we are digging

Case Summary:

We’re back from the Met, and the case is as resolved as it can be.  In brief, because we are both quite drained and exhausted: our client’s father had hired us to try to encourage her to not wed a certain gentleman she met while travelling abroad (Gruner). The man has a reputation (multiple failed relationships, many of them with questionable and lethal ends).  Much as we tried to dig up enough definitive proof of his many indiscretions and his rather murderous reputation, she wouldn’t hear any of it.  He had told her that people would try and smear his name, and so she could not be persuaded, even when we managed to dig up one of his past girlfriends (Kat), who had been horribly disfigured by his abuses, and was willing to testify to them, and provide physical proof.

Gruner views his relationships a bit like conquests, and keeps souvenirs of everyone he has ever been involved with.  According to Kat he kept all this information in a physical journal that he kept locked up somewhere in his study.  I’d visited him at his home a few days ago, to see if I could determine where he was keeping it, but was unable to locate it.  He was going to be leaving with our client for the U.S. in just a few days, where they would be getting married, so we couldn’t waste much time.  I needed that proof.

Gruner is a collector of many things: classic cars, art, antique pottery.  This morning I had John visit his home under the guise of wanting to sell him a rare vase.  I was hoping that would keep Gruner away from his study long enough that I would have time to properly search for the journal.  Unfortunately, it didn’t take Gruner long to figure out that John wasn’t who he appeared to be, and I was nearly caught redhanded (though I did get what I’d come for).

Kat showed up on her own mission of revenge just as I was leaving, and left Gruner much worse for wear (I’m sure you’ll read about all that in tomorrow’s papers), but needless to say, our client has finally been persuaded, but John and I are both rather drained, as the trail of abuse and suffering Gruner left in his wake was horrifying in it’s own right, but then my John was also forced to face down Gruner in the midst of a murderous rage, which could have gone horribly wrong.  Fortunately, here we are all safe and sound, but I am ready for a few days of R&R with him and Watson.

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This hermit crab is so done with our nonsense, so we’ll leave it to dig its hole in peace.

We are desperate to be loved. Our fingers shake and touch our lips to the taste of affection. We force our selves to smile, sit still and pretty, bat our eyes, and pout. We want to be noticed and wanted. Everyone wants to be desired and lusted after. Goals in life revolve around being with someone you truly love. The search for passion and warmth is frantic and chaotic. We’re raking our hands through turmoil, crying for care. Our knees are week and deep into the chase. We will keep digging until some of us drown, absorbed in the absence of vehemence. Some will have their arms stained red to their elbows, coming up with a glimmer of what they’ve always wanted. Those are the lucky ones.

We substitute the want for love with drugs, sex, and facades. It’s unbelievable the tight hold the thought of love has on us. It makes us do unmentionable things just to feel worth, as if our lives do not have purpose without it. And maybe it doesn’t. We suffocate at the thought of not being able to hold the person we want. We are so desperate that we pray to even have a dream about someone just to finally know how it would feel to touch them.

Some people feel numb all their life until someone changes that. The power of love and affection are unimaginable. We cannot comprehend life without it. That’s why we infuse the gooey and heart longing feeling into everything. Music, movies, shows, books, and pictures are drenched in the want for love!

We’re all kind of pathetic aren’t we?

Five years ago a young man went down into the haunted mines, promising to clear it of evil. Today he emerged, covered in ancient armour stained with the blood of unimaginable horrors, glowing of magic. He demands we dig deeper.

We just outgrow some people. Sometimes a good relationship will end and we don’t ever really have a good explanation. But when that happens, accept the shift and change - and understand that sometimes we must dig up our roots, and allow ourselves to be replanted in new soil.
—  Unknown

For real though Sam needs to be dating this guy (12x11)

great news about the world

It could conceivably get a whole lot worse! we can dig ourselves deeper holes! you can always drop another rung on the ladder. it never ends.

(Context: Our DM gave all our characters flaws that would make the gameplay more interesting. In this instance, our Dwarf Barbarian must dig a hole a number of metres deep whenever he hears his trigger word, which only the DM knew. Certain Dwarf Barbarian had just stolen a chest of money from a Halfling Rogue whist she was fighting with the Half-Orc Fighter.)

Halfling Rogue: (rolls crit intimidation) Storgid, I am going to steal all your money, make you plead for your life, make you beg for death, violate your body with a two-handed crossbow and carve out your eyeballs with spoons. 

DM: Start digging.

(So then whenever we wanted to get rid of the dwarf for a few turns/ needed a hole digging, we would repeat the above phrase because none of us could be bothered to work out the trigger word.)

This is what happened, right?
  • Kaiba: He's hiding!
  • Yuugi: He's not hiding! He's passed on! The Pharaoh is no more! He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't dug up his grave, he'd be pushing up the daisies! He's run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! *Brandishes Puzzle* THIS IS AN EX-PHARAOH!
safe haven

thought i’d try out posting my writings on tumblr (yay). we’ll see how that goes. nothing triggering i should think, some mental health musings only.


It’s cold (tiny shards of ice against his skin) when he sits (almost down, down, down) on the edge of the rooftop. The wind blows like it could topple him to the ground, but it doesn’t, and instead Alec merely sways like an unruly sea, back and forth and back and forth. His fingers are gripping the ledge and he uncurls them, lets them flex long and then curl back against the concrete. It’s like breathing, except he can’t breathe, hasn’t been able to in a long time. Not breathing in a way that he should. 

The balcony doors open behind him and Alec drags himself closer to the sound, because he’s not ready for the disapproval (it’s always wrong, he’s always wrong, never right). But the words don’t come. Soon, there are warm fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Silence. Alec doesn’t look up from the street; his lids feel heavy, like his entire body was sculpted out of lead.

“Alexander,” Magnus finally breathes out, soft and like a whisper, but strong still. 

“Magnus,” Alec says. The name feels good on his tongue, it rolls like perfection, and Alec finds himself repeating it. “Magnus.”

Keep reading

I’m genuinely surprised by the amount of people telling us not to write meta on Series 4 because “your ship didn’t become canon, so get a grip”. Has anyone read the majority of meta that’s been produced since The Final Problem? Most of it doesn’t have to do with Johnlock. We’ve been focused on drawing parallels from other episodes in order to read this last one correctly. We dig up the Doyle references to better understand the story. We’ve researched William Goldman, Derren Brown, Oscar Wilde, Goethe, Chekov, Freud, Queen, and Greek Mythology. We put in a shit-ton of work to read series 4 the way other episodes are meant to be read, all the while keeping the passion going in spite of many voices in our own community demanding we stop. Johnlock isn’t the focus of our metas anymore – we’ve got bigger fish to fry, if you haven’t noticed. Tbh, Johnlock hasn’t been the focus of the majority of our metas since before The Six Thatchers.

For anyone to say meta writers are delusional about their ship is insulting to both the writers and to those people making the accusation themselves, because it implies the writers are one-dimensional, while it also implies those accusers cannot read.

  • Pidge: Okay, look, I think I have a plan here. Using mainly spoons, we dig a tunnel under the city and release it into the wild.
  • Lance: Spoons?
  • Pidge: That’s it, I’m out of ideas! We’re closed. Hot air balloon? Too expensive. Giant slingshot? Too conspicuous. Enormous wooden horse? Too Greek!

Sex is often the least intimate thing we do with someone we’re digging into.
Intimacy is sharing
Sheets,
Secrets,
Skin,
Scent of the night.
Intimacy is soft.
Takes time.
Letting someone devour you too soon will leave you
Empty,
Reaching.
Mistaking their instincts for intimacy.