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toothsilk20 · 2 years

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7 Frequently Asked Questions Plate Compactor to Pavers

Compacting your pavers may seem to be an easy job yet otherwise done well, it can trigger your pavers to shrink, pop-up or damages which will cost you for upkeep over time. Right here are some concerns you could ask on your own prior to doing your paver job. 1- How to portable without plate compactor Yes it is possible to portable without a plate compactor. You should first understand what aspects influences compaction. The factors that impacts compaction are dirt type, wetness web content, compactive energy and deepness of the lift. For reading more with high cohesion like clay, silts as well as clayey silts are tougher to small as they have higher resistance of their bits. Granular dirt, like sand, crushed rock and also other crude soils are less complicated to portable as they have higher thickness. plate compactor exciter oil type plays a terrific duty to carry out condensing any type of kind of dirt. Take a component of the dirt and also attempt molding it, if it collapses as well as damages, it is still completely dry and also you need to add even more water. If the soil holds together, then you can now portable your whole location. There are other tools you can make use of to portable such as a grass roller, hand tamper of sledge hammer. If you are using a roller, you must achieve a consistent quantity of pressure as well as rate of rolling. You must tamper/roll efficiently so that you will certainly be able to disperse the needed compaction on your whole location. You can do layering so you can make certain that every location are well compressed if you are functioning with a great deepness. 2- Do you require plate compactor for pavers Every paving jobs require to be compacted as well as suggestively by making use of a plate compactor This procedure of plate compacting ensures that your pavers are well interlocked with your substratum as well as that no gaps exist to avoid pop-up of pavers as well as wetness collected which can create your pavers to additional have and work out lippage in between. The very best devices in condensing your pavers is plate compactor as it utilizes both vibration and also weight stress which means it causes much less time however covers a large location, other tool you can make use of to compact your pavers are rammers which takes even more time and only uses resonances. 3- How to protect pavers from plate compactor. There are several means to safeguard your pavers from scratches throughout your condensing work. One means is to attach a rubber mat on the base plate of your compactor to minimize the possibilities of your pavers to damage throughout the resonance and pressure. Some does it by including sand, like polymer sand, and also compact over the pavers With this method, the resonance of home plate compactor will load the spaces with polymer sand as well as compacts your pavers If the polymer sand decreases as it fills up the void, include more until you obtain your preferred stability of pavers as well as the gaps are uniformly loaded with sand. The latter is quicker but has danger of scraping your pavers 4- Will plate compactor degree pavers. The purpose of plate compacting your pavers is to further settle your substratum, to level your pavers and to make the sand settle onto the gaps in between the pavers. Especially for substratum made from cohesive soil, plate compacting your pavers need to be done to make certain that air gaps are absent. Offering a layer of sand, self-leveling admixture, is recommended to keep the levelness of the substratum before including your pavers. 5- What dimension plate compactor for pavers. Plate compactor functions by combining force by their base plate weight as well as vibration. Depending upon the degree of your pavers, you have three choices: a single plate compactor (the lightest and restricted handling instructions), reversible plate compactor (can cover a large location as well as simple navigated) and also a sturdy plate compactor (for larger compacting task) of which every equipment has its very own effect pressure and also resonance regularity rate. A resulting pavers have a typical compressive toughness of 8000 psi. Depending on your paver dimension as well as paver product, one of the most conservative plate compactor must have an effect pressure of not greater than it's compressive stamina as well as contend least a 4000 resonances per minute. You can go for a smaller plate compactor which can provide a 4000 psi if you are utilizing a lighter paver material. 6- Will a plate compactor break pavers. It is possible that a plate compactor can damage the pavers. Some elements that can affect the breakage of pavers are if your substratum are not leveled. As your plate compactors are on top of your pavers, it may not disperse the weight equally (as your substrate have humps and not leveled well) which can trigger it to damage. An additional would certainly be your plate compactors influence are much better that the compressive toughness of your paver material as well as have a high resonance frequency. Your paver have a restricted capability of weight per location and also if your plate compactor surpasses the optimum capacity, it can create it to damage. If your plate compactors are not cleansed well, the dust that your base plate gathered, can puncture your pavers. 7- How much paver sink when compacted After laying your pavers and also including polymer sand in between the joints, no foor website traffic need to be in the location for not less than 24 hrs to maintain the interlocking of the products. With this, if your substrate as well as pavers are well compressed, no additional negotiation will certainly occur over time. If additional settlement takes place, it is because of the irregular dirt drain and or the spaces are not equally full of polymer sand as the water may get in the spaces through your bed linen, making it over-saturated. Verdict: Adhering to the proper methodology and using the best devices will help you achieve a well-installed pavers. For more explanations, you can contact your contractor as well as devices distributors to assist you in picking the best plate compactor for your paver project. This process of plate condensing makes certain that your pavers are well interlocked with your substratum as well as that no voids are existing to avoid pop-up of pavers and also wetness accumulated which can create your pavers to additional have and work out lippage between. The best devices in condensing your pavers is plate compactor as it utilizes both resonance as well as weight pressure which means it triggers less time however covers a vast area, various other tool you can make use of to compact your pavers are rammers which takes even more time and only makes use of vibrations. The function of plate compacting your pavers is to more settle your substrate, to level your pavers as well as to make the sand settle onto the gaps in between the pavers. Depending on your paver dimension and also paver product, the most traditional plate compactor have to have an effect force of not even more than it's compressive strength and also have at least a 4000 vibrations per minute. If your plate compactors are not cleansed well, the dirt that your base plate accumulated, can puncture your pavers.

#plate compactor

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kirishoshego · 3 years

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Part of Me//Bakugo

Summary: You could say that Bakugo was the one that got away but now that you were about to marry things change Words. 3.1k+ TW: sfw: angst, fluff, mention of heart break (both him and you) being in a more or less unhappy relationship Whenever people would ask you how you felt about your upcoming wedding you would smile and say: ‘Really excited’ Because that’s how you were supposed to feel. Excited, happy, deeply in love, lucky, joyful, blessed, in seventh heaven, over the moon.

Your fiancé was kind and caring, he never made you doubt his love for you, at least not intentionally. If you were to tell him ‘jump’ he would ask ‘how high’, he would never tell you no, he would agree with everything you say. Whatever you wanted to do would be what he wants and apologize even before doing something wrong. Yet, you felt everything but. Don’t get it wrong: You were happy, you loved your fiancé... But if you loved him the way you were supposed to, why was the small wooden box filled with love letters of the love of your youth your most priced possession? You told yourself it was just harmless sentimental value, pale memories you don’t want to fade away completely. But you couldn’t hide the small rips nor the dried wet spots, all evidence of the many nights you read them over and over again. You couldn’t deny the tug on your heart whenever your eyes skipped over his name at the end of each letter, couldn’t help the way your body was arching for his touch every time you thought about him. Arch for the love he only ever gave to you. Have his arms wrapped around your body one last time, his lips on yours as a kiss good bye, hear his raspy voice in your ear, calling out your name to bring you peace before you leave.

Regret filled every inch of your body whenever you think back to the day you walked out of his life, walked away from your future together. It was the day after your graduation. Bakugo was on top of the class, of course he was, he had trained so hard and studied so much, it couldn’t have been any other way. You were on 6th place and Bakugo was so proud of you, even happier for you than he was for himself. He had planned to move in with you soon, even spotted a sweet apartment the two of you could share. Talking about the family you could start, about marriage. But in the night of the big party you bumped into Izuki, who congratulated the both of you and when your boyfriend walked away to grab something to drink the green haired boy turned around to you with a smile on his face. ‘I never would have though Kacchan would be able to fall for someone. He’ll even give up spot #1 just to be with you, that must be true love’ he said, kind and soft, not the tiniest hint of evil in his voice. And yet he caused more damage to Bakugo and you than the L.O.V ever did with those two sentences. That night you realized that you were being awfully selfish, keeping Katsuki away from his biggest dream in life. All he ever wanted was to be Hero #1, to be better than anyone, better than All Might. But here you were, keeping him back. Caged. Taking his precious time just for your happiness. His happiness was far more important for you than yours will ever be. So that night you disappeared. A simple note left on his nightstand, telling him you’re sorry but it’s better that way, you won’t be holding him back anymore, you promised, and the ghost of a kiss lingering on his lips was the only trace you had left behind for him when he woke up in the early morning hours.

Years have passed before the two of you met again. It was a fluke, more or less, that you were seated next to him on a plane. Yet, there was no awkwardness between the two of you, as if the night never had happened, as if you were still so familiar with one another, like you just spend hours, not years, apart. Neither one of you dared to bring the memory up though, him scared to find out why you left him, you scared to find out how much it must have hurt him. But your decision was the right one, he was on the top now. Bakugo Katsuki, Dynamight, Pro Hero #1. And you were so proud of him, you always knew he could do it, but these words never went past your lips, as if you had no right to tell him that. Of course you kept an eye on him, celebrated with him from afar, but you left him, you had no right to act as if you had supported him in anyway. That’s what you told yourself. When he asked to exchange numbers you were happy, but whenever your phone binged around your fiancé you felt shame in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew Bakugo could never be ‘just a friend’, he’ll always be more. Because it was him you called in those lone nights when your fiancé was out of town, it was him you texted first in the morning and last in the night. Because whenever you met him for a cup of coffee you told the man you’re going to marry it was just a friend you met up with, someone you knew from work. Whenever you noticed the door to him opening again you shut it close, sealing it with oh so many locks and yet they’re opened within seconds whenever his name was seen on your screen. You had to remind yourself why you kept it shut over all these years, the pain of losing him too much to bare.

The wedding was now slowly edging closer, every single day feeling dreadfully longer than the one before. And the less time you had, the more you doubted your decision to be with him for the rest of your life, as your heart was devoted to someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to him, he loved you dearly, treated you with nothing but kindness, you should do the same. But Midoriya’s voice reminded you that, without you, Bakugo was stronger, you couldn’t expect him to just take you back after what you’ve done, you couldn’t be so crude to the man you loved more than life itself. So you stayed. You told yourself you were the happiest like this. And it wasn’t like you had no love for your fiancé, you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted his proposal. It was good the way it was, changing it would just cause more chaos than necessary. It might break your heart in the progress, but that’s better than breaking the hearts of those you loved. You sucked it up, took a deep breath and put a smile on your face. Things will be just fine. But the night before your big day was spend alone, shrouded in darkness as silent tears spilled out of your sleep deprived eyes, caressing your cheek. You had opened every letter of Bakugo the very same day you got them. At first the letters started out as a joke, but there was something about them that made these written words a big part of your lives. You did text daily, of course, but (even though Bakugo would kill everyone who would dare to even think about it) he liked the romantic aspect of it. Texts can get deleted, lost within the world wide web, gone with a simple crash. Meaningless as some sort of, because everyone texted via social media today. And you weren’t everyone. You were Bakugo and Y/N, an odd couple somehow, but you weren’t bothered by the way people talked about you. Not at all. What mattered was that you had each other, for ever. Shaky hands stroked over the last letter you had received, not through him, but Kirishima. At first he pretended your meet up was nothing but an accident but when he left and you arrived home you noticed an envelope, covered in big and some smaller thumb prints, telling you that it must have been moved quite a lot. To this day you didn’t open it, couldn’t brace yourself for what was about to come. You took in a deep breath as the silvery paperknife softly gleamed in the dim light of your nightlight, gliding through the piece of paper. My Y/N, To be honest I don’t know where to start. God, I fucking hate this. You changed your number, moved away and didn’t even leave an explanation. Do you really hate me that much? To just leave me behind like I’m some sort of extra and not the man you wanted to spent the rest of your life with. I know those weren’t lies, you never were able to lie to me. So now I’m out here, looking like a fool, trying to wrap my head around the fact my person is gone without a trace. I even talked to Deku, asked him if he knew anything, but of course that extra didn’t knew shit. He offered to talk to you but I didn’t want him out of all people to contact you. Kiri told me he had run into you once, he said you looked awful. Not really his words, but from what he described you are just as torn apart as I am. Which confuses me even more. If you’re so hurt why won’t you come back? I hate giving second chances but I would do anything for you. You got me fucking whipped for you shitty woman and then you just pack your stuff and leave? The last couple of month have been awful. I haven’t slept properly, I can’t without you next to me. If you need time (even if I don’t understand for what, because we’ve been going strong since day one dipshit, if someone needs time it’s me from your annoying, cute fucking self) I can give that to you, just come back. Kirishima is trying really badly to fill in your spot and (don’t you dare to ever tell a single soul about this, I’ll kill you… maybe…) while his hugs are warm and loving and attempt to make me laugh do crag me up here and there it’s not the same. No one can ever replace you. We are young, we don’t know shit about life, but if I do know one fucking thing is that I want to wake up to your stupid angelic face every morning. I still remember the nights were you asked me what had torn me apart, the nights you held me close to you because of the awful nightmares that haunted me. I never wanted you know what they were about, never wanted you to worry, but never had I imagined that those nightmares will turn true. That I’ll lose you. Damn it, I want to marry you, have kids with you (if you want, I’m fine with sticking to practice) and turn old and grey and yell at the neighbors kids for ruining our garden. I might can’t give you everything you want but I know I’m everything you need and visa versa, I guess. Y/N I don’t want to bottle you up, but I can’t let you go either. It’s so fucking confusing and I hate it. I hate that you didn’t give me a clean cut, a proper explanation but at the same time I don’t want that, I don’t want to know why you left me, cause maybe I pushed you away, maybe it was my fault. Whatever your reason is we can work through it. I promise you, I’ll love you forever, because you are a part of me. The best. I won’t ask you to send me a letter back, as I will never send it to you. I think hearing from you, meaning you won’t come back, would just break me more. So now I have to be selfish, focus on me again, because if I won’t I’ll drown, Katsuki Lines were crossed out, some words thickened, indicating the many times he wrote them, over and over again. Like he said, he never planned for this letter to ever reach you. He didn’t knew Kirishima gave it to you and even Kirishima never knew if you found it, maybe it got lost on the way, some things better when hidden. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, torn into so many pieces you couldn’t count every small particle, even if you tried. That was the moment you realized you will never be whole again, never be home again.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, dressed in all white, the most beautiful gown you had ever laid your eyes upon. All evidence of the previous nightly events were hidden under a mask of make-up, your hair never sat more perfect than it did right now. When your eyes met the person in the mirror you couldn’t identify with her. Whoever she was, she looked like a happy bride, someone who was in love with her fiancé, in love with her life. “Hey,” a deep voice spoke up behind you, making you drop the bouquet. Turning around you were met with the most beautiful set of crimson red eyes. “Katsuki, what...” you stammered, not knowing if your mind just messed with you, the cold feet everyone warned you about now making their appearance. “You look beautiful,” he told you, walking closer to you, your nose filled with your favorite smell in the world. Softly burned caramel. You held your hand up, scared that if you touch him he’ll be gone, just a figment of your imagination. “What are you doing dumbass?” he laughed, setting of thousand of butterflies in your stomach, starting the fire that was long defunct. “Come here,” he pulled you and the moment your skin touched his you realized he was here, with you, in this room. Bakugo held you close to him, biting back the tears that threatened to spill out his eyes, because it wasn’t him you will walk to at the end of the aisle. “What are you doing here?” you whispered into his chest, your hands fisting his suit jacket, feeling complete again. Finally at home. “I promised to be with you, by your side to celebrate every milestone in your life. And marriage is a huge one, don’t you think?” he asked you as you looked up to him, lips inches away from one another. “But...” suddenly reality came crushing down, everything was not going to be just fine. Thousand knives pushed into your chest at once. Or at least that’s what it felt like. “Today is your big day Y/N. After all these years you’re still my best friend,” “Hey!” you heard Kirishima suddenly call out in the door frame, ducking down to not hit his head. “Eijiro!” you exclaimed, engulfing him into a big hug as best as you could. “Hey little one, you’re still as small as I remember!” he laughed, gently wiping away your tears that threatened to ruin your mascara. “Sorry for not answering your invitation, we were just awfully busy with Hero Work and our secretary messed up, mixing the actual mail with fan mail,” Bakugo explained after Kirishima set you down again. “I’m so happy to have the two of you by my side, my favorite men finally with me again,” you told them, looking at Bakugo. He still had the same expression on his face whenever he would look at you. Filled with love and adoration. “But I’m your absolute favorite, right?” Kirishima laughed, his smile beaming. “Of course you are,” you endorsed your tall friend standing next to you. “We will actually wait outside, the church is stuffed, so...” Eijiro trailed off, his eyes glued to his best friend. “Yeah! But we wanted to see you before, to uhm...Congratulate you,” Bakugo cleared his throat, putting on the best smile he could for you. You seemed so happy, that was all he ever wanted. “Yeah, congrats, your guy seems nice,” “Yeah, he is,” was all you could say. Because he was nice, he just wasn’t Bakugo. “I’m so glad I saw you before, I really did miss you,” your eyes couldn’t let go of the blond man in front of you and neither could his let go of you. “We better get going now,” Kirishima said after some moments draped in silence passed by. “Save a dance for me,” Katsuki told you, kissing your forehead for one last time before leaving through the door. Hours could have passed, maybe minutes, maybe seconds. You had lost track of time after his lips met your skin. When you entered the church, a small wave of Bakugo all you could really register, you weren’t present. It felt like you were in a movie, everything slow motion, watching from afar while the main character walked into her demise. The audience wasn’t applauding her, everyone screamed, asking her what the fuck she was doing. The moment you looked into your fiancé’s eyes, was the moment you snapped out of it, feeling your soul entering your body again, letting you realize what’s happening in first person. He grabbed your hand and looked at you with warm, sad eyes. He knew. “I’m sorry, I-” you whispered, even before the pastor could open up his bible. “It’s okay, go,” was all he said, rubbing his thumb over your hand, reassuring you to go for what you loved. Go for whom you loved. People gasped left and right, whispers filling the holy halls as the bride run down the aisle, pushing open the big wooden doors, her eyes immediately falling onto him. Her lover, her best friend, her other half. Bakugo Katsuki. His back was turned to you, shoulders shaking ever so gently while his best friend towered over his frame, trying his hardest to console the blond. It was Kirishima who noticed you first, pointing at you as Bakugo turned around, not a moment too late as you fell into his arms. “I love you Bakugo Katsuki, I have ever since day one. I was stupid enough to walk away from you once, I won’t do it again. If you don’t want me back I understand, but if I don’t try then-” his lips on your shut you up, first a small amount of shock pumping through your veins, the warm feeling of love and safety replacing it within seconds. “Run away with me?” he asked you, displaying his beautiful smile. “Of course I will, without you I’m just a half, because you’re a part of me, the best.”

©Kirishoshego

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Barking Up The Wrong Tree

Ransom Drysdale One Shot

Summary: It’s the Annual Pre-Easter meal at the Thrombey’s and Ransom and you are in attendance. As usual, there’s fireworks, a lot of swearing and there’s only one way you know he can get rid of his frustrations…

Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this was originally written last year for @jennmurawski13 who requested a smutty one shot with an Evans character of my choice for her birthday. It was coined from a Brainstorming sesh me and @icanfeelastormbrewing had for our intended Ransom x OFC series (we might get round to it in 2022…so by then you’ll have forgotten if we use it again.) FYI Eighteen year old Ransom is totally Bryce from Fierce People, you can’t convince me otherwise… I also very much now see this being the same Reader as in mine, @ohthankevans13 and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork’s Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale series.

Your brown leather, knee high Saint Laurent boots (a gift from the man whose lap you were curled up on) were on the floor by your feet leaving you in your grey, woollen over-knee socks. One of your boyfriend’s large hands was resting on your left shin, the other just at the top of your right thigh, almost on your ass cheek. You were well aware your black sweater dress was riding up so went to shift and shimmy it down a little, conscious that you were, after all, sat in the large drawing room at his grandfather’s house whilst the rest of his family milled around as the pre-Easter dinner, which always took place the weekend before the actual holiday, was being prepared.

“You okay?” Ransom looked up at you, noticing you shift on his lap and you smiled.

“Yeah, just don’t want to flash everyone too much if you get my drift.”

Ransom cocked an eyebrow at you, then peeked around the room, before he gave a snort as his eyes fell on his cousin Jacob who was watching the pair of you.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Adolf junior getting a boner now would we?”

You gave a chuckle as you re-arranged your dress, making yourself more comfortable.

“He’s just a kid, Ran.” You soothed.

“He’s a deviant, Princess.” He replied, his voice quiet.

“So were you when I first met you.” You grinned, looking at him as you bent closer to whisper into his ear “Still are when the mood takes you.”

Ransom pulled back to look at you, his face inches from yours, his eyebrow raising slightly as that dirty smirk spread across his handsome face. “Stop it.” He warned, and you shrugged innocently, as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth.

“Come on son, put her down.” Richard’s voice rang across the room and instantly you felt Ransom’s entire demeanour change. Gone was the relaxed, jokey, happy Ran you knew and loved and in his place was Hugh Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire.

“Piss off, Father.” He shot back, his head moving back from yours, fixing his dad with a steely glare.

“Hey.” Richard glowered “Don’t speak to me like that…” he turned to Linda. “Did you hear that Linda?”

“Ransom…” Linda said lazily, not looking up from her phone. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Ransom rolled his eyes and you gently looked at him, shaking your head, silently telling him to stay calm. It was always the same with the Thrombey family gatherings. Ransom despised them for the simple fact that Harlan was the only one he had any time for, bar his mother on a good day, and you were inclined to feel the same way. It always ended in chaos, each individual nuclear sects within the extended family trying to get one up on the other, prove they were the best players in the game.

Frankly, they made the fucking Lannisters look normal.

All your friends were constantly asking you how you managed to stay tangled in this web of dysfunction, but the answer was right in front of you, his crystal blue eyes now narrowed as he shot a sarcastic reply back to his mother.

The simple truth was, you loved him and couldn’t walk away if you tried.

It hadn’t always been that way, mind. When your High School had been asked to submit nominations for the coveted position of Harlan Thrombey’s Summer research assistant, you’d been short listed along with 15 other candidates from the New England area. Each of you were asked to produce a five-thousand word thesis on a literary subject of your choice to be submitted for reading by Harlan. You’d been ecstatic when you received the call from his Publishing Company to say you’d made the final three and were requested to attend an interview.

You’d been and bought a new suit. Nothing fancy but decent enough quality. You made sure your hair was tamed, your make up was as on point as you could get it, and had driven the thirty minutes or so out to his mansion from the home you shared with your Nanna in Brookline, following the directions on your GPS to the area near Pierce Park where the Thrombey Mansion was located. You were greeted by his housekeeper and shown into the large office where the man himself was waiting. Harlan was nothing like you had expected him to be. He was eccentric, sure, but also dmaned good fun. He’d asked you a few questions about why you wanted the position “I’m going to major in English at college and I hope to work in publishing when I graduate, this would be an invaluable experience.” He had then discussed your paper with you and after a few more general questions he had reduced you almost to tears of laughter by telling you a about an incident when he had been at college and was almost caught climbing down the trellis of his girlfriend’s parent’s house following a late night rendezvous of the very naughty kind “Don’t think too badly of me, we ended up married for forty-seven years…”

Then, just as he was showing you out of his study a tall, well-built young man, your age you had correctly guessed, with a strong jaw, dark hair flicked to the left side of his forehead, and a pair of the bluest eyes you had ever seen, waltzed down the hallway. He was dressed in a pair of riding breeches, a polo shirt and wore a long pair of tan leather riding boots.

"Ransom?” Harlan looked at the young man “I wasn’t expecting you till this afternoon.”

“Yeah well, the fucking horse I should have been riding is lame.” Ransom shrugged “Which means I can’t ride, and I probably can’t compete this weekend.”

“Dressage?” you had asked, your mouth speaking well before your brain had engaged, for some reason thinking it was a good idea to comment. Ransom had looked at you with disdain, scanned you up and down and cocked his head to one side, his eyes cold as they locked onto yours.

“Polo.” He had answered, a sneer on his face “Do I look like a dressage rider to you? Mind you, from the state of your cheap high-street dress the nearest you’ve probably ever been to a horse is those shitty little trail rides they run at kids parties.”

“Ransom!” Harlan had snapped sternly “Enough!”

You felt the heat rise in your neck and cheeks, and you drew yourself up to your full height, folding your arms as you looked at the ass hole stood in front of you. One thing your Nanna had told you was that, despite your humble origins, you were as worthy as the next person, no matter how much money, status or self-importance they may have.

“My apologies. I always thought polo was played by arrogant, snobby, stuck up pricks.” You retorted as you made a show of looking him up and down in the same way he had done to you. “Actually, on second thoughts, I should have guessed.”

As soon as the words were out of your mind you let out an internal groan. Way to go, flush your chance of landing this summer internship down the fucking toilet by insulting Harlan’s grandson. Nevertheless, you held the gaze of the man in front of you who stared back, his expression and face utterly stoic bar the blink of surprise his eyes made.

You heard Harlan chuckle behind you and the old man dropped a hand to your shoulder. “Fran, could you see Miss Y/L/N to the door.”

Two days later Harlan had personally called you to offer you the position, and it had turned out to be everything you ever wanted, and more. Three weeks into your internship, to your utter surprise, Harlan confessed that he had been looking to fund a worthy, local candidate through college and as the successful applicant it was yours for the taking. Some strings had been pulled, and in the last week of September thanks to his generosity you started your English Major at Harvard.

And so did Ransom.

He pursued you with a dogged determination, seemingly viewing your indifference towards him and his advances as some kind of challenge. You weren’t fooling yourself, however. He was devastatingly handsome and your traitorous vagina and that part of your brain that controlled your libido harboured a deep desire to fuck his brains out, a desire you finally gave into at the end of your first year when, following your final exam, you got drunk and woke up the morning after in his bed.

It wasn’t all puppies and roses though. You were on and off more than his boxer shorts, as simply put, Ransom was a player. And it didn’t bother you to start with. He was a hook up, a way to relieve tension when you needed to, and he was a very handy person to know with his seemingly endless network of connections. But by the time you graduated you knew you were head over heels for him, and needed to break this seeming cycle of being in and out of his bed. So you turned down Harlan’s offer of a job at Blood Like Wine and were ready to move away from Boston after landing a job at a publishers in Manhattan…but then your nanna had been taken seriously ill and suffered a stroke meaning you had to stay.

As a result of her illness, your nanna was unable to live in your house in Brookline alone and so you were forced to sell it so she could afford to move into a supervised Retirement Village a five minute or so drive away. You were now jobless, drowning with the house-sale which would leave you homeless, and your emotions and been all over the place. You had no other family since your Grandfather had died at the start of your senior year so had no one to turn to.

Enter Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

You’d called him one evening, drunk and emotional and needing a release and he came over alright, but instead of fucking you into the mattress he made sure you drank water, ate something, and then got you into bed. The next morning, Harlan had shown up, telling you the job offer at his company was still open, and then to your utter surprise and initial horror he had offered to buy your nanna’s house, meaning you could remain there as a tenant. At first you had refused, insisting you weren’t a charity case but Harlan had simply waved your concerns away by insisting it was an investment. After a little discussion he agreed to allow you to pay rent which, all things considered, was a pittance in comparison to what other properties the same size in that area commanded but it was a rent nonetheless and made you feel better.

And you knew all of it had ben Ransom’s idea.

This was the side to Ransom he very rarely displayed to anyone. A softer side, a caring side, a gentle side. A side that held you as you cried at the thought that your nanna was growing old and may soon leave you behind, a side that made you a sandwich when you hadn’t eaten in days, a side that helped you pack up and move your Nana’s stuff to her new home, a side that turned up at 9pm with several tubs of ice cream and a bottle of wine after you’d messaged him earlier that afternoon to tell him what a shit day you were having when his Uncle Walt was being a dick at work.

The rest, they say is history. History which meant you were now curled up in his lap some eight or so years post that initial meeting in the hallway of this very house, listening to him bicker with his family, feeling his leg beginning to shake in that way it always did when he was agitated.

“Ran…” you said gently, squeezing his arm and you felt him take a deep breath and he looked at you, his mouth closing as you shook your head “Don’t.”

He turned away, looking to the other side of the room and his face glowered as he spotted Jacob once more had his eyes trained on your bare thigh. God the pubescent creep did his fucking head in, and if he stayed here he was going to end up putting the lanky streak of shit through the wall.

“Can we go?” Ransom looked at you, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“We’ve not even had dinner yet.”

“Please.”

That single word was enough to make you understand. It was a word he hadn’t learned until he’d met you, when he realised that his demands and arrogance got him nowhere with you. He still rarely used it mind, but when he did, you knew he was in desperate need of what he’d asked for.

“How about we take a walk?” You suggested “If you still wanna go after then we will”

He took a deep breath as he considered what you had said. Compromise was another word that hadn’t been in his vocabulary until you. His eyes locked onto yours and you looked at him, encouragingly and he took a deep breath, nodding.

“Okay.”

You uncurled yourself from his lap and stood up, him following so you could sit down and place you boots on.

“Are you leaving?” Linda asked, looking up for the first time.

“For a walk.” Ransom said simply, grabbing your hand and pretty much dragging you from the room. He didn’t say a word as he reached the coat stand and retrieved your lightweight Ted Baker belted mac, holding it out for you to slip your arms into, in a display of chivalry he reserved only for you. Once you’d done it up, he took your hand in his and you headed through the kitchen and outside into the reasonably mild April afternoon.

“Don’t let them get to you.” You said softly, leaning into him a little and he sighed, untangling his fingers from yours so he could drop his arm round your shoulders. He hated the fact his family could make him feel like this, like he wasn’t in control, like he was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He could quite happily go without seeing any of them, well, bar maybe his grandfather, but you had told him he would regret it if he pushed them away completely because you had always wished you’d had a large family unit like that. So, despite the fact he knew deep down that was a load of bullshit, he played the game. He attended the damned gatherings more for your benefit than any as you adored Harlan and seemed to get on fairly well with Joni, Meg and his mother. He hung onto a glimmer of hope that maybe one day it would all change and he’d feel part of it.

But it never did. And he never did.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence across the Mansion grounds, round the lake where Ransom stopped by the small pier, looking out over the water.

“You know my most vivid childhood memories are of this spot.” He mused, his gaze focussed over the lake “Grammy used to bring me down here to feed the ducks.”

“It’s beautiful down here.” You agreed, snuggling further under his arm. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah unlike that fucking house.”

You gave a chuckle, as his hand curled over your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing over the smooth material of your coat. He was agitated, you could tell, and there were very few ways in which he could calm down when he was like this. One was riding his beloved BB- a polo horse Harlan had bought him for his 21st, one was the pair of you curling up on the sofa with snacks and a good scotch or bourbon, getting drunk and watching Trashy Films, in particular horrors-you both loved to pick plot holes and insult the main characters, declaring the victim a dumb bitch for running up the stairs and not out of the door and the other, well…

You glanced around, checking you were alone before you pulled away from him, taking his hand and tugging on it slightly.

“What?” he asked looking down.

“Come on.” You gave his hand another pull.

“Y/N?” he questioned again, but followed nonetheless despite you not answering. You tugged him away from the lake, into the thin thicket of trees a little further round. You could still see the house here but you knew there was no way anyone from up there could see you.

“Seriously, Y/N what the fuck?” he groaned, as he stepped in the slightly squelchy mud “You’re gonna ruin my Gucci’s…” “Should have worn something a little more substantial then shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t know you were planning on going fucking hiking in the fucking woods.”

“That’s not what we’re doing.” You said, stopping in front of a large oak tree, looking up at him.

“Then what are we doing? Reconnecting with Mother Nature? Or are we on the hunt for Oberon, Titania and Puck?”

“Ooh, good Shakespeare reference.” You grinned at him and he rolled his eyes as you slid your hand up over his navy blue lightweight Barbour jacket which was done up to his sternum, leaving his plain white, Armani t-shirt slightly visible at the neckline. “Does that make us Lysander and Hermia?”

“You got a hidden suitor called Demetrius I don’t know about?” he arched an eyebrow, his hands falling to your hips.

“Nope, I’m all yours Tiger.”

The sound of your ridiculous nickname for him drew a large smile across his face and he shook his head, giving a genuine chuckle. Here, with you there were no annoying voices to listen to, no family politics, nothing to care about but the gentle brush of the wind as it blew through the canopy of trees above your heads and the faint sounds of birds as they went about their business and Ransom felt a sense of comfort. Because you were his rock. The one person that saw through his bull shit, the woman in his life that knew all his horrible personality traits as well as his slightly less horrible ones and loved him all the same. The girl that had rounded off his harsher edges no matter how much he protested to the contrary.

You were his better half for sure.

“Well that’s good, because I don’t like sharing.” Ransom smirked, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Don’t I know it.” You mused against his mouth. His fingers flexed on your sides, pulling you closer to him as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing him control over the kiss, knowing that’s what he craved when he was like this. His lips were soft on yours, tongue domineering as he kissed you deeply, slowly. Eventually he pulled back, his nose bumping yours slightly as he gave a little chuckle.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from those shit heads in the house.” He said, his tone playful and you loved playful Ransom. Another side to him only you really got to see.

“Is it working?” You played along.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips pressing to yours again.

“Good. Now why don’t you let your inner deviant come out to play?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, Princess.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he had pressed you into the harsh, earthy bark of the tree behind you, kissing you hard again, groaning as you palmed his crotch through his designer denims. He grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head before he did the same with the other one, easily holding both in place above you with one large hand, his other softly tracing up the outside of your thigh, fingers skating under your skirt.

“Is this why you wore this?” he smirked, toying with the material slightly. “So you could tempt me away for a fuck in the woods?”

It wasn’t, it was because it looked and felt good, but you decided to play along “Maybe. Was it a good choice?”

“Damned right it was…” he growled against your mouth, his long, soft fingers sliding your lace panties to the side. His index finger traced a path up your slit and you gasped at the feeling as he gently began to toy with you. Soft, teasing touches, his eyes never once leaving yours. That was one of his things, he liked to see your face, watch as your expressions changed as he undid you, fuelling his ego. Your hips gently started to move in time to his strokes as he played you, like an instrument from which he could always draw a tune. And in no time at all, he was listening to the music as you let out a soft keen, a purr almost as your head fell back against the tree, your mouth parting slightly.

“Like that?” he asked, and it was all you could do to nod, panting brokenly as the familiar feeing began to rise in the pit of your stomach, the fire growing hotter and hotter. “God you’re a fucking minx. Come on, cum on my fingers, you know you want to.” And you did, hard, your knees trembling, as you let out a loud cry of his name as the lights exploded in front of your eyes. Ransom pressed into you, his erection evident as it dug into your stomach, keeping you pinned between him and the tree as he coaxed you through your orgasm, before he moved his hands, allowing yours to drop to his shoulders as you held onto him tightly.

The clanging of a belt buckle, then the zipping of trousers and the rustling of fabric broke through the post-orgasm haze as Ransom undid his flies, reaching into pull out his painfully hard cock. He gently pushed forward, sliding the tip against your folds, gathering your slick as you gave a moan, the feeling of him sliding against your clit sent lances of red, hot desire through your veins.

His hands gripped the back of your thighs as he pulled you off the ground and you hooked them round his slim waist, ankles locking at the base of his spine. In a swift, fluid moment, no teasing, no gentle ease, he buried himself inside you with a deep thrust making you cry out as he filled you. His lips crashed onto yours as he drew back, then thrust back in hard, his cock dragging against your walls inside, hitting that spot that he knew would leave you seeing stars.

Yes, if there was one thing on this Earth Ransom knew he was good at, it was fucking you.

His lips traced a path from your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck, biting and sucking at any bit he could get to, his hips moving back and forth in a slow but deep pace which was torture, and you needed more.

“Ran, harder…” You groaned, digging your heels into his ass and he gave a dirty moan of his own as his hands held your hips.

“You’re such a needy little slut.” He smirked against your lips, not waiting for your reply as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth with a vigour that was merciless as he pistoned in and out of you again and again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as you kissed him, teeth clashing together as your back repeatedly brushed against the harsh, rough surface behind you as you clawed desperately at the material of his jacket.

It wasn’t long before you felt another orgasm brewing and your head fell forward, teeth nipping at his ear drawing a growl from his throat. Your hands moved into his hair and you pulled sharply back causing him to hiss and look up you.

“Fuck, Y/N….” he groaned, the pupils of his eyes blown wide with a desire you would never tire of seeing. You pushed your hips down against him causing him to drive deeper and you let out an almost primal cry, the noise you made simply revving him up even more, his rapid movements growing even more urgent.

“Fuck Ran…” you moaned as your head rolled back against the tree, hands back on his shoulders, as once more that snake in your belly moved. Ransom felt the tell-tale flutter of your heat tightening round him and he continued his voracious pace, his eyes locked onto yours.

“You feel so fucking good…” he panted “So fuckin’ good Princess...”

His words made you moan again, and he pushed up once more, stilling slightly, grinding up against you as opposed to thrusting and a few rolls of his hips later you were done. The world faded around you as you came hard, with a loud scream before your head dropped to his shoulder, as you moaned his name, again and again whilst he pounded through your orgasm chasing his own.

“Shit, Y/N…I’m…fuck…” his words tumbled into your hair as his movements became desperate and he came a short while later with a loud yell. You felt him fill you up, as his hips stilled and he groaned, face buried into your neck, his chest heaving, sweat beaded both his brow and yours as he simply pressed into you, panting and shaking.

Neither of you had any idea how long you stayed like that, but eventually Ransom managed to gain enough control to pull his softening cock out of you and set you gently on your feet as he brushed the tendrils of your hair that had fallen over your face back with a tenderness he reserved only for you. He said nothing, simply looked at you, his lips gently greeting yours in a soft, loving kiss, a stark contrast to the violent ones you had shared moments before. You smiled at him, unadulterated love in your eyes as you moved your hands to brush his hair back before you leaned up and kissed him again, your nose sliding against his.

“I adore you Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t fucking call me Hugh.” He grumbled and you chuckled as he pulled you to him, nuzzling into your hair as he sighed. “But for the record, the feeling is mutual Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N.”

You gave a laugh and were about to reply when you felt his head snap up, and his entire body tense and he let out an angry cry causing you to jump.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! The perverted little shit!”

“Ran?” You saw his face contorted in anger as he pushed back from you, striding away from the tree, rearranging his jeans as he went before he broke into a sprint. You watched him go and then, to your horror, saw the retreating back of a smaller male running away from the thicket of trees on the curve of the bank to your left and you felt yourself grow cold.

Jacob.

How long he had been there Ransom had no idea but he chased the little fucker all the way to the house, yelling insults and threats as he burst into the kitchen. Ransom finally caught up with him just as he ran into the hall and grabbed the kid by the collar, spinning him round and pinning him to the wall, arm crossed over his windpipe. “Enjoy the show did we?!” He yelled, the noise drawing the rest of the family out from the sitting room into the tiled hallway. Walt started to shout angry threats about what he was going to do to Ransom if he didn’t take his hands off his son, which then sparked Richard to bite back at Walt saying if he touched Ransom he’d give him a damned good hiding. If Ransom hadn’t been so focussed on the dirt little bastard he had pinned to the wall he would have laughed because the idea of his dad fighting anyone was hilarious, he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.

“Give me your phone.” Ransom demanded.

“I didn’t…” “GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NOW YOU PERVERTED PRICK!” Ransom yelled, and reached into Jacob’s pocket, grabbing his hand where it was curled around the offending item, bending the boy’s fingers back. Jacob gave a yell, pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket and Ransom seized the phone, yanking it out, just as you walked into the hallway.

He looked at you, then to Jacob and saw you pale as the realisation washed over you that you’d not only been seen but recorded or snapped, by a twelve year old boy nonetheless.

“Unlock it.” Ransom demanded, thrusting it back at him.

“Now listen here…” Walt started until Harlan turned to him.

“Walt, shut up.” He barked, turning to Jacob “Unlock the phone, now Jake.”

Jacob sullenly took the phone from Ransom and did has he was told, Ransom snatching it back. He glanced down at the screen, flicking to the Gallery and let out an angry noise as he saw not only footage of you both in the woods but ten or so photos of your bare thigh and close ups where he had attempted to see up your skirt when you had been on his knee before. Thankfully from the snaps there wasn’t really anything visible, but still the fact he had even taken them in the first place made Ransom apoplectic with rage.

“You dirty little prick.” he mumbled, looking back up at him. Jacob visibly recoiled under Ransom’s glare.

“Ran?” You questioned as you gently touched his arm and he tilted the phone so you could see the screen and your eyes widened, your entire body growing warm as you saw the close up of your thigh on the screen.

“How the fuck dare you?” You exploded, glaring at Jacob.

“Can you explain what he has supposedly done?” Donna, Jacob’s mother spoke for the first time and you turned to face her, your pretty features contorted in rage.

“He’s…” You shook your head “Taken photos of me, before up my skirt.”

Noise erupted in the hallway, Joni and Meg screaming about you being violated, Richard and Linda yelling at Walt and Donna whilst Harlan shook his head, making a noise of disgust. Ransom ignored them all as he selected the photos and images, deleting them, and showing it to you.

“Gone, Princess.” He turned the screen off before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Look, he’s a teenage boy…” Donna was protesting “He’s a bit curious…”

“He’s a dirty bastard.” Richard snorted and the irony wasn’t lost on Ransom as he’d seen his father eyeing you up on more than one occasion. He looked at his dad, eyebrow raised as Jacob bit back at the dig.

“I’m a dirty bastard?” The pre-teen snapped, his eyes flicking from Richard to Ransom “I’m not the one that was having sex against a tree!”

Everyone paused and their heads turned to you and Ransom. You gave a groan, your hands sliding up to your face to hide your utter embarrassment, but besides you Ransom’s expression never changed because, well frankly, he couldn’t give two shits about everyone knowing what you had been up to.

“I’m a grown ass man.” He snarled “If I wanna fuck my girl outside on private property I will”

He held Jacob’s phone out to him, but as Jacob went to take it Ransom opened his hand, dropped it to the floor with a loud “oops” and stomped on it, the metal and glass crunching under the heel of his expensive, leather boots.

There was more yelling, and Ransom simply turned, taking your hand in his. “We’re leaving.”

This time you didn’t argue. The pair of you walked away, ignoring the screaming which grew fainter as you headed down towards the large front doors, only to hear Harlan calling after you. Ransom stopped, took a deep breath and tuned to face his grandfather.

“Y/N are you ok?”

“Of course she’s not.” Ransom snapped but you gently squeezed his hand, shaking his head.

“I’m okay Harlan, thank you. But I think its best we go before Ransom commits murder.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not far off killing the little turd myself.” Harlan shook his head, sighing. He then took a deep breath, looked at Ransom, and there was a flash of something which you knew only too well to be amusement in his eyes. “Which tree?”

Ransom frowned “What?”

“I asked which tree you two were doing the naughty against.”

You groaned as Ransom blinked and then shrugged “Just in the thicket to the south side of the lake, near the little jetty. Why?”

“Well, instead of barking up the wrong tree so to speak, next time stick to the North side.” Harlan grinned cheekily “It’s in the dip and no chance you can be spotted by anyone unless they’re a foot or so away.”

Ransom’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he looked at his grandfather then to you.

Meanwhile you simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow you.

Harlan bid the two of you goodbye as you headed out to Ransom’s Beemer. He stopped just besides it, turning to you, his hands falling to your hips again. “Well, I don’t know about you, Sweetheart, but all that excitement has made me a bit hungry. Seeing as we’re not getting dinner here, how about I take you to Asta?”

Your face lit up at the mention of your favourite restaurant and you gave an eager nod before you frowned “Aren’t we a little underdressed? And it’s Saturday evening, we’ll never get in.”

“Baby girl, enough money can get us in anywhere, and you look fine.” He said, dropping a kiss to your lips before he grinned “You might wanna brush the twigs outta your hair though.”

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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shark-bites-back · 3 years

Link

Okay this upsets me. Not just because it happened. But because of how the news is covering it.

I mean, let’s look at this story for a moment. 16 year old kid is out fishing on a boat in Florida. Shark comes up to their boat with a half-eaten tarpon.

“It was a really cool sight seeing something I’ve never experienced before...” Yeah... It is, isn’t it? This is a Mako shark that came up and circled their boat for HALF AN HOUR showing off the tarpon he caught. This shark is trying to have a positive interaction with humans. He sees them out fishing and he comes up and it like, “Hey look! I caught one too! Look at the one I caught!” How often does something like this happen? This kid got to experience an interaction with a shark that most of us will never have the opportunity to experience. And in the sight of this incredible rare event, what does he decide to do? He decides he’s going to kill the shark... Just because he can...

Because that’s what he did. He caught it and killed it, and then took a bunch of pictures showing off his “trophy” as he stands there grinning all proud of himself.

And his justification for doing this is some of the biggest bullshit I have ever heard.

Could directly affect the tarpon population? Yeah, no shit... It’s called an echo system! That’s how apex predators work. They eat smaller fish and keep their numbers in check. You remove the larger predator from the food web and you create a Trophic Cascade! Do you understand what that is? And I’m sorry but one shark is not going to wipe out all of your fucking tarpon. And here’s another thing...

Mako sharks are endangered! Tarpons are not! You killed an endangered species because you were worried about how it would affect the population of a non-endangered species? One it naturally feeds on anyways and has fed on for as long as it has existed? I’m sorry but that reasoning makes no god damn sense at all. If you are worried about population numbers shouldn’t you be more worried about the population of the endangered species you decided to kill? An endangered species that is very slow to reproduce, and doesn’t even reach sexual maturity until it’s 18 years old...

And it could feed a lot of people... That one REALLY gets me. He isn’t in some third world country where people are starving that that shark is going to save his village or whatever... He’s in fucking Florida! What people exactly is he feeding? Oh well let’s look at what the news article says...

Along with the meat, Thomas took home a... Wait... He took the meat for himself?

Okay, yeah... he did... So when he justifies killing this beautiful and endangered animal by saying “it could feed a lot of people,” what he means is, him and his parents... I’m sorry... I don’t care how big your family is... If you can afford to go deep sea fishing on a regular basis like this kid does, you aren’t poor enough to justify eating an endangered species.

And the fact that the news isn’t bothering to talk about this fact is just as disgusting as this kid is. I looked for other news sites covering the same story and I only found one mention (in a different article) about the fact that Mako sharks are endangered.

Source

And that’s the only mention of this I’ve seen. Just a simple, throw-away mention that these sharks are endangered but fishermen in Florida are allowed to catch them. Otherwise the news is treating this like it’s some awesome thing we should all be impressed about. And why are they allowed to catch them anyways? Why is it there is no protection for this animal on the brink of extinction? If that kid was holding up a dead tiger by the tail or posing with his foot up on the head of a white rhino he had just shot, those would be very different looking news articles. But because it’s a shark no one cares and everyone is just giving him a pat on the back for his “amazing catch.”

Every last bit of this makes me sick. I’m not the sort of person to go wishing death on some stupid teenager, but if he chokes to death on that shark meat, I’m not going to lie... I won’t be upset about it.

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

My Heroine

MASTERLIST

This fic was inspired by the song My Heroine by The Maine which you can listen to here, if you’d like. The song I’ve come to realize sounds like it can have multiple interpretations, but I was inspired to use the whole “reader is Spencer’s drug of choice” plot. Not gonna lie it was rough writing about his prison trauma cause I consider it to be one of his biggest traumas, but I kinda wanted this to be a journey from his avoidance of it to his eventual acceptance, all while sex is his “heroin” or the reader is the “heroine” in his story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 4,460

I’m feeling pretty dirty baby

Forgive my sins

I get the feeling you can save me honey,

My heroine

The silver gleam from the sharp blade caught his eye as it hit the light. In any other circumstances, the sharpness of it might actually be considered beautiful.

This was anything but beautiful.

This was horrifying.

The metal was so closely pressed to skin that even a small flinch could draw blood.

“Never ever mess with a man’s stash on the inside. When you do,” the man paused for a second—a millisecond—before the knife sliced across the skin, ripping the hostage’s throat open.

He struggled against the person holding him, his momentary shock and need to help his friend making him fight the grip of the big man, even more.

“People get hurt,” the first guy said, backing away.

The second man let go of him, his friend falling to the floor, choking on his own blood. While they made their departure from the laundry room, he ran to his injured friend’s side, grabbing a towel to hold against the wound.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated, kneeling over the only friendly face he’d known in the last weeks.

If he repeated it enough, he’d be okay. He had to be.

“Guard!” he yelled.

His hands cradled his friend’s face as he lay gasping and wheezing, the fear in his eyes matching his own.

In all the years, throughout all the things he saw that most normal people didn’t, he’d never been as terrified as he was right now. His heart raced from the fear and he was breathing heavy as he screamed as loud as he could.

“HELP! HELLLLP!”

Spencer shot up in bed, breathing hard.

His face was sweaty, his entire body was sweaty, in fact. His t-shirt clung to his skin.

He kicked off the covers, sitting on the side of his bed, running his hands through his hair. He tried in vain to calm his pounding heart and slow his breathing.

The nightmares hadn’t stopped. If anything, they’d gotten worse.

A rare burst of anger caused him to shove the object that was sitting on his nightstand, off of it with extreme force.

He glared at the journal on the floor where it had landed haphazardly. He didn’t want to write in it like his therapist suggested. It didn’t help him then and it wasn’t going to help him now.

He rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to erase all the images that constantly played behind his eyes, regardless if he was asleep or awake.

It was the middle of the night, but he knew what he needed. He grabbed his phone off the charger and sent a quick text.

I need a distraction.

The recipient would understand, he knew. It was only 1 am and they were known to be a night owl anyway.

He grabbed a pair of pants to change into and pulled them on in place of his pajama pants. All he had to grab were his car keys and his phone and he was out the door.

It’d only been six months since Spencer had been released from prison in which he spent three long, grueling months in.

He had been framed.

That was the first thing he remembered thinking, even under the influence of heroin and cocaine, in which the unsub had drugged him with. He had been sitting in a prison cell in Mexico, but deep down he knew he hadn’t done anything, even if his mind was scrambled and tried desperately to convince himself otherwise.

Fucking Cat Adams. If she hadn’t been such a psychopath, he might’ve admired her intelligence and skills to pull off something so elaborate, but alas, she was.

Her and her female partner Lindsey Vaughn had been watching him, waiting to strike. All because Spencer had arrested Cat and outsmarted her. It’s where she belonged after all. She’d been a

hit woman, operating in the shadows of the dark web that even experts in the area couldn’t even fathom.

She, along with four other assassins had been working for years before any law enforcement even knew of their existence. Spencer and the rest of his fellow Behavioral Analysis team had been the only ones to get close enough to them. Close enough in fact, to take them all down, every last one.

Cat Adams though, had been the hardest one. She was one to play mind games and she hated to lose. Which she had against him; he’d outsmarted her and she was the one who’d landed in a prison cell.

Of course, being the kind of person she was, she wasn’t going to take that lying down. So, she returned the favor.

He had been determined to help his mother—Diana Reid—who’d been suffering from paranoid schizophrenia all his life, but now had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. He was smart, he was sure he could help her, fix her maybe.

There’d been a plethora of drug trials, medicine combinations, diet changes, but nothing helped. So without his teammates—who happened to be the closest friends he had—knowledge, he had been crossing the Mexico border numerous times to get medicine for his mother, one that was definitely not FDA approved.

It was one of these trips that Lindsey—and technically Cat too—had struck.

She’d dosed him with a spray of scopolamine, pumped him full of cocaine and heroin and murdered the woman he’d been meeting to get the vials of medicine from.

It was bad, really bad. He was the prime suspect in the murder and that is how he ended up in Millburn Correctional Facility pending trial for three months.

Thankfully, the BAU had worked their asses off to clear his name, but in the time spent in prison he had experienced some pretty awful things.

If that hadn’t been bad enough, Cat had orchestrated another evil plan. Lindsey had managed to kidnap his mother.

Less than 12 hours after being released from jail, he was back in another one to face Cat again and play her games.

She had been executed for her crimes and the additional charges she faced for framing him and kidnapping his mother. He wasn’t the least bit remorseful; if anything, he was glad he’d never have to deal with her again. He dealt with her in his mind enough as is.

Spencer didn’t deal with emotions very well, so it was no surprise to himself that he didn’t stop to process his trauma.

Instead, he found other outlets.

He’d known Y/N for several years but had done an awful job of keeping in touch as the years passed. He’d recently reconnected with her before his arrest and then he’d pulled away again.

He felt bad for never telling her until after the fact, but he’d been embarrassed enough.

She was a good friend, one who had said she would do anything to help him if and when he needed it.

That’s how the arrangement began. It’d happened once, by accident, but it had helped him forget everything when he needed it the most.

Which is why at 1 a.m. he was headed over to her house, just to forget everything for a while.

Your hips, my hands, you swing and you dance

Yeah, I’m feeling pretty lonely baby

Just let me in

The door to her apartment opened to reveal her barefoot and in a long, oversized t-shirt.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

He didn’t waste time with the greetings, he kicked the door closed with his foot and grabbed her face, kissing her.

Within minutes he had her pressed up against her door, hands roaming under her shirt as he kissed her hungrily.

He wanted to forget.

Needed to forget.

She moaned into the kiss. Lucky for him, she got horny easily. She was always ready to go at it whenever. Maybe it had something to do with him, although he didn’t know. He never really took the time to dwell on it.

His fingers stroked her bare stomach as his tongue moved against hers. Her hands clutched the bottom of his shirt, pulling away long enough to help him yank it over his head. Her shirt followed suit.

For a while, they stayed there, top halves pressed against one another as their lips moved together in a complicated, yet simple dance.

They made out for a while, while Spencer forced his brain to empty and focus on her. It finally worked as he felt his crotch tighten, his need for her now more than just something to get him through the night.

She led him back to her bedroom and within minutes was kneeling in front of him, pulling his cock out of his pants.

“You gonna be a good little girl and suck my cock?” he mumbled, looking down at her with lidded eyes.

Normally, he would never fathom talking like this. But something had changed within him in the last six months. He was rougher around the edges, he quite literally didn’t give a fuck anymore. Which proved to be true since he quite literally had a fuck buddy—something the old Spencer wouldn’t even consider.

He cared about her, but like him, she didn’t want anything serious, so he never felt too bad taking advantage of her this way. Weren’t they both using each other anyway?

“Your wish is my command,” she purred, making his cock throb even more.

The moment her mouth touched him, his eyes closed in pure bliss, the feeling chasing the nightmares away.

His hand threaded in her hair, guiding her head as her tongue glided and mouth hollowed out, sucking him like her favorite popsicle. She was amazing at this, he definitely had to give her that.

“Y/N, fuck,” he groaned, his hips bucking up towards her mouth.

Her tongue was his gateway to an anxiety free mind—at least for the time being.

He pushed her away after a few minutes. He wasn’t going to last if she kept that up much longer.

With surprising agility, he’d had her from her knees to bent over the end of the bed in seconds.

Their sessions were far from romantic love making—the type of intimacy he knew she deserved—but more animalistic and frenzied.

He knew he was selfish and instead of letting her have what she deserved from a man, he held tight to her like she was his lifeline.

In a way, she had become his lifeline. Things got worse the longer he tried to stay away from her. That’s why he always returned.

Her moans and the slap of their bodies were the only sounds heard in the room as he thrust deep into her. Even as fucked up as he was, he had to be an idiot to not admit that sex with her was incredible. She was incredible.

“Spencer, oh my god, fuck.”

Her words came out in a strangled moan as he’d switched up the movements of his hips. Instead of the fast and harsh thrusts, they turned into slow and deeper ones. He may only be her fuck buddy, but he was still gonna be damn sure she got her pleasure out of it too.

His fingers dug into her hips as he tried to erase the images of his earlier nightmare with every thrust. Usually, it worked. Tonight though, he was struggling.

Instead of disappearing, the memories kept flashing through his head like a silent movie on repeat.

The helplessness everyone felt in that prison.

The fear he felt.

The images of a group of white men who pointed a knife in his face his first full night in prison.

Two, sneering and sadistically joyful faces hovering over him as they beat him to a pulp, smothering his face with a rag.

His desperate decision in doing something so awful that it hurt more men than he intended it to.

The constant paranoia.

The fear he had become a monster.

Every single moment inside he’d spent that he had to make choices he’d never fathomed he’d have to—only to survive.

Delgado.

“Switch it up,” he muttered, pulling out of her, turning her around.

His jaw was tense, his body was rigid. All he wanted was one orgasm to erase his nightmare.

Her eyes narrowed, sensing his tension but knowing better than to comment on it.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered.

She pushed him towards the head of the bed, ordering him to sit against it. He did as he was told, focusing all of his attention on her again.

When she climbed into his lap to straddle him, his breathing had become ragged and he was glad that the stirrings of his arousal were coming back—his sexual attraction to her luring him back in again.

She sank down on him and he exhaled sharply, groaning lowly. The feeling of her tight around him was always like drinking water after being utterly parched.

“You like that?” she purred, her hands resting against his chest, “You like when I take care of you?”

“Very much so,” he growled.

He thread his hand into the back of her hair, pulling her face towards his. He kissed her roughly, his lower half meeting the speed she’d set since she was now the one in charge. Her pelvis grinded against his, giving her even more pleasure, he was sure.

As much as he did this for his benefit, he also had a small sense of pride in knowing he could make her moan and writhe like he did. His hands cupped her breasts, massaging them and she threw her head back with a loud moan.

He could practically fall apart at that sight alone, but he managed to resist.

His lips attached to her throat, sucking harshly, sure to leave a mark. Their moves were frantic as she gripped the headboard and he bucked relentlessly into her.

They both spiraled into ecstasy, not that far apart from one another.

Sweaty and out of breath, she moved off of him, gathering her clothes and tossing his own to him.

“Want something to eat before you go?”

She asked it so nonchalantly it was as if he hadn’t just spent about half an hour buried to the hilt in her.

“No, thanks though.”

He wasn’t one to stay long after the deed, even though a part of him felt like an ass for it. Y/N didn’t deserve that. But if it ever bothered her, she never let on.

She nodded, watching him as he finished pulling his shirt over his head.

“I’m around, if you need me.”

Spencer gave a nod and headed to the door, grabbing his car keys on his way out.

You’re my heroine, but you’re suicide

If I let you in you’ll crawl inside

You save my skin

But you can’t wait to sink in

My heroine

In a way, Y/N had become his drug.

Whenever things got too hard, he went to her. But lately, it was like every time he fucked her, it only left him needing more.

His PTSD was getting worse, the sex was only distracting him for so long, but he was stubborn. He wasn’t going to give her up anytime soon.

The PTSD was also affecting his work and he knew it.

It’d been six months since his release from prison, but he’d only been reinstated for three months. He worked his ass off to get his position back and he wasn’t about to let his emotions get the best of him.

He was currently trying to focus on the geo profile in front of him, but his vision kept blurring. He rubbed his eye, trying hard to block out everything else but this case.

He was becoming increasingly irritable as well.

It had only been a week since his last visit to Y/N, but he was craving her and her distractions so much. His nightmares hadn’t ceased, he was hardly sleeping and his teammates weren’t oblivious.

They knew he was having a hard time readjusting.

Spencer doubted they knew just how bad it really was though.

The map blurred in front of his eyes again, the sight being replaced with moving pictures, his memories being played before his eyes.

Like the time he was so desperate to survive, he poisoned drugs that he was supposed to move, instead of getting involved with the situation.

He ended up causing several men to get incredibly sick—his guilt over that still haunted him at night.

Prison was an incredibly dangerous place and he had been too good of a person to survive as long as he had.

For a while he’d had two friends; Delgado and Shaw.

One was murdered in front of him.

The other turned out to be using him. Shaw ran the entire prison population. He called the shots and people listened to him. But Spencer wanted no part of that.

Making an enemy of Shaw had been deadly. In fact, it came close to being deadly. Spencer could’ve easily lost his life behind bars.

It had been months since he had been locked up, but the sense of helplessness he felt still haunted him to this day. It smothered him like the sweltering heat on a hot, summer day.

He rubbed his palms into his eyes. He felt like he couldn’t breathe while at the same time his heart rate accelerated. His sense of fight or flight was being triggered and he couldn’t stop the sense of dread that was engulfing his senses.

“Spence, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just need some fresh air,” he answered, brushing past a worried JJ.

The moment he exited the crowded police station and the cool air hit his face, he felt fractionally better, but the anxiety still gripped him.

He gripped his tie, yanking at it and loosening it, so he could breathe. The feel of it around his neck had been making him feel like he was suffocating more so than he already had been.

His therapist had told him panic attacks were normal with PTSD, but he hadn’t had them much. This was an exception apparently.

He leaned against the brick of the building and tried to focus on his breathing to bring his heart rate down. After all he’d endured, he wasn’t about to let a damn panic attack take him down.

His eyes were closed as he tried to calm down, so he didn’t hear Luke approaching.

“Reid.”

He opened his eyes, seeing his teammate Luke Alvez, standing next to him.

He wondered how he currently looked through Luke’s eyes. A mess, probably.

Luke didn’t beat around the bush, either.

“Your PTSD has gotten worse, hasn’t it?” he asked, gently.

Spencer shrugged.

“Spencer, if you need to take some time—”

“I don’t need to take time off because I’m fine,” he snapped.

Luke flinched as if Spencer had physically hit him. If anything, he knew that his outburst was just further proof at how not okay he was.

“I need to get back to work,” he mumbled, moving around Luke to head back inside.

He wasn’t sure of anything much lately, but one thing he knew for sure was when they got back from the current case, he was heading straight to Y/N’s apartment.

I feel a little withdrawal baby,

Come pick me up

Took a hit from your level

Now I just can’t get enough

Your taste, my touch

A little bit of love and a whole lot of lust

He was back at her door, knocking.

She opened the door, dressed in another oversized t-shirt—due to the late hour of night—and greeted him with a wordless nod. Somehow, he thought she knew that he was having a bad time today.

He looked like shit, that he knew. His hair was a mess of tangled curls, his eyes were bloodshot and deep, dark bags shined brightly under his face, darker than his normal appearance. His cheekbones were more prominent lately as well since he wasn’t eating much, nor was he sleeping well either.

“How do you want me?” she asked.

Her tone was dull and to the point and threw him off guard for a moment. She’d never made it about her, ever. But now, looking at her, he could see her unhappiness. Whether he caused it or not, he was unsure.

This arrangement of theirs had been only to help him forget. Too quickly, it had become like an addiction for him. She was like his drug. He needed her to forget. But maybe, at the same time, she was tired of trying to help him when he couldn’t even help himself.

He promised himself that this would be the last time. Once more and he’d let her go. He’d let her be free of him. She’d be happier anyways.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

He tried to be gentle as he pulled her towards him. As he kissed her, he felt her body melt into his. Maybe he had been imagining her mood earlier.

He tried to focus on getting hard, not on all the horrors that constantly swirled in his mind.

His lips moved swiftly with hers in a kiss that was anything but romantic or gentle. It was lust driven and filled with his own desperate need to be distracted.

She knew exactly what to do to get him in the mood, that’s for sure.

Her teeth tugged at his lower lip gently, her tongue almost the complete opposite of their current actions. It was gentle and hesitant as it met his before continuing its dance with his own.

He pulled her closer, his hand tangled in her hair as he kissed her more roughly, pushing her against the arm of her couch.

In the blink of an eye, he had her turned around and bent over the arm, his hand gliding over the silk material of her underwear. He felt a small swell of pride hearing her moan as he touched her. It also went a long way in helping his own arousal which was now throbbing in his pants.

He was already unbuttoning his pants as he kissed her neck, his hips pressing into hers. The more he got into it, the more he actually felt that he wanted this—that he wanted her.

With one smooth movement, he had her underwear pulled down to her thighs and he entered her with a groan.

But he couldn’t focus.

Somehow, without him realizing it, the memories had slipped through a crack in his mind.

Instead of being there with Y/N, he was back in that cell.

The countless hours sitting in a cell, trying to remember something he never did.

The desperation, the helplessness in that place.

Familiar faces he dealt with sped across his mind.

Malcolm, Shaw, Delgado, Wilkins. Frazier, Duerson, the two men who gave him a beating meant for Delgado.

The fear he felt in those final days when he had no one to trust, when he had to stab himself in the leg to get into solitary confinement, just to stay alive.

The horrible memories were flashing in his head at the speed of lightning.

“Ow! Spencer, you’re hurting me.”

Spencer snapped back to the present, realizing his fingers were creating bruises on Y/N’s hips from his too tight grip.

“This isn’t working,” he said in way of an apology, pulling out of her.

He was already going soft anyway, the previous arousal now completely gone and replaced by his racing thoughts and memories.

“It’s fine,” she muttered, pulling down her t-shirt and pulling up her underwear.

He had just zipped up his suit pants—he’d come straight from the jet—when she spoke again.

“Actually, no. It’s not okay.”

Spencer blinked in surprise at her harsh tone. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her raise her voice.

“I’m sick of this Spencer! I know we started this a while ago for...reasons,” she flapped her hand in midair as if demonstrating all the unsaid things between them.

“But I can’t do it anymore. I care about you Spencer. Honestly right now I don’t know if it’s as more than a friend or just as a friend but that’s another can of worms to open another time. You can’t keep doing this! You can’t keep coming to me and fucking me to try and rid your demons. You’ve been through a hell of a lot and you didn’t deserve any of it, but I’m not going to stand her and watch my friend destroy himself because he refuses to get the help he so desperately needs.”

Spencer stood, frozen in place, mouth agape. It was then he saw tears shining in her eyes.

“We have a lot to sort out between us, eventually, but you need to help yourself first,” she whispered, as if feeling defeated by her previous outburst.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he could say.

“I know facing everything, processing it all is a scary feeling, Spencer. Even if you tried reaching out to a friend to talk through it, that would be a big step. I just...I just want you to get better.”

A single tear slid down her cheek and he did the worst possible thing to do.

He fled her apartment like the coward he was.

•

He didn’t go home.

Instead, he walked around the city as the daylight receded and the sun slipped behind the horizon, saying goodnight to the world until the next day.

He spent a lot of time thinking.

He ended up dashing into a busy diner he came across as the night sky opened up and rain began falling in sheets.

He sat in his booth, absentmindedly sipping on the cup of coffee he’d ordered and watched the rain fall in the darkness outside.

In an ironic way, the weather outside was similar to the turmoil he felt inside.

Just like the completely blackened sky outside, he felt just as dark and empty. The storm was similar to the storm of emotions, memories, traumas he continually tried to squash, all in the wrong ways.

He knew ignoring his problems wouldn’t make them go away; he also knew using sex as a distraction was the worst possible thing to do as well, yet he’d continued to do it and he’d hurt more than just himself in the process.

He’d hurt his friends, who’d only wanted to help, but pushed them away. He’d hurt Y/N, who didn’t deserve to be treated like a plaything, yet he kept coming back, making things worse.

By the time he’d finished his coffee, he decided what he wanted to do. What he knew he needed to do.

I’m feeling pretty lonely baby,

So just let me in

Just let me in

He’d ran through the pouring rain. He didn’t even bother to try to take any transportation. The rain felt like it was washing him clean from the horrors of the last year.

He was back at her door, but this time, for a different reason.

He was soaking wet and felt a lot like a dog with his tail between his legs, but he refused to chicken out once again. So, he knocked.

She answered, this time in actual pajamas rather than the attire she was in hours before.

Maybe it was the expression he wore or something she saw in his face because she didn’t immediately slam the door in his face—something he knew he deserved. She stood patiently, almost questioningly, waiting for him to speak first.

He took a deep breath before speaking the words he should’ve uttered months ago.

“I’m ready to talk. I’m ready to get the help I need.”

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Curse of the Clan part 55! @selfindulgenz

Content warning!! Violence, fighting, injury, Blood

Raphael’s team led the charge with no thought of the danger they could be putting themselves in. Cassandra was at his side, giving a confident shout as she held her naginata high in a declaration of war against the one currently destroying her city. Sunita, Draxum, April, and Raphael all soon joined her in the battle cry, their voices joining together in a powerful roar of will.

Krang only laughed, stopping his charge in favor of arming the weapons that lined his body suit and aiming them at the group. “Run run, as fast as you can! Can’t wait to rip you apart again!”

“Ignore him.” Raphael growled to his team. “We’re stronger than him as long as we stick together!”

Krang fired his weapons, purposely missing the group while getting just close enough to make them duck and cover. His laugh was one that could not be easily forgotten, like the monster under the bed crawling out to say hello to the child it had been tormenting.

“Don’t want to do it too soon though. You’re so much fun to play with!”

“Draxum, make us a way up the mouth.” Raphael ordered and Draxum obeyed.

Draxum’s vines shot up from the earth, extending out with a powerful reach to snare around Krang’s mouth and arms. The oni wasn’t amused by this display, giving a frustrated growl as his weapons shifted and rearmed to aim instead at the bridging vines. They didn't have very long to cross the vine bridge before the weapons were online and tore through the mystic plants just as fast as Draxum could replace them, leading to a stalemate of will. The faun had to stay on the ground to achieve such a feat, making way for the rest of the team to try and cross. Each slice and strike and gash to the vines shot back to Draxum, and he felt it as if the bullets and blades were ripping through his own body. There was no damage to his physical form, but the pain was still there, overwhelming. His hooves dug deeper into the stone, nostrils flaring under the pressuring strain, muscles tense and defined. He had to hold it together, he had to replace the vines. There were four lives depending on it, half of them very dear to him. He had to hang on with everything he had.

Raphael’s mind was split thin. Not only was he focused on not getting hit, but making sure the girls didn't get hit either. Sunita had no experience in things like this, and though April and Cassandra could easily hold their own, Raphael still couldn’t help but worry about them more so then himself. He was so focused on ensuring a safe path for them that he didn't notice his own path had ended until he was walking on air, like something out of an old cartoon, and promptly plummeted.

“Raphie!”

Cassandra wanted to jump after him but Sunita was faster. The polymorph moved like pure, conscious fluid, gripping Raphael and surrounding him like a protective geliaton mould. When they hit the ground, they bounced, and Sunita took the opportunity of the new height to stretch out and snare her arms around a traffic light while the rest of her still supported Raphael’s weight. To the snapper, it was like being on a bungee cord that slowly lost its momentum until he was dangling above the intersection like a fly in a spider web. But he was alive, and in one piece.

April knew the charge attempt wouldn’t follow through, and looking ahead showed nothing but promised destruction. The better senses in her told her to fall back, and the vines seemed to sense her apprehension as they slowly wrapped around her middle to lift and guide her to safety back beside Baron Draxum.

Cassandra didn't stop. She wouldn’t stop for anything. Her body wouldn’t let her. All around her were sounds like engines backfiring, time and time and time again in repeat, deafening her senses and leaving nothing behind except what was automatic. What came natural, and what came natural was fighting. Fighting, charging. Her naginata was flaming gold in her hand like a tiny sun that swallowed her in an embrace that encouraged the bravery deep inside of her. She hardly noticed that her feet were treading nothing but air, and she hardly noticed the flash of silver finding hold deep in her side, whisking through her belly and chest. She hardly noticed the pain, the blood, the shredded flesh. She hardly noticed how she was flying and how Krang was getting smaller. She hardly noticed anything until she hit the ground.

~~~

Krang was distracted and that bought Leonardo’s team enough time to strategize, and enough time for Donatello to map out the blind spots of the alien mech. It’s okay, Donatello kept telling himself. He would be okay as long as he didn't see that monster that still tormented his every waking thought.

“Step where I step.” Donatello told the group behind him.

The blind spot was small, but it would be enough for them to get onto the mech undetected. When Donatello moved, the chain behind him moved, and when he stopped, they stopped. Like an army of marching ants, they made their way across the parapet of the building toward the mech. That’s all Donatello could think of it as; the Mech. If he thought of it as the one who was controlling it, he was afraid of what might happen. The mech wasn’t Krang and Krang wasn’t the mech and Donatello didn't dare think of them as one unit. A breath to sooth the burning inside of him, and Donatello jumped.

Clearing the space between building and mech was easy. His brothers and fathers soon followed suit until they were all on the shoulder of the mech.

“Are you sure we’re out of sight?” Leonardo whispered to his twin.

Donatello gave a weak nod that steadily grew stronger and more confident. Leonardo trusted fully in his brother, giving a motion to the younger one to start their plan. Michelangelo gave a smirk as he wrapped his chain around a sheet of peeling metal, securing it tightly and giving it a sharp tug to ensure it was steady. He gave a thumbs up and smiled as confirmation for his older brother.

Donatello took Michelangelo’s hand, and Splinter took Donatello’s, and Leonardo took Splinter’s. They formed a chain that cascaded down the mech’s shoulder and chest, just low enough for Leonardo to be level with the belly latch that Sunita had reported to them. In Leonardo’s chest grew a familiar, tight ball that seemed to reach up with its yarn to strangle the life out of him. Doubt stung his eyes and made them water, each breath like it was taken through a heavy cloth. He had one job; make a rift and get them inside. That was all he had to do. Why, then, was the odachi failing to do that simple job?! Leonardo was slashing and waving it around like he always did to make a rift before, but no rift took form.

No. No— no no no, it had to work! He had gotten past the anxiety, the panic, the worry that had caused him so much trouble to begin with! This should have been easy, as simple to him as cooking was to Michelangelo and fighting was to Raphael and tech-geek stuff was to Donatello. This was mystic stuff, stuff that Leonardo was supposed to be good at! So why wasn’t it—

Something happened. Leonardo felt the familiar pull of a rift but he knew he hadn’t created one. There was no tear in time, blue or otherwise. No distortion, no wavering, no disruption. The air was still solid and in one piece! But still there was something pulling at him with such mystic pressure that, if he were to resist, he was almost certain it could rip him apart. The thought of that fate in his mind was all it took for Leonardo to close his eyes and let the magnetic effects swallow him into a tunnel of warping, space and time bending all around him like looking at an image through a glass. Once he had relented and let the force take him, all he could do was hold onto his father for dear life and hope.

The next thing Leonardo knew was that the group above him was now on top of him, a crushing weight of bodies against his shell.

“Oww…”

“WOW!” Michelangelo was on top of the stack, beaming as he looked around. This was definitely where they had meant to go, and the inside of the mech was even more impressive than the outside. Light seemed to be coming from nowhere, a gentle green glow filling the entirety of the mech. Up and up and up Michelangelo looked, but he couldn’t see the top of the mech at all! “I didn't even see you make the rift! Good job Leo.”

“Can’t breath.” Leonardo felt like a flattened pancake.

“I didn't either.” Donatello hurmed, his eyes darting around in an anxious search. There was no sight of that horrible creature, and the voice hadn’t invaded his mind. That was good right? That meant Krang didn't know they were there, right? “That’s so weird.”

“You’re crushing my old bones…” Splinter groaned.

“Oh! Sorry.” Michrlangelo hopped off the stack, then Donatello, so Splinter and Leonardo were free to breath once more.

“Agh…” Splinter pressed his hands into the small of his back to stretch. “My body don’t bend that way anymore.”

Splinter’s nose twitched. He reached a hand to touch the back of his nape, where he found his hairs sticking up on end. His tail lashed, and something in the pit of his stomach warned of danger; the warning was enough to heighten every sense he had to focus on something jarring, just out of sight. Powerful muscles sliding across metal with a shhhk shhhk shhhk. The crack of jaws resetting themselves. The steady, whistling hiss of a predator to all of rat kind. A snake.

#Cassandra???#a predator emerges #who could’ve made that rift?#and two plans #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au

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kanohivolitakk · 3 years

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Thinking about this image and how much I feel this when it comes to Bionicle and my creation and consumption of transformative content in this fandom, especially when it comes as someone who prefers the more secondary heroic characters, the villains and the few neutral characters the series has over the main heroes (who I do like, just don’t have as big brainrot for).

OK let me explain.

So, lately I been thinking a lot about Greg’s writing style as well as how he engaged with the fandom. And one thing I have in particular paid attention to is the following: Bionicle is the type of story where plot is it’s driving force (alongside its worldbuilding) and Greg is the type of writer who writes characters in the service of the plot, rather than plot in service of the characters.

Now, I don’t think this writing style is inherently bad, and it works for Bionicle since as said, Bionicle is a plot-driven series where the big appealis uncovering the world and numerous webs of conflict and drama and discord. I’m not also saying that Bionicle doesn’t have compelling characters or that some of those characters don’t have emotionally compelling arcs. Bionicle is an action-figure focused toyline so of course the characters have to be fun/interesting/likeable and there are many characters whose arcs people have either enjoyed, liked their writing or resonated with such as Takua or Vakama for instance. I’m also not saying Greg is incapable of writing emotional moments either (I mean, everyone in this fandom cried when Matoro died soo.)

What I am trying to say is the following: 1) Bionicle is an action-fantasy-science fiction-war drama aimed at kids which main focus is telling a complex story in a complex universe. Despite that the characters are (relatively) simple in the grand scheme of things. 2) Greg has said at least on a few occasions he uses characters as tools in story, and uses characters whenever they need to appear in the story. For Greg a lot of the time it feels he uses characters for what they can do in the story rather than who they are. 3)Greg often said that he thinks about details only if “they’re important to the story”. This is true to characters and their emotional struggles as well. 4) The fans love to overthink and speculate stuff that Greg probably never thought of because it wasn’t important for him. 5) A lot of the time Bionicle characters (especially the non main hero ones) only have their emotional struggles implied or skirted from.

Because of Gregs writing style and the way he is more interested in exploring the world/plot rather than the characters emotional struggles, it feels that the characters sometimes feel..undercooked. That they aren’t allowed to go through their emotional struggles in a way that feels natural. Heck, at times the emotional struggles feel accidental rather than intentional on Greg’s front (see one of the reasons Nidhiki is my favorite character is because his characterization just has that “deep rooted self-haterd/haterd towards everything else issues” yet when asked about this Greg just went very “idk I guess he’s dead so doesn’t matter”).

And just, this is a thing I like about the Bionicle fandom because like, we can add emotional struggles and stuff there where it was implied. Fandoms in general (transformative fandom in particular) tends to often focus on characters above any other aspect of storytelling, and as such, we can analyze, headcanon and breathe life into characters in a canon that was more focused on plot and world like Bionicle. It does help that unlike a lot of plot/world-focused series (which tend to have rather shallow and generic casts), the characters in Bionicle actually do have a lot of potential to be explored and dissected, no matter how clearly you can see them not being the focus of the story. So just interesting characters who don’t get as much of emotional caharsis/focus as they deserve equals desire of wanting to write meta/headcanons/fic where those characters issues are addressed and touched on. Because unlike Greg, I (and other ppl in the fandom as well9 do care about stuff like this.

Of course there are exceptions (see Vakama for instance). In addition, not every character needs to have emotional struggles: one thing I really like about Lhikan for instance is that he was able to keep hisidealism despite everything that happened to him.

But yeah. This is just my few cnets as a very vocal villain liker who also likes emotional catharsis. Idk how ppl who like main toa teams feel about this so I would love to hear your thoughts on this subject and whether or not me liking villains/secondary characters colors my view on this subject. Again keep in mind that the writer of this meta had their favorite character basically been characterized as “just a selfish bastard” according to Greg despite the text arguably suggesting otherwise so I am biased a f.

#Kirika Talks #Bionicle #Kirikas Bionicle Meta

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mashounen2003 · 3 years

Text

Sonic opinions - 4

Initially, the purpose of my fanfics was almost only to think of a possible continuation of the events of Sonic SatAM, adapting things from the Archie-Sonic comics (and taking some licenses in the process), and trying to better write Antoine's transition from his self in the cartoon to his self in the comics, give more importance to Tails and better portray his parents, Amadeus and Rosemary. But then I realized how abysmal the differences between the two versions of Antoine were, while it was also harder for me to think of a way to write Rosemary coherently.

In Antoine's case, lately, I came up with an alternative to make him develop and stop being what he was in the TV series:

Immediately after the original Robotnik has been defeated, Antoine leaves his team behind. He actually doesn't know how to fight, but he still has good marksmanship, so he becomes a hitman. However, he's eventually convinced to leave behind that life without honour, begins to train in real fighting skills and becomes a genuine Freedom Fighter once and for all. In any case, he develops an opinion of "the end justifies the means" and continues thinking it for the rest of the story, being critical of his former team; this, along with his lasting grudge against Sonic and Sally, leads him to fight against the Monarchy in the events of "Civil War".

As for Rosemary... I don't like to say it this way, but she was a total b**** in the comics. I came up with a way to show her in a better light, but in no way could it have worked with the comics' Rosemary as she was. I'll talk about it when I write my list of ideas for future fanfics.

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I also addressed Politics in that fictional universe, trying to avoid the way this was done in the comics: there, Ian Flynn created the Council of Acorn and portrayed it as a bunch of stereotyped useless politicians obsessed with controlling the heroes and barely concerned with their country's security, and I think Flynn didn't do it to actually enrich the comics' universe or to add depth to the story or to communicate certain political ideas, but only to give readers someone to blame.

In the stories I wrote so far, I didn't go deep into what happened with my fictional universe's Council of Acorn after its creation; however, I did address its origin, and in doing so, I didn't make the Bems involved. Look... In the comics, Tails's parents were inspired by the Bems to try to establish a Democracy in Acorn, and this entails some inconvenience:

The Bems are terrible people. They roboticized Sonic and Tails to make them fight Robotnik and Snively, in order to verify the robots were better than flesh-and-blood beings (if things had happened differently, perhaps Mobius's Robians wouldn't have been de-roboticized); their society is entirely made of clones and almost lacks variety, not only in terms of the physical but also in terms of people's ideas; their judicial system is quite f***ed up (at least according to our standards), and... *sigh* they're just the worst. These traits of the Bems had been developed when Karl Bollers wrote the comics, and Flynn should have considered that they’re technically canon before having Tails's parents claim to have been inspired by those aliens.

Even if we cling to Moral Relativism with all our strength, claiming the Bems are just "different" and have different behaviour, mindset, psychology and culture, this keeps making things complicated: applying something in one society, solely because it succeeded in another, ain't exactly something smart to do.

And the craziest of all is that it could have been avoided very easily: Flynn could simply have said there were previous failed attempts to establish a Democracy in other countries of Mobius and Amadeus & Rosemary had always wanted a change in the government system, had learned about those historical events and knew (or believed they knew, at least) how to do it right this time. Moreover, Flynn could have said the decade spent by Tails's parents with the Bems gave them a clue about what they should not do when finally returning to their homeworld.

I tried, in my work, to use this idea of Amadeus & Rosemary wanting to establish a Democracy in an attempt to succeed in what others in other parts of Mobius had failed throughout History. It was based upon what happened in the French Revolution (more precisely, the Jacobin period), the years immediately after the Russian Revolution, and mainly the First English Revolution: in 1648, the Monarchy was overthrown in England; the change was violent and chaotic, the government that took the place of the King ended up being also a despotic tyranny, and the final result was just the return of a King to power in 1660 (although, anyway, the Glorious Revolution established in 1688 the British parliamentary system as we know it); Thomas Hobbes, while watching those events unfold, wrote his book Leviathan, where he justified the need for an Absolute Monarchy by arguing humans were violent, selfish, chaotic and brutal by nature, so they had signed a symbolic pact where they ceded all their rights and their power to a single person in charge of ruling with an iron fist, in order to prevent humanity from destroying itself. In my fanfics' universe, it was mentioned those attempts at democratization in Mobius led to civil wars, ended with those same peoples clinging to ideas similar to those of Hobbes, quickly restoring the Monarchy and promising themselves not to try and establish a Democracy ever again.

I also mentioned the recurring conflicts between the Acorn Kings and the Southern Barons in the comics, as well as the connection between the Kings and the infamous Source of All, among other things. I also had Amadeus do what he should have done in the comics when he explained why he wanted there to be Democracy: to present historical events, such as those conflicts, the Kings' cult of the Source of All and the technological and cultural backwardness to which the people were subjected by them, as concrete examples of how the Monarchy had never worked well.

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There are several Sonic fans, including @toaarcan and @robotnik-mun, who argue Politics shouldn't have been addressed at all in Sonic stories. Also, the vast majority of Sonic fans claim each and every one of the attempts to make this series more serious were some of the worst things that could have happened, even the addition of more characters was nothing but a cancer, and everything should have remained "simple" or the Sonic franchise shouldn't have gone beyond what it was at the time of the classic Genesis games. I praise the stories written by @toaarcan, and I agree with many of the opinions of both him and @robotnik-mun, but with all due respect, I totally disagree on this particular point.

I've always believed that, if it's done right, any topic should be able to be addressed in any kind of fiction, and Politics is no exception; more exactly, I think an author has two options when writing a work aimed at children and young people: to write something super light and soft where no serious topic is addressed, or to "go all-in" and address all serious topics, leaving nothing out; this includes not only Politics, but also tragedies, the complexities of love, toxic interpersonal relationships (whether abusive or otherwise), bullying, mental illness, trauma (for example, that caused by war), societal issues, and so on. That's one of the many whys of my love for RWBY: there's nothing that web-series doesn't talk about. As for the proper and respectful LGBTQ+ representation, rather than a serious topic reserved for serious fictional works, it's a requirement every fictional work should meet, whether serious or not, especially in the middle of the 21st century (this is something I think my work didn't meet satisfactorily).

With Sonic SatAM and the comics, it looked like the second option could have worked in the Sonic franchise too, and the TV series did it right to some extent. Unfortunately, Archie-Sonic's writers almost never did things right in regards to relationships between characters: Ken Penders's work, in particular, is an example of how relationships should never be, and Flynn's attempt to talk about Politics was a complete disaster, not much better than Penders's heinous handling of political stuff, more similar to a very low-quality North-American political satire, even when the conflict portrayed wasn't of the "Right versus Left" kind but of the "Monarchy versus Republic" kind, which should have been much easier to do without ruining everything. The only ones who didn't fall into those same mistakes were Gallagher and Angelo DeCesare, the comics' first writers, but only because they chose the first option: to write stories that weren't serious at all... with the notable exception of "Growing Pains", the B-story of issues #28 and #29, a typical Shakespearean tragedy where they presented us Auto-Fiona, a robot replica of who would later be one of the most controversial characters in the comics.

This, coupled with the resounding failure of Sonic 2006, is the only reason why now almost everyone in the Sonic fandom prefers stories without anything serious and/or a return to the Classic Sonic era, with very underdeveloped characters who are turned into mere plot devices and are only a shadow of their former self or of what they could have been.

#sonic fanfiction by mashounen #sonic opinions by mashounen #sonic #archie sonic #sonic comics #sonic the hedgehog #sonic 2006 #ken penders #ian flynn #penders is an asshole #ian flynn is not much better #antoine d'coolette #rosemary prower #miles tails prower #amadeus prower #rwby #sonic satam

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Photo

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INTERVIEW: SAINT MISBEHAVIN’ WAVY GRAVY

by Richard Whittaker, Dec 21, 2010

One day I got a note from ServiceSpace founder, Nipun Mehta offering me tickets to a new documentary movie about Wavy Gravy. Would you like to go?

I went. Although I was aware of Wavy Gravy as a cultural icon, I really knew very little about him. The film is a eye-opener. Michelle Esrick’s loving documentary, Saint Misbehavin’ - 10 years in the making - is a real introduction to this remarkable man. I'd never heard about Hugh Romney, the man who later became famous as Wavy Gravy. And what a story. I'll mention just one of its surprises: earlier in his life, Hugh Romney was Lenny Bruce's manager.

A few weeks after seeing the film, at Mehta’s urging, I had the chance to interview Wavy Gravy himself.

Richard Whittaker: How are you feeling about Saint Misbehavin’?

Wavy Gravy: Oh, it’s a swell movie. I’m honored to be so well-documented, and the review in the New York Times was embarrassing. I’m not that good.

RW: You said in the film that you’re an “intuitive clown.” Would you mind saying something about what that means?

WG: I’m trained in the art of acting improvisation. That means acting on the spur of the moment rather than doing, say, the focused slow burn and all the traditional clown moves. I don’t do any of that.

RW: So that would be about sensing the moment, what’s there, and taking in who you’re with.

WG: Absolutely—and sensing what’s going on. I was, for a number of years, with The Committee in San Francisco. I taught improvisation at Columbia Pictures. Harrison Ford was one of my students and I’ve taught improvisation at Camp Winnarainbow for over thirty years.

RW: I wanted to ask you about your history. For instance, in New York in Greenwich Village, you wrote poetry, right?

WG: Yes I did.

RW: Is any of it available? And is it something you’d want people to find?

WG: There are a couple of slender volumes out there. I think you’d have to go to Amazon or eBay to find them. I don’t even have copies myself. But other people do and will lend them to me when I need them.

RW: Do any titles stand out for you?

WG: Kaleidoscope and there’s Joe’s Song, which is taught in a poetry class at the University of California at Berkeley. Would you like to hear it?

RW: Please.

WG: Okay. It goes like this: “Once upon and ever since I was a child in a child’s world. I have wept a child’s tears and built a child’s wall of clay and stone and colored years of poems in paint and virgin gold. I sought to build a wall so tall from lion eggs from Gallilee, a brick of song among the dregs of silver nails and lesser men a mile long to kiss the sun and climb again. Once ago and ever now I stood a man on a child’s wall. I stopped and prayed to spider webs and roses of the sea. I spoke as one with all the earth and knew the pain of birth and death to be the same without my wall. Once upon and ever furled I stand alone with all the world.”

RW: That’s beautiful.

WG: I wrote it in 1960 or about then. I don’t write lyric poems very often. These days I mainly write haiku, usually when friends pass away, which is happening more and more frequently from natural causes. Also I’ve been having the good fortune to have my art exhibited, and I do a haiku to go with each piece.

RW: I’m imagining that, as a younger man, you had certain visions and deep feelings that could have been a liability for living the conventional life.

WG: I don’t think I ever had to contend with that one [laughs]. I live in the land of one thing after another. [speaking with an east Indian accent] “The sand only goes through the hourglass one grain at a time,” as some Hindu sage proclaimed. I’ve discovered that to be true.

RW: Did you have mentors who supported you in Greenwich Village?

WG: It was kind of amusing. I was going to theater school at Boston University, which was an amazing theater school. The finest directors in the world would come in and the whole college would read for a part. A freshman could get a lead. It was extraordinary. And if you weren’t cast in the production, you would be cast in the lighting crew or the costume crew or the stage crew. Then there was an upset about theater students not doing their social studies and the university attempted to move the campus of the theater school over to where the rest of the university was laid out. Just at that time, the teachers who had all been hired during the McCarthy blackball because they couldn’t work on Broadway, well, the blackball ended and they all quit. They went to work at the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York City, and they took me with them.

But while I was at BU, I had read in Time Magazine about jazz and poetry in San Francisco. I thought, hey, I’ve written a couple of poems and I know some musicians. I can do that! So I got together with a bunch of artists from the museum school and we proceeded to take the basement of a bar called The Rock on Huntington Avenue. The place in the basement was called The Pebble in the Rock. We put in black tables and black clothes and mobiles and paintings and began doing jazz and poetry. It was the first jazz and poetry done on the East Coast. So I had the privilege of inaugurating the East Coast to jazz and poetry. I persisted in doing it for years in, of all places, Hartford Connecticut. On every Monday I would grab a bunch of musicians and go to Hartford and make substantial money. Otherwise I was going to the Neighborhood Playhouse and reading my poetry in the evenings at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, as you saw in the movie.

RW: That’s an amazing story. There was another thing you said in the film, “put your good where it can do the most.”

WG: Which is the advice I gleaned from one of my mentors, the author and adventurer, Ken Kesey.

RW: Did that kind of focus something for you?

WG: Well, it lit up. It lit up. I had discovered that, somewhat. Whenever I would do a good thing, it made me feel good. I think I heard a preacher of color on television in the late fifties. He said, “It’s nice to be nice.” And that kind of hit a chord for me.

RW: Do you think there’s a mix in what artists do? That in your poetry, part of it was trying to give something?

WG: Hmmm, I don’t know. I was just trying to get out of the way and let whatever was inside of me come to the surface. In the early days, I was not all that consciously altruistic—although, in the early days of poetry, the poets were not paid. We used to pass a cornucopia around after an hour or so and people would put money in it. We made an embarrassing amount of money that way. Myself and Len Chandler, who was one of the first folk singers I brought into The Gaslight, he and I put on these capes with hoods—Len was an African-American and he had a motor scooter. And we would jump on the motor scooter at the end of the evening and drive down into the Bowery and find somebody passed out on the sidewalk. We’d stuff his pockets with money and drive off and find somebody else until we’d given away at least half of what we’d made in the course of the evening. It was a lot of fun.

RW: That’s incredible. What do you think led you to do that?

WG: I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. We didn’t need all that money.

RW: Do you remember the moment when Ken Kesey said “Put your good where it will do the most good”?

WG: No. But he told me a lot of stuff—like, “You should honor your mother and your father.” This comes out of the Bible. As soon as I learned that Kesey had written that, I forget how he worded it, I immediately called my mother and my father and honored them verbally as best I could. And it was illuminating for them and for me. Afterwards, I called Ken up to thank him. He said, “Well, it’s just so darn simple.”

RW: I want to ask about giving and receiving. Do you have any thoughts in general, let’s say, about giving?

WG: Giving seems to be easy for me. Receiving is the thing I’m just beginning to learn how to do with grace. It’s a work in progress, like the rest of me. Over the last thirty years I’ve experienced considerable physical difficulty, having had to receive a series of spinal surgeries and spending amounts of time in body casts. You have no alternative, or you starve. So it was necessary. I tell people I learned patience in the hospital. [there’s a pause] That’s a pun.

RW: You’re right! [laughs]

WG: And as my infirmities persisted, I learned to acquiesce to the moment and accept, with as much graciousness as I could muster, the assistance of people who offered it.

RW: I bet this is true for lots of people, that it’s easier to give than to receive.

WG: Right, but as I pointed out, I didn’t have much choice, as with a lot of the stuff that has happened to me in my life. Life situations have presented themselves and it was either sink or swim.

RW: This reminds me of another part in the film. This is at Woodstock. You and the other members of The Hog Farm were brought there to be the police force for the whole event. You called yourselves “the please force.”

WG: We were the Please Force. And we had also set up what we called the Trip Tent.

RW: And there’s a part in the movie where you describe helping a young man who was having a bad acid trip.

WG: As he came in ranting, this three-hundred pound Australian doctor laid on top of him and said, “Body contact. You need body contact” [said with an accent] and then a psychiatrist leaned in and said, [using another funny voice] “Just think of your third eye, man.”

Then I figured it was time for me to make my move. I said, “Excuse me. I’d like to try something here.” And they all backed up. What’s this hippie going to do? That’s when I said, “What’s your name, man?”

RW: And he mumbled something…

WG: I said, “No, your name.” He told me his name and I said it back to him. In fact, I said it back to him several times.

RW: I noticed how very clear and emphatic you were when you got his name. “Okay, Bob. Bob, that’s your name.”

WG: Your name is Bob.

RW: Where did you get the knowledge of using that simple directness?

WG: We’d spent some time on the psychotropic frontiers through the prankster days and beyond. It was not unfamiliar territory.

RW: You knew something about being really concrete, and focused.

WG: And through the greatest professor of them all, professor experience; and from courses at hard knocks university.

RW: You’ve had a lot of hard knocks university experience, I think.

WG: Yes. Well, that’s how you learn things.

RW: You said in the film how you’d found you could get high without the psychotropic assistance. Could you say something about that again?

WG: There are many ways to alter space. I do lots of breathing exercises, and I do mantras. Different people have different recipes to get to a space of consciousness and then to dwell in it for as long as you can, I guess. My own way is an amalgam of many different practices from many different lineages.

RW: You evolved from Hugh Romney doing the poetry to where you were wearing a jester’s hat.

WG: Between poems I used to talk about the bizarre things that happened to me during the day because it was really tedious just reading all these poems night after night after night. Then a guy came along and said, look, skip the poetry. Just talk about your bizarre experiences. That’s how I got into doing stand-up.

Lenny Bruce became my manager. I put out a couple of albums and toured the U.S. —and in fact, something of the world—doing stand-up before these other things came along.

RW: Somewhere you left the jester’s hat and started dressing as a clown.

WG: I was asked, when we had moved to Berkeley in the mid-seventies, to go the Children’s Hospital in Oakland and cheer up kids. On the way out the door of my house, someone handed me a red, rubber nose. I discovered it enabled me to get out of myself and be entertaining to the kids. After awhile, I began to paint my face up as a clown. Somebody gave me a costume, and a clown who was retiring from Ringling Brothers gave me his giant shoes. I worked with kids, with kids who were terminal, even, and did this almost every day for about seven years.

At one point I had to go to a political rally at Peoples’ Park and I didn’t have time to take off my clown stuff. I discovered that the police didn’t want to hit me anymore. Clowns are safe.

RW: Can you say more about what your experience at Children’s Hospital working with kids was like?

WG: I discovered that not only was I helping the kids, I was helping myself. As I began to do this work, I’d gone through three major back surgeries and was in quite a bit of pain. But working with the kids I discovered that as I focused on the children and the pain they were in, I lost track of my own pain.

RW: Is the clown an archetype you can inhabit?

WG: Sure.

RW: Do you think, “I’m a clown?”

WG: I don’t know. I can’t see you.

RW: [laughs] No. I have a long way to go. If I evolved, I might become a clown.

WG: Well, you need to go to camp Winnarainbow. They’ll teach you to clown. It’d be good for you. I think John Townsend said it most brilliantly in The Book of the Clown, “A clown is a poet who is also an orangutan.” But clown comes from the word “clod” or bumpkin, and the red nose indicates they were drunk. But I found all this out later. Suddenly I have these big shoes on and [laughs] a nose and I’m painting my face up, and where does it all come from? I began to study it, and it’s very fascinating, the path of the clown and the jester.

RW: What have you found out about being a clown? What has been revealed?

WG: It enables me to go places I couldn’t go as a regular kind of guy. People feel challenged by people going where I go. But when I put on the patina of a clown I’m no challenge to them in any way.

RW: What do you wish for people when you become a clown?

WG: I wish that they would find joy in the moment. It’s like I expressed in the film, laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh at stuff or you’re going to end up with your beans on the ceiling.

RW: At camp Winnarainbow in the film it showed the labyrinth you have on the grounds…

WG: It’s a unicursal Cretan labyrinth. The oldest one is 3000 years old and was found on the island of Sardinia. The more common labyrinth, like the one you see at Grace Cathedral came about during the 11th or 12th century when Europeans could not go to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. So they developed this other labyrinth, which is different from the Pagan labyrinth, which made it to Scandanavia, to India and somehow to Peru and to the sun temple at Mesa Verde. That’s where I first encountered it when I spent time living with the Hopi Indians for a few months.

RW: How did that happen?

WG: I was enamored of the Book of the Hopi by Frank Waters. And that’s where I first saw the labyrinth. According to the Hopi if there was a condition of planetary emergency the different races would gather on this mesa for instruction from the spirit world. So I showed up. They said, “You’re pretty early.” But they took pity on me and I got to hang out with them for a while.

RW: Was anything given to you?

WG: Not something that I would feel comfortable talking about, but yes—not so much from the people as from the geography.

RW: So you brought this labyrinth to camp Winnarainbow, then?

WG: Yes. I asked Minalanska, who was an elder, what that was. She said, “Oh Wavy Gravy, that’s just the master plan of the universe.” So I borrowed a pencil and wrote it down, and I’ve brought it everywhere I’ve gone ever since. I learned to draw it. Even with my first book, I’d sign it and draw that labyrinth.

RW: Now how do you make use of the labyrinth at camp for the kids?

WG: A teepee at a time, in the evening, the campers get to walk the labyrinth to beautiful music under the stars. If they do good things, they get strokes. If they do bad things they get strikes. Three strikes and you’re out. You can always work off strikes, but you can get enough strikes to be sent home, too. By doing things above and beyond the ordinary camper—for instance, if you get eight stokes in a two-week session, you get to walk into the center of the labyrinth. In the center, there’s also these crystals. You get to take a crystal out of the labyrinth and take it home.

RW: Do you talk to the kids about the labyrinth?

WG: Oh, sure.

RW: What do you tell them?

WG: I tell them that the labyrinth is not a maze. Mazes are designed to get you lost. Labyrinths are designed to get you found. And I ask them to think of each step as a prayer for peace. I tell them you go into the labyrinth and that there’s an energy in the center that I call the spirit of Gaia, the earth mother. I say that if you have cares or problems you can leave them in the labyrinth and come out perhaps lighter than when you went in. And that is sometimes helpful to young people.

RW: In the film you made a comment to one kid that the labyrinth is inside of you.

WG: Oh, I tell all the kids that. The true labyrinth is inside you.

RW: That’s powerful. From the film, I see that your life has been a journey. Do you feel it that way?

WG: Absolutely. It’s been a great adventure.

RW: What are some of the changes from where you were and where you are today?

WG: The things that are the most significant for me in my life are the circus and performing arts camp that I’ve run with my wife Jahanara for over thirty years. We do nine weeks for kids and one week for grown-ups. And the Seva Foundation is another. Through it I’m able to raise funds to help the blind regain their sight. Eighty percent of the blind people in the world don’t need to be—they can get their sight back.

When we first started doing the work it was about five dollars for a cataract operation. Now it’s close to fifty dollars for the operation in third world countries. If you go to SEVA.org you can find out all about us. We’ve helped to orchestrate—it’s going on three million sight-saving operations. I get to put on concerts to raise funds to do that. I’m going to be seventy-five years old in May and I’m looking forward to doing a concert in the Bay Area at the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond and in New York City at the Beacon Theater. And also I’m facing another basic spinal surgery in January. So I’ve got a lot of stuff on my plate.

RW: I know we don’t have much more time, but …

WG: Eternity now, I always say. That’s one of my favorite quotes. And we’re all the same person trying to shakes hands with our self. I think that’s a good one, too.

RW: I like those quotes. It’s clear that you’ve spent a lot of time doing forms of service. Camp Winnarainbow seems to be a service.

WG: Well, my greatest legacy is the children that have come out of camp over the last thirty years. Lots of the kids who started camp when they were seven are now running the camp. And I’m sure it will go on long after I’m gone.

RW: Is that something one begins to learn, that the deepest gifts come when one can look beyond personal wants to take in the needs of others?

WG: That is my want! [laughs] Put your good where it will do the most. I can’t say it any better.

[WORKS AND CONVERSATIONS]

#Works and Conversations #Interviews #Wavy Gravy #Clown #Camp Winnarainbow #service #improvisation

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janetbrown711 · 4 years

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❝ the world is less scary when i am with you. ❞ Louie

Louie was practically pacing up and down the hallway inside the building that was next to the wedding venue. Louie and Webby had decided to do an outdoor wedding nearby (but not on) a beach, and the sky was just the perfect amount of cloudy that you didn’t have to squint to see anything, which would most definitely helpful so the guests could see Webby in her white dress. There was a light breeze that sent the smell of the sea into the air and everything felt utterly perfect. Hell, even Glomgold and Goldie had been civil during everything, even mingling with others (though there was a noticeable distance between Goldie and Scrooge, despite the fact that they constantly made eye contact before quickly breaking it up).

However, none of that seemed to matter as Louie was still feeling like something was going to go terribly wrong. He pulled on his tie like it was his favorite hoodie’s strings, despite his eldest brother’s heeding to do otherwise. Huey and Dewey were trying to talk him down, but Louie wasn’t really saying anything, his mind holding his tongue hostage.

His mind had been stirring since the previous night. The moment Webby left to go to bed in their suite and left him to go bunk with his brothers for the night, he thought about how he had actually invited someone who once tied her up and left her in a closet when they were 10 behind her back and she still wanted to marry him. He then began to spiral out of control, though he forced himself to take a sedative and fell asleep before too late.

However, those thoughts returned as he awoke, and thus, the duck brothers found themselves in the situation that they are now in.

“Louie, you need to stop pacing and take some breaths, everything’s gonna be fine,” Huey sighed and got up from sitting on the stairs. “Just relax.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re wearing a perfectly fine tie. My tie is disgusting,” Louie scowled, holding up his tie.

“It was perfect five minutes ago, what’s wrong with it now?” Dewey raised an eyebrow.

“Well- it’s just- I don’t know- it’s-” Louie sighed. “I don’t know. It just... sucks.”

“That’s not a very helpful statement,” Dewey said, and Huey shot him a look.

“It isn’t good enough, okay?! The pattern is weird and boring and lazy and she deserves a better tie!!!” Louie shouted before realizing what he had said and going silent; all of the brothers did.

“This isn’t about a tie, is it?” Huey asked quietly.

Louie sighed.

“We’ve been together for so long and I still don’t feel... worthy...” Louie turned away from his brothers. Huey and Dewey shared a look, both struggling to find just the right words.

“Louie-”

“Look, whatever you’re about to say, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried telling myself everything and nothing has changed my mind,” Louie cut Huey off before he could even try. That made the brothers feel even worse and both of them pondered if they should get someone more experienced (Donald) involved. Eventually, Dewey stood and put a hand on Huey’s shoulder, telling him he’d give it a shot and Huey backed down and sat on the stairs again.

“Maybe you aren’t worthy,” Dewey simply said. Huey looked at Dewey like he was crazy, but Dewey shot him a look that translated to ‘let me do this- I swear I’m going somewhere- I just started. Damn’. Louie exhaled as he slumped his shoulders and looked down at his green tie.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that Webby loves you, man. She chose you for a reason, bro. You may not feel worthy, or may not even be worthy, but she loves you and nothing is going to change that,” Dewey said. Louie paused a second to digest what he had said.

“B-but...” Louie tried.

“There’s no way around it Louie. She loves you, and she loves you a lot. Plus, if you break her heart, I know there’s at least one very powerful witch who would kick your ass,” Dewey joked to lighten his spirits, which worked a little as Louie managed a chuckle.

“Yeah... you might have a point,” Louie rubbed the back of his neck.

“I do have a point,” Dewey punched his arm. That made Louie laughed.

“Alright, alright, you have a point,” He admitted. “I love Webby, and she loves me, whether I’m worthy or not, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt her.” The brothers nodded.

“You feeling ready to get married now?” Huey asked, standing once again. Louie nodded.

“Good, because it’s time.”

.o0o.

The first people to go down the aisle were the groomsmen, best men, and the bridesmaids, who paired down as they went down the aisle (Violet with Huey, Lena with Dewey, and Amber with Boyd. Then came Louie, then Scrooge, who was officiating, then shadow demon formed Duckworth was the flower girl, and lil’ bulb was the ring bearer. Finally, everyone stood and watched as Beakley who was handing off Webby.

When Louie saw Webby, all of his previous worries vanished into thin air. She looked absolutely heavenly. There simply weren’t any words outside of that to describe her.

When she finally stood across from him at the aisle, he was smiling like a dork and managed a simple “Hi” to which Webby blushed and said the same.

Scrooge then began to do the usual speech with “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today blah blah blah,” but Louie and Webby were too distracted by each other to pay too much attention, even when Scrooge included a little joke about Louie’s laziness and Webby’s rambunctious attitude. However, they were forced to pay attention when it was time to say their vows.

Louie went first. He took in a deep breath, unfolding a piece of paper that had been poorly folded in his pocket and rewritten several times, and began.

“Webby, Webby, Webby... where to begin? I could start with how the first day we met I tried to teach you how to lie and failed, or how you tried to instruct me on how to properly die in the pyramid of Toth-Ra, or any of our other countless tales, but you and I already remember those and while I can weave quite the tale, I’d rather not waste anyone’s time.” That line got a small chuckle from the guests.

“Webby, you are everything I’m not and then some; you’re inquisitive, excitable, a knowledge seeker, a hard worker, you’re far more determined than I’ll ever be, and you are very, very selfless and kind. Simply put: the world is a lot less scary when I'm with you. I love your humor, your optimism, how you don’t care what others think of you not even for a second, and in many ways, I aspire to be you. Nobody is perfect, not by a longshot, but I think I can safely say without a doubt that I am marrying the most perfect woman for me.”

“I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of my days, and to be a better person, which I know is possible because simply being around you makes me want to be that. I love you, Webby, and I’ll do anything for you.”

With that, Louie was pretty sure he could hear Donald already trying to stifle tears of his own, and failing quite a bit. Webby looked as though she might cry, but she held it back (probably because her makeup was hella expensive).

Webby took in a deep breath, and it was her turn.

“Louie, I am the luckiest girl in the whole world today, and I know it’s terribly cliche, but it’s true. I’m lucky to have met you, I’m lucky to have dated you, and I’m lucky to be marrying you,” Webby sniffled, proving Louie’s theory.

“I feel incredibly grateful to have met you. You’ve taught me so many things over the years. Were most of them related to lying and scheming? Yes, absolutely, but each and every one of those lessons helped me become who I am today. You’ve lifted me up more than I could ever know and you helped me learn what it was like to just be a kid who did kid things.”

“Louie, you are far greater than you will ever know. You are kind, you are emotional, you are empathetic, you’re hilarious, and I simply cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I promise to love you and to care for you for the rest of our lives. I love you, Louie, to the moon and back. I really, really do,” She looked up from her paper and saw Louie was crying almost more than Donald. his heart swelled with emotion and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but they had to go through with the rest of the ceremony before that.

Finally, they exchanged rings, and said their “I do’s” and Louie was finally allowed to kiss the bride (though it was Webby who grabbed him and dipped him into one of those cheesy kisses you see in movies). Everyone cheered and threw confetti as Louie and Webby held each other’s hands and ran down the aisle, smiles as wide as the day is long.

Finally, when they went inside the building again the couple kissed again.

“That was really sappy Webs,” Louie said with a smile after he wiped his face.

“Sue me, I love you,” Webby shrugged and kissed him again.

“We have to sign-”

“Shut up, it’s our wedding. What’re they gonna do? The reception is scheduled for later,” Webby smirked.

“I love you so much Webs,” Louie said, kissing her again.

“I know. And I love you too, Lou.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

#my fics #loubby #louie duck #webby vanderquack #dewey duck #huey duck #loubby wedding #hdl #donald duck

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing + Webgott ! This is what I mean Liebgott fights dirty and will use any leverage he possesses to get his way

he absolutely does. setting this in my single dad web au, just because i can.

Webster’s office is at the back of the house --- a very generous word for a very little room, probably meant as a closet or mudroom before being hijacked for its unconventional purpose. Everything about Webster’s “personalised writing space”, from the shark action figures (“scale models, Joe,”) lined up along the wall, to the dictionaries and scientific texts overflowing from the overburdened bookshelf, gives it a feeling of disorganized clutter, the kind of scatter-brainedness that only Webster in full writing mode can achieve. His desk is covered with coffee mugs, emptied or half-forgotten. Notebooks litter the floor, inviting someone to trip over them. Spare papers, covered in illegible scribbles, have been taped to the wall; sometimes Webster spends hours just staring at them, highlighting a few lines or scratching out others; when he tears a paper down, it gets balled up and tossed to the back of the room. A new one is eager to take its place. The ancient carpet covering the creaky oak floor hasn’t been vacuumed in years; the curtains haven’t been cleaned, even though Webster keeps them pulled back most of the time, anyways. He liked being able to look out the giant bay windows in the direction of the sea. It “gives him inspiration”, apparently. Joe’s tempted to point out that they live in suburbia, and can’t even smell the tide from their backyard, but Webster wouldn’t listen if he tried.

It’s the one room Joe isn’t allowed to clean. He keeps the rest of the house vengefully spotless, but Webster’s office is his own space.

“We can’t bother him when he’s in there,” Jane told him very seriously, a few weeks after Joe moved in. She led him past Web’s closed door with a finger pressed to her lips, and proceeded to make a can of chicken noodle soup like she’d been cooking all her life.

Joe knows Web well enough. He’s not a neglectful father, by any means — he looks at Jane like she hangs the moon in the sky, and when the kid wants his attention, he has it — but they clearly had their dynamic down before Joe ever moved in. Web’s a great father, but no housekeeper. Jane learned from childhood to clean the kitchen, pick up the dirty laundry, wash the dishes, and throw together simple dinners when her dad was too caught up in work. She never rebelled against the responsibility. It was just something she did — she took care of Web the same way he took care of her, bandaging her scraped knees, helping her with homework, and braiding her hair before school in the mornings.

Joe came into the house, and he took over certain jobs which had already been allotted. Suddenly he was the official hair braider, official vacuumer and dinner-maker. Jane still kept up with her chores, Web with his work, but the house was neat and looked after. So, in a lot of ways, were the people who lived there.

Here’s the thing about Web: he needs to be looked after. He doesn’t want it — there’s a reason he gets Christmas cards from his rich parents, instead of visiting them in person — but he needs it. Coming from the right person, he even enjoys it… and this is a task Joe’s happy to take over from Jane, who’s too young to be worrying about looking after her Dad. Joe’s got different methods; he’s got different motives. It’s not long before he figures out exactly how to approach Web in the right way, to keep that stubborn, independent streak of his from flaring up. He learns very quickly how to take care of him.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against Webster’s office doorframe. “It’s late.”

Rain thrums against the windowpanes like a heartbeat, filling the room and drowning out the rhythm of Webster’s keyboard. He’s got his glasses on — the ones he only uses for midnight writing, and insists he doesn’t need otherwise — and a day’s worth of scruff shadowing his face. Still in that day’s clothes, with his belt discarded and top buttons of his shirt undone, he’s become an afterthought to himself. The only thing that matters tonight are the words on the page… and he’s been putting them there for hours.

“I know… I know.”

Joe knows, too, when Webster’s rhythm starts slowing down — when he loses his steam. There’s no point writing after that, because he’ll never be satisfied with what he puts out. It just means more time spent revising later, sometimes deleting whole chunks of work that took him hours, because it’s “shit, utter shit, it sounds like someone wrote it while half asleep because I was”. Webster in his zone can work wonders. Webster sliding out of his zone, into the grip of exhaustion, needs to be stopped for his own good.

Webster sighs, running a hand over his jaw. He slumps further over his desk, blinking blearily at the screen. Whatever he sees doesn’t inspire him at all, but he taps out a few more words anyways, almost on impulse. When Joe takes a further step into the room, Webster doesn’t notice.

“I’ll be done in a minute… I just have to close out this chapter, we’re talking about the Shark Attacks of 1916…”

“You know that case like the back of your hand.” It’s not like he’s going to forget the facts if he leaves it to rest overnight. Joe takes another step, and the floor creaks beneath his weight. Webster looks up, like he’s surprised to see him there.

“I know, I just…” He sighs again. “I know. Gotta finish, though.”

It’s nearly one in the morning. Webster’s movements are sluggish, his writing even moreso. Joe knows a recipe for ridiculousness when he sees it. Better he save them both the trouble. “You’re exhausted,” he declares, bracing himself against Web’s cluttered oak desk. When Webster pulls his gaze away, returning to the glare of the computer screen, Joe reaches out and catches his fingers in dark, thick curls. “Come on, Web. It can wait.”

“It really can’t.”

“You need to rest.”

“I need to finish —“

Joe’s had it. He crosses the desk in a quick, fluid movement, spinning Webster’s chair towards him. Before Webster even knows what’s happening, Joe’s caught him. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces sliding into place; Webster’s lips part to greet him, though that could just as well be a gasp. The noise he makes is definitely surprised, one hand coming up to cup Joe’s face just to steady himself. He’s not in any danger; Joe’s not letting him fall anyway. He keeps their lips locked, a slow and easy rhythm between them, as he sidles up against Web and straddles one knee.

Webster goes spaghetti-limbed; as he moves back, Joe guides him. Thank god his writing chair is unequivocally the comfiest in the house, otherwise their position would be awkward. As it is, Joe presses Webster back against the leather cushioning without an ounce of guilt. One hand on each side of his head, he braces himself, nibbling at Webster’s lower lip while steadily grinding into his knee. Webster moans.

When Joe pulls back, he’s satisfied by the sight of his boyfriend, cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes open wide. Who the hell could think about writing after that?

“You alright, Web?” he mutters, failing to bite back a smirk.

“You,” says Webster. “You. Play dirty.”

“We been together long enough now,” Joe chuckles. “You know how filthy I can get.”

He leans in to kiss the shell of his ear, and Webster’s back arches.

“Close your mouth, Web,” Joe says without looking, and hears a clink of teeth. “Now…” He mouths the words into his ear, lips still flushed and wet. “I’m telling you. It’s time for bed. You gonna argue with me any more?”

Webster exhales hard through his nose and murmurs something that’s more profanity than complaint.

“Good.” Joe seals the deal with a kiss to his temple, and springs deftly off of his boyfriend’s lap. Sure enough, Webster looks like he’s just been struck by lightning. He can’t find his feet fast enough.

“Filthy,” he mutters, as Joe shuts the light in his office off for him. “Absolutely — roll in the sewer — fall into a dumpster —“

“Got some interesting ideas there, Web. We’ll try ‘em next time.” Joe tucks an atm around his waist, reeling him in. The night is perfect. Thunder rumbles in the distance, drowning out any sound they make; Jane is comfortably asleep in her room; and in the darkness, Joe and Webster are free to do whatever they like.

Maybe bed can wait a little while longer.

#webgott #single dad web au #david webster #joseph liebgot #my writing

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taurusdry26 · 3 years

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n how it is of respiratory infections, the nebulizer delivers the added selling point of delivering the hydrogen peroxide right to the areas most laid low with respiratory viruses - your sinuses, throat, bronchial tract and lungs. How Hydrogen Peroxide Works Against Viruses To inactivate viruses with hydrogen peroxide, all you need is a nebulizer generate face mask that covers your mouth and nose that emits a superb mist, and food grade hydrogen peroxide that is diluted to 1% kind of when you've got any irritation. The microscopic mist, much like smoke or vapor, could be comfortably inhaled deep into one's nostrils, sinuses and lungs. Hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) is comprised of a water molecule (H2O) with an additional oxygen atom, and it will be the extra oxygen atom that enables it to inactivate viral pathogens. Viruses will not be "alive" per se. They are in need of a live host by which they'll infect live cells that then replicate the viral DNA and RNA. Once the cell is infected, newly replicated viruses exit the cell and leave to a higher cell to duplicate the process. So, in talking about "killing" an outbreak, we're really referring to inactivating it by having a mechanical failure its structure. This is how mouthwash can inactivate viruses, and why soap works so well. Coronaviruses are held together by the lipid (fatty) coating. Soap, being amphipathic10 - meaning it could dissolve most molecules - dissolves this fat membrane, causing the virus to fall apart and became harmless. Hydrogen peroxide works in an analogous way. Some of your respective immune cells actually produce hydrogen peroxide to destroy pathogens. By killing the infected cell, viral reproduction is stopped. So, hydrogen peroxide therapy is fundamentally only aiding your immune cells to play their natural function more effectively. Hydrogen peroxide can also be a key redox signalling agent that creates oxidative eustress, oxidative stress or oxidative distress, oxidative eustress denotes an oxidative challenge which has positive or beneficial effects and is important in redox signalling you're already presenting with runny nose or sore throat, Levy recommends by utilizing the nebulizer for 10 to 15 minutes four times per day until your symptoms are relieved. You can also use nebulized hydrogen peroxide for prevention care, which may be advisable during flu season, or even though the COVID-19 pandemic is fully swing. Deon Marais (Owner) Comments: Utilizing the use of Bound-Oxygen "BO2 Throat Spray" with using a nebulizer is an convenient alternative as it is extremely easy to hold the 10ml or 30ml bottles on you, then make use of it immediately if you are feeling yourself has been compromised (sneezed or coughed on). Fast action is the important thing as it is much easier to kill a couple of bacteria/viruses than once it has been multiplying. The Bound-Oxygen "BO2 Throat Spray" works best within the nebulizer, that is for up to 30min on a time. If you wish to go longer, then I suggest you mix in a little water (Reverse Osmosis - water for example bottled water) half/half and get a 0.5% this will work very well. The best management practice when you are very sick, will be to alternate, so first the "BO2 Throat Spray" for half-hour, then a "BO2 Nasal Spray" for some hours, then repeat! Dr Mercola: "While it is a very non-toxic therapy, nebulization can be administered just as desired. If done each day at the least once, a really positive effect on bowel and gut function can be realized as killing the chronic pathogen colonization present in most noses and throats stops the 24/7 swallowing of these pathogens as well as their associated toxins. If daily prevention isn't a practical option, the effectiveness of this treatment is optimized whenever one sneezes in your face otherwise you finally remove whatever the plane after a trans-Atlantic flight. Don't look forward to initial symptoms. Just related web-site at your first opportunity." Deon Marais (Owner) Comments: May Helps with Stopping to Smoke My theory is the explanation it's so hard to stop smoking/vaping which is the simple sweet content of cigarettes. This then feeds the fungi's in the lungs, when these fungi's get hungry they tell you to smoke (this is actually the short explanation - read more here). That is why vaping with Hydrogen Peroxide (H2O2) is so helpful as it kills the fungi in the lungs, so once you feel the craving to smoke, nebulize a 1% Bound-Oxygen "BO2 Throat Spray" instead. This makes stopping smoking much simpler, or it no less than got there much simpler for me.

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huntermagazine362 · 3 years

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Wps Office Desktop

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This is really helpful because you utilize different voices when writing for different target markets, and it’s great that Grammarly can adapt to different kinds of tasks. The application also makes it very easy to ignore its advice, which is especially practical if the software obtains glitch in your paper, which occurs occasionally.

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I located this feature helpful when I utilized unusual terms planned for an interior audience. Registered subscribers can get 24-hour support from Grammarly’s site via a demand attribute. If you can’t discover the answer you require on the searchable Frequently asked questions page, the system motivates you to send a ticket. The solution guarantees to reply to your issue within a day.

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This is different than conventional grammar checks like those in Microsoft Word. Word processors do not always explain why something is incorrect. The descriptions from the program come in two alternatives. A quick-view can give a short bit of the modification. From there, you can accept the change and continue your means.

This aids in discovering what the error is, why it is a mistake, as well as just how to remove the error (Download Grammarly For Wps Office). Using Grammarly regularly will help in recognizing where to put commas and enhance sentence wording. Overall, it will certainly aid you come to be a stronger writer. At the end of the day, it’s a great source for individuals that not just write frequently yet are looking for to progress authors.

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Grammarly allows you to select a favored language. It also lets you determine which sites to utilize Grammarly on and also include new words to the dictionary. Including words to the dictionary is great if you regularly utilize vernacular, brand, or acronyms. This can be valuable especially for individuals in the marketing field.

Download Grammarly For Wps Office

This software program is relatively easy to use regardless of what your degree of technical abilities could be. Once you install the plugin or extension, you are great to relocate forward!Grammarly will highlight incorrect grammar or words. From there, you hover over it to see what the suggested change is as well as choose to approve it or not.

Grammarly is wonderful for individuals that discover grammar is not in their convenience zone. It’s a very easy option that creates top quality outcomes. Grammarly has app versions that can be downloaded and install as well as utilized on mobile phones. Grammarly is offered on both Android and iPhones. It sets up a key-board especially for inspecting errors while on your phone.

Grammarly is not for every person and every kind of usage though. Depending upon your area of work, writing needs, and chosen systems, you may be able to avoid Grammarly completely. Particular features can be enhanced and also ought to be thought about before deciding to use Grammarly. Grammarly does collaborate with many websites but not with whatever.

Download Grammarly For Wps Office

If you regularly use Google docs, Grammarly could not be that valuable for you. Grammarly is likewise not compatible with Microsoft products, like Word, on Mac laptops. Grammarly is currently in beta testing for Google docs compatibility. However, as of right this writing, it is not a solidified feature – Download Grammarly For Wps Office. Grammarly is suitable with Firefox, Safari, Chrome, and Side.

This works if you require to prevent regularly pasting e-mails, social media web content, and also various other infiltrate a word processing program to figure out if it is suitable for publishing. Grammarly is also compatible on platforms like Facebook Carrier, Slack, Salesforce, LinkedIn, and Jira. While it does cover a great deal, the Grammarly free version is still rather restricted.

If you just need fundamental grammar punctuation, you will certainly be good to go. For some people, this is sufficient. If you are simply aiming to have an e-mail proofread, the totally free version will certainly supply in this capacity. The checks are more extensive than word processors, so it does still offer enough protection.

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