elspeth has to sell her corpse for pennies, and is about to commit suicide with laudanum. Azi, oh god. I'm glad you underwent character development at least.

NOW CROWLEY HERE SLAYS. I KNOW THIS IS AZIRAPHALE'S PERSPECTIVE AND IS BIASED. BUT WITH THIS POV, CROWLEY SLAYS.

He calmly educates Aziraphale about how his whole "the poor have more opportunities and you shouldn't give them money or they'll lose the virtue of poverty" is absolute bullshit, and he does this understanding Aziraphale's situation and not losing his temper.

The framing. The framing of the shot when they see Wee Morag and Elspeth sitting down on a step and explaining their situation. Aziraphale stands above, bustling with righteousness, and judges them. Crowley sits down. He sits down next to them, rather than taking the high ground. He meets them where they are and empathises. It is the fact that he is fallen and damned that makes him behave really divine and sorry I wrote a whole hymn on him have it I'll stop rambling just know I love him.

I think his amusement is a facade so hell won't think he's genuinely being good. I think he's morally grey and incredibly brave and kind.

When Elspeth is bouta kill herself with the laudanum, Crowley grabs it and drinks it himself, and grows tiny and then huge, absolutely high off his head. David Tennant takes the opportunity to travel Scotland from east to west in terms of accent variety.

He gives us the good message of NO DYIN'. NO MORE DYIN'. IT'S NOT ON. And then forces Aziraphale (who doesn't want to ruin her virtuous poverty) to give the girl all the guineas he has in his pocket, and tells her to go off and start a farm or something. BUT NOT JUST PRETENDY GOOD, BE PROPERLY GOOD.

He then gets pulled into hell. To be punished for this. Aziraphale is frightened and heartbroken for him, looking around desperately, and we find out that Crowley didn't meet him for a while after. And later he wanted holy water. To protect himself? He got punished by hell. For how long? The whole month in between the incident and the diary entry? There can't be anyone better at punishment and cruelty than hell.

Sorry I'm just screaming here.

Never mind fuck I started this summary really happy and bouncy and listening to a dance playlist. Dionysus by BTS and Italian pop is still playing and now I'm crying.

Is this the natural progression. Fuck I'm crying. Sorry guys something else happens with Aziraphale politely talking to a phone and Crowley smiling really beautifully while unsuccessfully trying to manipulate two lesbians into a relationship and something about a visit I don't care everyone's being morally dubious as usual and then lovely Scottish music outro I CAN'T FUCKING ELABORATE I'M SITTING HERE CRYING OVER CROWLEY.

right summary done, time to go sob, lmao i thought i wouldn't cry today over good omens HAHAHAHA still not traumatic eh HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[devildomwriter]

“…It was long ago, back before this place was even called the House of Lamentation. This house was built on the outskirts of a village in the human world. At the time, a married couple and their seven children lived here, along with one servant. At first glance, they appeared to be a happy, well-off family that enjoyed living out in the country. However, one day everything changed… The oldest son came running into the village constable’s office looking very pale. Then he delivered a horrifying piece of news: “Our servant…he murdered everyone in my family and then took his own life!” So, the constable’s men went back to the house with him. Once inside, they were greeted by a ghastly sight. Every person in the family had been murdered, each in a different way and different location. And the servant, well...he was found in his room, hanging from a rope around his neck. The constable concluded that, for whatever reason, the servant must have plotted to kiss his masters and then take his own life… …and since the perpetrator was now dead, they decided that the case was closed. However, sometime later, several facts came to light that gave rise to new doubts. First, the only person who wasn’t killed—the oldest son—had been on extremely bad terms with his siblings. And he has purchased a gun just like the one used in the murders shortly before they occurred. Also, the postman witnessed the servant and the oldest son arguing prior to the killings… …which led people to think that maybe the oldest son was the true killer. Perhaps the servant had tried to stop him, but ended up being killed as well in the process… …and then, the oldest son strung him up by his neck to make it look like he committed suicide. …In the end, the truth never came to light. For several years afterwards, the oldest son lived in the house by himself, until he eventually died of old age. Even after he dies, unsettling rumors about the house continued to swirl. It was supposed to be vacant, and yet people claimed to have seen several figures moving about inside at night. They said they could hear the voices of people arguing and screaming… So, at some point, the house was given a name. “The House of Lamentation,” they called it…”

— Lucifer giving the story of the House of Lamentation (Chapter 12-8)

[littlecello]

Lazarus: An Autopsy

So. I just got back home, and though I have to get up at stupid o'clock for work tomorrow morning, I am sitting down at my computer to give you all as much of a detailed write-up of the table read as I can. Please bear in mind these are my and Fern's opinions personal opinions, so if you disagree with anything said here, that's totally fine! This is all coming from the perspective of people who have been in the fandom since 2012 and 2009 respectively, and both of us love the show very dearly.

Now, without further ado - here is a summary and discussion of the table-read of the pilot episode of Lazarus. The detailed write-up is under the cut, but I want to share this shaky train-doodle I banged out on the way home to give shape to my own feelings:

Set Up

This was a dramatic table-read, meaning actors were sat on stage, taking the roles of the main and side characters, plus one narrator who read out the scene-set ups in the script. This was a complete reading of the pilot-episode as it would have aired on TV, complete with songs playing over the speakers as they appeared in the show (off the top of my head - Another Brick In The Wall, Somewhere Over The Rainbow (Ukulele Version), Life on Mars (yes they went there), Merry Christmas Everybody, and several more). It's important to note that this was not performed by the original actors; rather, they brought in a troupe of actors associated with the BFI, called the BFI Players. Unfortunately they aren't credited on the BFI website and there were no printed programme notes, so I can't tell you their names. Notably, though, Ashley Pharoah (co-writer of LoM) was present; after the table-read, there was a short-ish Q&A session.

Lazarus Pilot: A Summary

We start in 2024, with a car chase. Sam Tyler, now DCI of Internal Affairs of Greater Manchester Police, is hot on the pursuit of a Constable who we later learn has raped multiple women while on duty. Notably, Sam is driving exactly the way Gene would, ignoring regulations, nearly running over pedestrians and a cyclist. Sam apprehends the PC on the campus of Manchester University, which is filmed by the assembled students of the lecture that's been interrupted (a quote from the script: "heteronormative queer trans students") - that video subsequently goes viral as another example of police violence. It's clear that the PC is guilty of his crime, but he's let off, and most of CID pretty much turns against Sam. Sam's DI, incidentally, is biromantic and asexual, which is also turned into a joke with Sam making some acephobic remarks.

The next day, Sam finds the rapist PC dead - hanging from a lamppost as though he's died by suicide. CCTV reveals that about an hour before his death, a car idled in front of his home, and the PC had hurled abuse at said car. The driver cannot be seen. That same car is seen at a carehome in Didsbury, idling there just like it did in front of that house... and that car is also confronted, by none other than a geriatric Gene Hunt.

Here is where we start to realise that this Sam is different. It seems he never went back to 1973. He never had that accident, he never met Gene Hunt - he is, however, married to Annie Cartwright (only until half of the episode though, at which point she says they need to get a divorce). A lot of anachronisms going on here, but those will get explained a little later in the episode. Sam also starts having visions - first of a Space Hopper that keeps passing him by, later Clangers from the Planet of the Clangers appear to him. He keeps remembering lines we've heard in Life on Mars ("I never stitched anyone up who didn't deserve it", "If you can feel things you are alive, but it's when you can't feel things that you know you aren't alive", etc). Eventually, he goes to visit Gene in the care home and invites him for a drive, to see if that will jog any memories.

Gene, however, has other ideas - he eventually forces Sam to stop by the roadside, insisting "I'm going back! I'm going BACK!" The two start arguing, and then it devolves into a physical fight, which pushes them into the road... at which point, they are both his by a car. A red Audi Quattro, in fact, and just as everything fades to black, we see someone with white cowboy boots and a white leather jacket get out of the car...

1977. Sam wakes up utterly hungover in the Cortina, next to Gene who's driving. These are their 70s selves. They get to the station, where they find out that they've both been suspended due to Gene assaulting the Superintendent ("I didn't assault him, I strategically placed him... in a bin."). The department has been disbanded and taken over by none other than Derek Litton. Sam and Gene leave, with Sam driving home... to his wife Annie. On his way, he realises that he must have dreamt about 2024, and obviously doesn't understand what is going on. He talks to Annie about it, who becomes upset that he's starting to talk about all the future stuff again. It becomes clear that the case that Sam was investigating in 2024 (the dead rapist PC) is mirrored in 1977. And, crucially, near the end of the episode we realise that Gene also has memories of what we saw happen in 2024... and just at the end, when Annie is on her own, she suddenly sees the video footage mentioned at the very top (the fight at the MU) playing on the TV, and realises that Sam was telling the truth.

The Good

Let me start with the really enjoyable part of this afternoon - the actors who performed the script for us. They all did a brilliant job, especially Sam's actor. I'm pretty sure he must have studied up on John Simm's performance, because he got Sam's tone and cadence so closely to the original that I could really believe he was the character. The production was done well too, with the songs being played over the speaker system; plus, the narrator was absolutely brilliant at setting the scene, reading the descriptive bits of the script with loads of character and humour. The other actors were great too (Litton got a fantastic impression). The only one I wasn't convinced by was Gene's actor, because he gave his Manc accent a very theatric drawl that sometimes made him sound like a pirate. Definitely didn't come close to Philip Glenister's brilliant delivery of his lines.

Speaking of lines, there were some genuinely funny jokes in this. The whole scene with Litton was hilarious, and some of the modern-day jokes landed quite well too (Sam's DI pulls an "ok boomer" on him, to which he responds "that's Gen X I'll have you know").

And of course, I have to mention that it was SO LOVELY to meet a bunch of you in person!!!! It was lovely to chat, and thank you especially to @bisexualroger and friends who came and said hello, you genuinely made my day 🥹 The Bad

Sigh. Buckle up.

This table-reading really cemented for me what I've been saying for several years: The writing in Life on Mars is very mediocre. What made the show so amazing and special was the fact that the crew and actors took that material and elevated it to the heights we know and love. If you take that away... All of its shortcomings become very glaring.

This was even more obvious with Lazarus. Although we have to remember that this was a pilot, which means it was basically a sales pitch to studios and as such they tried to cram as much exciting stuff into it as possible, on the whole it just came across as very confused and embarrassingly self-referential. The characters often (but not always) came across as caricatures of themselves. The script often pointed out the race/ethnicity of characters in ways that felt very unnecessary and strange (more on that later). Most of the dialogue that took place in 2024 was incredibly stilted (again, more on that in a little bit). Most crucially, although it's clear that Lazarus was trying to bring Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes together to tie them up in a neat little bow, it just felt far too all over the place, even for a set-up episode (Lazarus as a whole was planned to be two series with 6 episodes each, like LoM). The Ugly

Basically, this show was supposed to be commentary on the present-day commentary between the public and the police... written from the perspective of two Old White Men(tm) with an unhealthy amount of nostalgia for the past who seem to think of the police as literal guardian angel, which is why they made Gene an actual angel (this is confirmed by what Ashley told us the ending of Lazarus would have been, which I will write up tomorrow because this would be too much for this post).

So, what does that mean in practice? It means that everything that was set in 2024 was an absolute shitshow. There were jokes about "wokeness" in every scene - things such as gender identities, diversity, ethnic food, vegan food, recycling, climate activism and more were only ever played for laughs, with a clear emphasis that everything was better in the "good old days". Especially all the jokes about gender and sexuality made me so angry, seeing as the fandom who has kept the show alive for the last 10 years is overwhelmingly queer.

Worse than that, this show would have been absolutely choc-full of copaganda. We already learn in the pilot that the entire philosophy is that "bad cops" are simply "rotten apples" that need to be removed from the force, which can only happen from the inside (this is Sam's role as DCI of Internal Affairs). And also, the public are just way too mean to cops, for no reason whatsoever - this is very literally shown in a scene in 2024 where a male PC touches a drunk woman's arm in sympathy and she yells at him "DON'T TOUCH ME", whereas in a mirrored scene in 1977 we see a PC giving a woman advice, who seems to be extremely grateful for it and even squeezes his hand for it. Which, if you know ANYTHING about what was going in Manchester at the time, in the wake of the Yorkshire Ripper and the associated police failings, is laughable at best, and an insult at worst.

Furthermore, during the Q&A, Ashley Pharoah unintentionally told on himself and Matthew Graham. I'm paraphrasing, but he basically said that when they both realised during the watchalong on twitter back in 2021 there still were a lot of fans of the show, that's when they felt compelled to properly give Lazarus a go. It very much came across as him saying "we loved the attention and wanted more of it, oh and also we thought we had something to say about the state of affairs regarding the police". Which, as I have laid out above, frankly is a sick joke. After everything that's happened - the protests in 2020, the way police forces in the whole country handled the Sarah Everard case, the fact that the current Chief Superintendent of GMP is an old conservative guy - the fact that Matt and Ash had the audacity to shop a show like Lazarus around to be picked up for TV is... astonishing. The confidence of white men, eh?

In Conclusion

Both Fern and I are very, extremely glad that Lazarus was not, and never will be made into a TV show. We are very glad that we get to keep Sam, Gene, Annie and all the others as they are. And we are also very glad that we went to this table-read, since we can now stop wondering what could have been. It's done and dusted. And, funnily enough, this has invigorated my fandom fire for LoM. I now want to create art of the characters I've come to know and love, to reinforce who they are to me. They are our characters now, Ashley and Matt. You don't get to play with them anymore. You don't get to twist them and put them through the wringer.

Tl;Dr

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Two

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Two: Reanimated Bride

Summary: Lestrade gives Sherlock and (Y/N) a strange case about a bride who has come back from the dead. Sherlock and (Y/N) are doubtful.

            “I’m not afraid, exactly,” denied Lestrade as he sat down in the client chair.

            “Fear is wisdom in the face of danger,” said Sherlock. “It is nothing to be ashamed of. From the beginning, then.”

            And so Lestrade explained to them the scene he and Scotland Yard had come upon. A bride had come out of her room in smudged makeup and with a mad grin. While shouting “you,” she had shot pistols into the passersbies below.

            “A moment,” said Sherlock as he listened to Lestrade’s account. “When was this?”

            “Yesterday morning,” clarified Lestrade.

            “The bride’s face, how is it described?” said Sherlock.

            Lestrade flipped open his notebook. “White as death, mouth like a crimson wound.”

            “How much is poetry and how much is truth?” said (Y/N), glancing at Sherlock. That was the question.

            “Well, many would say they’re the same thing,” said Lestrade.

            “Yes, idiots. (Y/N)’s question remains pertinent,” said Sherlock.

            “I saw her face myself, afterwards,” said Lestrade.

            “After what?” said (Y/N), cocking their head.

            “She kept raving about ‘you’ until she finally said ‘me’ and…shot herself,” said Lestrade. He shivered at the sight of her body afterwards.

            Sherlock scoffed. “A woman blows her own brains out in public, and you need help identifying the guilty party. I feel Scotland Yard has reached a new low.”

            “That’s not why I’m here.” Lestrade nursed a second drink.

            “I surmise,” said Sherlock.

            “What was her name, the bride?” asked John.

            “Emelia Ricoletti. Yesterday was her wedding anniversary,” said Lestrade. “The police, of course, were called. And her body was taken to the morgue.”

            “Standard procedure. Why are you telling us what may be presumed?” said Sherlock.

            “ ‘Cause of what happened next,” said Lestrade. “Lime House. Just a few hours later. Thomas Ricoletti, Emelia Ricoletti’s husband. He left to catch a carriage.”

            “Presumably on his way to the morgue to identify her remains,” said Sherlock.

            Lestrade took a sip of his drink. “As it turned out, he was saved the trip. Another carriage pulled up, and a woman in a bride’s dress stepped out. She sang and held a shotgun. He demanded to know who she was, and when she lifted her veil…it was the face of Emelia Ricoletti. We know it for a fact because he confirmed it due to his shock. He couldn’t believe it was her, but he saw it plain as day.” Lestrade shook his head and took another drink. “And then she shot him.”

            “Till death to us part,” said (Y/N), familiar with the phrase.

            “Twice, in this case,” added Sherlock.

            Lestrade grimaced at the words. “Well…Thomas Ricoletti was killed immediately, and the constable on the scene who had watched it all was left in shcok because Emelia Ricoletti only turned and ran into the fog, blood still staining her veil and the back of her head. She was still a corpse who should have been in the morgue, but she appeared and disappeared like it was nothing.”

            “Extraordinary,” said John.

            “Impossible,” said Mary.

            “Interesting,” said (Y/N). They already had a theory, but they needed more to confirm it. That made it more enjoyable, though. (Y/N) liked a mystery with layers to discover, something more complex for their mind to work on.

            “Superb,” declared Sherlock. He stood. “Suicide by street theater, murder by corpse. Lestrade, you’re spoiling us. Watson, (Y/N), your hats and coats.”

            “Where are we going?” asked John.

            “The morgue,” said (Y/N).

            “There’s not a moment to lose, which one can so rarely say of the morgue,” said Sherlock.

            “And am I just to sit here?” said Mary.

            “Not at all, my dear. We’ll be hungry later,” said John.

            (Y/N) grimaced at his words. They didn’t understand why certain genders were made to work a certain way in these times. Sherlock just shrugged and straightened their collar.

            “Holmes, just one thing,” said John. “Tweeds in a morgue?”

            “Needs must when the devil drives, Watson,” said Sherlock.

            “They’re dead. I doubt they’ll mind,” said (Y/N) bluntly.

            John sighed at (Y/N)’s lack of propriety or care.

l

            “Please tell me which idiot did this,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes as he observed the chains holding down Emelia Ricoletti’s body.

            “It’s for everyone’s safety,” said Anderson.

            This isn’t surprising, thought (Y/N).

            “This woman is dead,” said John, exasperated. “Half her head is missing. She’s not a threat to anyone!”

            “Tell that to her husband, he’s under a sheet over there,” said Anderson, gesturing to another cot.

            “Whatever happened in Lime House last night, I think we can safely assume it wasn’t the work of a dead woman,” said Sherlock.

            “Stranger things have happened,” said Anderson crossly.

            “Such as?” said (Y/N), a sharp, challenging look in their eyes.

            Anderson shifted under the harsh gaze. “Such as…strange things.”

            (Y/N) could have rolled their eyes.

            No, it was a live woman. Two possibilities: the first Emelia Ricoletti to “die” was a fake corpse and then the real one died after killing her husband—supported by her lack of identification until being seen by her husband and killing him. Second, Emelia Ricoletti did die then and someone else resembling her killed her husband—supported by the darkness obscuring his ability to see her. The first is far more likely, but I shall have to figure out accomplices in that case. It isn’t possible without help. (Y/N) furrowed their brow as they looked at her body. And why would she die after killing her husband if that was her goal?

            There was more to this than a simple murder and suicide.

            “You’re speaking like a child,” said John.

            “This is clearly a proper man’s work, where is he?” said Sherlock, eager to get an idiot like Anderson out of the way.

            The door behind them opened, and a “man” cleared “his” throat. “Holmes,” said Hooper (who (Y/N) had long ago figured out was a woman masquerading herself as a man to conduct business and make money. (Y/N) thought it ingenious—if you can’t beat the system, cheat it, as (Y/N) would have it).

            “Hooper,” greeted Sherlock.

            “You, back to work,” snapped Hooper to Anderson. “So? Come to astonish us with your magic tricks, I suppose.”

            “Is there anything to which you would like to draw our attention?” said Sherlock.

            “Nothing at all, Mr. Holmes. You may leave anytime you like,” said Hooper.

            “Dr. Hooper, I asked Mr. Holmes and (Y/N) to come here. Cooperate. That’s an order,” said Lestrade.

            “There are two features of interest,” said Hooper. “As you are always saying in Dr. Watson’s stories.”

            “I never say that,” said Sherlock.

            “I believe you do,” said (Y/N).

            “Hm.” Sherlock furrowed his brow, but if (Y/N) said it, it was probably true. They always knew what they were talking about.

            “First of all, this is definitely Emelia Ricoletti,” said Hooper. “She has been categorically identified. Beyond a doubt, it is her.”

            Now it is, thought (Y/N), still hoping for their theory to prove true, even if they were searching for accomplices and reasons behind the masquerade. To add to their theory, if someone inside the morgue or asked to identify the body before her husband came to officially sign off was part of the mystery accomplices, then it would be easy to have Emelia Ricoletti be confirmed as the corpse before her husband’s death and then again after—with the addition of her husband’s exclamation.

            (Y/N)’s first theory seemed likelier and likelier by the moment.

            “Then who was that in Lime House last night?” said John.

            “That was also Emelia Ricoletti,” said Hooper.

            “It can’t have been her,” said John. “She was dead, she was here.”

            “She was positively identified by her own husband seconds before he died,” said Hooper. “Had no reason to lie, could hardly have been mistaken.”

            “The cabby knew her, too. There’s no question it’s her,” said Lestrade.

            “But she can’t have been in two places at the same time, can she?” said John.

            “No, it can be assumed that one body is only ever one place at a time. You would need two to be in multiple places at once,” said (Y/N) absently as they considered.

            Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Hooper glanced at them. Sherlock catalogued that observation since it could be useful. He had several theories going, but something was itching him…something was familiar about this case, and he needed an…answer.

            “Could it have been twins?” said John suddenly.

            That broke Sherlock and (Y/N) out of their thoughts due to the sheer stupidity.

            “No,” said Sherlock.

            “Why not?” said John.

            “It’s never twins,” said (Y/N).

            “Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters,” said Lestrade. “She had one older brother who died four years ago.”

            “Maybe it was a secret twin,” said John.

            “A what?” said Sherlock.

            “A secret twin,” repeated John, somehow with conviction. Sherlock and (Y/N) stared. “You know. A twin that no one knows about.” Sherlock and (Y/N) exchanged looks. “This whole thing could have been planned.”

            “Since the moment of conception? How breathtakingly prescient of her,” said Sherlock, restraining his irritation at the suggestion. “It is never twins, Watson.”

            “Then what’s your theory?” said John.

            “More to the point, what’s your problem?” Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, keeping any theories to himself.

            (Y/N) tilted their head. They had assumed that was the moment they shared theories, but, apparently, that wasn’t what was happening. I suppose I should keep mine to myself, thought (Y/N).

            “I don’t understand—”

            “Why were you so frightened?” pressed Sherlock. “Nothing so far has justified your assault on my decanter. And why have you allowed a dead woman to be placed under arrest?”

            “I doubt hanging her for murder would do much at present,” said (Y/N).

            John looked at them. “Was that an attempt at a joke?”

            “I suppose I didn’t execute it correctly,” said (Y/N).

            “Not at all,” said John.

            “I appreciated it,” said Sherlock. “Apparently Scotland Yard must be reminded that the dead are, in fact, the dead.”

            (Y/N) stood a bit straighter knowing that, although their joke hadn’t gone over well, Sherlock appreciated it. They liked making their dad proud.

            “That would be the other feature of interest,” said Hooper. She lifted up Emelia’s hand.

            “The smear of blood on her finger,” said (Y/N), seeing it immediately.

            “That could have happened any number of ways,” said John.

            “Indeed,” said Hooper. “There’s one other thing. It wasn’t there earlier.”

            Sherlock furrowed his brow, and (Y/N) cocked their head.

            “Neither was that,” said Lestrade, pointing to the wall behind them all. He picked up a torch and shone the light on the brick.

            “You” was painted in blood on the stone, the “paint” dripping as it dried. Sherlock stared at it, but his gaze was faraway, seeing past the words and to something else.

            “Shot through the head, bullet through the brain, back of the had blown clean off,” he murmured. “How could he survive…?”

            (Y/N)’s gaze flicked to him, and they regarded him carefully. He?

            “She, you mean,” said John.

            “I’m sorry?” said Sherlock slowly, still focused on something else.

            “Not he, she,” said John.

            “Yes, yes, of course,” said Sherlock vaguely. He blinked and came back to himself. “Well, thank you all for the fascinating case. We’ll send you a telegram when we’ve solved it. (Y/N), Watson.” Sherlock turned and headed for the door.

            John paused to speak to Hooper before following. “The gunshot wound was obviously the cause of death, but there are clear indicators of consumption. Might be worth a post-mortem. We need all the information we can get.”

            (Y/N) stored the observation away. So, she was already dying and chose to die twice? Thrice? Interesting. They turned and followed Sherlock out the door, mind whirring. They were stuck on the accomplices. Their theory made sense since if Emelia’s corpse wasn’t hers at some point and someone impersonated her—pre- or post-death was the question—but it was just a theory if there wasn’t a reason for Emelia to create such a ruse to kill her husband. And who would work with her? Why?

            (Y/N) knew that Emelia’s death had to be part of something larger if their theory was right, but without any true facts and only observations that fit well, they couldn’t be sure.

            And (Y/N) didn’t like being unsure. They refused to jump to conclusions. They worked on facts, logic, deductions.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

@roo024

[a-forbidden-detective]

Curious add-ons: additions and deletions, Episode 11 (Part 7)

A bit of a warning: photo-heavy post

Eleven episodes in, and it is safe to say that I love these versions of Ron and Toto. Don’t get me wrong Akira Amano hasn’t done anything wrong, it is just these RonToto are kinder and more codependent from each other that I am 110 per cent sure they’d compete with that kind of codependency from the manga RonToto, and anime RonToto would win.

They diminished Toto’s comedic childlike expressions on this episode removing the giggle on Toto’s part, for example, when he asked Ron if the latter had a friend. Junya Enoki, for his part, admitted that because Toto is a grown man and a police officer, he doesn’t need to act cute all the time. The reason this scene is much more tender than in the manga. The “what’s so funny?” question from Ron was omitted and instead the anime writers made Toto stammer with his “N-not even… one?” After hearing Ron’s answer that he considers Toto to be his friend, he replies with a much more humbled “I am glad to hear it” and not “Gee, thanks.” And then the blush on Toto’s face as if he is darn proud and happy because after all they have been through, Ron treats him more special than the others, that is being allowed to be closer to him by becoming his friend.

Truth be told, these instances of blushing from the main characters would turn me into mush.

Another passage omitted from the manga and the new dialogue has become a Sherlock BBC reference in the anime.

Kawasemi san: “If you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest.” (Episode 11)

SH from Sherlock BBC: “If you wanted to hide a tree then the best place to do it is a forest, wouldn’t you say? People would just walk past it, not knowing - not able to decipher the message.” (Episode 2, Season 1, The Blind Banker)

Surely, one of these days I’d write a list of all these Sherlock BBC references: from the manga to anime, because they are so many. Of course, it could have been the translator’s choice in the end.

Continuity problems in the manga are explained in the anime.

a) the reason Ron eats dangos 🍡 on the train;

b) Constable Kimyou, whose surname doesn’t mean “strange”

c) Ron accompanying Toto was not a chance where he got an email from the neurology institute, but it was a planned or let’s just say a convenient way to ride with Toto on the train at the same time going to Aichi with a purpose.

The anime crew adding this scene. Toto’s joyful reaction upon seeing his friend again after witnessing Kawasemi’s slump in person. Probably Toto was relieved and had missed his friend so much after their abrupt and odd parting at the Nagoya train station, in which he had so many questions that were partly answered at the end of the episode.

Can you see the puppets and the No. 96 (Ron’s scar which has become part of him) from the shop? Not only they increased the price from ¥900 (in 2021) to ¥960 (2023) but Ron’s puppets Kamo-kyun (platypus) and Eli Pyon (frill-necked lizard) are on sale.

This ending that fuels a few questions. Ron was sort of refusing to look at Toto as he explained his meeting with Dr. Mofu and her subsequent referrals to the other medical professionals concerning his pathological condition to pressure the criminals to suicide. Instead he looked at his reflection on the glass train window, Toto’s delightful enthusiastic voice had become white noise. This Ron is more pessimistic and not so much looking forward to the therapy and its possible outcome. I wonder if the anime writers (Jackson Ou wrote the episode with a storyboard from Shingo Tamaki who were also responsible to previous Kawasemi episode) would deviate a bit from the manga.

Two more episodes and I don’t want it to end. There are so many materials available and it seems we haven’t scratched the surface yet. The tension is getting bigger. It would be nicer if they are given the second cour and end the first season with the Plateau Aubege arc. A perfect ending to establish a canon RonToto.

[daydream-cement]

Heavenly Aether Ch. 1

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Cults, death, and corruption are in store as Constable Hilmarson, with the help of a nosy reporter and her trusty partner, Robin Griffin, attempts to take down a powerful organization before more people die.

I hope you are all ready for another twisty-turning installment of falling in love with Miranda Hilmarson. Thank you to @booitsrue for helping me get started :)

TW: cults, suicide, death, corruption, brief descriptions of violence

January 15th, 1996

Sergeant Don Marshall had enough of your bickering, finally standing from his desk and pointing towards the front doors of the police station. With the most hateful scowl and through gritted teeth, he gave you his final warning, “For the last time. Get out of my office before I charge you with misleading an investigation.”

He hadn’t listened to a word you had told him. Three days ago was the third time a group of five had ended up dead in honor of their religious organization: The Church of Mithras. The first time five died in connection to the church was April 1, 1995, the second time June 9, 1995, and now… five more.

The specific details of the gods, religious context, and true beliefs of The Church of Mithras were a true mystery to you. There was no documented evidence of the church's activities or beliefs. Everything occurring within the organization was kept a complete mystery to those who were not binded to the religion. All of the information you had gathered was based on your own assumptions combining the name of the church with the dates of the mass deaths.

Your research assumed this cult was a reinvention of the Cult of Mithras, a Roman mystery religion centered on the god Mithras with connections to astrology. The messy, weblike collage at home on your wall best depicted the complex symbolism and Gods the religion utilized to justify the harm that befell their followers. While it was challenging to gather information on this ancient cult, they recognized a torch-bearing icon named Cautes who you found to be in connection with the Roman god Caelus and the Greek god Uranus.

All of this was information you had tried sharing moments before, but it was obvious the detective wasn’t listening. Slamming your hands down on Don’s desk, you hope if you showed enough urgency, he would understand the seriousness of the situation, “Detective Marshall! You aren’t listening to me! Each of the dates matches up with Uranus entering different zodiacs! The Church of Mithras is copying the Cult of Mithras! There are connections to-

You wouldn’t have bothered Detective Sergeant Marshall about any of this if you doubted any bit of your evidence. Just as he had done in June of ‘95, he ordered you to be escorted from the station, “That’s it! Butler! Lee! Escort this woman out of my office!

At eighteen, you knew you were more overzealous than the other reporters for The Sydney Monitor, but it was your gumption and bite that gave you the job in the first place. You become more desperate, needing Marshall to listen to you, only for a moment. It was a matter of life and death, “More people will die in 2003! Don, you can’t-”

When a hand came down on your shoulder and another grasped your forearm, you twisted about to make eye contact with two constables. Attempting to pull your arms away from them, you growled as they followed after you, grasping you even tighter as they dragged you from Sergeant Marshall's office, “Let go of me! Let go!”

The two officers pulled you to the front of the station, the rounder of the two following you as you were pushed from the building, “You need to go. No one is interested in arresting you, but if you keep coming back here, we will.”

You glanced at his name badge, which read ‘Butler,’ and by the look of the markings on his sleeve, he was a senior constable. Looking back to his face, you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the kindness in his voice. He was still one of the people who stood in the way of getting justice for the 15 who were dead and the many more who would follow if things continued without intervention, “There is blood on all of your hands.”

He sighed and shook his head, turning away from you to head back inside the station.

You shook this failure of obtaining police intervention from your mind, knowing if you wanted the case solved, you would have to do it all on your own. You needed more information on the cult and the only way you were going to get this was through insiders. The next step was getting people to talk.

-----

February 6th, 2023

“Robin… This case is currently open. Why would the files for it be kept back here where no one can find them?” When Miranda asked the question, she was well aware the files were in this backroom far before Robin’s arrival to the department, but as her mentor and partner, Miranda wanted the brunette’s advice before she assumed the worst. The box was labeled: ‘The Church of Mithras’ with the opening date of the case being April 1, 1995.

Last week, Miranda and Robin solved yet another large case, breaking nearly a dozen rules and laws in the process, relegating them to various clean-up tasks around the station as punishment. Today’s assignment was organizing the back storage room, leading to the discovery of the open case box with an absurd amount of entries with such little evidence to go along with it.

The mass suicides of The Church of Mithras were something Miranda was well aware of, the first of them happening when she was 14 years old. It was absurd to her that there had been 11 occasions where members of the church had died in groupings of five, and now that she was looking at the files, it was obvious no one had ever looked into the case.

“I’ve heard about this church. They are responsible for the deaths of 55 people.” Robin glanced up to Miranda before reaching into the box, thumbing through the few pages that existed within the files. “I can’t understand why there is no evidence. After nearly 30 years, you would expect something more than the general documentation of the event…”

Miranda pulled out a few of the pages, skimming them for any inconsistencies or patterns. One thing she recognized from all of them was a name. Your name. She offered the page up to Robin, pointing out your name to her, “This name keeps coming up in each of the files. Maybe we could talk to them on our lunch break?”

“Are you asking me to shirk our duties here at the station so we can go research a case that has been deliberately ignored for decades?” Robin smirked as she asked her question, obviously pleased to participate in another round of rule breaking with her partner.

“Maybe.” The constable gave a coy shrug, rolling her eyes and glancing up to the clock. Their typical lunch break was in a half hour, just enough time to look up the name and find a possible place of employment or home address.

Griffin turned her head back down to look through the files. She needed to familiarize herself with the case if they were going out to interview anyone, “Are we taking your car or mine?”

-----

Over the past three decades, your journalist work kept you attached to the world of true crime, but with no true momentum with The Church of Mithras case, you had to diversify your interests. Working for The Sydney Monitor had been a fruitful career, and you were well aware you were able to write and research in a way that left you fulfilled. There was always a gaping hole left in you from the case that always went unsolved.

You still kept the dates of the mass deaths and their correlated astrological events written in the inside of your notebook.

April 1, 1995 - Uranus enters Aquarius June 9, 1995 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Capricorn January 12, 1996 - Uranus enters Aquarius March 10, 2003 - Uranus enters Pisces September 15, 2003 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Aquarius December 30, 2003 - Uranus enters Pisces May 28, 2010 - Uranus enters Aries August 14, 2010 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Pisces March 12, 2011- Uranus enters Aries May 15, 2018 - Uranus enters Taurus November 6, 2018 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Aries

The death toll was far higher than you ever anticipated. After each event, you gathered more information, and set off to the police station where you had been escorted out each and every time.

At some point, you would have assumed someone would have taken you seriously. Don Marshall, who kicked you out as a sergeant, was now the deputy commissioner, and Adrian Butler, who had escorted you out as a constable, was now a superintendent. Both of the men had continued to climb the ladder of success, regardless of the number of lives that had been lost due to their negligence.

You knew the next event was in four weeks.

Four weeks and the death count would be up to 60.

Or… at least, you thought the death count would rise to 60, but that was until Constable Hilmarson and Detective Griffin appeared in your office doorway.

For once in your career, the police wanted to hear what you had on The Church of Mithras.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Do no Harm

Gangs of brigands attacking along the trade roads in a series of bloody, near suicidal raids. An increasing spree of violent incidents in town that seem to be spreading like a sickness. Folk in their feverbeds rambling about a war out of time. These seemingly unrelated incidents are the violent signs that have been laid before Prior Rupak, healer and priest of Pelor, who sees them as the prelude to a far greater evil. The good healer cannot treat the victims and investigate the cause of their suffering at the same time, and so seeks allies to help stem the tide of blood before it pours over into the streets.

Hooks:

The party may first encounter Rupak after seeking out his infirmary, usually open to all by grace of the dawnfather’s altruism but recently closed off so that the priest and his acolytes can triage an ever mounting number of injured. Ushered in to receive treatment in payment for their aid, the party is briefed on the strange occurrences in town and sent on their way. Alternatively, should their reputation be great enough, Rupak may send a runner to ask for the party by name.

Merchants are always wary of bandits on the road, but this latest swath of reckless attacks has them especially worried, shilling out good coin for caravan guards that may get the party to tag along. Gossip by the watchfires says that the attacks are originating from a tumbledown old fortress out in the countryside, though why any self-respecting brigand would choose to lair in that haunted place is anyone’s guess.

Untangling the different attacks in town leads the party through a gauntlet of civil strife: lovers’ spats, disagreements in the market, tavernbrawls, all turned bloody and in some cases lethal. Investigating the matter reveals that each perpetrator was at one point a victim, all still bearing a fevered and borderline infected wound (if only a scratch) from a previous altercation

Background: The origin of all this chaos is a dark spirit known as “I Bear Thee Unto Glory”, a demon of war that sustains itself by sowing confusion and suffering during peacetime. Weapons touched by Unto-Glory’s influence grant their bearers the manic strength of dying warriors, even as their minds and the metal they hold begin to corrode. That corrosion is the key, as each cursed weapon leaves behind tiny slivers of demonic rust in their victim, leaving their body and mind to fester with fever and anger until they too lash out, passing the curse to another.

Tracking the infection all the way back we’re left with the brigands, a group of desperate foreign soldiers making an unwitting deal with Unto-Glory which drives them to attack the caravans. These attacks are repulsed, but the guards and drivers who survived with only minor injuries became carriers, getting into town just in time to start a tavernbrawl, lashing out at the townsfolk with their now rusted weapons. If you wanted to sow a few clues into the party’s investigation, mention how the weapons seized by the constables in the different incidents are all varying levels of corroded, or how the tavernkeeper had to replace a whole bevy of cutlery all of a sudden as a good portion of their knives, forks, and even soup ladle were suddenly rusted through. 

All of this comes to a head when the party report back to Rupak only to watch as he’s stabbed near lethally by one of his patients. Strengthened by an unholy fever, the formerly bedridden attacker brandishes a rusty scalpel and rants as Unto-Glory’s presence overwhelms them, speaking of the slaughter that is to come once the good doctor and the heroes too join them in the bloodbath. The violence will spiral out of control until the army is called to do something about it and likewise join the dance. Infection and bedlam will spread across the countryside until war is inevitable, and Unto Glory will ride at the head of it awful and resplendent.

With the realm at risk and their greatest ally now at risk of succumbing to the curse, something must be done. A risky summoning in the hopes of binding the fiend perhaps? Seeking some blessing or answer of the dawnfather? Regardless, the party must act fast... there’s a very good chance that they too have received a rust-cursed wound in their numerous scuffles, and its only a matter of time before they succumb aswell.

[transman-badass]

Snippet Sunday!

From my gothic fantasy/ghost story WIP Diretide Vigil, set in my Runner Owen verse. NOTE: This snippet, and the story itself, involves the body of a suicide victim. If that's too much for you, you are encouraged to skip this.

The prince looked to them, and spoke again, saying, “has someone gone for the constable?”

A woman nodded. “I sent my children to fetch whoever they could find,” she said.

I looked at the unfortunate corpse. She seemed so pristine, I could not believe she wouldn't breathe again. But even if the poison had not stilled her lungs, the cold would have. I knew this. 

Around her neck, I saw it then. A simple thing, faded with age and love, cheap and undesirable to thieves that might be so bold as to rob a corpse. A locket sat around her neck, the front marked with spread wide wings, a downward sword, three teardrops. 

Swallowing hard, I turned my gaze away. The emblem, I could not deny what it was, and what I needed to do. I could only pray to the Goddess it would not anger my prince to do so.

“Your highness,” a man said, his voice shaking. The prince glanced to him, and the stranger flinched. “Sire Commandant,” he said, “is it safe?”

Uneasy glances passed through the crowd. And yet the prince smiled. 

“We have searched the streets. There are no vampires here,” Prince Aurum said. “Return to your homes and offices. You are safe.”

As the crowd sighed with clear relief and drifted apart, the prince looked at me, chilled as the snow itself. I released a sigh of my own. It was not my place to challenge the prince in his lie. Was better than to tell them the truth, I suppose. Yes, they were safe - but was I?

He gestured me to my feet, and I obeyed. The prince stepped forward, made eye contact through my glasses. My heart skipped.

“I will do it,” he said, in a patient voice. “You must tell me when you leave my side. You know I will not refuse most requests”

“Yes, sire,” I said, my hand shivering in its place before me.

“I don't want to humiliate you,” he said. With gentleness that ached my heart, he took my chin in his hand. “But if the Scarred Man took you, I don't know what I'd do.”

I closed my eyes. Yes, the people were safe. The Scarred Man did not wet his fangs with the blood of random innocents. He wanted two, in this city I called home - the prince, and myself. We both bore those scars. But my position in the eyes of the Scarred Man was, and is, far more delicate than my prince’s.

[goldenzingy46]

I am hereby returning the favour please tell me about a blorbo of your choice this is your free blorbodump pass for whenever you’d like to use it <3

GOOD AFTERNOON AND WELCOME TO THE ADAM TYLER SHOW.

who is adam, you ask? well he’s from some novel that nobody’s ever heard of called firewatching by russ thomas which is so important to me. you may recognise it from my lockscreen. i am so normal about this guy

where do i start. he has a scar on his face from where he got into a fight with a homophobic police officer. he is a cop but he works in the cold case review unit. he’s kind of terrible at his job. he has 0 personal life. he’s a terrible boyfriend and spends most of the first book running away from oscar, his one night stand. he keeps trying to adopt children but he’s bad at even that <3

if you are sweetiepie08 don’t look under the cut because there are some light spoilers (VERY light but family related <3)

he saw his dad’s “suicide” when he was fifteen. his brother used to take him (teenaged child traumatised by their father’s death) to drug dens. he’s deeply attached to his godmother (police officer) and his dad’s friend/substitute dad (also a police officer) and he nearly gets fired in the first book. he loses two boyfriends in two books. he sucks absolute shit at everything <333

like, the first time we see him he’s considering buying the house he investigated a murder in. boy get therapy

i know for a fact that he knows nothing about pop culture i can just sense it in my soul

anyway he keeps trying to adopt people. constable mina rabbini the mob boss’ son jn book 2 possibly his niece in book 3…… he’s like anti police while being a cop which is so funny. he is everything to me. he’s even gay. he once looked a mob boss in the eye and went “did you kill my dad” like BOY 😭😭

HE IS EVERYTHING. i am very sleepy and rambling i can do better faster cooler stronger later but difnwifnishdidb. biting him. putting him in a jar and shaking him.

[mysterycharacterbracket]

Poll #100

Character 298: She's a snarky, morally questionable AI lady who hates her job and has little to no regard for human life in general. She often threatens to kill her employees, she killed her programmers, she adores the movie Cats(2019) to an upsetting degree, she likes to make up nicknames for people, she just wants a holiday and frequently takes simulated spa breaks. She's even bisexual!

Character 299: he’s first introduced as the man with a scar. he’s canonically gay but the worst at relationships. he accidentally slept with the prime suspect for the case he’s supposed to be working on. he’s a cop but it’s the cold case unit so it’s probably fine. he’s looking into his dad’s suicide because he thinks he was murdered. his brother used to take child him to drug dens because he wanted to get high and didn’t particularly care about his kid brother. he keeps adopting kids and they keep betraying him. he’s been helping one of the constables to rise through the police force and she calls him sarge and helps bring him back to the world of not being stupid. his godmother is high up in the police force and he aggressively refuses to be part of nepotism and then later on she gets kidnapped. his life is terrible and he gets attached to crime scenes. he received the scar on his face from another member of the police force. he’s insane. i love him

he keeps getting info from the guy in charge of the mob. his friends keep turning out to be serial killers. he & one other police guy keep attacking police corruption but nobody likes them so it’s pretty slow. he has the worst taste in men. he straight up asked one guy “did you kill my dad?” and he once managed to break through a wall in a house on fire by scraping the slightly wet cement out from between the bricks and then running at the wall really hard. he’s literally a lunatic. i love this guy so much

Character 300: A short boy who starts out as a typical nerd stereotype but one rock concert later he starts to unleash his sass, he can be kind of a jerk sometimes actually but most of the time he is a cinnamon roll. Literally sang a rock song about following the rules, yeah. Despite the rock concert he still is and probably always will be obsessed with grades (boy almost got a panic attack because he got an A instead of A+) Has a comfort show that he references to often and trusts more then his own logic when in stressful situation. He is super smart but can't read social cues sometimes. Is often carried like a luggage and ends up okay with that. He litterally cloned himself because he couldn't make any decisions and when he had enough of his clones he went 'oh. wait. I can get revange on my friend-bully now" and he almost did, got pied in the face in the aftermatch though. He's a sweetie pie, the boy ever, one of the best characters in the whole show. You can't hate him, it's impossible.

[stesierra]

WIP INTRO: STITCHES AND MEMORIES

Title: Stitches and Memories

Genre: Adult fantasy

Setting: the Kingdom of Ritalia

Pitch: Antea is hunting her father, who ripped apart her mind, left her for dead, and vanished twelve years ago. His motive for murder might explain why everyone wants to kill her now. If only she knew what that motive was.

Tropes: authoritarian state, medieval dystopia, fallen democracy, magical seizures, chosen by the gods, daddy issues, parental betrayal, you can't handle the truth, monarchy is evil, cat boys, not your grandma's dragons, sweet romance, chronic pain, partial amnesia, 30-year-old MC

Story:

Antea's father ripped her mind apart, left her for dead, and vanished twelve years ago, and all she's wanted since then is to find out why. When she's evicted from her tenement on her thirtieth birthday and shunted into a hospice for the homeless, she meets Jedan, a man whose magic can track her father. The sensible thing to do is stay in the capital. Her father's attack left her with a lifetime of convulsions, and she's not healthy enough for a long journey. Hunting her father across the kingdom of Ritalia would be madness. But it might take madness to find answers.

Antea ditches her job as a maid and sets out into the countryside on her father's trail. But when she wakes a long-forgotten goddess, the mage her father once served places a death sentence on her head. Now her convulsions are the least of her worries. Waking the goddess stirs magic inside of Antea, revealing secrets and lies that might explain her father's deeds. Lies that might shift the balance of power in the kingdom or topple it altogether. As the notables of the land compete to control or kill her, finding her father starts to look like suicide. A less reckless woman would turn back, but Antea is willing to die to get her answers.

The Characters:

Antea- Our main character. She's just turned thirty. Twelve years ago, her father destroyed her mind and some of her memories. Her black hair also turned metallic gold on that day. Why? She has no idea. There's a lot about being eighteen that she doesn't remember. She's in constant pain and has seizures whenever she tries to remember.

Jeden- The Love Interest. He's chosen by the Lion Goddess as one of her champions. As her champion, he has special abilities, such as tracking people. Maybe he can find Antea's father. Basically a cat boy. Adorable.

Reza- the bastard daughter of the king and, due to the remnants of Ritalia's constitution, the rightful heir. On the run from her murderous father, who wants his lawful children to inherit. Desperate women sometimes make terrible decisions.

Vilsel- a former constable who dedicates his life to protecting Reza. A bad man. There are no good constables.

Antea's father- Antea loved him once. And he adored her. She was the most precious thing in his world.

Doval- Master of the One Hundred (the kingdom's mages) and the constables. Antea's father used to work for him as a mage, so why does he want her dead?

King Ratiden- This fucker rules the kingdom.

Worst Comment from a Beta Reader: I have wiped this from my mind. But the critique partner made me put this aside for three years and I'm still embarrassed by it.

Status Check: Fourth draft (122k words) and available for beta reading but only by mutuals who are really excited about it.

First chapter here.

No more will be posted but you can volunteer to read it.

Credit for (modified) WIP intro format @sleepyowlwrites

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[livesanskrit]

Send from Sansgreet Android App. Sanskrit greetings app from team @livesanskrit .

It's the first Android app for sending @sanskrit greetings. Download app from https://livesanskrit.com/sansgreet

Kamlesh Kumari Yadav.

Kamlesh Kumari Yadav was an Indian constable who served with the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF) and a recipient of the Ashoka Chakra, the highest possible award conferred during peacetime by the Republic of India. Kamlesh Kumari died on 13 December 2001 after successfully preventing terrorist gunmen and a terrorist suicide bomber from reaching Parliament during the 2001 Indian Parliament attack.

#sansgreet #sanskritgreetings #greetingsinsanskrit #sanskritquotes #sanskritthoughts #emergingsanskrit #sanskrittrends #trendsinsanskrit #livesanskrit #sanskritlanguage #sanskritlove #sanskritdailyquotes #sanskritdailythoughts #sanskrit #resanskrit #celebratingsanskrit #kamleshkumariyadav #kamleshkumari #crpf #crpfjawans #crpfindia #ashokachakra #parliamentattack #constable #crpfconstable #raf #rapidactionforce #kannauj #uttarpradesh #indianwomen

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: Connected Far Beyond a Miracle

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist | Story Intro

Warnings: mention of jail, aftermath of traumatic events, fear of suicidal ideation/self harm (mentioned), very vague reference to a previous death wish (not explicit at all)

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✨ Feel free to navigate forward to Finale Part 1, but if you're interested, there are two bonus chapters that come between 49 and 50:

💚 Box in Your Heart (Colette and Will)

🍂 Are You Nobody, Too? (Bree and Henry)

Word count: 3562 || Approx reading time: 15 mins

Connected Far Beyond a Miracle

Teaser: “What are you doing out here?” I demand when I make my way outside. It’s freezing, the wind whistling through the bare branches and nearly skinning me alive. “Do you want someone to see you? Recognize you?”

Jamie

I nearly lose it when I look around one day and Will is nowhere to be seen, and when I ask Colette if she’s seen him, she hasn’t, and then when I ask Geoff where the fuck he is, he can’t tell me, and when I check with Colette’s giggly stepsister who always somehow seems to know what Will is up to, she doesn’t know.

“Someone please tell me he didn’t fuck off without telling anyone.” The pain in my side is actually starting to fade—some days it doesn’t even hurt at all anymore—but now that it’s more or less gone, I’ve got that familiar why-is-my-brother-like-this headache back in its usual, throbbing spot in my temple.

“He went outside.”

I blink. I didn’t even bother asking Allan. Will still avoids him like the plague.

“What do you mean, went outside?” Colette pales. “What if someone—”

“He’s by the window. In the back.”

For fuck’s sake. Doesn’t Will realize that if the wrong person spots him, he’ll have the constables crawling all over Colette’s family’s house? “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Allan is nice, and he’s good at what he does, but he doesn’t have much of a fucking backbone.

“Because I didn’t feel like getting punched in the face.”

I rest my case.

Walking is mostly easy at this point, but standing up and sitting down still send a twinge bolting through me if I do it too fast. Still. I’d rather take ten seconds of pain than see Will in chains again.

“What are you doing out here?” I demand when I make my way outside. It’s freezing, the wind whistling through the bare branches and nearly skinning me alive. “Do you want someone to see you? Recognize you?”

“It’s the back of the house, Jamie. No one’s going to see me.”

“Are you willing to take that bet?”

“Yes.”

If I didn’t think it would make him flinch away from me like I was trying to throttle him—which, to be fair, I do want to do that, some days—I’d grab his arm and drag him back into the house. “Why are you out here?”

“I’ve been inside. For…” He stops. Clenches his jaw. Glares into the stormy-grey sky. “I’m losing my mind. I needed air.”

Geoff, who followed me back here, nudges my side. His meaning is clear: Sounds like someone I know.

“Shut up,” I say to him.

Will glances at me, scowling and ready to fight.

“Not you.” I jerk my head at Geoff. “Him.”

Leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms and planting his feet like a five-year-old, Will says, “Just go back inside. I’ll be in soon.”

“You’re not even wearing a coat.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Will, get your ass back in the house.”

“No.”

What the fuck am I supposed to do, short of dragging him back by the hair? Can’t even do that, since Colette cut it all off. “Will, please.”

“No.”

Turning to Geoff, I give him a look to say, Please help. It’s not likely he can do anything, either, but Will sometimes listens to him when he won’t listen to me. And at least Geoff can wrestle him back inside if needed.

With a shrug, though, Geoff raises his hands in the air. “No one else is around.”

Great. He’s taking Will’s side. When I look back at my brother, he still looks pissed off, but there’s a smugness to it now.

You’re acting like a child, I want to say. I hold my tongue.

“Go back inside,” he repeats. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. Or are you all still afraid to leave me alone for too long?”

Fuck. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

There was a part of me that thought that once we had Will back, everything would settle. Perhaps not exactly go back to the way it was, but at least feel closer to normal.

I could not have been more wrong.

Nothing about this has been straightforward. Me, I have pain one day and none the next. Maybe that shouldn’t be too surprising. But Will… He’s laughing and goofy one moment and ready to stab a fork through Allan’s hand an hour later. He’s fine, and then he’s lost in a forest of thoughts so murky I wonder if he will be able to find his way out of it.

Breathe, Jamie.  Just breathe. In and out.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” I say to Will when I’m calm enough to actually say something nice.

The warmth of Geoff next to me pulls away. I start counting the seconds until he reappears with a coat and scarf in hand.

“Nothing,” Will says, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. When I follow his gaze, I don’t see anything worth staring at for hours. Just the promise of snow in the clouds. A brilliant red bird flitting from branch to branch.

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

His jaw tightens. “I wish you’d all stop reminding me of that. I know. I fucking know.”

I was not expecting that to set him off. “All right. I’m sorry. I…”

“I tried,” he says. “I tried. To lie. To protect you. To protect…her.”

My headache intensifies. I have tried so fucking hard not to say anything that would bring him back to prison. Back to those weeks of torment.

All for nothing, apparently, because I’ve gone and done exactly that. “Will, I—”

“He knew, anyway,” he says, and I’m taken aback by the anger in his voice. “Somehow he fucking knew what to look for in their old arrest records, and I’ve been trying to figure it out, but no one… No one says anything. Even you. You got arrested and you never fucking told me and he had that old record and that’s how he knew your name, and I can’t believe you never said anything, Jamie, and that happened when Ma was still alive—”

“Will—”

“—And Bree told him we were brothers, but how did he know what name to look for? He already had it by the time I gave in, when I thought he was going to kill Bree, and—and—”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I confessed to Geoff, and only Geoff—told him about the letter I sent, the promise I made to turn myself in if Will walked free. The promise I reneged upon once we had Hatchett to bargain with instead.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I was nineteen, young and foolish, the day I met Geoff, the day I was arrested, the day the constables got my name—the day that would all these years later fuck up everything for all of us. “For not telling you. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret.”

“You didn’t trust me?”

“You were fourteen,” I say. “You were a kid. I didn’t want you getting ideas.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

I know I can’t keep the rest of it from him, that if I do, I’ll be tearing apart the already shaky foundation we’ve been trying to rebuild since we got here. “Hatchett knew what to look for because he had my initials. I sent him a message.”

Will jerks away from the wall to stand up straight. “What?”

“I said I’d turn myself in if they let you out.”

I stumble backwards into the brick, pain scraping into my back, when Will reaches out and shoves me. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

Fuck. He’s got tears in his eyes, and so do I.

“Because I didn’t want to watch you get hanged, you idiot!”

“But it’s fine for me to watch you get hanged?”

“It’s not the same. IA was my idea. It was never your responsibility.” Never Will’s sin to atone for.

His hands curl into fists, and I wonder if he’s going to hit me. Maybe he should. Maybe I deserve it.

Then Will relaxes his muscles and looks away.

“I’m so tired,” he says. “I’m so tired of being mad all the time. Of the memories. Of being sad. I don’t want to remember any of it. But then I don’t want to fucking forget it, either. And that pisses me off. It pisses me off so much. I should. I should want to forget it. Why…”

I open my mouth, but he keeps going.

“I have to just be here and stay stuck inside and keep thinking and thinking and remembering. Do you think anything happened to—to him? Do you think he can’t sleep at night? Fuck that. He just went back to work and, yeah, maybe he’s still pissed off and looking for us but he doesn’t have to deal with this shit, but I do, and it never fucking ends, does it, and I just want to not be mad for even just a few minutes, but if I forgot it all then I’d forget—”

He turns away completely, and I can only tell from the movement of his arm that he’s wiping tears from his face.

“It’s not fair,” he says, but I can’t tell if the words are really meant for me.

Geoff finally reappears, clutching my coat, and Will’s too. I pull mine on and wait for my brother to face me once more. Dimly, I’m aware of Geoff squeezing my hand before he steps away again.

“It’s all right that you’re mad,” I say. “You have every right to be.”

It’s a long time before Will responds. Eventually he turns back outwards, not exactly facing me, to lean against the wall again and stare out at the nothing that’s so captivated him. I manage to get him to shrug into his coat, but he doesn’t seem to fully recognize me or even really know what he’s doing.

“Did you know that you knew her, kind of?”

The question is sudden, and with no context, I have no idea what it even means. “What?”

“Bree. Her dad was that prick you worked for. Who kicked you all out.”

The memory sends a shiver down my spine. “Silas Cooper. I noticed they had the same name.”

“She’s the girl who ran out of the house. That was her.” Will draws a deep breath. “She remembered your name. For a little bit, I was so sure she knew who you were. She didn’t though. But when he knew your name, I thought—I thought maybe she—” He stops. Shakes his head. “She swore she didn’t.”

He seems calmer now; his breath isn’t quite so quick and ragged, and his eyes look less wild.

“It’s funny,” he says. “Well, not funny. Weird. Fucked up, maybe.”

“I can’t read your mind, Will. What are you talking about?”

He picks at his nails. Avoids my gaze. “Bree. All the ways our paths crossed. More than once. She was the girl who tried to help you when she was a kid. And I was there the day Colette found her and dropped the coin. And she was…the girl from that night.” Will speaks quickly, something like guilt flashing across his face. “The snowstorm. You remember.”

“Oh. Yeah. She told me.”

“She did?”

“Yeah.”

Another long pause, and I brace myself for another abrupt subject change that he’s going to expect me to follow. Instead, he continues, “And then she got arrested right after me. And Hatchett picked on her when he had me wh…”

Even though he doesn’t finish the sentence, I understand what he’s referring to when he says, “He made her count.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what about all of that?”

He swallows hard, and his face goes red—nothing, I suspect, to do with the biting wind. “Why did we keep meeting like that? And then how could she just leave without saying goodbye?”

God, the look on his face. We’ve both been heartbroken before, more than once. And I know this look.

“I almost get it,” he says. “If she’d stayed… You know, when she looked at me, she’d be reminded of him, right? Of Hatchett. Of jail. And I… I wouldn’t want that. Right? They hurt her, too. Not just me. So I get it. I guess.”

God, if we were still kids, if he were still little, I’d pull him into a hug whether he liked it or not. Now I can only stand there and watch him stumble over his words, trying so desperately to say what he means.

“Life kept bringing us together. Like we were supposed to meet. To know each other. You know? Like it meant something. But then she fucked off. She fucked off, and she didn’t even say goodbye.” He turns his head away. “I guess it didn’t mean anything. And I’m just a fucking idiot. Like I always have been.”

“You’re not an idiot, Will.”

“Yes, I am.”

Fuck it. He’s my brother. He’s hurting.

“You’re not,” I repeat. “You went through hell. Hell. And you’re here. Still here. You survived. That makes you strong as fuck. Not an idiot.”

He’s my brother and he’s hurting and for the first time, he doesn’t flinch away when I get close. Pull him into a hug. He stiffens, though, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to bolt. But he relaxes after a few seconds. And he doesn’t run.

Still, though, he doesn’t say anything, and I fear he’s lost again. “Do you want the rest of the story?”

“Hmm?” It’s like he’s hearing my words from far away. Slowly, he tugs out of my grip, and I let him go. “Which story?”

“What happened after Geoff and I met. In…” I cringe. “In jail.”

“I know how that story ends.” He sounds so tired. “You’re in love and you’re going to live happily ever after.”

“Don’t be a smartass about it. You don’t know the whole story.” I watch his face for surprise, but there’s still distance there. “I only knew his name after that day, but nothing else. Didn’t know where to find him.”

I wandered around town for two weeks, looking for work, yes, but that wasn’t all I was searching for.

“It was by chance, I guess, kind of, that we met again. But I was trying my damnedest to find him.” I hovered around that hideous tavern almost every day, and in the end, I bumped into him down the street from our home.

“What the fuck?” I remember yelping. “What are you doing here?” For some reason, I felt hot. For some reason, I looked up and down the street, wondering if Ma or Will could see us. For some reason, even though my family was falling apart for the second time, I felt happy.

I tell my brother how we saw each other every day that summer. How, more than once, Geoff and I had to dodge Will and his friends spinning through the streets so he wouldn’t spot us and ask questions I knew I was not ready to answer.

I skip the details of the first time our hands brushed, or the first time his hand clasped mine. I do not mention the first time we kissed, or the first time I ran my fingers down the smooth dark skin of his bare chest—

“Jamie? Was there more, or what?”

Whoops. Maybe Will’s not the only one who’s a little lost.

“And then Ma got worse,” I say softly. These memories—in the deepest, darkest, murkiest ravine of that forest of the past—these are ones on which I don’t wish to linger. “And it just…stopped. We didn’t…” God, even remembering this is painful. “We didn’t see each other again. For years.”

Will is quiet, and his eyes are back on the sky, but I can tell he’s listening.

“And then one day my brother poached on someone else’s territory, picking pockets where he shouldn’t have been,” I say, and the corners of his mouth tip upward, “and this terrifying girl with curly hair and the biggest fucking guy I’ve ever seen were about to cut him to shreds—”

“Don’t be an ass,” he says. “She wasn’t going to cut me to—”

“Oh, yes I was.”

We both jump at the sound of Colette’s voice. She’s out here now, and Geoff, too. Snow, soft and white and gentle, is starting to fall. I watch the snowflakes sparkle against Geoff’s dark hair for precious moments before they melt, and he meets my eyes, smiling. How’d you end up on this story? he seems to ask.

“And wasn’t that big guy with her,” I say, “the same goddamn asshole who broke me out of jail years before?”

Geoff grins and looks away.

“If people are meant to find each other,” I tell Will, “then they just do.”

I can see him shivering, but my stubborn ass of a brother isn’t going to be the one to suggest going inside. “I’m glad you found each other,” he says.

“Me too.”

Geoff and Colette move in unison: he to stand next to me, and she to grab Will’s hands, which are starting to turn red from the cold. “So. Are you ready to come inside and get warm yet? Geoff made tea.”

“I suppose.”

“He supposes,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Well, I suppose that Verie also baked a sponge cake and wants everyone to have a taste and shower her with praise.”

I swear I see Will’s eyes light up. Slightly—but it counts.

“Come on,” she says to him, and a sense of peace washes over me when Will finally agrees to go back inside, where it’s warm. Where it’s safe.

Geoff holds me back, gripping my arm with that firm yet gentle grasp when I try to follow.

“Just one,” he says. The snowflakes are still fat and lazy, drifting slowly like sugary fragments of stars. They cling to him now, no longer melting right away.

His kiss—god, his kiss. The sweetest and most perfect gift that, for a time, I thought I’d never enjoy again.

“I love you.” Words I don’t say enough. To him. To Will. To anyone.

“I love you, too.”

In the kitchen, Verity is fussing over her sponge cake, glancing over at Will through her lashes. Colette looks annoyed, and when Will’s not looking, I see her step on her sister’s foot.

“Stop making a fool of yourself,” she hisses. Verity just rolls her eyes.

Of course, Will doesn’t notice. He’s sunk his hand into his pocket, and his gaze is distant again. When I draw his attention, though, he comes back right away.

“You all right?”

He nods.

At that moment, Allan walks in, and I wince, certain that the peace I’ve just managed to chase down is going to be gone the second Will opens his mouth.

“So.” Will fixes Allan with his best tough stare, which wouldn’t cow any of us but makes the doctor shrink a little. I shoot a glance at Geoff, silently telling him to be ready to hold my brother back if needed. “Are you the reason they were hiding all the sharp stuff from me?”

Allan frowns. “What?”

“Did you…”

“Did I what?”

Will glances at me. “Did you tell them,” he says finally. “What I asked you to do.” So flat it’s barely a question. So quiet and ominous it makes me shiver.

Allan seems to catch Will’s meaning. “I didn’t breach your privacy in any way, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Impatiently, redness creeping into his face, Will says, “I don’t know what the fuck breach means.”

“I didn’t repeat any conversations we had while you were my patient. Because that would be unethical.”

For a moment, silence.

And then—

“Thanks.”

Allan blinks, nods, and mumbles an acknowledgement, and Will doesn’t say anything else.

“Why does everyone look so sad?” Verity asks. “Get yourselves to the table and enjoy my delicious, perfect cake.”

When the cake is gone from our plates and we’re all sipping tea, with Verity and Colette in quiet conversation, Geoff drawing soft circles on the back of my hand, and Allan reading a newspaper, I notice that Will is reading, too.

It isn’t a book or a newspaper in his hand, though, but a piece of paper, creased to all hell. Haphazard fold lines all over it. I don’t have to ask what it is.

As if he can feel my stare, he looks up. He must be able to read me as well as Geoff can, because he hesitates, then heaves a sigh and hands me the letter.

Will, it says, Thank you for saving my life, and for your forgiveness, even if I don’t know if I deserve either. Get well. Stay safe. And please, please, please be happy. I promise I will never forget you. Bree.

“She’ll be all right,” I tell him, clearing my throat and handing the letter back. “I’ve got a feeling.”

Though it seems like he wants to laugh, he doesn’t. “You’re probably right. She’s too fucking stubborn to die.”

“Language,” Verity admonishes from across the table, and Will grins at her.

With his breath tickling my ear, Geoff whispers, “He’ll be all right, too.”

Suddenly, my heart feels more full than it did before. “Promise?” I whisper back.

“Promise.”

Previous | Masterlist | Next

✨ Feel free to navigate forward to Finale Part 1, but if you're interested, there are two bonus chapters that come between 49 and 50:

💚 Box in Your Heart (Colette and Will)

🍂 Are You Nobody, Too? (Bree and Henry)

Stay close, can you feel the love between the two of us? / Let go, we can disappear inside the universe

If you look inside / Read between the lines / Everything is gradual / When you see the signs / The comets all collide / Everything is magical

We're interstellar hearts / Whenever we're together / Can't resist your gravity / It took a million miles to find you / Stars to fly through / Spark of perfect chemistry / This is our future / We're meant to find it / We will go further / 'Cause we're just interstellar hearts / In cosmic time / We shine

I don't understand the elements, the chemicals / But we both know we're connected far beyond a miracle / When you look inside / When you see the signs / Everything collides

I never knew that I could fall so hard, oh

Insterstellar Hearts - Awake or Sleeping

Next time on The Prince of Thieves:

Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles, @whither-wander-whump 💕