#he contains multitudes and one of those multitudes is kind of a little bitch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zuzuslastbraincell · 3 years

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mai & the rest of the gaang:

mai & aang: a bit awkward, at first? not on aang's end of course, he's totally unflustered and in fact quite keen to get to know zuko's girlfriend and I actually think mai doesn't know what to do with this attitude, given she spent six months or so trying to hunt him down, and that's very present in her mind. hanging out with aang is a very pleasant culture shock in how he casually diaregards half the norms she was raised to strictly follow, speaking with warm enthusiasm and genuine curiosity to all, be they dish washers or tea servers or the Fire Lord's girlfriend, disregarding barriers of social class that are so carefully upheld in the Fire Nation. It's refreshing as it is bewildering. I think mai does develop a fondness for aang - although she can find him and his antics a bit much at times - and deeply respects and cares for him if only for how valued his friendship with zuko is. she claims to tolerate his goofy antics but she enjoys them far more than she lets on (his flying marble trick does elicit a rare smile, although it only appears for 0.02 seconds before returning to the most deadpan expression). I think mai respects him most politically actually - aang grows up to be an excellent diplomat, an excellent mediator who does not lose sight of the importance of various different perspectives, especially those who are forgotten or maligned, even when in circles of power.

mai & sokka: as discussed, they have a rocky start. sokka, my darling beloved sokka, has a tendency to be a bit abrasive, if we're honest, in that his humour and his puns are a little in-your-face, he has a bit of an ego aboht being the funniest/smartest person in the room, and he can take it personally when people don't like it. mai doesn't have much time for that. mai doesn't care much for sokka's jokes if only because they're attached to this ego, but also and finds the puns a bit flat (whereas she finds aang's mischief making genuinely funny, though she tries to hide it), and sokka takes this deeply personally and tries really hard to elicit a laugh from her. this just ends up with him aggravating her more. I think mai has little time for sensitive male ego games and that's partially why her and sokka clash- she won't blunt herself for him, even if he is one of zuko's closest friends. I think sokka, to his credit, doesn't dismiss her as a 'bitch' and keeps trying - in fact, the reason he comes on so strong is because he actually really wants her to like her - and i think that's because of boiling rock, and because of that alone sokka deeply respects mai on many levels (and was extremely surprised by how all that played out, and knows from that alone that mai is a layered and complex person who contains multitudes). I think what might cause mai to warm to him is politics - sokka's a pragmatist, who is skeptical of idealism without material backing and is refreshingly realistic for one of aang's friends. he keeps the fire nation on its toes at the negotiating table but he's also the first to point out when a potential proposition - when anyone's potential proposition - has more logical holes than a piece of honeycomb. i think mai appreciates that perspective. and i think they could slowly and gradually go from personality clashing to building this begrudging friendship where mai will never openly admit that she likes him, where sokka will still grate but in a way that becomes almost familiar and comfortable because of that, and where - especially in a situation where they have to work on a project together - they're a formidable team. a difficult friendship but eventually could be a dear one.

mai & katara: another personality clash that becomes a really fascinating friendship. katara wasn't there for boiling rock and is perhaps a bit cool towards mai even understanding what she did there, and the grounds where they most often meet is politics, and they largely are at odds there too. they're interesting parallels, in terms of role - both partners of powerful world leaders, but while mai positions herself as a vital support and power behind zuko's regime, furthering that goal, katara loathes to be associated with aang simply because of their romantic relationship, and does not envision their relationship to be a political one: aang and katara stand independent, but with shared values and goals (and perhaps katara simply does not understand why mai takes the position she does regarding politics and relationships). their actual political approach wildly differs, with katara being an impassioned idealist who is the most radical out of the gaang, whereas mai is a pragmatist - much more concerned about the feasibility of the radical ideas proposed and sees herself occupying the role of a much needed skeptic who asks 'okay, but how are we going to do this?' in a group of radicals. this does lead to some fierce clashes actually - some of katara's proposals appear outlandish to mai, and katara interprets this as fire nation indoctrination and ideological conditioning limiting her perspective (and honestly neither are completely wrong - mai can be on occasion perhaps too conservative and cynical and that is often because her upbringing has limited her scope, and katara sometimes isn't fully aware of how feasible her ideas are and leaves practical concerns to others). I think despite this they have such a deep respect for each other - and that's in part why their arguments are so impassioned, because they both fundamentally know the other comes from a good place. mai saved katara's brother's life at boiling rock, and katara saved mai's partner during the final agni kai - they have both proven to each other the extent of their commitment and cared for another they care about deeply. they're the biggest idealism vs. cynicism clash but honestly over time i think the respect only grows over time despite periods of hot and cold. I'd like to think if katara ever has relationship difficulties with aang, after her gran's, it's mai whose advice she might respect the most - after all, it's mai who understands what it's like to date someone who is a world leader, and mai absolutely believes in having firm, healthy boundaries and little tolerance for sufferring for men in relationships. I think given their positions they're often in dialogue and in conversation and end up building the most unexpected but also rock solid friendship. they *would* take a bullet for each other, i am sure of it.

mai & toph: i love these two. an incredible friendship. mai takes to toph the quickest out of aang's friends. it makes sense - toph comes from a similar class and upbringing as mai, albeit has taken a different life path and expresses herself completely differently, and i think while surprised and thrown at first by toph's bluntness, mai sees that and not only respects but honestly just loves how toph is a little crass, and doesn't hold decorum as the be all and end all. I think the age difference here actually makes a difference - mai very much sees toph as a younger peer (and eventually, much like zuko, a younger sibling), and while it can be sad to see someone from a younger generation express themselves freely in a way that mai feel she can't, i think her joy at seeing that takes precedence here over any mixed feelings. mai pretends not to be amused at toph's antics (but quietly delights at them) and absolutely is the person who will get the authorities that be in the fire nation to look away from whatever misdemeanours she's committing at any given time (indeed, mai as often been a partner in crime - actually, speaking of, she's been surprised before to see katara also partake with toph, and it was an ice-breaking moment for them, probably one engineered by toph). that said, mai absolutely does not patronise toph, gives it to her straight, will also tell toph when she's going too far or pushing the limit, something toph deeply respects and values. mai can see toph's wisdom and her strong intuitive understanding of how others feel, and admires that, as well as the kindness toph shows (i would not be surprised if mai looks at toph and wants to be a little more like her). I also think mai's sardonic and biting sense of humour is best appreciated by toph out of aang's friends (sokka also finds it very funny, but sokka is also trying hard to get mai to like him, as aforementioned). mai and toph vibe together *so hard* and *so well* (something i think zuko is quietly deeply grateful for, since mai hasn't clicked as well with the rest of the gaang, but also because he views toph like a little sister too).

mai & suki: right! so this one is complicated. mai does not see suki as often as the rest of the gaang - she sees katara and aang often for political reasons, at summits and keets and so on, sokka keeps in touch often and is constantly sending letters, and toph will just turn up unannounced and will stay for several weeks to "relandscape" the fire nation gardens (so she claims) every year or so. I am sticking to show canon here but reject the comics canon - there is no way in hell suki ends up as a bodyguard for zuko, the kyoshi warriors have better things to be doing. so! while mai absolutely saved the teal at boiling rock and suki knows this, the fact that they see each other relatively little mean things are a bit... cool between them? Not quite cold, but there's a degree of awkwardness that mai works past with the others that takes longer with suki. I honestly don't know if suki knows how she should feel about mai? like ty lee not only helped at boiling rock but then went on to work with the warriors and suki very much sees someone who wants to prove herself and right those wrongs in ty lee (as well as someone who is running away but. that's another post). mai completed step 1 and 2 with boiling rock, but hasn't... done anything after that. and on paper they're cool and she knows it but... idk if she knows how to feel? it's a bit weird. a bit awkward and weird. it's possible suki holds more of a grudge than she's willing to admit (she's been most directly wronged by mai and ty lee after all) and the fact that mai has returned to the fire nation, and been, according to katara, disappointingly conservative at times, makes her question what boiling rock meant. suki is cordial and professional around mai but doesn't really know her that well and doesn't trust her as much as the others. mai doesn't particularly care either way and will take or leave friendship with suki (though mai, to be clear, does respect suki immensely as a warrior). the key factor here is ty lee, honestly. i think the two of them could have an excellent relationship if so inclined but it would apmost definitely be due to ty lee trying to prod them into getting along and hanging out and getting to know each other - because i think they're both practical minded, no-nonsense girls who are exceptionally skilled in martial arts and if nothing else they could bond theough sparring sessions, but i think they'd also just get along splendidly if they had the chance. suki just doesn't quite trust mai and mai making those personal amends isn't a priority when she's trying to stop zuko running the fire nation into the ground.

#mai #aang #sokka #katara #toph #suki #this is SO long but please appreciate it

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stupendousbookworm · 3 years

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"I speak fluent English, French, German and bullshit"

"Do you think cinnamon rolls have a separate life before we eat them?"

"Rowan, can books fly?"

"What if every star in the sky represents a soul that departed from the world? I wouldn't mind ending up there"

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Name: Ara Annora Rose Black

Nicknames: Ara Bear, annoying bitch, black, cursed kid

Gender: Female

Age: 16

Sexuality: bisexual

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Blood status: Pureblood

Date of Birth: 18th February 1973

Ethnicity: French/British

Nationality: British

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In front of the students of Hogwarts, she's the infamous curse breaker; a person not to be messed with. But in the eyes of her friends, she's the silliest and idiotic Ravenclaw known to kind. A girl with a dark past but huge ambitions, a sharp mind and a knack for attracting trouble, she's a chaotic person. But will she be able to find her brother and save Hogwarts?

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Personality:

Brilliant: although she can be a tad bit daft at times, she's rather smart, and can solve problems quite efficiently. If she understands the concept, nothing can stop her.

Stubborn: she's pretty adamant when she wants to achieve something. She doesn't stop until she reaches her goal. It comes as both a blessing and a curse

Sarcastic: she can hurt you when she wants to. Her sarcasm is rather brutal, and she always regrets saying anything rude. She really doesn't filter what she says before saying it.

Musically talented: she can sing, and play many instruments, including the guitar, piano, saxophone, flute and drums

Short tempered: she really can't control her anger. She gets pissed off rather easily and it gets on everyone's nerves. It's all a part of her defense mechanism

Kind: she's the person who acts like a bitch but actually cares for you, and looks out for you. Don't worry, she's got your best interests at heart

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What are her likes?

chocolate, cinnamon rolls, her Ravenclaw jumper, astronomy, her friends, coffee, old books, reading Shakespeare, singing, playing music, dueling, messing around with Tonks, Tulip and Jae, and sleeping

What are her dislikes?

being woken up, strawberries, Tonks eating her special banana ketchup sandwich, dungbombs, Mrs. Norris the dumb cat, when someone tears a page out of a book, and History of Magic

Where does she live?

Tonks Cottage, London, with Nymphadora, Andromeda and Ted

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Appearance:

Hair colour: Black

Eye colour: grey

Skin Tone: pale

Height: 6'0

Weight: 118 lbs

Build: thin and lanky with a slight slouch. She eats a lot of junk food but it doesn't show because of her "good metabolism"

Aesthetic: astronomical, academia and grunge (?)

Inventory: her wand, a half eaten bag of chocolate chips, a old family heirloom time turner (that's rather faulty), black finger-less gloves and Moonshine the baby kneazle

Face Claim: Steffy Argelich

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Magic

1st wand: Ash wood, 12 1/2 inches, phoenix feather core, great for transfiguration, nice and swishy

The ash wand cleaves to its one true master and ought not to be passed on or gifted from the original owner, because it will lose power and skill. This tendency is extreme if the core is of unicorn. Old superstitions regarding wands rarely bear close examination, but I find that the old rhyme regarding rowan, chestnut, ash and hazel wands (rowan gossips, chestnut drones, ash is stubborn, hazel moans) contains a small nugget of truth. Those witches and wizards best suited to ash wands are not, in my experience, lightly swayed from their beliefs or purposes. However, the brash or over-confident witch or wizard, who often insists on trying wands of this prestigious wood, will be disappointed by its effects. The ideal owner may be stubborn, and will certainly be courageous, but never crass or arrogant.

2nd wand: Ebony wood, 13 inches, dragon heartstring core, brilliant for dueling, very flexible

This jet-black wand wood has an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider, ebony wand owners have been found both among the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix and among the Death Eaters. In my experience the ebony wand’s perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose.

Boggart: herself, but as a death eater

Riddikulus form: being surrounded by friends, who have her back

Patronus: Black Raven

As a patronus a black raven represents knowledge, they carry intelligence and quick wit, matching perfectly with Ravenclaw. You find extreme comfort in those with intelligence and knowledge of past events, and how to handle new things calmly and with poise. You tend to have some moments of a delicate, sensitive side that comes out of them in times of fear or sadness. You tend not to always a leader, but a follower because they know that others may have more experience or wisdom than them, but if you know you are the most intelligent, knowledgeable or wise, you take the reigns and lead the way. In the same way the owner of this patronus will give up leadership, to a wiser leader, they will do the same in a multitude of different situations. Despite this, you are very brave and cunning, but in other areas, when you do take leadership, you are a strong-minded and focused leader, you never let you guard down, even if you are scared or confused. You carry an extreme amount of knowledge with you at all times, waiting to find a use in the correct situation. This patronus matched with Ravenclaw, means that you are able to think of creative and innovative ideas for the better of the team, even when you are not the leader.

Patronus memory: When Andromeda and Ted accepted her as their own daughter. She realised that she did have a family who loved her and cared for her.

Animagus: a small Black Raven

Amortentia (what they smell like): old books, chocolate, a tad bit of cinnamon, coffee and lavender

Amortentia (what they smell): a library, petrichor, grass, cinnamon, and a very strong woody cologne

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Magical Abilities:

Legilimency and Occlumency:

Legilimency is the act of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and correctly interpreting one's findings. A person who practices this art is known as a Legilimens. Muggles might call this "mind-reading," but practitioners disdain the term as naïve. The opposite of Legilimency is Occlumency, which is used to shield one's mind from the invasion and influence of a Legilimens.

Occlumency is the act of magically closing one's mind against Legilimency. It is ancient, and has existed since medieval times.[1] It can prevent a Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings, or influencing them. A person who practices this art is known as an Occlumens.

Favourite spells: Bombarda, Legilimens, Expecto Patronum, Reducto

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School:

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Organizations joined: Hogwarts, Circle of Khanna, The Order of The Phoenix

Apprenticeships: worked as an intern at the Ministry of Magic for a while, and helped Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing with Chiara

Professions: Auror for a while, took a break after a bad injury and ended up teaching at Hogwarts for a year, and then became an Alchemist.

Best Subjects: Transfiguration, Potions, Flying, Charms, Astronomy and DADA

Worst Subjects: Herbology, History of Magic, Divination.

Extra curricular activities: Keeper of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, sometimes tutors first years

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Relationships:

Fuck her blood family, she's a part of the Tonks family now

Edward "Ted" Tonks

He might not be her father, but he sure is her dad. Muggle born Ted taught Ammie how to mess around with muggle tools, and introduced her to muggle movies and other random trinkets. He thinks of Ammie as his own daughter, and was the one who taught her how to ride a bicycle

Andromeda "Meda" Tonks (née Black)

Andromeda took in her niece when she had nowhere to go, treated her like family, and protected her from all sorts of danger. Provided love, care and support to Ammie during her traumatizing times. She was considered as a blood traitor, but that didn't stop her from saving her little niece

Nymphadora "Dora" Tonks

Ammie's sister, and best friend. Stood by her side for everything and supported her all the way. Provided comic relief and loves Ammie to death. With a stupid sense of humor, and a knack for creating mischief, she's Ammie's most beloved person

Jacob Black

The one who started it all. The idiot who got himself stuck in a portrait. All of this garbage began with him, and Ammie never lets him forget it. Very protective of his little sister and hates everyone for some reason

Misc family members: Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Walburga Black, Orion Black.

Friends: Rowan Khanna, Ben Copper, Bill Weasley, Penny Haywood, Nymphadora Tonks, Talbott Winger, Badeea Ali, Tulip Karasu, Jae Kim, Chiara Lobosca, Charlie Weasley, Barnaby Lee, and Liz Tuttle

Closest Canon Friends: Rowan Khanna, Nymphadora Tonks, Talbott Winger, Tulip Karasu, Jae Kim and Badeea Ali

Closest MC friends:

Alvina Arcane-Zheng ( @oneirataxia-girl)

Celeste Wheterstead ( @bananascrackersnuts)

Tessa Reed ( @hphm4ever)

Adel Young (@adellovesrowan)

Matthew Luther (@hphmmatthewluther)

Cato Reese (@catohphm)

Niky Dona, Sabina Ivylash and Persephone Palerosine (@nikyiscreepy)

Night Nur Rhea (@night-rhea)

(I don’t have much friends... Just lmk if your MC wants to be friends with mine)

Love Interest: Talbott Winger

Dorm Mates: Rowan Khanna, Tulip Karasu, Badeea Ali and Skye Parkin

Rival/ bestie: Merula Snyde

Enemies: Patricia Rakepick, R, The Wizard in White Robes

Pets: a female black kitten kneazle named Moonshine

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Trivia:

- Has a stuffed bear named Sir Boo Boo

- Really likes Indie Rock/Pop

- Ended up being in a band with Jae and Tonks by accident

- Pretty much hates the world in the morning

- Gets good marks in Divination by making up really tragic stories

- Can’t stand tea

- Fluent in French

- McGonagall claims to hate her, but she really thinks Ara’s rather daring

- Sings in the shower

- Annoys the heck out of Andre with her questionable fashion choices

- Stupid sense of humor

- Laughs like a witch

- Quotes Shakespeare when drunk

- Can skateboard like a pro

- Weird handwriting

- Messy yet organized

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm mc #ara black

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years

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eleven: before the first day of the world

i always thought the quote 'we contain multitudes' was a john green quote because of the way its use had, over time, evolved from unironic to deeply ironic to some weird squeamish mix of the two that meant half of the audience would cringe when it was deployed while the other half would nod very seriously and lean back in their seats, thinking fondly about the summer of '97. for the record, i've always been part of the former. except for this one time in my anthropology class this spring where we were talking about the complexities of human behavior in different environments and i, seeing a glowing opportunity to inject some 2012 tumblr-era humor into the room, typed into the zoom chat: we contain multitudes.

unfortunately, we do. but not in the john green sense, which would mean we smoke cigarettes and want to contribute to world peace, or we crochet blankets and simultaneously want to destroy the small backwater town we grew up in with an electric chainsaw. i'm talking about something less looking for alaska and more i will rip all your hair out with a screwdriver. something that cuts at the fabric of your relationship with the people around you, something that makes it hard to figure out which path to take back to your dorm.

have you ever been ruined by someone who, after ruining you, skipped off happily to lunch with jessica who lives down the hallway and whom you would trust with your bank account number, and found yourself unable to do anything but give half of the lunch parade your blessings?

let's make it simpler: sometimes people are more fucked up than they're worth.

and yet i believe that there is no such thing as a bad person. the adjective-noun combination assumes that the noun always possesses the quality of the adjective, while the people who elbow you down the stairs and into the yawning mouth of hell and then wander off singing cheerily into the woods are the same ones who bring friends care packages when they're sick, who entertain long, thoughtful conversations about philosophy and the flaws of the world, who make great lab partners in group projects. the girl whose definition of love is a chain around the neck is a wonderful orator. the boy who only knows how to understand other people by cutting them up and putting them back together wants to design buildings that will save lives. people are inconsistent. we contradict ourselves and then, upon noticing the contradictions, panic, knock over a vase of flowers, and burn the whole house down.

it always comes back to fire when i write about the last fourteen weeks of spring. we're incredibly flammable, you and i. we're instant fire-starters. we're chemically insane.

at the start of the semester when i allowed someone to tell me in an awkward, prepubescent voice that i was broken i wanted to hate them. then i wanted to forgive them; then i wanted to be their friend. three months later i discovered how hard it is to stay on good terms with someone who knifed you without even realizing they were holding something in their hand to begin with, and yet he's still here. talking to the person who lives at the other end of the hallway. walking to the dining hall with the alligator stairwell, his hands shoved in his pockets. trying to graduate. trying to stay alive.

dear friend: i don't want to be your friend anymore. but don't die on me.

that's the sentiment i leave spring with. a bittersweet note that's more bitter than sweet, like ninety-seven percent cacao chocolate, the really awful shit, the stuff i like to think only white american yoga moms with fat apple-faced babies tied to their hips are willing to eat, and even then, only for the instagram sponsorship. when i think of spring i think of the aftertaste, because everything was sweet in the moment, in the immediacy of the screaming sun and the shifting sky above your head. everything looked like it was made of stars. it was only after i'd chewed up the burnt thing you picked off the ground and gave me, swallowed, and walked the long way back to my dorm, that i realized you'd handed me a pile of dirt.

it was pretty good dirt though, and you know the other day someone asked me, after scrolling through this blog with an eye on their watch and the other on the words flying across the screen, if i hated it here after all. if i wish i'd stayed in singapore, among the palm fronds and the pale, moon-white butterflies. no, i said incredulously, my spoon jammed in my kool-aid jello cup. this is the happiest i've been in ten years.

lately i've been trying to articulate the sense of hopelessness i experienced while growing up. how does one even begin to describe the endless staircase of the days, how each week yawned before me like an abyss with an immortal, unbreakable heart? how do you give a voice to despair?

this morning i went to target with my friend. we didn't find a rectangular frying pan so i bought a bag of mandarins instead, and it was sunny on the way there but on the way back a smear of white cloud dashed across the sky and wrapped its soft fingers around the sun's mouth, by which i mean it got colder, by which i mean that for a while, it felt like spring again. when we got back to our dorm i put the mandarins in the fridge and wandered back into my room and then put on the podcast i've been listening to all week, listened to them talk about monsters and knights and the intricacies of war, love, forgiveness. today i didn't sleep through lunch like i did the day before. today i sat in the garden and read a book.

i think the thing about growing up the way i did is that by the time i was fourteen it felt like it was all over. like i'd ruined everything before it'd ever really begun, and even knowing what steps i might take to mend the god-sized crater i'd dug in my backyard, i couldn't bring myself to take them. so things ended. and because life is a bitch and forgiveness never comes from those you most desire it from, you just kind of laugh and drag yourself through the debris.

i think this is why, in spite of the shouting and the cherry-flavored regrets and the hallways full of footsteps like thunderstorms, and the girls and the boys with their teeth like claws, their claws like daggers, their words careless enough to kill, i feel like a person here. because i came here with nothing. two suitcases, one weighing twenty kilograms and the other weighing nothing at all. i repeat: this is nothing at all. do you understand what i am saying? i was no one when i got here. and now i am no one with some prepubescent mistakes scratched into my forearm and a few ideas about self-preservation. but the pages of this book are still blank. they are inviting me to fill them with the illegible dancing chicken scrawl that is my specialty and the bane of every english professor's existence.

i look over my shoulder and my old bookshelf full of journals, red journals, journals packed with the misery of the last nineteen years shrugs its shoulders. it says they gave you bad books and you wrote half-decent stories; what else could you have done? you did the best that you could in the circumstances you were given. you're still doing that now. then, satisfied with its little speech, it burns itself down.

and that's all i need, really, to keep going.

05.31.21

#trying a new thing in which i stick the post under a cut and pick a nice line from the thing to use as a sick one liner opening #let me know how you like it. if you dont like it i will come to your doorstep and cry for 8 hours just so you know #but i will only accept honest feedback of course. just letting you know #you know #yeah #oh yeah

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theshopislocal · 3 years

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corinth rains

New and improved Heaven may well be the Happiest Place (not) on Earth. But Dean, it turns out, is still Dean.

(also on AO3)

chapter eight

Funnily enough, the wings in Heaven aren’t anything to write home about.

Dean glances down at his half-eaten lunch, licking Buffalo sauce off the side of his thumb. He’s pretty sure the plate - with its lopsided tower of wings, side of celery, and little cup of chunky bleu cheese - is meant to replicate one he’d had at a greasy spoon sixty odd years ago. To the naked eye, the place had looked like a shithole - just another offramp dive in B.F.E., Nebraska. But the wings - damn, the wings - had been out of this world; crunchy and greasy, sour and salty, and drenched in sauce hot enough to make his eyes water.

Dean sucks his teeth and grimaces. He’s not sure what it is, but Heaven missed the mark on this one. He’s sure it’s the same recipe as the roadside joint, but there’s something not quite right. It certainly doesn’t help that his pint glass keeps automagically refilling with Stella Artois instead of El Sol. He grumbles with every sip and pretends like the mild flavor isn’t growing on him. No way in hell is he letting Charlie turn him onto her trendy lesbian beer.

“Hey.”

Dean’s head snaps up, shoulders going tense. They loosen a bit as Sam slides into the other side of the booth. He’s wearing a denim button-down that Dean’s pretty sure was one of his, and his stupid hair is extra floppy. He slides his dorky messenger bag off his shoulder, settling it at his side.

Dean knocks back the rest of his beer in a thick swallow and sets his little cardboard coaster on the rim. “Heya.”

Sam gives him a smile, all white teeth and deep dimples. Dean tries to give him one back, but it feels more like a grimace on his face.

Sam notices, of course. “You alright?” he asks, dipping his head to meet Dean’s lowered eyes.

Dean shakes his head, then corrects it to a nod. “Yeah,” he grunts and nods toward his plate. “Ate too many wings.”

Sam’s eyebrows climb his forehead, smile going crooked. “Didn’t think that was possible for you.”

Dean splays his hands in a shrug. “I contain multitudes.”

His stomach chooses that moment to grumble ominously, and Dean hunches forward, pressing his forearm across his belly.

Sam, the little shit, smirks wide. “I’m sure.”

Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for his glass. He tips the little coaster off and watches as the glass refills itself. It’s a darker orange-ish color now, rather than light blonde. He takes an experimental sniff: El Sol, this time. He feigns relief in case anyone’s looking (no one is), and peers back up at Sam.

He’s holding the little laminated sample menu, eying over it while his fingers drum a beat against the tabletop. He chews his lips, eyes a little wide, and Dean recognizes the expression in an instant: Sam is Up To Something.

Dean sighs and sets his beer down with a thunk. “What.”

Sam’s head pops up like a frickin’ meerkat, all innocence and feigned confusion. “What what?”

Dean arches an eyebrow in a glare. “You’ve got excited puppy face,” he grumbles and ignores Sam’s snort. “What is it.”

Sam huffs a fake laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t...” he starts, then cuts a considering look at Dean. Dean stares back, blank-faced and expectant, and Sam blows out a sigh, eyes downcast. “Yeah, okay. Look, I was—” he cuts himself off, pulling his lip through his teeth. “... I was thinking about Cas.”

Cas.

Dean probably should have seen that coming.

Sam had been rather circumspect in those few months between Cas’ death and Dean’s own; no offhand utterances of his name, no needling questions about how exactly Cas had summoned the Empty, no mention whatsoever of the bedroom door he’d often found Dean stood in front of - unable to open, unable to turn away.

Sam had been kind in his silence.

But if Dean knows Sam at all - and he certainly does - the silence wouldn’t have lasted forever. Kid’s too smart, too curious, too empathetic by half; sooner or later, he would’ve broached the subject - for Dean’s sake, if not his own.

And if Dean’s being entirely honest with himself - which, frankly, isn’t really his game - he can acknowledge the inherent unfairness of it. For all Dean prefers to bottle things up until they ferment in his belly, Sam is (somehow) a well-adjusted adult with proportionate emotional intelligence to boot. Sam had deserved to mourn Cas - whether or not Dean had allowed himself to do the same - and Dean hadn’t let him.

So, of course Sam is thinking about Cas. After all, he’d loved him nearly as much as—

Dean winces hard, eyes squeezing shut for half a second. “Yeah?” he asks. His eyes flick back open, and he stares down at his plate. The wings have gone cold, the celery warm and floppy.

Sam nods. “Yeah. I mean,” he gestures vaguely with the little menu, “Eileen says he does a lot of work for the Arch, but...” He trails off for a short moment then shrugs. “We’ve been here for a while. I sorta figured he would’ve... dropped in by now?”

I’ve been busy.

I have responsibilities.

I’m needed elsewhere.

I’m sor—

Dean hunches forward, and his stomach grumbles again. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and he feels nauseated, hollow. Too many wings, indeed.

Sam tilts his head in a crooked nod. “Yeah, it’s kinda weird that he hasn’t, right?” He doesn’t wait for a response, and Dean doesn’t interject. “So,” he goes on, leaning forward across the table, “I did a little digging.”

Dean’s head pops up, and he finally meets Sam’s eye. Sam’s brow is raised, the puppy expression back at full volume. Dean frowns, wary. “Digging?”

Sam nods excitedly and turns to his bag. He unzips it, sticking in a freakishly large hand to rummage about, and pulls out a thick book.

A beige leather book. With gold insignia on the spine.

“I checked this out,” he says and sets the book on the table with a soft thunk, “from the Library.”

Wait. What? “You- the Library?” Is Charlie making magic plutonium bombs for everyone now? “How’d you get in?”

Sam gives him a funny look, squinty-eyed and confused. “I made an appointment.”

Of course he did. “Right,” Dean grunts, folding his arms on the edge of the table.

Sam leans closer, and he smiles almost comically wide. “Dean, the Library? It’s awesome,” he gushes, and Dean chews on a smile. “They’ve got everything ever written ever,” Sam crows. “Literally every single—”

“Kevin sign you up for a library card?” Dean interjects with a crooked smile.

Sam’s face freezes, eyes darting away in mild embarrassment, and Dean snorts a startled laugh. “You’re shittin’ me.”

Sam rolls his eyes around a tiny smile. “Shut up.”

Dean gives a bark of laughter. “Man, you’re a nerd.”

“Anyway,” Sam says and gives Dean a mild glare. “This,” he begins, smoothing a palm over the front of the book, “is the history of Heaven. Since Jack remade it.”

Dean cranes his neck to read the upside down lettering, and Sam turns the book toward him.

Recens Historia Caelorum Vol. I.

Dean frowns and gives a little shrug. “Okay.”

Sam nods and sucks in a breath, one hand coming up to tuck his hair behind his ear. Dean’s eyes soften at the gesture; for all he’d wanted to be a lawyer, or a hunter, or a freakin’ superhero, Sam had always been a Man of Letters at heart.

Sam plants his hands flat on the table - the final step of his pre-lore ritual - and Dean suppresses a smile. “Okay, so,” Sam starts, and Dean settles in. “Basically, Jack arrives in heaven with the seraph Castiel.” Seraph? “Presumably, he—”

“Pulled him out of the Empty,” Dean offers.

“And restored his Grace,” Sam nods. “So. They get here and start fixin’ the place up. Opening up all the personal heavens, getting rid of the whole greatest hits shtick, right?” Dean nods along; Bobby had told him this much. “Then, get this,” Sam continues, leaning ever further forward, “Jack leaves.”

Dean frowns, and his eyes flick up from where they’d been staring sightlessly at the book cover. He shakes his head, lips pursing. “He leaves?”

Sam quirks a brow and tips his chin down in a nod. “Yeah. Apparently he decided he wanted to rebuild all the universes Chuck destroyed. Not just ours.”

Dean’s eyebrows pop up, and he feels a sort of mild, obligatory guilt uncurl in his stomach. Frankly, he’d all but forgotten about the infinite other universes that Chuck - in his epic, cosmic bitch fit - had dusted just for kicks.

Dean shakes his head. “Shit.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But,” he says and raises a forefinger, “Heaven’s not finished.” He makes a vague gesture towards the nearby window overlooking the forest. “Still isn’t.”

And Dean’s noticed that, too. Spending hours (or minutes, or maybe decades) on the highway, Dean’s come across some odd spots: places where the grass is un-trampled and a little too green, the ground too flat, the trees too young. Whenever he passes one, he gets a strange feeling, like he’s watching a silent movie, or staring at a blank canvas. He feels it at his little bunker out in the greyscale marsh, and he felt it at the tiny forest in the endless yellow field. Like a song without a refrain, something is missing - unfinished.

“So,” Sam goes on, and Dean glances back up at him, shaking off the odd sensation, “Jack’s gotta leave someone in charge of the place, right?” Sam pauses for a moment, brow raised, and Dean nods belatedly. “Right,” he continues. “But it’s gotta be someone who knows Heaven’s ins and outs. Someone who can defend its weak points. Someone who actually—” Sam tilts his head with a dry smile, “—cares about its inhabitants.” He gives Dean an expectant look, brow raised and lips sucked in.

Dean frowns. Someone who understands Heaven and knows how to protect it; an angel, certainly - maybe a strategist or a soldier. But someone compassionate, too - someone devoted the people here, these wandering wayward souls.

Because you cared, I cared.

Dean blinks hard - once, twice - and something rattles in his chest. “Cas,” he whispers.

Sam gives a slow nod. “Right,” he murmurs back, face going oddly soft. Dean frowns up at him, and Sam schools his expression back into business mode. “Right,” he repeats and licks his lip. “Problem is, Cas is just a seraph. He doesn’t have the juice to run this place. So, Jack—” He reaches across the table for the book and turns it towards himself, flipping it open to a page bookmarked with a gold ribbon. He smoothes his pointer finger over a line of text and reads, “—imbued the grace of Castiel with His divinity, in excess.”

Jack imbued... what?

Dean shakes his head. “The hell does that mean?”

Sam tilts his head in a crooked nod and flips to the next page. “I was confused too,” he offers, “until I read this.” He flips the book toward Dean and taps two fingers over a block of text near the top of the page.

Dean frowns and looks down, squinting at the small font. The top left corner reads Chapter XV, the text near Sam’s finger marked with a tiny superscript, 21.

Dean hunches forward, eyes tracing over the words in the dim light.

And the Lord God summoned into His hands four blades, twisted and golden, hilted in black. He cast His holy gaze upon them, and they were dissolved. Let all instruments return to dust, as all mortal flesh keeps silent.

Dean rereads the words, and rereads them again. Something is growing in the back of his mind, spreading against the inside of his skull like feathered shadows—

“Four knives with twisted gold blades,” Sam posits, leaning forward. “Sound familiar?”

I’m not just powerful now, Lucifer had said, beating Dean bloody, suspended in the air. I am power. And I don’t need a blade to end you, pal.

Dean had clung to the last vestiges of consciousness, had felt his destiny - Chuck’s shitty Joseph Campbell knockoff - rising to meet him. Sam had called his name, all fear and desperation, and Dean had extended a bruise-knuckled hand to catch—

“The Archangel blade,” Dean whispers.

Sam gives a solemn nod and taps his finger on the page. “Jack destroyed them - all of them - the same day he—” Sam angles the book towards himself and turns back a page, neck craning around, “—imbued Cas’ Grace.”

Dean feels his spine go stiff, brow furrowing low.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs, “I don’t think Cas is a Seraph any more.”

Jack has put a great deal of faith in me. Cas’ voice echoes through Dean’s head, and his jaw clenches tight, throat constricting.

Sam continues, voice pitched low. “And I don’t think he just... works for the Arch.”

I have responsibilities, Cas had said, just before his wings had painted stark shadows on the walls. Massive and fluttering, they’d shifted Cas’ posture, like he wasn’t quite used to them, their heft a foreign weight at his back.

Dean had known in that moment that something was different, had felt it in the buzzing electricity of Cas’ presence, the way the little hairs on Dean’s arms had stood up.

Dean swallows, hard and dry, and says simply, “He is the Arch.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and hums. “Mm. The Arch...” he shrugs with bemused smile, “...angel.”

Dean blinks several times in succession, eyes falling back to the bookmarked page. Let all instruments return to dust, as all mortal flesh keeps silent.

Cas is an archangel - the Archangel - immortal and adamantine, now that God himself has destroyed his only weakness. And Dean is an eternal soul, freed from the bonds of his mortal body - limitless and enduring in the endless expanse of Heaven. They’re stood now on evener ground than they’ve ever been before.

Dean glances towards the window, casting his eyes out to the distant mountain - jutting up from the ground, imposing and unscalable like a border wall.

Sam huffs a short laugh. “Explains why he hasn’t stopped by for a beer.”

Dean turns back toward his brother, but Sam’s eyes are fixed on the little plastic menu.

Dean harrumphs - sharper than intended from the tightness in his throat - and reaches for his beer. His stomach grumbles as he takes a gulping pull. It’s skunky and flat, bitter and watery, and he doesn’t taste anything at all.

chapter seven | chapter nine

table of contents

#corinth rains #destiel #deancas #fanfiction #post-canon #slow burn #dean-centric #tw: alcohol

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rusty-guitar-strings · 5 years

Text

Sleep Schedule

or This Fic Switches from Fluff to Angst so Fast it Gave Me Whiplash and I’m the One Who Wrote It (Not Sponsored by Starbucks)

Summary: Someone can’t sleep. Two someones, actually, and neither of them want to do anything about it. They do want the other person to sleep though. How could this possibly be solved?

Logan has work to do. Remy has no work to do, but is staying up anyway, for some reason Logan can’t comprehend. Remy is hiding something. Logan intends to find out what.

Rating: G or T

Pairings: Losleep/Sleep Schedule (goin’ full RWBY on these ship names)

Word Count: 2,025

Warnings: cursing, playful arguing, two very slight sexual innuendos, use of an undesired name (not deadnaming but similar), crying, one mention of religion

Note: This was written on request/suggestion from @blinksinbewilderment. My first kind-of sort-of request. I do take them!! Anyway enjoy. Also I love Remy. (If you can find the nod to blink I crammed in there, you win a hat)

All-nighters were better when they weren’t ‘all-alone-nighters’ as Remy liked to call them. Luckily, Logan wasn’t currently dealing with loneliness. No, it was quite the opposite.

“Oi, Squid-nerd, check it.” Logan’s very important financing for props of an upcoming video was suddenly blocked by the Sleep aspect’s phone, which contained a meme of some sort. He squinted wearily and adjusted his glasses, leaning in to get a closer look. It appeared to be Winnie the Pooh (what was a ‘pooh’ anyway?) effectively mimicking Logan’s current expression. The top mentioned something about someone’s mom looking at memes, and it was all he could do not to sputter.

“That is not nearly as amusing as you seem to find it, Remigius, and it doesn’t- it’s not even accurate, I can’t- I’m not your mother, that’s impossible- stop laughing-“

Remy was rolling on the floor now, knees to his chest, absolutely weeping with laughter. He got far too giggly when he was sleep deprived, in addition to the sass, and it was as frustrating as it was endearing. “I can’t believe that worked! Girl, you are too much!” He shrieked and wiped his face, chest seizing with giggles.

“How do you expect anyone else to be asleep with all this pandemonium?” Logan couldn’t quite hide all the fondness from his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be monitoring Thomas’ dream activity, anyhow?”

“Boring business,” the diva wheezed, waving Logan off dismissively. “Same old stuff, weird self-inserts he won’t even remember when he wakes up.”

“Remigi-“

“Remy.”

“Yes, fine, Remy. Your job is important, you should be taking every aspect of it seriously.” Logan lifted an eyebrow at him, managing to pull a serious enough expression for how late at night it was.

The figment in question was sitting up in the blink of an eye, grinning smugly. His shades obscured his eyes for the moment, but Logan knew they were gleaming with mischief.

“Ha. You said ‘Spec.’”

“Really? That’s what you went with?”

“The best jokes are unanticipated and take time to understand,” he stated matter-of-factly, in an infuriatingly accurate impression of Logic himself.

“You shut your mouth, sir.” Logan shoved a hand in Remy’s face in a feeble attempt to get him to stop.

Instead, he took Logan’s hand and, making eye contact over his shades for a split second, pressed a gentle kiss to the back of the side’s knuckles. “Like this?” He purred, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“That’s acceptable, yes.” Logan, determined not to be deterred from his signature stoic state, took back possession of his hand and patted Remy twice on the head before returning to his laptop. He bit the inside of his lip to avoid smiling at Remy’s obvious deflation. He continued his budgeting uninterrupted for a few blissful moments.

“Hey L, I have a proper- poorpro- a propsit-“

“Proposition?”

“Yes, a that. I have one of those for you.” Remy stared up at him through his shades, now kneeling next to Logan’s swivel chair. His arms were folded on one arm rest and he had his chin on them, successfully equating him to the puppies that Roman summoned so often.

“All right, Remig- Remy, what is it?”

“Get your ass in bed and go the fuck to sleep.”

“Profanity does not make one more appealing.” Logan didn’t stop typing. “And you should also be sleeping.”

“I don’t need sleep, honey, I am Sleep.” Remy stuck his tongue out teasingly.

“Falsehoods are not a good look on you, sweetie,” Logan deadpanned. Remy fell backward with a gasp.

“Who are you and what have you done with my Logan?” He demanded. At the end of his accusatory point, the side in question tried not to preen at the (admittedly over-dramatic) reaction to his outburst.

“I am still present.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

“Why?” Logan waited patiently for his desired statement.

“Because you need it.”

That wasn’t quite it, so he tried again. “And why is that?” He asked evenly, adding Roman’s desperately important party poppers to the budget and scrawling a sticky note reminder to warn Virgil of the prince’s plans. The last thing they needed in a lighthearted video was an attack from him. Or on him. Logan added another sticky note directing future Logan to further explore Virgil’s role as anxiety, if he was the cause or effect, or if he could be both. He almost missed what Remy said, which would have been a disaster.

“Because sleep is important, Dumbo!”

“Ah ha!” Logan whirled in his chair triumphantly, the tip of his pen pointing directly at the figment’s nose. “So we are in agreement, then.”

Remy blinked in bewilderment. “What?”

“We both agree that you-“

“Stoppin’ ya right there, babes.” He waved a hand and conjured green tea in a Starbucks cup (not sponsored), a peculiar ability of his that Logan had yet to discover the reasoning behind. “I didn’t say nothin’ like that.”

“Why are you using double negatives? That is a disgusting misuse of the English language.” Logan, a certified nerd, gave Remy the dreaded Stare of Disappointment™️. Everyone in the Mindscape trembled in their figurative boots. But they were also asleep, so… figurative dream boots. Unless they weren’t wearing boots. They trembled in their figurative dream boots-or-other-footwear. Logan almost missed what Remy was saying for the third consecutive time.

“English is already disgusting, she doesn’t need my help.” He waved a hand. “End scene. Go to bed.”

“Roman appears to be rubbing off on you.” The creative side was the one to originate the habit of saying ‘end scene’ when he wanted to drop a conversation, and lately had begun to use it more and more seriously.

“Bitch, what did I say?” He pointed sternly at the bed, sitting with his legs crossed in the floor like toddler.

Logan tilted his chin upward defiantly. “Only if you sleep with me.” He was promptly hit in the face with a pillow.

“Ew! Nasty! No ma’am! Not in my good Christian household!” A multitude of other objects were thrown at him, luckily light and mostly harmless.

“Remigius, please- Remy! Let me rephrase, I did not intend to imply that we would, ah-“ he cleared his throat. “-have intercourse. If I am going to sleep, I want you to as well. Nothing more.” Logan adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“Oh. Well, in that case, you’ve got a deal.” Remy looked around at the mess he’d made. “This looks like a problem for future me. I’m gonna get changed, see ya in a bit, boo.” He stood, winking. “Unless you want to join me.”

“No. I can change quite well on my own, thank you.” In a split second, Logan was wearing a science pun t-shirt (courtesy of Patton) and constellation pajama pants, and was idly removing his glasses to place them on his nightstand. He smirked to himself as Remy disappeared into the closet, complaining under his breath about how unfair his powers were and the fact that he had to change by hand.

About ten minutes later, Remy was in a tank top and shorts and his sunglasses still, lying next to Logan in bed and scrolling through his phone idly while the other attempted to sleep.

“Remy,” Logan whispered after a moment, harsh and sudden enough to make the figment jump and drop his phone. “Go to sleep.”

“Not until you do, wise guy.” He immediately regained a cool composure and reached for his device carefully.

“Are you always this hard-headed?” Logan sat up.

“Darling, have you met me?” Remy quirked an infuriatingly perfect eyebrow.

“Remigius-“

“Don’t call me that!” Sleep looked as stunned as Logan felt at his own outburst, then stiffened up and focused on his screen again instead. “Please.”

“Apologies. I wasn’t aware your proper name was a… sensitive… subject.” Logan rubbed one eye, staring downward. The other didn’t look up.

“It isn’t. I just don’t like how similar it is to… his.” He tapped his phone once with odd finality. “End scene.”

“I’m sorry, Remy, truly. I just believe that things should be called what they are, but I shouldn’t have applied that to-“

“End scene, Logan,” he persisted. “Please.” His voice broke a little, startling Logic, which was a rarity.

“Of course.” He fell silent and turned back to the blankets, rewinding the events in his mind and wondering what he’d done. It was unusual to see Sleep silent, still, and just… not causing general mischief. Where was the giggly figment he’d seen less than an hour ago? “Will you at least try and rest?”

“No rest for the wicked.” Remy smirked, typing something to someone, but it lacked the usual fire. “I meant what I said earlier. After you.”

“Remy…”

“It’s no biggie, Issac No-Fun. Go ahead and nod off, I’ll be here.”

“Rem-“

“I can hold down the fort, you know. My incredible humility prevents me from sharing my immense capability.”

“Remy. Look at me?”

“‘Course, I’d never complain about getting to- woah!” He jumped slightly when Logan took a light hold of his jaw, not daring to pull away.

“You mean that literally, don’t you?” Logan swallowed, all of his late nights or totally sleepless ones crashing back with a wave of a guilt to accompany them. “You are incapable of sleeping until everyone in the mind palace is no longer awake.”

Remy shrugged and opened his mouth, as if preparing a snarky comeback. Instead, what came out was, “It’s my job.”

Logan pushed Remy’s sunglasses up into his hair carefully, revealing dark, watery eyes shadowed by sleepless nights too numerous to count. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, “that you feel the need to use caffeine to stay awake.”

“I’m so goddamn tired, Logan,” the poorly named figment whispered, head falling forward to rest against Logan’s chest. “I can’t even take naps, it’s so fucking miserable…”

Logic softened, lifting his arms after a moment to wrap them around Remy. One hand cradled the back of his head as his body trembled against Logan’s and he let out a single, shuddering sob. “I know. We are- I am going to set a more steady sleep schedule. For all of us, including you. Would that be alright?”

Sleep nodded slightly against him, sitting up enough to try and rub his face. Logan lifted a tissue. “May I?” At another nod, he wiped Remy’s eyes, then handed it to him. “Blow. I will return with some water.” He pulled away slowly, then left the room after pausing to glance back.

Upon his return, Logan found Remy still sitting up smirking a little at something on his phone. He tried not to focus on how nice the figment’s eyes looked now that he could actually see them. He offered him the glass of water instead, then slid onto the bed next to him. “Drink at least half,” he advised.

Remy nodded, downed the water according to his orders, then wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Thanks, L.”

“No need. Lie back.”

“Dominant, are we?”

“Remy, lie back before I push you.”

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it. No need to get your tie in a twist.” He shifted to lay on his side, eyes still a bit teary. Logan reached out a hand to wipe them away gently. The tears. Remy’s eyes remained stationary. He tugged Remy’s shades from his hair and placed them on the nightstand next to his own glasses.

“Good. Relax, I am going to sleep so that you can. Please take advantage of it.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Logan closed his eyes, lying down as well. He scooted a bit closer to Remy to wrap an arm over him from behind, no matter how it made his skin burn with heat. No one else was around to see.

“Night, babe,” Remy whispered, and that was the last thing Logan heard until morning.

The next day, the two would share knowing glances while going about their daily tasks. Logan would present his sleep schedule, Remy would deny everything that happened the previous night, and then eventually he would confess the nature of his powers. He would receive shock and some concern, and everyone would abide to Logan’s plan. And everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remy sanders #losleep #angst #fluff #hc #author ari #im remy trash i cant stop writing him #send help #also logan is a delight #and i like roman and am gonna do him next #send requests pls

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flwrguk · 5 years

Text

criminal (spencer reid x reader)

summary: as a thrill-seeking killer, you taunt and humiliate the authorities going after you. you always kill where there is surveillance so those watching you will see every detail. capturing one of the agents made your adrenaline rush. you made sure there was always a camera facing the agent, laughing at how easy it was to catch them, and how hard it is for them to catch you. it made your blood rise, increasing the sexual gratification in what you do. feeling so overwhelmed by your feelings, you seduce the agent on camera. he slowly falls for your charms, and when he does, you cut the live feed and untie him. expecting him to tie you, he takes you right then and there.

warnings: smut, mentions of killing, quite a few curse words.

key: (y/n) - your name; (y/l/n) - your last name

word count: 2,505

note: please read at your own risk. this contains smut. this is inspired by the song criminal by britney spears. please note these are pre-written on my laptop. any errors are currently unnoticed as my editing process will begin later on. lowercase intended. gif credits to owner.

*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅**⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅**⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*

“hello, can i help you?” the perky girl answers the door.

you grin sinisterly. “do you have a telephone i can use to call my mom? she left me at the store by accident and my phone’s dead so i can’t really reach out to her.”

“yeah, of course, come in!” the girl steps aside, letting you inside. she led you to the kitchen and you noticed a camera in the corner of the room.

smirking, you grab the rolling pin on the island and smack her in the back of her head, causing her to fall. you get on top of her, grabbing the needle from up your sleeve and injecting the liquid into her neck. she fails to scream for help, her eyes closing and her body went limp. chuckling, you grab the laptop on the kitchen table and hack into the fbi’s servers. you connect the camera in the corner of the room with the camera on the laptop.

“guys? she’s back and she’s live, right now.” penelope bursts out of her lair.

“can you see me?” you ask, a twisted smile on your face. “can you hear me, agents?” you laugh.

“can you trace the feed?” derek asks.

“i’m trying, it’s bouncing from almost every country.” penelope quickly types.

“i’m back,” you say in a sing-song manner. “did you miss me?”

“there’s a teenage girl on the floor!” emily points out.

“i’m going to walk you through this kill. first, we blitz attack the target using a weapon available in the target’s house. for this one, i used this dumb ass rolling pin. the annoying bitch was trying to make homemade pizza.” you roll your eyes. “anyways, we inject the propofol so she will stop whining.” you hold up the used needle.

“oh god,” penelope says.

“now, we have fun!” you grab the knife from the kitchen and begin making lacerations all over her body after you declothe her. “and to make sure she doesn’t scream if she wakes up, we put a gag in her mouth. now, this is going to be really fun, i’m telling you.” you grin.

“garcia,” spencer says in a warning tone.

“i’m trying! i’m trying!” she types faster.

“now, you might be wondering where i am. who’s the owner of this place? where are the parents? well, the parents are out on business. this girl is seventeen-year-old carrie mills. the address is 4302 harvard lane. come catch me, agents, that is, if you can.” you smirk, cutting the live feed.

you continue to slice the body for about a few minutes before heading upstairs to take a shower and change out of your bloody clothes. leaving from the back, you hop into the getaway car you parked earlier. putting on sunglasses and throwing your hair up in a bun, you sit and wait until the black suv’s pull up.

you watch the agents rush inside with their bulletproof vests. laughing, you shake your head and start the car. throwing a piece of paper on the asphalt, you drive off, watching them from the rearview mirror. not only did you stream the feed to the bureau, you streamed it on big networks across the country. of course, your face was blurred to the rest of the country, but not to the bureau. you want them to see you.

“hotch, i think i’ve got something,” spencer says into his radio, picking up the note with his gloves.

“what is it?” aaron asks, running up to spencer.

“she was just here. she dropped a note.” spencer unravels it. “it says, ‘did you have fun watching me? were you entertained? i gave you the girl’s name and address, yet you failed to arrive on time. i even had the pleasure of showering. yet, you still couldn’t get here on time. why didn’t you stop me? you just kept watching. now that’s just poor law enforcement skills. catch me if you can, my dear agents. but take my word for it when i say you’re going to be next. come find me, agents.’”

“she’s taunting us.” aaron looks away.

“i know.” spencer sighs.

you head to your safe house, laughing most of the way there. parking the car, you go inside and open your laptop. you watch them comb through the house through the cameras already set there. keeping your eye on one specific agent, you take a bite out of the apple in your hand. you smirk, listening in on their conversations on how they can’t seem to catch you or how they have no strategy at the moment to capture you. you decide to leave another message, but at the bureau.

“hotch,” aaron answers his phone.

“she just left another message,” penelope says with fear in her voice. “it says, ‘if you can’t catch me, then i will catch you because i can. however, i only want one of you. figure it out. who do i want? i’ll be back soon, agents, and that is a promise.’”

“garcia,” aaron starts.

“i sent the message to your phones. sir, i’m scared.” penelope’s eyes begin to shake back and forth from the multitude of screens in her lair.

“she won’t get you. stay in the bureau, she will never go there.” aaron hangs up.

“is this some kind of sick game?” derek asks, holding up his phone.

“who does she want? and why does she want one of us?” david asks, furrowing his brows.

“all of her victims have only been female,” jj starts, “so what if it could be emily, garcia, or me?”

“we can’t rule that out,” spencer says, “but we shouldn’t rule out us guys. she could change her m.o in the blink of an eye.”

“maybe she’s a lesbian, getting back at women for hurting her,” emily suggests.

“let’s all get back to the bureau, we have more to discuss.” aaron turns, heading for the car.

you laugh when you walk into your favorite room. you sit, grabbing a knife from the table and cleaning it thoroughly. you glide your finger against the blade, liking the sharpness of the blade. you put the knife back down, grabbing another to do the same thing. you stand, humming a nursery rhyme as you walk around the room staring at your collection of weaponry.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

leaving your house, you drive over to the bureau. sitting in the car, parked under a tree, you watch as spencer leaves the bureau alone. smirking, you exit the car and walk over to him. his back is facing you and you knock him out from the back of his head. dragging him to your car, you drive over to your main house. you go to the basement, sitting him in the chair in the middle of the room.

you leave, making your way upstairs to make you both something to drink. you don’t plan on killing him, only because you kill women. you head back downstairs, placing the drinks on the table. sitting across from spencer, you wait for him to wake up.

“(y/n)?” he calls out.

smirking, you stand from where you sat. walking to him, you cup his cheeks, caressing his cheeks. booping his nose, you turn around and head back to the table. you grab the laptop across the room and stream the feed to the bureau.

“why, hello, agents,” you smirk.

“she’s got reid!” penelope yells. “she’s got reid!”

“(y/n), what are you doing?” spencer asks.

“entertaining the audience.” you sit in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “but i don’t plan on killing you. i only take women, you know.” you tilt your head, looking into his beautiful eyes.

“we profiled you as a lesbian,” spencer says.

“i am not a lesbian. full respect for everyone in the community because people deserve to be who they truly are. i’m straight, spencer, very straight and very into you.” your eyes darken, filling with lust.

“(y/n),” spencer says.

you get up from his lap, walking over to the laptop. grinning, you wink at the camera.

“enjoying the show, agents?” you laugh. “i told you i will catch you because i can.”

“why do you only take women, (y/n)?” spencer asks, coughing a little.

“because i had a bitch best friend who took everything from me. it used to be just my dad and me, but she seduced my father, took my trust fund, and left me for dead. instead, i came back. i went to see that bitch and i killed her. and it felt good. really, spencer, it felt good,” you say, facing him. “now, i don’t want to hurt you. i just want to play a little.” you sit in his lap again.

back at the bureau, penelope tried to trace where the feed is coming from. since you’re smart, it’s very hard for your technology to be tracked and traced. you made sure it stayed that way.

“(y/n)? why me?” spencer asks, coughing a little.

“because i like you,” you say, “and you’re one of the cute ones. you’re smart. i like smart. i like nerdy. men like you always come first. men like derek morgan will have to wait a while because they play a little too much. there’s so much to adore about you, spencer, and i adore all of you.” you push his hair behind his ear. “would you like something to drink? i promise you i did not poison the drink or tamper with it. it’s just iced tea.”

“yeah, sure, my throat’s pretty dry.” he nods.

grinning, you get off his lap and walk behind the laptop, grabbing the cup with a straw in it. putting the straw in spencer’s mouth, he hesitates, but he drinks. when his thrist was quenched, he pulled back and you put the cup down. walking back over to him, you sit in his lap.

“can i kiss you?” you ask.

“u-um,” he stutters.

“spencer, have you been kissed before? have you let a woman take control before?” you smirk.

“i-i kissed someone before, b-but it was just once.” he shrugs.

“why don’t i be the second?” you say, connecting your lips with his.

“what is she doing?” jj asks, watching the feed intensely with the rest of the team.

“she’s seducing him.” aaron keeps a straight face.

pulling away from spencer, you look in his eyes. seeing that he tried to connect your lips again, you smirk, getting off of him to tease him. you heard him groan, making you giggle. walking over to the laptop, you bend down to give a view of your full face.

“i think it’s time for us to be alone, agents.” you wink, cutting the feed and closing the laptop.

“(y/n),” spencer says, rattling the cuffs.

“oh, darling, i’m coming.” you walk back to him with the keys. unlocking him, you expected him to pin you against the wall and for the cuffs to be on your wrists.

“when you start something, you have to finish it.” he pinned you against the wall, attacking your lips with his.

you kiss him back, feeling his hands roam your body. telling you to jump, he carries you upstairs. you guide him to your bedroom, stripping at the same time. he laid you down carefully, pulling away from you. he removes his shirt, tossing it somewhere.

“i thought you were going to arrest me.” you tilt your head.

“maybe we can have some fun first.” he smirks, pulling your panties down.

he started with his fingers. pumping in and out of you, circling your clit, kissing your neck, and getting hard from the sound of your moans. he sucked on your neck, definitely leaving hickeys. before you reached your climax, he pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them clean.

he removed his underwear and removed your top and bra. climbing on top of you, he lines his tip with your entrance and presses his lips onto yours as he enters you. you moan, loving the size of him inside of petite, little you.

he thrust in and out of you slowly, waiting until you adjusted to him. when he picked up the pace, you dug your nails into his back. your moans mix with his, the feeling of pleasure taking over your body. spencer picked up the pace, going faster and harder.

“fuck, spencer, oh my god,” you moan. “yes, right there, oh fuck, don’t stop.”

he continues to thrust until his movements become sloppy. the both of you climaxed at the same time, him collapsing beside you. you smirk, getting on top of him. sliding onto his length, you begin to ride him, but painfully slow to tease him.

“fuck,” spencer curses, putting his hands on your hips to help guide you.

he throws his head back in pleasure as you ride him. your pace quickens when you crave more pleasure. your moans become louder as you throw your head back in pleasure. feeling your climax coming, you move faster and rougher to maximize your pleasure.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” you yell.

the both of you climaxed, you collapsing beside him. the sound of your heavy breaths was the only sound in the room. you look over to him to find a small smile on his face. laughing a little, you roll on top of him and press your lips onto his.

“you did great, babe.” you kiss his lips repeatedly.

“so did you,” he says with a small smirk.

“hurry and get dressed so i can release you back to your team. i’m wanted, remember?” you chuckle, getting up from the bed. you didn’t mind being naked around him.

you get fresh clothes from your wardrobe, slipping them on as spencer, himself, got ready. when the two of you were finally dressed, you made your way down to the basement to the laptop. you send your address to penelope, waiting with spencer until they arrive. when you both heard the sirens, you glance over to spencer. you attack him in a kiss, almost goodbye, and tell him to walk outside.

“hold your fire! hold your fire!” aaron shouts, telling derek to run in and grab spencer.

“you okay, kid?” derek asks.

“i’m okay.” he nods.

“(y/n) (y/l/n), come out of the house!” you hear aaron yell. cooperating, you step out of your house with your hands up.

“i will cooperate,” you say.

“cuff her,” aaron says, motioning for emily to go.

“(y/n) (y/l/n), you are under arrest for the murders of twenty-four women and the kidnapping of a federal agent.” emily cuffs you.

you block out whatever she says, looking over to spencer. he flashes a wink and you smile, winking back at him. shoved into the back of the police car, you turn around so you can see him properly.

“come visit me.” you mouth.

“i will.” he mouths back, nodding.

cheers to the end of your spree. one kill and sex on the same day.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　@literallyprentissstwin　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #david rossi #aaron hotchner #reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg imagine #matthew gray gubler imagine

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spacejew · 4 years

Text

Doctor who spoilers, beware

Okay holy fuck that episode

also so so sorry for all the typos, not used to their keyboard and too sleepy to correct them all

Some quick comments (and then my THEORIES)

- first of all very fun episode I was SO INTRIGUED

- good ass vfx

- absolutely adore the gang and their irl consequences of doctor travels. Maybe this season they have to rethink their "easy" choice to travel with her?

- I was loving the mystery but. As soon as master reveal I'm now very worried that the explanation to these mysteries won't be as satisfying? I was so pumped for a brand new, totally original serious threat , and suddenly the master being involved kinda dampens that. You know? I hope it still ends up being super creative and cool and satisfying

- the last five minutes left me confused straight up. Where'd the Vor guy vanish to? The house ourside the plane? Did they like. Teleport? Was it like, evidence of a weird simulation type of thing? Just a little lost, I need to rewatch. (Edit: OH the house was flying, probs the Masters TARDIS then, got it)

- must reiterate, GREAT ACTING AND DIALOGUE, I love team TARDIS holy fuckkk my babes. Ready for some juicy juicy conflict.

Okay theory time bitches

- they are Inside the Masters TARDIS!! Too many references to our beloved TARDIS being insanely gigantic on the inside. Karaoke buses? Water slides? Rainforest?? Chibs is hitting the audience over the head with "the TARDIS contains multitudes". It would make sense as a reminder or foreshadowing that either the whole episode or some portion like the evil dimension being actually inside the Masters TARDIS, all part of a simulation of some sort. Hence weird happenings, and a dampened sonic, and things breaking into thirteens TARDIS. "Everything is a lie", so everything may or can be fake and simulated by the Masters TARDIS

- alternate universes, an obvious one based on that alien code decyohefing projection bit. Like, duh, multiple Earths means multiple Earths, doc.

- the master is either: from an alternate universe himself, or at least a master before Gomez . I loved Missy and her character development was a real emotional journey for me. I would hate it to be neglected or retconned. An earlier master would be interesting, and respect Missy's death.

- the Light Aliens exist in some kind of computery way. All that talk about Vor and data and technology? They say they blipped around those windows like lights on a server or visual code computations? That evil dimension Yaz was in being full of stuff that could either be DNA strands or Data cores or like giant neural pathways? With the light aliens manifesting as electrical pulses running through them? Very evocative of brains/computers. Either they're projections of code, or exist as energy and have a computer hivemind going on, I think it's their big "thing". Also lends well to the simulation bit.

- obviously parallels to The Army of Ghosts, Cybermen, alt universes, etc. But personally, really hoping it's completely unrelated aka definitely not Cybermen. Even though the shaped do fit? But A. Don't act like Cybermen B. Their head shapes are also reminiscent of that Raknos looking aliens from the trailer. So hey. Maybe it's those?

- when Yaz came back from the evil dimension, she was like downloaded to their computer thing, and when she was re-uploaded to our reality, she may be augmented with extra "code" -- just like The Vor ceo guy, she may not be 100% human. 7% not human can mean there's not totally rewritten dna, but just extra dna, from the aliens, full of code. Like a sleep agent almost?? As SPY?????? HMMMMM????? trust nobody!!!! Yaz could be a sleeper agent or unwitting spy with extra alien stuff in her now, is what I'm saying.

- going off of that, that's what happened to all the dead spies - the aliens were experimenting with getting their own spies onto earth via human spies, but they accidentally rewrote too much of their dna, totally killing them. They've perfected it now?

- aliens are obvs from a diff dimension entirely. Lie the Boneless were! I hope maybe they're relayed? Would be sick as hell I loved that episode

- here's a fuckin Longshot! Last seasons thirteen mentioned scary stories she was told as a child. Referring to the Frog Universe, what was it called? The Anti-verse or some shit? Y'all know what I mean. What matters is that my fav Chibnall episode, The Power of Three, set up another "scary story told to gallifreyan children" that the doctor couldn't believe was real, and seemed to be coming from like another dimension? The Tally!!! It was never followed up on even though I thought it was an amazing setup, so maybe The Tally is involved somehow. Or, god willing, they'll come back later this season in an unrelated plot.

- trust nobody! Everything you know is a lie, says the master. Maybe Yaz was replaced entirely? Who else is a fake? Alternate universes? So many ways things could be totally faked. No concrete theory here but, I'm going into the next episode literally not trusting shit. All a simulation? Simulated time travel? Who knows.

- Masters TARDIS is one of the cool sets we saw in the trailer that was tardis-like

- Vor ceo guy is actually a good person trying his damn best to help stop the aliens and assist the doctor, but cannot let anyone know he's actually helping. So he just lets them get away with snooping, investigating, but really needs to keep his distance. Also he probs thinks he's helping with some technology trade with the aliens? Y'know, in a capitalist way lol.

- oh yeah duh, the aliens could all literally be made up by the master as part of a totally unrelated plot to take over earth, as he does. Killing spies is just part of the misdirection and to draw in the doctor. I'd be a little bummed by this tho

----

Im honestly nervous it may be a let down, but, I'm really hoping everything that was set up this episode was important and relevant and will pay off with a really cool villain, new concepts to play with, and the master being a real good threat and an enjoyable version of himself. (I'm not sold and I'm a little sad after seeing him play it so.. cringey? It's like a Simm impersonation but a little hokey idk. But we only had five minutes of him so I'm excited to see how it goes!!! Maybe I'm legit just salty that it's not Missy or a lady or something. I'll give him a chance!!! I'm hoping for the best. I WAS legit totally surprised, even tho I knew something had to be off about O... Good reveal!)

Hopefully I get time off work this weekend to see Part 2 in theaters and have a grand ol time. Legit very pleased and hooked by this premiere. So fun

#doctor who #dw spoilers #series 12 #spyfall

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disregardcanon · 6 years

Text

so..... raven cycle characters in the good place au? featuring pynch and chengsey but not in large doses

contains major spoilers for the good place if anyone hasn’t seen that and would like to go in unspoiled. for real, you don’t want to be spoiled for this show by a textpost version of an au

for those of you that have seen it, this only follows up to the end of s1 but i might continue that later. if that were to happen the chengsey would probably become sarchengsey

THIS IS MORE THAN 5K WHAT THE FORK

a very brief, approximate rundown of character roles

ronan as eleanor shellstrop with some hints of jason mendoza

henry as jason mendoza... in the jianyu way but not the jason way, really

gansey as chidi anagonye

adam parrish as tahani al-jamil

blue sargent as michael

noah czerny as mindy st. claire

“you, ronan lynch, are dead,” blue sargent tells him, “welcome to the good place.”

blue sargent is apparently the architect of the neighborhood and not human (who would name a real human baby blue sargent?) and not actually a tiny human woman with kinky hair and light brown skin and a face that goes from perky, service worker smile to resting bitch face at the drop of a hat. she gives him the rundown of being in the good place. she informs him that he was an avid environmentalist who used his personal fortune to help fund national parks, efforts to save endangered animals, and animal shelters across the country.

this, however, was not ronan lynch’s life... and he definitely isn’t supposed to be here. after his worthwhile life of blowing through his trust fund, spiting his brother for thinking that he’s better than ronan is and trying to control him, doing drugs in the back of kavinsky’s mitsubishi. and then setting off illegal fireworks and setting shit on fire and having angry hate sex with kavinsky and street racing with kavinsky. he died after stealing his brother’s car and wrapping it around a tree, half on purpose. so yeah, there’s no way that he’s supposed to be here in the good place and he knows it.

blue sargent, however, does not need to know that. so ronan lynch does something that he’s never done before, he lies.

“yeah, that was me,” he says. because really? if he’d done good things in his life, saving animals probably would have been one of them. that’s a life he could have led, if he were less of a shitbag. he always liked animals.

sargent brings him to a frozen yogurt place to meet his soulmate, and pretty much everything about that statement seems ridiculous and out there, but he’s in the afterlife, and it sure as fuck ain’t the pearly gates or the fire and brimstone his catholic raised ass was expecting, so he supposes that this is just his new normal.

“some soulmate pairings are romantic,” sargent says, “and some are platonic. yours is platonic. fated to be best friends- closer than brothers”

“great,” ronan says, which is not great at all because he was hoping that maybe there would be some sap on earth who was fated to fall in love with him, and not just be a dude he hated but couldn’t stop having sex with. since they have the wrong history for him, he can’t even complain about declan or talk about how no one would EVER be a better brother than matthew, who was ripped from the world far too young.

he hopes that matthew and his parents are in another neighborhood somewhere, living it up as happy as they could ever be. if anyone deserves to be in the good place, it’s his family, or at least the dead parts of it.

“ronan lynch, this is your soulmate, richard gansey the third” blue says with a wide smile. seeing him makes it even worse, because he’s handsome, but he’s off limits because it’s “platonic” and ronan wants to put his hand through the fucking wall.

“just call me gansey,” he says with a big, wide smile, “that’s what all my students called me.”

“students?”

“i was a professor of moral philosophy,” gansey says, “but i also taught a few courses on welsh mythology and history.”

“what a nerd,” ronan says before he can shut his god damn mouth. gansey smiles

“that’s the other thing that my students called me,” he says. ronan’s not sold yet, but ronan might not totally hate this guy. that would be a first since his family died.

they tour the neighborhood, sargent telling them all about how new and improved this place is over earth even though it just looks like suburbia. at least, somehow, the afterlife is environmentally friendly? that’s what sargent says, at least. ronan doesn’t know how that would even work.

sargent introduces them to another pair of soulmates about halfway through. the first is adam parrish, who was apparently a high powered lawyer back in life who helped like, the environment or some shit (suspiciously close to ronan’s fake backstory, ronan will have to be careful treading around that topic with him), and his soulmate jiyanu, a taiwanese monk who took a vow of silence.

at least ronan got someone who talks. he’d feel bad for parrish, if the dude weren’t so fucking pretentious that it makes him want to puke. parrish is also really attractive and has hands out of ronan’s dreams but like.... that’s not relevant. the point is that he’s a pretentious dick not that he’s an ATTRACTIVE ONE okay? okay.

ronan is probably pricklier than someone who’s actually good place bound would be, but parrish responds with exactly the level of passive aggressive that ronan would expect from a jerk back on earth, so ronan’s probably alright. if this dude deserves to be here, then ronan can at least match his level of passive aggression without people suspecting that he’s not supposed to be here.

no matter how little ronan wants to admit it, though, he always sort of enjoys talking to parrish. it’s nice to have a break from gansey’s overwhelming cheer or sargent’s “benevolent alien anthropologist” act. jiyanu doesn’t talk, so it’s harder to get to know him. or even care about getting to know him. he looks perpetually uncomfortable, though, which is a weird thing to look in paradise. ronan hopes that he doesn’t look that uncomfortable.

but then again, ronan’s a big, muscly guy with a full back tattoo and leather jacket and a shaved head in a neighborhood that looks like suburbia ate candyland and then shat this monstrosity out, so he was probably going to stand out no matter what.

he stands out a whole lot more the next morning when the good place malfunctions in a multitude of ways that tell him that HE’S the cause. so, he decides that he should probably talk to his ethics professor soulmate to figure out htf he’ll get to stay here.

“so, you’re my soulmate. soul friend?”

“best bud,” gansey suggests.

“and you would never do anything to hurt me, right?”

“yes?” and then ronan confesses that he doesn’t belong here and gansey’s like yup i guess this is my life now and it increases his anxiety tenfold but he promises to help if ronan promises to take ethics classes so that he can learn to be the person that deserves to be in the good place and ronan’s like okay, sure, i guess. books are stupid and learning is stupid but being tortured? is probably more stupid so he’ll deal with books and schools to not do that

he finds out that jiyanu doesn’t belong here pretty soon afterwards, after having a fucking heart attack that the guy was going to rat him out. it turns out that jiyanu isn’t even named jianyu. his name is henry cheng and he’s a drug dealing, backpacking dj from vancouver. his mother’s a mob boss. he’s sometimes involved in her business, sometimes not. he’s always a wayfaring stranger, or a hopeless wanderer, or a druggie bum from vancouver, one of those words that means he’s a traveling dude with no life prospects.

“i’m not even taiwanese, dude. i’m forking korean,” henry groans, and ronan feels like he’s found a kindred spirit in all of this shit. this is way easier to deal with than an actual monk knowing his secret. now they just get to be assholes together.

they meet up in henry’s “bud hole” which he definitely doesn’t call a bud hole, because he has some class. he calls it mr roboto because it’s his secret secret he’s got a secret. he actually says this aloud, singing and all, and ronan starts singing the murder squash song and a beautiful friendship is born.

friends. weird. ronan never had a lot of those. or any, if he’s being honest.

“not being able to talk? that’s the worst thing for me,” henry says, “do you know how much i like to talk?”

“i can guess,” ronan says.

“like, words don’t always work right for me, but i still love to talk,” henry reiterates

“yes, cheng, i get it,” ronan says, because he really would like for the silent monk to go back to being silent, please.

“it’s like torture, lynch, absolute torture. like, if i actually were in the bad place, they couldn’t have come up with a better way to torture me than that.” ronan thinks that’s a bit of stretch, when in the bad place they could literally pour lava over you for all of eternity, but the thought sends a bit of a shiver up his spine.

the good place isn’t so good.

he pushes the thought to the back of his mind. it probably means nothing. he and henry might be here and miserable, but they’re not supposed to be here. gansey? parrish? they might be assholes sometimes, but they did do legit good things. gansey was a fucking ethics professor, and it sounds like parrish took a lot of cases for charity and did all kinds of philanthropy. even though ronan and henry aren’t supposed to be here, those two still are.

---------

back on the topic of henry, henry cheng was a backpacker who dealt drugs and was working through a trust fund of his own and working through more romantic and sexual partners than ronan can even imagine. apparently, his mother was a crime lord from vancouver. he was kidnapped for ransom as a child, and his mother barely cared to get him back. the last thing that happened to him was when one of his former, scorned lovers kidnapped him and demanded ransom from his mother, she refused and that’s how henry cheng died. the scorned lover killing him part is a point of pride. the fact that his mother let them? not so much

---------

gansey finds out about henry soon afterwards. he agrees not to rat out henry either in exchange for even more ethics classes.

“gansey, you are a prince among men,” henry says. and gansey does not blush, he DOESN’T but ronan glares at the ground. the universe gave him a soulmate who’s actually into dudes but not into him? what the fuck, universe. what the fuck.

they take ethics classes, and they get better. and better, and better while feeling worse, and worse, and worse. the neighborhood deteriorates. it seems like everyone’s mental state deteriorates too, even the two that are supposed to be here.

sargent tries to find gansey a new hobby after ripping into the book he spent his life writing. parrish snoops around sargent’s office, and finds out that he had the lowest good person score out of anyone in the neighborhood. he tries as hard as he can to up his score, until he realizes that because he’s dead, he can’t. it eats away a little at him to know that he’s even below ronan lynch, even if the guy isn’t quite as bad as he first thought. at least he can TALK to him, unlike his soulmate monk-ey mcsilence

everything seem to be getting worse.

and then, sargent tries to take credit for all of it. the breakdowns- the tremors- all the things that ronan being here has caused, and tells them all that she will basically be brutally murdered for her failures- ronan’s failures. he hates that gansey made him grow a little bit of a conscience. ronan comes clean. he’s pretty sure that gansey’s disappointed face as he stares at henry is the only thing that gets henry to come clean with him.

parrish doesn’t seem delighted that ronan isn’t supposed to be here, but he does seem pleased- almost smug about it.

“all you rich kids had everything handed to you, and i had to work so hard to get where i got. even here, in the good place. you glided in here on a technicality.”

“you want them to send me to the bad place?” ronan asks, “that’s still a possibility, you know.” if parrish wanted him damned, he probably could make it happen. with lawyer powers and social clout combined, he could probably get it done.

“well, no,” parrish says, “i don’t.” and of course, no actual good person would want another person to be tortured to spite them. to be honest, ronan doesn’t really wish that on any other person, not even declan or kavinsky.

“plus, that gives me at least two people i’m better than here,” parrish says. ronan raises his eyebrow.

“points wise,” parrish says, like that explains everything. they have an in depth conversation about when he snuck into sargent’s office and searched through the scores and his existential crisis about how low his numbers were, and ronan can’t help but laugh. perfect parrish was the worst one here?

“hey,” parrish says, “at least i deserved to be here.” it might have been the least out of any of them, but he still got in on his own merits. ronan got here due to a clerical error.

“you probably had like, ten thousand more points than me if that helps,” ronan says. parrish tries to shrug it off, but ronan can tell that it does. gansey’s across the room, looking like he’s coaching henry on how to get through this situation, and ronan wonders if there wasn’t a clerical error with the soulmates too.

if any of them are soulmates, romantically, it certainly isn’t the pairings they’ve been assigned. gansey and henry might be soulmates, really. and well, looking at the way parrish smiles and the way that his hand curl and the way that he’s feeling- god- fuck- ronan thinks that they might have a possibility too.

adam and henry have a Talk which consists of

“sorry for not speaking for six months”

“i don’t really think i like what you have to say, anyways.”

“that’s fair. we’re definitely not soulmates, are we?”

“i’m not sure we’re even friends”

“ouch, parrish, harsh” and then eventually, they kill each other a million times in video games and decide that it’s alright, i guess. kind of. they’re not going to be friends, but they’re not going to hate each other either. not even enough for hate sex, don’t worry, henry checked.

they bring the person that ronan was apparently switched with up from the bad place. he’s a real environmental lawyer who’s also named ronan lynch, a clean cut Black man with a warm smile and no tattoos who seems liked someone who would have walked across hot coals to help a stranger.

by pretending to belong here, ronan condemned him to months of torture. he probably deserved it when people start calling the other one “real ronan” and him “fake ronan”. that doesn’t mean he likes, it, though. they could call them suit ronan and leather jacket ronan or something.

apparently, henry cheng was somehow switched with an actual taiwanese monk named jiaynu because they died at the same time. who knew?

there’s a whole big plot to try to keep ronan and henry here in the good place, spearheaded by parrish’s lawyer brain and gansey’s ethical heart, and maybe a lawyer heart and an ethical brain too. he thinks that both of them possess both organs, at least.

the bad place sends a demon named trevor to pick up him and henry. trevor reminds ronan too much of kavinsky for comfort. much more than any person should, really. it’s uncanny, and it sets off that same unpleasant feeling in his stomach as henry’s comment about not being able to talk did. the same way that he feels whenever sargent pulls gansey off to do something that gives him anxiety attacks.

gansey tries to balance his best friend energies very carefully between the two ronans, as to not play favorites when either one of them could be his soulmate, really? how are we supposed to know hahaha oh isn’t this gREAT. gansey’s anxiety is a fragile thing, always like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken to the point where if you open it, it WILL burst. people were always too difficult, which was why he avoided them most of the time. they were hard to put up with, harder still to please. gansey preferred his own company.

--------

gansey loves learning. that’s kind of always been his thing. he loves school. he loves knowing things. he loves sinking into a good book and trying to piece together what information from it is relevant. people? not so much. people are tricky. people involve interactions constantly, love and affection. he knows that he could, but that involves taking time away from whatever the obsession of the day is, and gansey never met someone who was interesting enough to detract from his obsession of the day back on earth, even his family.

his sister tried to get him to come to his mother’s congressional campaign events, even one. so did his father and his mother.

“yes, i’ll be there,” gansey promised absentmindedly, not really planning to. he did not come. he was reading through phillipa foot’s “moral beliefs”.

“your studies will always come first, won’t they?” his mother

“shit, dick. this is just- this is too much. can’t you do this one thing? fuck you” helen

helen didn’t call again. neither did either of his parents. gansey tried not to think much about the sting. learning was his thing. he was doing it. that’s all that matters.

he tries to grab the first copies of his dissertations and his copy of death and that original welsh manuscript he picked up a while ago and oh god, he can’t forget his laptop that has so much work on it and-

the flimsy remains of the roof collapse on him, and richard gansey iii burns to death in that building, along with his research.

---

gansey’s not decisive, and he’s not a big fan of people, but he cares about ronan and he cares about henry, and he goes to sargent to demand that they remain in the good place. which, for a boy whose indecision killed him, is a pretty big step. sargent is quite impressed, and decides to accept the request and do everything that she can to make it happen.

parrish suggests that they accrue points so that they can stay, which is an admirable suggestion but doesn’t work because they’re already dead. it’s the reason that he couldn’t move any further up the list to begin with. sargent calls in an impartial “undead judge” to hear the case to see if ronan and henry will get to stay in the good place.

ronan decides to say fuck it instead and and he and henry steal the dude’s train and hightail it somewhere no one can touch him. apparently, there’s a medium place where everything kind of sucks but no one gets tortured.

it has exactly one inhabitant, a guy named noah czerny. he was a cokehead skaterbro when he was alive, and the night before he died he came up with an idea to end world hunger and save a ton of kids: the most comprehensive idea for a charity ever, really. his best friend hit him over the head with a skateboard and stole it, but he started up the program that noah thought up. no one could decide whether or not noah should get the points, so they made him a place in the middle.

a sucky, medium place. like cincinnati. or being dead but not dead in the first place. it’s just a sub par house in the desert with warm beer and mediocre movies, but it’s better than eternal damnation.

at least, it would be if they didn’t get a message about a decision to send gansey and parrish to the bad place in their stead if they don’t come back. what the fuck is that? who decided that was fair.

“i guess we need to go back,” henry says sadly.

“yeah,” ronan says. they do need to go back. ronan doesn’t want to, but he knows they need to.

“you don’t if you don’t want to,” noah says, “you’re free to stay here.” but ronan grew a conscience back in the good place, and that conscience’s name is gansey. and gansey doesn’t deserve to go to the bad place, and frankly, neither does parrish. ronan’s not about to say that one out loud, though. just because the dude’s hot doesn’t mean that ronan wants to confess any sort of affection for him.

he’s not an affectionate sort of guy. he loved his dad, and his mom, and his little brother, but all of them are dead. after that, he told exactly two people i love you: stone cold steve austin and a guy in a dark club that he mistook for stone cold steve austin. so yeah, any sort of affection is foreign to him. his only long lasting relationship consisted solely of hate sex.

they get back to the good place, and they go see sargent. it seems that the problem has become worse since they left. or, maybe better. apparently, they aren’t demanding gansey and parrish specifically anymore, or even ronan and cheng. the immortal judge, apparently, doesn’t give a fuck who they decide to give him, as long as they send two people to the bad place.

the other ronan (good ronan, real ronan) offers to go, but that still leaves two spots to fill, one of which he is DEFINITELY taking.

exactly none of this ends well, with a combination of self sacrificing and pure selfishness as they shout at each other, like something out of the lord of the flies or some shit. it finally clicks in ronan’s brain why he’s had that feeling of wrongness.

“gansey and i are going to the bad place,” ronan says firmly.

“i didn’t agree to that,” gansey says.

“what about real ronan?” blue asks.

“nope,” ronan says, “gansey and i have this covered. call the train.”

“actually,” the judge says, “ronan and henry were the ones that were originally bad place bound-”

“nope,” ronan says, “you said any two of us. gansey and i are going.” bambajan bursts into the room with an enormous book open in his arms.

“i found a way to keep all of you in the good place!” bambajan says.

“shut up, bambajan,” ronan says. sargent’s eyes widen for a moment. she knows that he’s caught on to her throne of lies.

“ronan, what’s happening?” gansey asks.

“i just figured out what’s been wrong about this place the whole time. they can’t call us a train to the bad place, because we’re already here. this is the bad place” sargent seems shocked for a moment, but only a moment, before she regains her composure.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says smoothly.

“bullshirt, sargent,” he says, “i’m right.” gansey laughs, nervously.

“this is a joke, right? please tell me it’s a joke,” he looks down at his hands, “my stomach hurts-”

“of course it is,” sargent says firmly. shit, this can’t be good. if sargent denies it and no one else believes him, then it won’t make any difference that he knows. it will all just go by the same way until she finally gets him to shut up about it.

“no,” henry says, “lynch is right- he’s got to be.” sargent sits down, and puts her head in her hands.

“you’re going to tell them they’re crazy, right?” parrish demands. sargent looks up, and lets out a maniacal laugh.

“five years of planning,” she says between laughs, “five years down the drain because ronan lynch grew a brain.”

“actually, i’d say i grew a heart,” ronan says smoothly.

“that’s a reference to something,” blue says, far too calmly for someone who just admitted to torturing them, “that musical about the green woman who’s in love with the pink one?”

“close enough,” ronan says. gansey looks like he’s going to die of his stomach ache.

“what is going ON?!?!”

“i’ve been torturing you,” blue says, “this is the bad place, do keep up.”

“what do you mean?” parrish asks, “that can’t be. it can’t be.” sure he was ambitious, but he never did anything wrong. maybe he didn’t do as much right as he could have, but he never did anything actively wrong.

he wasn’t corrupt- he was smart. he never did anything that was wrong, really, and he tried to do some good too. he belongs in the good place- he has to.

he worked his way up from nothing, less than nothing really, starting with a loveless, abusive upbringing, then onto a good college and a law degree in record time. he lived the american dream.

when he finished school, he started defending the highest bidder at any cost, in any case. and he took a few charitable cases, stuff that would make him look better.

blue sargent keeps on laughing.

“you rich boys, boys who never did anything to help anyone- the definition of idle wealth. all humans are awful, but the four of you?” blue laughs again, that harsh, strident laugh that cuts through the air directly into his soul, “you’re something else.”

“i wasn’t born rich,” adam says adamantly. he might have gotten there, but he wasn’t born into it like the other three. he had to climb a mountain of lava to get where the rest of them started.

“you weren’t,” blue says, “but did you do anything to help people who were still poor?” adam gets really quiet.

“you know, how ‘bout i just show you how you died. that’ll clear this all up.”

“no-” adam says, because he doesn’t remember how he died, but he doesn’t care to. dying has to be traumatic, right? he’s got enough traumatic memories from his lifetime, thank you. he doesn’t need to add deathtime memories onto the scars that his parents left him. apparently, blue doesn’t care what he wants, though, and he’s pulled into the memory.

---

he’s at a resort, somewhere tropical. he can’t quite remember where he’d decided to go, but it was tropical and set on a cliff side, only about a twenty minute drive from the beach. he always preferred the view from higher up. he could see above the tree tops and the resorts and then the beach and the ocean. swimming in a pool’s simpler than swimming on the beach anyway.

no sand in his toes or his hair or his ears or anywhere else he won’t be able to wash out for months. he’d tried to like the beach, he really had, because it’s supposed to be a rich leisure activity, but he just couldn’t force himself to. he spent enough of his life getting grimy, thank you very much. now he’ll just appreciate the pool and the view. it’s one of the many things that his high profile job can buy.

the job was a way to acquire status, same as smoothing over the accent and befriending celebrities and charity banquets and speeches and whatever else he did for his image.

he’s walking to the pool along a mountain path, beside a small wall separating him from the cliff side and the ocean far below. he’s wearing nothing but a soft t-shirt, a pair of swim trunks, and sandals that cost more than his entire high school wardrobe cost. life is good, at least until he meets up with another guest on the path.

“adam parrish,” the guy says, like it’s a curse word. adam hasn’t heard his name said that way in a long time. he can’t say that he misses it.

“yeah?” adam demands. who the fuck is this guy? what’s his problem? he seems familiar, but adam can’t quite place him. he’s known a lot of people in his life, and a lot of them he’s tried to forget.

“born in 1985 in henrietta virginia,” the guy rattles off, “grew up in a trailer.”

“i did,” adam says in his clipped off fake east coast accent, “i’m not ashamed of it.” he is, actually, that’s why it’s not public knowledge. he’s not about to let this guy know that, though.

“you know what you should be ashamed of? getting a murderer off the hook.”

“alleged,” adam says. there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him in the minds of the jury, so there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him in adam’s mind either. he’s just doing his job.

“yeah, well that “alleged” murderer killed my mother,” the guy spits.

“i’m sorry about your mom,” adam says.

“you aren’t yet,” the kid says, “but you will be.” he takes off his backpack, and then takes out a fucking scrapbook. then he shows it up for adam to see everything he’s ever been embarrassed by staring him back in the face.

every single incriminating to embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him- every case he’s ever taken that might make him look bad, familial information he’s hidden- ex boyfriends he’s buried for the sake of staying ostensibly straight for his career- every single thing he’s never wanted to come out confined to a single blackmail scrapbook. the craftsmanship is actually impressive. the kid’s dug up secrets that adam has forgotten about himself.

“what do you want for it?” adam says, handing the book back to him. he’s a little freaked out that the kid dug up this sort of dirt on him, angry to have it shoved in his face, but he’s mainly impressed. it’s the sort of thing that he could and would do.

“nothing,” the kid says.

“what?”

“you can’t have it. i’m taking it to the press.”

“then why the fuck did you show it to me?” adam says. you don’t pull a play like this without demanding the ransom. you can’t just rip the rug out from under them-

“i wanted to see the look on your face,” the kid says. then, he turns around to stomp off. adam reaches forward to grab him by the shoulder and turns him back around.

“you can’t do that,” adam says.

“yeah,” the boy says, “i can.” he breaks free of adam’s hold, and then grabs his book as he starts to walk away. adam feels rage boiling inside of him. he can’t just- just do that.

adam doesn’t know if this would be a career ender, but it could hurt him badly. badly enough that he can’t deal with it, not now not ever. he runs towards the guy, in between him and the edge, and grabs the book. the kid keeps his grip tight.

“let go,” he growls.

“you let go,” adam demands.

“fuck off,” the guy shouts as he tries to rip it back away from adam. adam’s more determined, though, and he clutches it as tightly as he can, digging his fingernails into the flimsy material. he has a stronger grasp on it, and then he throws his weight to the side- the side with the short wall over the cliff. he flies into the wall, and then he flies over the edge. he plummets directly down to the rocks below.

--------

“holy shirt,” adam says.

“yeah,” blue says, “wonderful, wasn’t it? you all had such entertaining deaths. i’ll need to figure out how to incorporate them better for the next try.”

“next try?” henry asks.

“oh yes,” blue says, “i’m going to clear your memories and then try again. really, this was such a learning experience. next time i’ll work all the bugs out.”

“you can just do this over?” henry asks, sounding horrified.

“of course,” blue says, “you’ll have your memories erased and we’re going to start again. can’t just leave you like this. it’s no fun torturing you this way if you already know what’s going on.” this explains so much about all of their experiences here in the good place. everything makes sense now.

“well, i’m a demon,” blue says, “comes with the territory.”

“a demon,” gansey says, like he still can’t believe what he’s hearing. gansey obviously isn’t present enough to figure out a way out of this mess, and parrish is still reeling from reliving his death. henry’s slightly more put together, but ronan doesn’t think he’s got any ideas for how to stop this either. that means that ronan has to figure out something to save them from this cycle.

blue did say that this happened because he grew a brain. maybe he can write himself a note or get another tattoo or-

“i promise after i fix this, you’ll all have long, unhappy lives,” blue sargent says with her widest service worker smile. she snaps her fingers, and then the world goes white.

bum bum BUMMMMMMMMMMMMM

if anyone’s interested in a continuation of this, i might do season 2. but the most important part of season 2 is the millions of reboots with different soulmates so here are a few examples

“gansey, this is your soulmate, the physical manifestation of henrietta virginia”

“jianyu, this is your soulmate, madonna”

“adam, this is your soulmate, ronan lynch”

“ronan, this is your soulmate, stone cold steve austin”

“this is your soulmate, a raven”

“this is your soulmate, orla,” blue says, gesturing to the woman. female person. not someone that ronan’s sexually attracted to in the least.

“this is the bad place, isn’t it?”

“ah fork it all,” blue curses. then, she snaps her fingers and the world resets.

#trc #trc aus #chengsey #pynch #the gangsey #ronan lynch #adam parrish #henry cheng #noah czerny #blue sargent #tgp #trc tgp au #jill don't look

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nedsecondline · 7 years

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Wednesday Open Thread | When has BLACK protest EVER been deemed ‘appropriate’?

I’d say…in America?

NEVER.

While Dolt45 was racebaiting in his hatred spewed against those athletes that took the knee to protest about police brutality against Black Americans…

Jelani Cobb Wrote the following piece:

From Louis Armstrong to the N.F.L.: Ungrateful as the New Uppity By Jelani Cobb September 24, 2017

EXCERPT:

Sixty years ago, Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas, became a flash point in the nascent civil-rights movement when Governor Orval Faubus refused to abide by the Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education. Faubus famously deployed the state’s National Guard to prevent nine African-American students from attending classes at the high school. In the midst of the crisis, a high-school journalist interviewing Louis Armstrong about an upcoming tour asked the musician about his thoughts on the situation, prompting Armstrong to refer to the Arkansas governor as several varieties of “motherfucker.” (In the interest of finding a printable quote, his label for Faubus was changed to “ignorant plowboy.”) Armstrong, who was scheduled to perform in the Soviet Union as a cultural ambassador on behalf of the State Department, cancelled the tour—a display of dissent that earned him the scorn and contempt of legions of whites, shocked by the trumpeter’s apparent lack of patriotism. As the historian Penny Von Eschen notes in “Satchmo Blows Up the World,” a history of the American usage of black culture as a tool of the Cold War, students at the University of Arkansas accused Armstrong of “creating an issue where there was none,” and joined the procession of groups cancelling Armstrong’s scheduled concerts.

The free-range lunacy of Donald Trump’s speech on Friday night in Alabama, where he referred to Colin Kaepernick—and other N.F.L. players who silently protest police brutality—as a “son of a bitch,” and of the subsequent Twitter tantrums in which the President, like a truculent six-year-old, disinvited the Golden State Warriors from a White House visit, illustrates that the passage of six decades has not dimmed this dynamic confronted by Armstrong, or by any prominent black person tasked with the entertainment of millions of white ones. There again is the presence of outrage for events that should shock the conscience, and the reality of people who sincerely believe, or who have at least convincingly lied to themselves, that dissenters are creating an issue where there is none. Kaepernick began his silent, kneeling protest at the beginning of last season, not as an assault against the United States military or the flag but as a dissent against a system that has, with a great degree of consistency, failed to hold accountable police who kill unarmed citizens. Since he did this, forty-one unarmed individuals have been fatally shot by police in the United States, twelve of them African-American, according to a database maintained by the Washington Post. The city of St. Louis recently witnessed days of protests after the acquittal of Jason Stockley, the former officer who, while still working for the city’s police force, fatally shot Anthony Smith, a twenty-four-year-old* African-American motorist who had led officers on a chase. Stockley emerged from his vehicle, having declared that he would “kill the motherfucker,” then proceeded to fire five rounds into the car. Later, a firearm was found on the seat of Smith’s car, but the weapon bore only Stockley’s DNA. The issue is not imaginary.

Yet the belief endures, from Armstrong’s time and before, that visible, affluent African-American entertainers are obliged to adopt a pose of ceaseless gratitude—appreciation for the waiver that spared them the low status of so many others of their kind. Stevie Wonder began a performance in Central Park last night by taking a knee, prompting Congressman Joe Walsh to tweet that Wonder was “another ungrateful black multi-millionaire.” Ungrateful is the new uppity. Trump’s supporters, by a twenty-four-point margin, agree with the idea that most Americans have not got as much as they deserve—though they overwhelmingly withhold the right to that sentiment from African-Americans. Thus, the wonder is not the unhinged behavior of this weekend but rather that it took Trump so long to exploit a target as rich in potential racial resentment as wealthy black athletes who have the temerity to believe in the First Amendment.

It’s impossible not to be struck by Trump’s selective patriotism. It drives him to curse at black football players but leaves him struggling to create false equivalence between Nazis and anti-Fascists in Charlottesville. It inspires a barely containable contempt for Muslims and immigrants but leaves him mute in the face of Russian election intervention. He cannot tolerate the dissent against literal flag-waving but screams indignation at the thought of removing monuments to the Confederacy, which attempted to revoke the authority symbolized by that same flag. He is the vector of the racial id of the class of Americans who sent death threats to Louis Armstrong, the people who necessitated the presence of a newly federalized National Guard to defend black students seeking to integrate a public school. He contains multitudes—all of them dangerously ignorant.

It has been convenient and politically profitable for Trump to paint the black athletes’ protests as an inane attack upon the symbols of the United States, but he is deeply implicated, and is increasingly aggravating the actual cause of this discord. It was Trump who urged police officers in Brentwood, New York, to treat the suspects in their charge with casual brutality. Trump’s Department of Justice has overseen the dismantling of the community-policing initiative, which was meant to encourage greater rapport between law enforcement and the neighborhoods they patrol. It is the President’s D.O.J. that has displayed disdain for the federal consent decrees that had been used to reform dysfunctional police departments.

And though he’s usually putting out videos filled with humor,

Kevonstage also slays it when he’s ‘keeping it real’.

Love the stats he drops in this video:

youtube

#Women

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joinaltruist-blog · 6 years

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All-Natural Diet programs for Canines

There exists a good deal of speak within the canine planet in recent times about ALL-NATURAL Diet plans (AN). The objective of this informative article is always to clarify what these diet plans are as well as the motives why I truly feel anyone should really look at feeding their canine a pure diet regime. I'll also clarify what I feed the canines in my personal kennel. All-natural diet plans can also be referred to as RAW Diet plans or BARF Diet programs (BF). The BF came to this nation from Dr. Ian Billinghurst, an Australian veterinarian which has written two books that I promote on all-natural diet programs. The popular theme of those diet plans is they feed raw human grade components. Whereas the real contents will fluctuate in some instances, dependent within the health and fitness wants of the specific canine, the excellent in the meals items doesn't modify. Every little thing is raw and human grade ingredient. This implies the meat that I feed is really good sufficient for my family members to consume. The veggies come through the create division of our community grocery keep. An all-natural diet program starts with species suitable nutrition. Inside the situation of our canines, that are carnivores, this implies meat, bones as well as the vegetable matter which is present in the abdomen of prey animals which can be killed. A lot of people mistakenly really feel they ought to feed pets cooked foods. These are incorrect. Canines and cats have stomachs which have been made to consume raw meals. That is why a canine can consume an outdated dead animal or fish and dwell by it. Numerous Vets appear to fail to remember this really necessary reality. I can not inform you the number of emails I get from pet owners whose Vets warn towards feeding all normal due to a concern more than finding sick. The truth is this is certainly Negative Details. If you ever hold your meals fresh there aren't any considerations. The digestive procedure of domesticated canines isn't made to consume processed or cooked foods. Certainly wild animals don't cook their foods. Cooked meals or industrial puppy foods requires longer for canines to digest than raw diet plans. Furthermore, the heat employed to basically cook the meals destroys enzymes and anti-oxidants. In 1932 Francis Pottenger M.D. did experiments with cats. He fed 1 group of cats a raw diet regime along with a 2nd diverse group a cooked diet plan. Through the third generation, these cats that had been fed a cooked diet program could no longer reproduce. They suffered from skin challenges, skeletal deformities, behavioral difficulties and organ malfunctions. The cats that have been fed a raw eating habits thrived and reproduce simply. Once the initial and 2nd generation cooked foods cats have been place back on the raw food plan it took four generations for all those cats to recover from your results on the cooked meals. Why These All-Natural Items? Food items to prevent:

one. Chocolate

two. Do not feed a puppy any sugar. Sugar increases a dog’s possibilities of finding cancer. Sugar is created when canines consume items like sugar beets, molasses, grains or dairy solutions

three. Dogs usually do not call for any grain within their eating plan; they've no dietary want for it. Carbohydrates from grain are basically not desired. Our pets get their vitality from fats and protein. Grains break down into sugar which might develop yeast, develop mucous and may possibly contribute to a multitude of difficulties which includes skin allergic reactions, cancer, digestive upsets and skeletal problems to title only a couple of.

four. Do not feed any type of yeast. This consists of brewers yeast. Yeast increases complications with allergy symptoms. Our pets have no need to have for yeast.

five. Do not feed canines milk or dairy items. Dairy goods flip into lactose in the dog’s physique. Lactose is sugar - this only triggers complications with allergy symptoms.

six. Do not feed unhealthy treats (the store-bought biscuits). By no means feed cooked bones, this contains steak bones. Cooking bones helps make them brittle and so they then splinter when eaten.

Right here are Some Basic Principles to maintain in Thoughts on Feeding Your Canine All-Natural:

one. Do not absolutely free feed the canine. Choose up uneaten foods concerning meals (only depart the foods down for twenty minutes)

two. Serve foods at area temperature

three. Do not microwave your pet’s foods or retail outlet it with aluminum foil

four. Give your puppy FRESH WATER everyday - wash his water dish with bleach water on the standard basis. In the event you wouldn't drink from a water dish then it is as well dirty for the canine to drink

five. Do not over-exercise just after you feed your canine.

six. Keep your puppy thin

seven. Store your oils while in the fridge and shake before you decide to feed.

eight. Stop feeding bones various days in advance of a bitch whelps. This aids soften stools and increases lactation

The Quantities we Feed: I'll commence this part by saying that it's a fantastic strategy to quickly a puppy that may be above a yr each now then. Some get it done when every week - we utilized to perform this but never any longer. We usually do not do that with puppies, lactating bitches or pregnant bitches. Fasting canines assists clean out their procedure. Some come to feel it can be a really healthier factor to have inside the habit of performing. Fasting is usually a regular occurrence for carnivores. Fasting allows the vitality implemented to digest foods for being made use of for other points within the physique. It is vital to recollect to generate certain your pet has a lot of fresh water on speedy day. Just before I discuss the quantities that I feed I'll state that it truly is also not significant for that canines for being fed precisely exactly the same quantity and style of meals day-after-day. In nature wild canines will not consume specifically five cups of foods daily. So with this particular in thoughts I'll start the practice of figuring out the volume to feed every puppy by taking a look at the problem in the respective canine. Obese canines undoubtedly get much less foods than incredibly thin canines which desire even more foods. The quantity of exercising a puppy will get will figure out the quantity of meals it wants. One example is, a puppy that lives in an outdoors yard and runs the fence all day is certainly planning to need much more meals than a ten yr previous sofa potato who seldom goes out to get a stroll. So it is just about extremely hard to state that you feed a six month outdated canine this a lot meals or an grownup male GSD this sum of foods. Like a rule, American's more than feed their canines and maintain them also body fat. A thin puppy is actually a nutritious canine. A thin canine has much less skeletal difficulties (i.e. dysplasia) than an obese canine. Inside the winter we are going to normally feed our outdoors canines even more meals then we feed exactly the same canine within the summer time. With all of those variables it truly is not possible for me to inform a person simply how much to feed their puppy. If I cant see the puppy, see how it lives I cannot say simply how much to feed it. With this particular in thoughts I'll feed an grownup male GSD one 1/2 lbs as much as three lbs meals each day. Some canines just get chicken leg quarters (from Wall Mart), 400 units of vitamin E and salmon oil. Occasionally through the week we'll include in raw eggs, mackeral, sardines as well as a variety of substances listed over. I look at and combine it as much as preserve it exciting to the canines. I certainly suppose they like this. Knowing "Natural" and "Organic" From Pet Age, July 2005, webpage 32. The terms "natural" and "organic" regularly are employed interchangeably, however they have differing regulatory meanings. The Association of American Feed Management Officials defines "natural" as "a feed or ingredient derived solely from plant, animal or mined sources... not acquiring been generated by or topic to a chemically synthetic course of action rather than containing any additives or processing aids which can be chemically synthetic except in quantities that may arise unavoidably in great manufacturing practices." Synthetic nutrients this kind of as nutritional vitamins also are permissible. The U.S. Division of Agriculture defines "organic" as "grown, raised or generated devoid of chemical pesticides, irradiation, genetic modification, cloning, hormones or antibiotics." The laws also detail the techniques and practices that could be applied in generating and dealing with natural crops and livestock. As an example, livestock will need to have entry for the outside. The USDA's Nationwide Natural Plan breaks natural solutions down to the following labeling classes: • 100 % natural. Product or service will need to include only organically made elements (excluding water and salt).

• Organic. Solution ought to consist of no less than 95 % organically generated elements (excluding water and salt).

• Made with natural. Products ought to consist of a minimum of 70 % natural elements. Solutions with under 70 % natural components can not make use of the phrase "organic" besides to determine the particular components which have been organically generated from the components statement.

Alimentação para aumentar a contagem de plaquetas em cães

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coffeeshopreads · 7 years

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When Ellis Earnshaw and Heathan James met as children, they couldn’t have been more different. Ellis was loud and beautiful – all blond hair, bright laughs and smiles. Heathan was dark and brooding, and obsessed with watching things die.

The pair forged an unlikely friendship, unique and strange. Until they were ripped apart by the sick cruelty of others, separated for years, both locked in a perpetual hell.

Eleven years later, Heathan is back for his girl. Back from a place from which he thought there was no return. Back to seek revenge on those who wronged them.

Time has made Heathan’s soul darker, polluted with hatred and the thirst for blood.

Time has made Ellis a shell of her former self, a little girl lost in the vastness of her pain.

As Heathan pulls Ellis out of her mental prison, reviving the essence of who she once was, down the rabbit hole they will go.

With malice in their hearts and vengeance in their veins, they will seek out the ones who hurt and destroyed them.

One at a time.

Each one more deadly than the last.

Tick Tock. Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for ages 18 and over.

Please note : this is excerpt is unedited and subject to change.

I placed the foot of my cane on the floor and looked to the left. The sound of light breathing came from around the corner. I made to move, but my heart slammed into a fast beat, stopping my feet in their tracks. My nostrils flared as I closed my eyes and tried to suck in deep breaths. I never did this, never had this kind of reaction to anything. Not in eleven years. Not when I was trapped in darkness. Not even when the guards came to “meet the young kid.” Not when we got out—bloodily, savagely, darkly. Especially not when my knife plunged into the guards’ hearts and I watched the life fade from their eyes, the pure fascination of losing one’s life essence occupying my mind.But this was Dolly. The only person I’d ever given a shit about.A slick tar pumped through my black heart as I thought of her. She was the blood that gave me life.I had no idea what state I would find her in. Whether or not her fragile mind had been destroyed. Whether or not her glass heart had been shattered. No hope of salvation.I had no idea if my only reason for living could be saved. I shook with venomous anger when I let my mind imagine the hell those sadistic cunts would have put her through in my absence. But Chapel’s words rang in my ears . . . Unleash the anger only on those who deserve it. Let it build within your heart like a well swelling with water . . . then unleash hell on those who took your freedom.Opening my eyes, I breathed through my rage and silently rounded the corner . . . I stopped. There she was, sitting in a chair. I sucked in a breath and heard it rattle in my ears. Her hair. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid, the woven strands falling to her lower back. And she was dressed in black. Long, baggy sleeves covered her arms.Motherfucking black. Dolly didn’t belong in black. Only color. Blue and white and gold and motherfucking pink.I edged around the perimeter of the room until I faced her. My heart tore down the center and I had to hold back a loud snarl when I saw her curled up on the seat, a thick blanket over her thin legs and waist as she stared lifelessly out of the window. The window that overlooked the once-manicured lawns, now nothing but high-reaching weeds and too-bushy trees. I looked across at what she was watching, in the direction of what held her so captivated.My heart was severed completely, the two parts of its flesh repelling the other, trying to escape the rage and pain and fucking consuming darkness.She was staring at the spot where we used to play as kids. Where she had found me all those years ago, ripping the colorful butterfly apart in my hands. I moved into her line of sight, but her blue eyes didn’t lift to meet mine, just stared through me as though I wasn’t even there. I crouched down and studied her face. Porcelain skin. Full lips. Fucking perfection.But there was no life left in her.I had never felt fear before, but I imagined the sinking hole I felt dropping in my stomach was something like it. A sinking feeling that Dolly had gone to a place from which there was no escape, a prisoner in her own mind.Fragility consumed.“Dolly darlin,’” I rasped, my voice fucking breaking.Twenty-one. She was twenty-one and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.Perfection.My living doll.A strand of hair lay over her face. My fingers clenched and unclenched as I tried to force myself to touch her. But I couldn’t. I hadn’t touched or been touched in years. I didn’t know how to anymore. Allergic to human affection. Repulsed by the degrading feeling of touch.I . . . I . . . I couldn’t.As I opened my mouth to speak to Dolly again, a loud gasp sailed through the air behind her. I straightened, gripping my cane, to see a familiar old face appear. I watched, the sinking hole quickly replaced by dark satisfaction as the blood drained from her face. “Good Lord,” she whispered as I smoothed down my black cravat and vest.I glared at the bitch. Leaning casually on my cane, I said, “More like Lucifer, I would think.” I nodded in her direction “To you, anyhow.”Mrs. Jenkins swallowed and tried to back out of the room. “Ah-ah,” I tutted and shook my head. She immediately stilled, eyes fixed on mine.“He . . . Heathan James . . . it’s . . . it’s not possible . . .” she stammered and ran her eyes over me. Every inch of me.“Rabbit.” The bitch flinched at my correction. “I am Rabbit. The motherfucking White Rabbit. So never fucking utter that peasant name to me again.”Her skin paled, and her eyes fell to Dolly sitting on the chair. Dolly still hadn’t moved. I shifted my grip on the box I had brought inside, about to hold it out to Mrs. Jenkins when she asked, “How are you here?”I threw the box across the room. It landed right at her feet. “Dress her.”“Wh-what?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.I pointed to the box at her feet. “Dress her. It wasn’t a request.” Mrs. Jenkins shook as she picked up the box and moved to where Dolly sat. Dolly didn’t look at her either. Mrs. Jenkins opened the lid of the box and gasped again.Her old, wrinkled eyes snapped up to mine. “No—”Before she had even finished the sentence, I had reached into my pocket and pulled out my knife. I ran the flat side of the blade down my cheek. Slowly. Controlled. Watching her terrified gaze track my every move. “You’d best do as I ask, Mrs. Jenkins. My patience and tolerance for you appear to be at an all-time low.”

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.

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