#Coronation Ode

[ulysses-posts]

A Brief History of British Coronations 1902-1937

On 6 May King Charles III will be crowned at Westminster Abbey in a ceremony that has its origins dating back a thousand years to King Edgar the Peaceful. It will also be the first coronation in nearly 70 years and much like his mother Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation which was the first to be televised, Charles III’s coronation will be the first to utilise both social media and YouTube as well as…

[angieblogging]

scars of the past.

worldwide issues || read on ao3 || writing masterlist

a/n: please read the warnings on this one! also i’m thinking about making this couple parts, so we’ll see.

description; you’re the new addition to the BAU team, after Derek Morgan left, Reid and Penelope hate your guts, but when you and Reid get paired up to visit the coroner’s office together he learns something about you, something you wanted to keep a secret and it changes the dynamic between the two od you.

warnings; mention of scars, sh, razor blades, swearing.

— THIS WORK IS NOT PROOFREAD!!

You were new to the team, when Agent Morgan left a spot opened and you got it, the excitement you felt was indescribable, you wanted this job forever and now it was your chance to become a profiler, to help the FBI, to meet other profilers. Your first day was rough, you were late and no one really talked with you except Emily, but you just shook it off as them being focused on the case, later on Jennifer also started to talk with you, you felt more comfortable knowing the two a little bit made you feel less alone and alienated.

The days passed fast and you had to admit the job wasn’t turning out how you imagined. You obviously were profiling, that part lived up to your, for a lack of better word, expectations. However the team wasn’t. You made two connections, you couldn’t even call that friendship. Jennifer and Emily tolerated you, they respected you and treated you with kindness, but the rest of the team was not a fan of you. Spencer always had an attitude when it came to you, as far as you noticed he gave it to no one else and no one defended you, except that one time where Emily had to stop him, because he was going too far.

Penelope treated you like air, like you didn’t exist and if she had to acknowledge your existence she did it as fast as she could, just so she can go back to pretending you don’t exist. It was crushing you. Every time you had to talk with Garcia or Reid the knot in your stomach tightened, it was there present all day long at work, but it was the worse when it came to those two. You knew there was another open spot for the BAU, that still remained empty and you wondered if another person would have to deal with this shit to and your heart just broke for them.

Since you joined the team you have solved one case so far, the way back on the jet was peaceful, everyone was exhausted and you just couldn’t wait to go home. Going home was your favourite time, drinking a glass of wine, catching up with your pet, watching TV, quite literally anything that would shift your focus from the terrible anxiety you were feeling, every fucking day at work.

Next day at work it shocked you to see more people around the table, you weren’t that surprised to see David Rossi, he took a time off because he got hurt during a mission, before you joined the BAU and you haven’t had the pleasure to meet him yet, but the other woman you didn’t recognise.

“Okay, so everyone is here. This Doctor Tara Lewis, she will be joining us on this case, alongside Rossi.” As Emily spoke, you glanced at Tara and smiled lightly as she looked at you, you felt at ease when she returned the smile.

On the other hand you ignored Reid, you could feel his eyes on you again, drilling a hole in your head.

You fucking hated this job.

The jet ride is always calm, not this time. David called shots this time and unknowingly of the situation put you with Reid, he wanted to protest, but David shut it down so he just glanced annoyed at you.

“What’s up with that?” Tara whispered to you, the two of you talked more, she noticed how disconnected you were from the team and when Emily mentioned you joined recently she felt at ease, knowing she wasn’t the only “outcast”.

“Great question, wish I knew…” You shrugged, you really didn’t know why Reid disliked you, but the problem was not on your end.

You and Reid were headed to the coroner’s office, to examine the victims bodies. The ride there was quiet, you didn’t know what to say and he said nothing.

You listened to his observations about the wounds, the two of you examined the body. What stood out to you were the scars on the women’s arms, you knew those very very well, you had the same ones on your shoulder. It was warm, but as long as you could you wore long sleeves, so only you knew for now.

“Hm.. Those scars, are they fresh? Was it a knife or another weapon?” Reid looked up at the coroner, but before he could speak you answered his question.

“Razor blade.” You just stated, but the silence made you glance both at Reid and at the coroner. “Um… Those are razor blade scars… They’re deep, but still narrow, a knife could do it, but probably not with this much precision.”

Reid looked back at the coroner and the man just nodded.

“Yeah, your partner here is right. These are most likely from razor blades, those scars are about a month old, most likely not connected to the UnSub, but both women had similar scars in different stages of healing.”

You two left in silence, but the ride back was not silent. You jumped up when he spoke at first, no radio and a quiet street combined with his speaking out of nowhere scared you.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You cleared your throat, he was focused on the road, very focused, his eyebrows were frowned and his brown eyes looking ahead as he repeated what he said before.

“I asked about what you said at the coroner’s office. The razor blades.”

You frowned, that was not the hole you wanted to dig under yourself. “What about them?”

“How did you know so fast?”

He knew? Did he? He was a genius, but you weren’t sure, that didn’t stop your mind from racing with no proof. Can you lie to a profiler?

Your chest started to feel heavy, an imaginary pressure was applied to it, your lungs were heavy as if filled with sand, you could feel how your heart sped up and how the temperature of your body rose up.

“I- um… I just did…” You managed to mumble out, fucking anxiety, you were a terrible liar, even worse under pressure.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so you prayed he let the topic go.

“You clean now?” He glanced at you and back at the road.

That question made you want to jump out of the moving car, that was in fact not his business and you truly didn’t want the team to know, what’s in the past is meant to stay there. You didn’t know what to say to that, you opted on being a bitch untill he drops the topic.

“That is so not your fucking business… And who even said I- I did that.” You scoffed looking out the window.

You’re okay… You’re okay…

You kept repeating in your head that fucking phrase, but you were in fact not okay.

“Well, you do wear long sleeves always and in this weather you must be hot… Your eyes immediately focused on the scars at the coroner’s office… You knew the blade, you can know everything in theory, but you were sure of it… You pretty much told on yourself….But if it’s not you, then it’s someone close to you.”

Fucking profilers.

“Just focus on the road.” You said firmly, you did tell on yourself, especially when you claimed it was “none of his business”. That didn’t matter now, you couldn’t say anything to go back. He was right, but you didn’t want him to know, not him, not anyone. It was definitely too late now.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Shrinking Violet (Rhysand Smut)

Hi! Happy Friday, my loves! I impulsively wrote this first thing this morning. Don’t exactly know what came over me but I thought I would share it 😏

Also, I’m using my updated General ACOTAR Tag List for the tags, so if you’re not on it and you wish to be, please click the link and comment so I can add you! ♥️

Warnings: Smut, of course! Enjoy!

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The violet-shaded dress had seemed like a good idea at the time. A time when you’d felt daring and mischievous and like you could do whatever the fuck you wanted. 

Now, with a tight-lipped servant tugging your corset strings as you stared yourself down in the mirror, your audacious nature was refusing to rear its head, scattered to the ashes by nerves. 

“I wish to have a gown the exact shade of Rhysand’s eyes.”

Rina, your good friend and the Hewn City’s most reputable seamstress, had looked up at you from the various sketches on her dress. She was snowed-under with orders with the upcoming event — Rhysand’s first visit as High Lord of the Night Court. It was nothing short of a damn coronation.

“Are you sure you should?” Rina had raised an eyebrow at you. The look she always got when you were up to something. “He’s High Lord, now. Things are different. Should you truly make a statement with your gown that most certainly won’t go unnoticed?”

“Should I not?” You’d spun around, palming the various fabrics that made up an entire wall at the back of the studio. “High Lord he may now be, but I know Rhysand more personally. I wish to have a violet gown that is an ode to those depthless eyes.”

Rina had shook her head, but said no more on the matter. You were paying — well, your father was — and you had a design in mind. That was that. She’d known you long enough to know that there was no talking you down from an elaborate idea.

Besides. Besides, besides, besides. You did know Rhysand more personally. 

More personally, in the form of him secretly fucking you in the darkest corners of the Hewn City, when he had just been the High Lord’s handsome son, learning the ways of the court. You were his filthy little secret, someone he would never display publicly on his arm. Would never think of you beyond the haze of lust that clouded him. Perhaps that was what the dress was secretly about. Capturing his attention.

Things had changed dramatically since he’d last had you pressed against a wall, a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as he’d pounded into you. He was always ravenous for you behind closed doors and totally different in the open. A game — it was a game the two of you played.

But he was High Lord, now. You were excited to see what that looked like. 

Violet gown, indeed. You smoothed your hands over the tight bodice as the servant stepped away. As the daughter of a member of the Night Court council, you would be expected to look every bit the rich, expensive, pretty subject who would bat her eyes at the new High Lord and offer polite well-wishes for his future. 

While wearing a gown so tight it was like a second skin, the very daring shade of his eyes. 

Anything to keep those eyes on you.

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Rhysand had been trained for this, of course. Right down to the finest detail. Any outsider looking in would presume him to have been High Lord for far longer than a matter of months. There was something effortlessly arrogant about the way he lounged on his obsidian throne, one leg hooked over the arm, a chalice of wine in his hand that was constantly being topped up. 

He was the centre of attention, and he was loving every second of it. 

You’d never seen the instating of a new High Lord. Rhysand’s father had been on that throne for your entire life, until he’d gone and gotten himself killed. And now…now it was time for a fresh face. One with a feline smirk and a lilting voice behind it that sounded like music. 

You knew precisely what that voice sounded like when he was close to falling off the edge. 

You hadn’t yet spoken to him or caught his gaze. The evening’s proceedings had been fine-tuned to run smoothly; food and drink and music and dancing. Now, a long line of people queued up to the dais, forcing Rhysand to listen to the same sentence on a loop with every person who knelt before him. 

I welcome you, High Lord, and pledge my allegiance to you as your loyal subject. 

The words had become a monotonous drone. You wanted to spin around in your violet gown and make a show of yourself and catch the High Lord’s gaze. You wanted to be adventurous and fun, just like you and Rhys had always secretly been. 

Your father went before you, prattling off the same oath as those who’d gone before him. He and Rhys exchanged pleasantries, and Rhys’s voice seemed to snake past your father and round to you, caressing every bit of your skin that was on show. The sound was like silk. You wanted to tear your dress off and wrap it around your naked body. 

After what seemed like an eternity, your father was stepping aside and leaving you to wander up to the dais. Feline eyes met yours, the exact shade of your gown that felt suddenly too tight and too hot on your body. You gave a polite acknowledgement to the two Illyrians at the High Lord’s side — Azriel and Cassian — before you offered a flourishing bow.

“I welcome you, High Lord, and pledge my allegiance to you as your loyal subject.” You spoke, your voice slightly lowered. Just for him. 

Rhys’s eyes slowly studied every inch of you, starting at your hair, your painted face, the heavy jewellery that complimented the column of your neck and the lobes of your ears. And then they flicked down to the gown, studying the beaded detail. The way it sinfully clung to your body before flaring around you in layers of violet tulle. 

Heat flashed across those eyes, and you knew — he’d clocked exactly what you’d done.

“Good evening.” He drawled, his head falling on a tilt. His hungry gaze roved you once more. “And what have you come as?”

A subtle smirk tugged at your painted lips. “A shrinking violet.”

The High Lord tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. You wanted to drag it between your teeth, too. 

“There’s nothing shrinking about you, darling.” He purred. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips to the backs of your fingers. “Enjoy your night.”

A dismissal. A teasing one. It was all part of the game. His eyes fell to your gown again, and you spared him one last glance before flouncing away to dance. 

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You liked this game — yours and Rhysand’s.

Dark, shaded alcoves and long, winding corridors, perfect for a session of cat-and-mouse. Huge, unoccupied rooms, the walls of which volleyed your moans back and forth. You’d played the game a hundred times before, and you wanted to play it tonight. 

The party was unending, and so was the flowing wine. All part of the game. When Rhys had merely been the High Lord’s son, his apprentice, the two of you had always waited until everyone was gloriously intoxicated before you would share a heated glance and slip away — you first, and him following moments later. 

The night had reached that point. The frenzied music had become languid and sensuous, the bodies on the dance floor grinding against each other. Not one person in that throne room was sober. And so you set your drink aside. 

You strolled casually past the dais, shrugging out of the numerous dances people tried to pull you into. Rhys’s gaze seemed to find you immediately, and as you passed in front of him, you met his eyes and dipped your chin. The signal. The game was starting. 

But he was High Lord, now. Far more scrutinised and important. Perhaps he wouldn’t follow. Perhaps he was done with your antics—

Mere moments passed between you slipping into an empty corridor and the door opening behind you. A smirk played on your lips. You lifted the skirts of your gown. Kicked your heels off. And ran. 

Your feet slapped against the cold concrete floor as you sprinted away from Rhys. A dark, lilting chortle echoed behind you, and his pace picked up as ran after you. 

You were light as a feather, weightless as a cloud, shoving through doors and empty rooms, skidding along polished floors, climbing huge, ornate staircases. Rhys was always a few steps behind, and you knew he could easily catch up if he wanted to. But he savoured the chase as much as you did. 

You flew up another grand staircase, up and up to the very top of the gargantuan building. You knew precisely what you were doing, and so did Rhys. You took a left, veered down a long corridor. A dead-end. The door at the end led to an enclosed room.

“Where do you suppose you’ll go now, little violet?” Rhys called behind you, his breaths heavy. “I do believe I’ve caught you.”

Indeed, he had. You laughed wildly and opened your mouth to retort, but your already-huffing breaths were stolen from you as his body smacked into yours from behind, slamming you against the door. The wood groaned as he pressed his front to your back. The evidence of his arousal was already waiting for you. 

“Got you.” He hummed into your ear, his nose brushing your neck. “Now, what’s my prize?”

You bit down on your lip as he pushed his groin against you. “Your prize is whatever you wish it to be.”

“Excellent.”

He reached past you, opening the door to that unoccupied, echoing room. His hand splayed over the bodice of your dress, keeping your body flush to his as he walked you both inside. 

“I think I would have you against the wall.” His hand travelled down, fisting in the skirts of your gown. “Or perhaps on the writing bureau. Or the chaise lounge. Tell me, which would take your fancy?”

“Why not all of them?” You bit down on your bottom lip as his hand finally found a way under the fabric, skirting your thigh. 

“Naughty, wicked thing. Why not, indeed.”

You were suddenly being spun in his arms to face him, and there was barely a chance for your eyes to meet before he was claiming your lips with a scorching kiss and backing you towards the wall. Your back hit it with a light thud, and Rhys was boxing you in, settling his knee between your legs and very deliberately pressing it against the very centre of you. 

“You know,” he purred as he broke the kiss. “My father used to tell me to stay far away from you. He said that I should find a female fit to pop out heirs. That females like you like to play games.”

You sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed your neck. Crawled downwards. “Your father would be right about that.”

“Hmm.” He hummed. “But, you see, I like to play games, too. And the bastard is dead now. I am High Lord. Your High Lord. And I’m feeling mighty playful tonight.”

His knee pressed harder against your soaked underwear, and a soft moan slipped past your lips. 

“So play,” you said. 

Rhys struck. 

In a flash, he was sinking to his knees before you. Like you were his High Lady. He lifted the skirts of your gown, throwing them over his head. The sight of him disappearing beneath the fabric might have been amusing had his nose not nudged against your centre, causing you to jerk. 

“Now this,” he yanked your underwear down, blowing a breath against your slick folds, “this is a feast fit for a High Lord.”

His silver, sinful tongue licked a stripe right up you, and your head fell back against the wall, a loud moan breaking free of your throat. Rhys wasted no time in feasting on you. He licked and lapped, his teeth grazing your clit, and you imagined what he must look like beneath your skirts, his face flushed and soaked with your wetness. 

“I love your taste.” He groaned against you, sucking on your clit. “You have no fucking idea how much.”

Perhaps not. But you could hazard a pretty good guess just how much as he damn near devoured you, bringing you to the very brink of bliss. When he heard your moans and breaths hitching in your throat, felt your hips jutting forward, he sank two fingersinto you. 

“Gods,” You gasped, writhing against him, against the wall. Your mind fractured into a thousand tiny pieces as your release slammed into you. Your legs shook.

Rhys licked and pumped all through it, enjoying every moment, every gasp and groan. Only when your walls ceased their contracting around his fingers did he pull away. 

He emerged from beneath the fabric, his hair tousled, his eyes heated. His mouth swollen and glistening. One look at him, and you were fisting your hand around the front of his perfectly-tailored jacket, yanking him to his feet. 

You wanted to taste him just as he had tasted you, but he stopped you from lowering yourself to your knees. His hand grasped your clothed breast, and he kissed you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

You were bored of the dress, now. Pretty as it was, just like his eyes, it was too much of a barrier. You tried to reach behind you for the laces—

“No.” Rhys nipped your lip, staying your hand. “I want you to wear it while I fuck you.”

Your eyes flared. “As you wish.” You glanced down at his lips. “High Lord.”

A guttural groan escaped him, and the tether on his control snapped. The following moments were a confusing, heady circus of heavy kisses and panting into each others mouths, both your hands fighting to undo the laces and buttons of his trousers. As soon as they were loosened enough, he was shoving them to the floor. 

“I think about you, you know.” Rhys said, hissing between his teeth as you wrapped your hand around his length. “I come to the thought of you. How do you manage to make a mess out of me without even being there?”

“Because I wish it to be so.” You squeezed gently. “And so it is.”

“Wicked, wicked creature.”

You silenced him with a kiss as you pumped his cock, savouring the feel of it twitching in your palm, jerking at the very brush of your touch. Rhys emitted a growl, and he was batting your hand away, replacing it with his own.

“If I don’t get inside you,” he dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds, “I think I may bring this city down around us.”

His eyes held a promise to do exactly that, and as the head nudged at your entrance, he grabbed the back of your neck, sliding his lips over yours.

The tip had barely slipped in before thudding footsteps approached, and a knock was pounding on the door. Rhys growled beneath his breath. Ignored it. Pushed into you further. You gasped. 

“Rhys.” Cassian’s voice came from the other side. 

“Not now, Cassian.” Rhys thrust into you, right to the hilt, giving a very audible grunt. 

“You’ve been gone for too long.” The Illyrian general persisted. “People are starting to notice.”

“Not fucking now, Cassian.” 

He pulled out to the tip, his angry words breathed against your mouth. You swallowed them greedily as he thrust right back into you once more, a slight pinch of pain within the pleasure that wrangled a loud moan from your throat.

There was a pause on the other side of the door, a curse — Cassian muttering “Cauldron fucking boil me” — before his footsteps retreated once more.

“Look at you,” you nipped Rhys’s lip. “Keeping your loyal subjects waiting.”

“I am.” He shifted, slamming into you again. “For you.”

Your response because lost amongst the pleasure as Rhys fastened his hand at your hips and lifted you from the floor. 

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded deeply. “And hold on.”

You did just that, your legs locking around his waist, your arms around his neck. Rhys pressed his head against your shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin there. 

And he fucked.

“Gods, you feel exquisite.” He groaned, slamming into you harder, faster. “I could spend the rest of my existence buried inside you.”

You moaned, your head falling back. You felt his tongue against the column of your neck. “That seems like a foolish way for a High Lord to spend his time.”

“Nothing about this is foolish.”

He was damn right about that. Words eddied away from your tongues, the room being filled with moans and grunts and gasps and screams. Rhys filled you so utterly, so completely, that you couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to do so. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He grit out, reaching down to circle his thumb against your clit. “I wish you could see yourself right now. Coming undone for me. Coming on my cock.”

“Fuck, Rhys.” You gasped. They were the only words you were able to get out before he sent you hurtling over the edge. 

The fall of your second climax was euphoric, addictive. You were hot and cold, asleep and awake, present and absent, lost somewhere in the ether. Your moans filled the room, perhaps the whole building, the entire city, as your walls clenched his cock hard, his thumb continuing the ministrations to your clit. 

Rhys’s thrusts picked up, the pace frenzied and desperate. You could feel him tightening inside you, hear his breaths and grunts hitching in his throat, the pleasure furrowing his brow. You purposefully clenched around him once more, and he lost it.

“Gods!” He roared, stifling the sound with a hungry kiss to your lips. His hips stilled abruptly, and he was spilling into you, every last drop filling you.

It seemed like ages that he spent moaning and groaning and whining, emitting needy little noises, drawing out a few more languid thrusts despite having emptied himself entirely into you. He was completely at your mercy. Undone by you.

He was your High Lord, and yet tonight, you had ruled him. 

He was still breathing heavily as he pulled out of you. His eyes locked with yours, and a strange, indiscernible expression crossed his face.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He breathed. 

You snorted. This was all part of the game, the continued teasing. You liked that a lot. 

“Would you give me a crown?” You jibed.

Rhys’s eyes glittered. “Only if I could fuck you in it.”

You smirked, toying with the lapels of his jacket. “And what of your throne? Would you fuck me on there?”

“I would fuck you in every last corner of my city. Over and over until my people have committed our moans to memory.”

Such a poetic, silver-tongued male. Your smirk remained as you let go of him, but he was having none of it. He clutched you against him.

“Come back to Velaris with me.” He repeated. 

You smiled vaguely. “No.” 

“You could live however your heart desires. We could play there, too.”

Your laughter was light, airy. You pushed him off, squirming out of his grasp. “Such pretty words.”

His hand caught yours, and he pressed it to his chest. “Come back to Velaris with me.”

“No.” You said again. 

You smirked at him, and he smirked back. And as you leaned in, he slammed his eyes shut, bracing himself for your kiss. 

You didn’t deliver. You merely swiped your thumb over his lips, erasing the evidence of you ever having been there. 

“Until next time,” you hummed. “High Lord.”

You finally pushed around him, smoothing your dress as you passed, your bare feet padding on the floor. 

“This is inconvenient.” Rhys called as you braced your hand on the door handle. 

You glanced over your shoulder. “What’s that?”

“I am your High Lord. But hearing you call me such makes me desperate to bury myself deep inside you again.”

A soft trill of a laugh left you, and you turned your back on him, opening the door. “Don’t be greedy.”

You stepped out without looking back. That was how this wicked, glorious thing between you went. The best thing you could do to not make it hurt so much when he ignored you before his subjects. Rhys being High Lord hadn’t changed that. Nor had it taken away the mischievous, playful male with honeyed words that you knew him to be. But walking away like that, you had the power.

His laughter followed you down the hall, and you smirked one more.

High Lord, indeed. 

You both knew his control had been obliterated at the first sight of you in that violet dress. 

A gown the exact shade of Rhysand’s eyes.

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[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Locked

Part 6: What More Could You Want?

Part 5: Now You Know From What

pairing: Older!Leon Kennedy x Ex!Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: masterbating, cowgirl, peepingtom!Leon, stalker!Leon, talks of drugging, talks of sex

Dead Dove Do Not Eat

extra: gonna shoot for once a week updates for as long as i have 10 hour shifts, im hoping in december they stop. i really can’t stand this job you guys and i feel like my writing reflects how little time i have but don’t give up on me! im not giving up and i really want to get immersed into this world im creating for Leon and Reader!

Everything. I couldn't tear her down, tell her about the horrendous creatures I saw that god awful night. She didn't realize how much danger she was in, those- those people- they didn't help any. Mary, Marie, Marina- whatever her name was, she was one of those people, watching as they ate. My pretty girl rolling her eyes as the blue haired girl spoke, pointing her fork at my sweet bunny. Sweet, saccharine bunny. She was so far but so close, it's like her scent intertwined with mine, keeping her just in my mind enough for my peace to stay fleeting.

The device sits on the desk, the dark hotel room, once again, a comfort for a passing moment. Ice tapping on the glass, a sound to break the stoic silence as the glass rolls on the edge of the glass, fingers directing the liquor to tip from side to side. Screen flashing as texts spiral in. 'Leon, you're a literal asshole. Rebecca's worried and least you could do was tell us why you're in Seattle fucking Washington. Can you not get a good feel of Washington in D.C.?.', a scoff came from the back of my throat, of course. He always thought i needed to be baby sat, needed someone watching my every move like a rat in a cage. D.S.O could survive a few days while i got my plan in place. The rim of the glass pressed to the scruffy part of my bottom lip, cold and smooth before i lift it higher, downing the liquid, feeling it burn the back of my throat as a moan left my lips.

Slipping my fingers under the device, flipping it open to show the keypad. Fingers typing quickly as the buzz filled my mind. Can't lose the confidence i had quickly built, by the time my fingers had finished the message, the feeling of untouchable power slipped away, before hitting the button to send it to the woman who threw my mind in a pandora's box of thoughts. The bubble stays for seconds, then minutes. Surely, she's seen it. She hadn't been too dismissive of my return. Answering my call and talking to me, almost edging me into a state of euphoria to know that maybe, just maybe, i'd dug myself into her brain enough to keep her baited.

Thoughts of hopping on my bike and barreling to the little home, pushing my way into the door way to find her... all prettied up for that damned boyfriend she had. My head lulled into the crook of my arm, the warmth of my own skin causing a flush to come across my cheeks, heating up the skin, flushing it, bending my back into an uncomfortable arch. Wondered what she felt like, if she was still embarrassed when she stopped nude, if she'd grown confidence and thought she was as beautiful as she always had been. I just wanted a taste, a lick of her delicate flesh, watching the skin as it dimpled under my fingers, causing her eyes to roll back and her words to become less than whispers. Her needy little moans cut off prematurely as i felt for more, pressing into the skin more as she whined.

  With those questions came more, did she like the way he was with her? Was he soft and sweet on her, caressing her delicate skin with his tongue and grateful for every second he had the chance to touch her? He wouldn't have it long, not much longer and Od finally have the moment of weakness and snatch her away. Maybe drug her, maybe let her fight back. A pulling at the corner of my lips curled into a smirk, thinking of her holding up a knife and trying to stab at me, unlike the night she froze, staring from the corner of her doe eyes, watching a big bad wolf show its fangs so deathly close to the fragile bunny. To kiss death and fate so tenderly before succumbing to its hand- or in this case, a mug. The sound of her head cracking against the glass then floor rant through my mind. I couldn't help it, she was so... idiotic and pretty. A simple minded creature needing guidance in a world full of snakes and predators, looking for easy, pretty, temping prey.

  My eyes flicker to the phone once more, expecting anything, something from the prey. Nothing, not a damn thing. No 'don't message me ever again's or 'im going to call the police, Leon's. Nothing. That, that made me feel a nasty pit in my stomach, the thoughts of driving over to their home and seeing for myself what had her so airheaded she couldn't reply to a message. Maybe even see how Ryland- Ryan- touched her, was he too delicate? Did he know that she does like it rough, at least a little? Was he too rough, leaving her nervous and frightened? The thought kind of turned him on, imagining how leaving him did nothing but potentially put you in another psycho's arms.

  The thoughts became actions as the keys jingled from the grip i had on them, maybe i was still a bit more protective than i needed to be. This was for her safety, damnit. Nothing beat trying to keep those predators from her, than a predator himself. Every red light felt like it was hours long, leg bouncing, waiting for the light to change into that 'go' green. Eyes watching streetlights become blurs as the distance closes from between her and I. I can almost feel her, almost taste that sweet taste that only she can produce for my senses to take in.

  My heart ramps up as i get to the small drive way, turning off the lights to my bike, parking up at the tip of the path. Couldn't let her get a peek, she knew too much. I liked to rush things, like letting her see me and talking to her, setting up what i wanted to be a comfort, letting her know i'm not angry at her for leaving me, she didn't have to stay with this guy anymore, now. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, as i feel the ground shift, legs nearly buckling as the only window with lights stemming from it, catch my attention. Guiding my wavering stance to push forwards, as my fingers wrap around the frame, it hits me. Seeping into my ears a soft 'Ah, ah, ah, Ry~', muffled by the wall separating us, her voice was so dirty, something enough to send me straight to hell for the things i think of her. A temptress shied away into a human body.

  "Ryan~", my eyes snap up at her voice, my eyes nest pop out at the scene. "Yeah, did he make you feel this good? Bet he didn't.", Ryan's deep voice, echoing around the room as soft slaps of flesh on flesh sound out. His hands dug under her thighs as he assisted her in riding him. Keeping her pace for herself and him, watching his cock head nearly slip from her hole had my cock weeping. Her hair falling over that face, eyes closed and head back as she whined, crying silently as he abused her little cunt. How is wanted to just walk in there and force my way into those velvety walls and take what was and IS mine. Her whines were accompanied by a smack, landing on her ass as she bounced on him. "Dirty bitch- can't have me loving on you sweet and soft-", Ryan's head tilted back against the pillow, their black bed sheets all bunched up and messy. "Gotta be treated like some cheap slut.", he groaned as her hips bucked up. "Dirty bitch...", i couldn't help but repeat, seeing how her hips filled out in 7 years, watching her tits bounce and her arms tense as she struggled to keep herself upright on his cock. Her cunt- MY cunt- sucking him in with a squelching sound, her moans followed by a whimper as she lost her rhythm. "Good girl- fuck-!", his hands dig into the plump of her hip, "gonna snap my cock in half, pretty.", the huff of air falling from my nostrils fogged the glass as i hadn't realized i'd moved so close, watching as my girl, my bunny, came apart on another man's cock. It made me fucking sick.

My fingers came up, flipping the phone until it opened, scrolling to get to my camera before snapping a picture of Ryan, who now has moved to bend her over the bed, snapping his hips quickly into her. The picture was shitty quality, but it DEFINITELY got the point across as I hit the send button, patience is a virtue i never really had. Eager impatience, sheer excitement causing me to become annoying as a rookie. The muscles in my jaw ached, from biting back a moan as i palmed myself over my jeans, also aching from how tense i'd been while watching. The stiffness of my cock had be aching for some type of pleasure, pulling my jeans to my knees as i whip it out. Looking at it in the moon light, it was so flushed pink, begging to find a home in that pussy, eyes lingering on his hips as they lost themselves into a bliss, his bunny's face pressed into the mattress, just an opening from her eyes and he'd run. He felt his palm heating up as he pumped his aching cock, watching her lips part into a wince/moan. He felt his cock twitch, spilling white sticky ropes over a plant by the window. "Shit-", i hissed, realizing this is definitely evidence i was here, but it was meant to rain more tonight, he'd be fine. He always was.

  Now she didn't care to look or open her eyes while her love was blowing back shot after back shot into her right pussy. Ryan's hand ran her back, easing her up into his chest. "Good girl, my good slut.", his hands brushed down her hair, comforting her after such a rough scene. I wanted to scream, that should be me, holding her in my arms, coaxing her into relaxation. I have a house, much bigger than this that she can have entirely to herself, one I built for her. She'd be so grateful if she'd just talk to me. Just let me "repair" the damage I'd caused. I wouldn't totally rush her, but imaging a world where she was swole, child on her hip and cheeks rosy from leaning over some food she'd been preparing, her eyes wide as I walk home and get to place a huge kiss on her lips, tasting the food on her lips, as she cooked his favorite meal.

  My hand slowly pumped out the rest, watching as she reached up for her phone. Ryan holding into her as she grabbed it and yelped, she must've see the photo. The phone in his pockets dinging as he used his non cum covered hand struggling as to not drop the phone but as soon as he opens the device. Bunny's name, her contact completely, the same from 7 years ago as it flashed on the screen, he ducked, quickly, laying in a thorn bush. Damn Chris, always blowing up my fucking phone for some sort of reaching out to get me to come back or explain myself… how do i explain what i’m doing? "Fuck~", I whined, looking up as I saw my bunny close to the window looking off into the distance, looking for me as she buttoned up what looked like one of Ryan's shirts. It hurt... but what more could i want? what more could you want, bunny?

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #06 & #05

06. SWEDEN Loreen - "Tattoo" 1st place

Decade Ranking: 19/116 [above Halo, below Adrenalina]

Alright, fine, we've arrived at Loreen. There are plenty of conflicting emotions swirling around in my head, but overall, yeah, you know how I feel about her. It hasn't changed. She's very good, but I'm not obsessed with her. This is where those entries rank.

Let's tackle the elephant in the room: Tattoo is a good song and a boring, uninspiring winner. The two aren't mutually exclusive. Loreen's victory was determined the second she won Melfest, by default. It was unsatisfactory for two reasons:

(1) The moment Loreen was picked the casuals that remembered "Euphoria" immediately started praising her while ignoring everyone else, and this of course snowballed into the biggest jury coronation since Salvador. Lol that the same casuals that were obsessed with Tattoo preshow became upset when she beat Käärijä. What else did you think was going to happen? it was YOU who kept touting her as the best without giving as much as dismissive look at her competition, of course the Eye of Sauron was fixated on her and no one else.

(2) Käärijä. For better or for worse, this year will be remembered as the year Cha Cha Cha was robbed by the juries for the sake of Sweden. Käärijä was not without his own set of problems which directly led to his demise (which we'll tackle when we get to him because this post is about Loreen), but he WAS the year and it was his loss specifically that left a bad aftertaste in many mouths. It's always better when the underdog beats the overdog, and not the other way around.

Once the dust settled, everyone pledged fealty to the crazyparty Fin while "Tattoo" was quickly replaced as the basic gay anthem by "Padam Padam".

However, neither of those things are particularly Loreen's fault?

What I can ascertain is that Tattoo is not Euphoria, obviously. A lot of the love for Tattoo was spillover Euphoria nostalgia. That's fine, but I meant their thematic differences went understated - Euphoria was an ode to the eternity of love, while Tattoo specifically is about the love fracturing apart and Loreen's inabilty to move on - in other words "Euphoria" was a victory, while "Tattoo" always felt like more of a defeat. It's a subtle difference, but one that should always lead to Euphoria being ranked AHEAD of Tattoo, jesus christ ESC250 voters.

However, this is still Loreen, and a lesser Loreen is still lowkey epic. Eventhough "Tattoo" is probably the least good Loreen song, (technically because it's a Cazzi Opeia song with a Loreen sound - "You're stuck on me like a tatoo-oo-oo that is a Cazzi hook if ever there was), it is still a good song. Loreen proved although she's now at an age where her memory is starting to fail her, forgetting essentials such as clipping her fingernails and paying her taxes, she still has the attitude and flat stomach of a cougar ready to pounce. All credits for Tattoo's successes belong to her, SJB and no one else.

And, not unimportantly in a audio-visual medium such as Eurovision, Tattoo also looked really good on the stage. It had A Vision, which is what every winner needs nowadays. Again, the staging is great but also... not that grat lol - it's not the best staging ever. It's not better than Euphoria's or even Vesna's that we'll talk about later. Nevertheless, the song was beautifully framed under the confined space of that impromptu photocopier and Loreen's choreography. The staging was dynamic, artistic and gave the impression real stakes were involved. It Understood The Assignment. It made the song *pop*.

I specifically really LOVE the wide shot during the bridge that really anchors the devastation and desolation she sings about.

It's one of those money shots linger in your mind after the song has ended.

So overall, yeah, Loreen is not my winner or even a top fiver for me, but oh well, whatever? She was a dull winner compared to Käärijä but not an undeserving one. She's still a solid eight-and-a-half out of ten. She alone provided the triple threat of Good composition, Stunning Act and Killer Execution, so ofc juries flocked to her if they're instructed to assess the overal package. If you still think they robbed Käärijä (they did not.) remember that Loreen was solidly second in nearly every televote behind him. If he were destined to always lose Eurovision 2023 like I now believe he was, it's definitely only Loreen who should have taken the W here.

-------------------------------

05. AUSTRALIA Voyager - "Promise" 9th place

Decade Ranking: 17/116 [Above Adrenalina, below Manizha]

Sometimes the reason is "I like music." Many were surprised Voyager came top 10, but not I. To repeat a common question one final time:

HAVE YOU HEARD THE SONG?!?

Well-executed ProgMetal, at Eurovision! By a charismatic lead! Of course it was going to get a good chunk of jury votes from a group of people that know more music beyond what gets radio airplay. As Danny sings, if you haven't done anything like this before, you haven't been alive, sillies!

Going into the contest though, I wasn't fully sure Australia would grab the top 10 I envisioned for them. Like sure, I saw the vision. But my predictions come from Antwerp, not Delphi and the visions I see don't always come to pass. Voyager were hit the hardest by the fandom's latent misandry for daring to be men (+ Simone). Then again, if the fandom got their way, "Padam Padam" would win every year (lol can you imagine what a nightmare that meta would be? especially because "Padam Padam" isn't even that good to begin with) and not songs that are effectively Synthwave with Metal instrumentation. This is a combo that leads to immersive moodpieces, and not the high energy spikes you might expect from metal.

But what this blog if not for its appreciation for moodpieces and what was "Promise" if not A Mood immortalized by Voyager into An Experience. Danny playing the keytar on the bonnet of his delorean, or nearly choking on a chicken sandwich while getting 12 Portuguese points, THOSE are MY little joys in life.

Everything on stage suits a wholesome song about ~promising your loved ones you're in this life's adventure together, ride or die~, which as a message hits home even harder since Danny's cancer diagonosis (not like this affected their placement here - Australia were coming 5th on this ranking since the beginning).

And let's be honest, "Promise" is a just really good song that doesn't need frills or embellishments, but it got those anyway with everyone's fun adlibs.

It's like S10 or MARO, not the flashiest entry nor the most iconic staging, but never the less, the personality came through well enough to merit revisitations when I have a craving for it. Besides, we need a diverse array of genres at Eurovision, to ensure the bar remains high and we don't get a year full of Liars and Firefighters. "Promise" defo fit that bill well. It was good to have A Real Song into the mix, and one that was very deservedly was rewarded with a top ten placement.

If you think that a bad result, then that's fine. I agree with you, but mostly because I think Australia should have come top five and were robbed by the televote. 🙂

THE RANKING

[garbinge]

Wanderlust (1)

Angel Reyes Post Canon Fic (Mentions of OC Isabeth ‘Izzy’ Flores) From these August Prompts: Wanderlust Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Mayans S5 Full Season/Finale Spoilers!!!!!!!!, mentions of death, blood, loss, angst, bad thoughts, stress, PTSD, just really sad but it does have some hope!

A/N: I… this is a lot and was honestly just flowed out onto the paper and just I have thoughts for more in this post-canon world but for now, this will be a little ode to Angel post series. Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie

It was hard to accept his dreams coming true when it took everything falling apart to get there. It was truthfully even hard to call this a dream when it was just a necessity for a normal and safe life. The peace the beach town of La Paz, Mexico had to offer wasn’t as rewarding as the fight to get here made it seem it would be. For Angel, most of that had to do with the fact that time passed differently now. There was nothing to look forward to anymore now that he was here. There were no visits from grandparents, no visits from uncles, no waking up next to the woman he loved. The goals he once had before were now achieved and alongside of them looking different, he hadn’t had the time or honest want to create new ones. The one thing that kept him going was his son, Maverick. The thought of showing him a world of endless opportunities and making life better solely for him was what let him get out of bed in the morning everyday. On their journey down, he opted to show him where the little boy’s grandparents once lived, where Maverick's mother had grown up, but Angel knew staying in those places would only ultimately leave him in the same cycle. The cycle Angel was on the path to break, because, well, it was his only option now. 

Waking up might have been the hardest part of his day. It was ironic because falling asleep was the best. A moment of uninterrupted time where his thoughts weren’t consumed in his brain. He was shocked he didn’t have nightmares about everything, but his mind saved those for the daytime. When he was awake, he could vividly remember everything, every moment, every sound, every look, every feeling. It was why waking up was the hardest, because everything hit him like a pile of bricks the moment his eyes opened. He saw Felipe everyday. He heard EZ everyday. He searched for Luisa everyday. 

Not literally, ofcourse. The image of his father being rolled out on a coroner’s gurney was embedded into his brain. The sound of EZ’s last breaths, his last wishes of telling Maverick about him and their mother. And finally, his hand reached for Luisa in his bed every morning as some search for comfort but he was left with emptiness. Once Maverick was up that’s when he was able to push everything aside and do simple everyday things for him. He was currently living off the money Luisa had left in the crib before settling into a job. Settling into employment meant finding someone or somewhere to leave Maverick and he just wasn’t ready for that step. Luckily in Mexico, he could make that money stretch. Their place was cheap, Maverick was still sleeping in a crib so the one bedroom house they stayed in was more than doable. Food was no more than $25 a week between the two of them and that was pending if Angel even had the drive to eat a full meal. Maverick was always taken care of, though. He had tons of his favorite food stored in the fridge and freezer and lots of toys. Angel had taken his Pops truck down, loading it up with the broken down crib, stroller, and height chair, a few bags of their clothes, and that was just about it. 

It was early morning, Angel had been awake for a few minutes staring at the ceiling thinking about his brother. The ultimate choice he had to make in stabbing him. Logically he knew there was no out of that situation, but that didn’t stop the ‘what ifs’ from running through his head everyday. The biggest what if that weighed on Angel’s mind was what if he never joined the club. That was what brought them there. Sure, Felipe’s past life had brought violence to them, specifically their mother, but Angel continued it. Maybe if he never joined the club EZ would have gotten out of prison and done something with his life. Again, this was Angel told himself, but he struggled with that just like everything else. If he never joined the club, he never would have met Luisa or had Maverick, EZ probably would have stayed in jail for the full stint with no chance of getting out early. It made Angel think about who EZ was prior to losing their mother, what would have happened if everything was different. If he was a different person, his father was a different person, it ultimately brought him to one thought. Why him? Why was he the only one who got out. That’s usually when the cries of Maverick snapped him out of it as if the universe was giving him the answer. 

As Maverick’s voice cooed right on schedule, Angel was quick to get out of bed and grab him from the crib. Angel chatted with the boy, asking him how he slept, what he was hungry for, what he was in the mood to wear. All of those things took up a good couple hours of the morning between bath time and feeding, for the both of them. 

Now was the time to take on the beach town of La Paz, he and Maverick had been exploring the last few weeks, taking some time on the few different beaches, enjoying the street art and boardwalks, taking in the marinas, finding some local food spots to indulge in, and today was time to hit downtown. 

La Paz was beautiful, the streets were filled with statues, artworks, and markets as you walked along the coast to get downtown where there was just more of everything. Angel had Maverick in his arms as they walked past a bookstore which made him stop and stare into the window. 

“You know your Tío EZ loved to read.” Angel looked over at the boy in his arms. “Your grandpa, my dad, had bookshelves in his shop and would constantly be giving new ones to your Tío, I always told ‘em they smelt like meat and maybe there was somewhere better to keep 'em but they enjoyed it.” Angel nodded his head at the memory. 

“Maybe we can find you some different books, huh?” Angel looked into the bookstore and noticed it was more of a newsstand with biographies, novels, and stories versus children’s books so he began his search for a library. 

Biblioteca Pública para los Niños de La Paz, the words on the secluded building could be seen from a hundred feet away. The building was painted and bright and seemed to be exactly what he was looking for. Maverick was enamored by it, his eyes were glued to the building and his arms extended out to point to it. 

Angel let out a laugh, “Alright, little man. Let's go check it out.” 

As they entered the building it was a lot fancier than he imagined a library to be, there were different sections despite it being majorly a children's library. They had movies, DVDs, novels but when Angel looked to the left he was met with a huge children’s section. There was a big circular room that he assumed was for events, walls and walls of books, almost never ending and somewhere in the middle of that were couches and play sets. In the midst of all of this there was a big circulation desk that was covered in posters and kids toys and flyers where there was an empty desk chair. Angel assumed someone must’ve been on their break or roaming around the library so he walked past it and let Maverick roam around the play sets. 

“Mav, come, look at these.” He called the little boy over to the half shelf of books. Angel sat squatted on the ground at Maverick’s eye level as he pulled books out, there were two that he held onto which Angel assumed they’d be checking out while the others were left on the floor in his path along the shelf. Angel was quick to grab the discarded books and put them back in their proper place as he moved behind his son, making sure that nothing was left out of place. 

“Maybe we can find a book that daddy used to read all the time.” Angel started to look at the next shelf over for the book he remembered Marisol reading to him while Maverick plopped down right next to him as if he was waiting for the book. 

“Buenas tardes, como los puedo ayudar? ” A woman’s voice caused Angel to startle and turn around immediately. He was such a tall individual that looking up to someone wasn’t usual for him. 

“Lo siento,” he let out a chuckle and shook his head as he tried to think straight, “uh, estoy buscando un libro.” He explained in spanish what he was doing. 

“Perdoname,” the woman laughed back, “no quise asustarte.” Her eyes were soft as she apologized. “Sabes el nombre del libro?” 

Angel thought for a minute. “Uh, si, se–se llama,” Angel closed his eyes as he tried to remember the name, “olvidé el nombre, pero se trata del sol y…” He lost it, it’s like any bit of spanish left his brain when he tried to think of the word he was looking for. “Ah, que es,” he thought to himself now feeling fully embarrassed by his lack of fluency. “Come se dice, un reptilio?” He replaced the word he wanted with a similar synonym. 

“A lizard?” The woman spoke her English as clear as day even with her accent. 

Angel let out a sigh of relief. “Yea, the book is about a sun and lizard.” 

“La Lagartija y el Sol.” She nodded, knowing exactly what book he was referring to. 

“Yes!” His eyes lit up. “Sor– Perdoname, si, La Lagartija y el Sol.” He confirmed still stumbling over his words. 

“It’s okay, I speak English.” The girl met Angel at eye level as she squatted down and reached across his face to search for the book. 

“I’m trying to fit in, act like a local.” He let out a nervous chuckle that made her smile. 

“We stick out like sore thumbs.” Her thick accent was littered with humor as she related to him. 

“You’re not local?” Angel asked her out of curiosity. 

“No, I’m from Mexico but not La Paz. I learned English in the States a few years ago.” She wasn’t willing to give up more specifics but Angel wasn’t one to pry either.

“Any advice on how not to stick out and seem like a local?” He laughed as he adjusted himself to stand up. 

“No one cares here, everyone minds their business, it’s why I enjoy living here.” She stopped dragging her finger along the books as she found the one she was looking for and pulled it out by its spine. “La Lagartija y el Sol.” 

“Thank you, I think he’s gonna like this one.” Angel pointed to his son who was sitting on the couch mindlessly going through the few books that he had grabbed himself. 

“It is about perseverance and bravery, two traits you’ll need if you want to try and fit in as a local.” She teased. “The book is bilingual, also. Might help both of you.” 

“Good to know, ironically, my mom used to read me the bilingual version and well, you’ve seen how well that worked out.” He was now standing with the book in his hand. 

“Takes perseverance.” She smirked. “Let me know if you need any more help.” And with that, she was moving back behind the children’s circulation desk. 

Angel stayed with Maverick in between the two shorter shelves where the playsets were, letting the boy enjoy the toys and time out of the house. They picked out a couple DVDs too in addition to the 3 books in his hands, just trying to think of ways to pass the time back at home. About an hour and a half had passed and Angel decided it was time to leave to grab some lunch and maybe head to the marina so he began to approach the childrens desk with Maverick in one arm and the things he planned to check out in the other. 

The same woman came out from the back office and smiled as she situated back in her seat at the computer that was likely from the early 2000s. 

“Do you have a card with us already?” She looked up at him before taking the movies and books off the part of the desk that was raised to be more of an appropriate height for those standing on the opposite side of it. 

“No, I’d have to sign up for one if that’s not a big deal?” His tone had a little apprehension in it. 

“Nope, just need to get some info from you.” She began clicking things on the computer and then asking him questions. “Need a name, address, and some form of ID.” 

Angel froze for a minute, he wasn’t exactly sure what he felt comfortable giving up information wise. He was well aware that this was some random woman at the library and not the cartel or even a police officer but it just felt nerve wracking. 

“Um, do I need to give all that information?” He stood awkwardly as he re-situated Maverick on his side. 

The woman looked up at him and immediately understood. “I can make it work with just a name.” She agreed. “I just need you to promise you’re going to return those items in 3 weeks because if not it’s my paycheck the replacements come out of.” Her face was soft when she spoke. 

“Promise. You can put the card under Angel Reyes.” He leaned over to see what she put into the system. 

After a few minutes she took out a card and scanned it before placing it on the table in front of him. “If you have any trouble just ask for me and I’ll take care of it. I put the address in as my own.” 

Angel was speechless for a minute before he spoke up. “Thanks, I didn’t mean to have to have you–” she cut him off before he finished speaking. 

“It’s okay, I get it.” Her eyes moved to Maverick, who was beginning to fall asleep in Angel’s arms, and then back to Angel’s eyes before grabbing his things to check him out. After scanning all the items and placing them in a bag she moved to go grab something on the other side of the desk. “Also,” she twirled in the chair. “I pulled this for you. I think you and your son would enjoy it.” 

La Frontera: El Viaje con Papá - A Journey with Papa. 

Angel stared at the book for a minute with a smile on his face. 

“You know, I always wanted to travel. I had dreams about it. Going all these different places. I went to some but like I wanted to see things my family saw, see things they didn’t, just have the world at my disposal, right?” He was staring down at the book, holding it in his hand, wiping his tumb across the cover. “But now I just don’t feel that way anymore.” He put the book down on the table and snapped himself out of his thoughts. “Sorry,” his head shook. “I didn’t mean to unload, I don’t get to talk to many people that aren’t above the age of 2.” 

The woman smiled, “You know, sometimes that feeling of wanderlust is your gut telling you that you are not in the right place.” Her shoulders shrugged like what she said didn’t hold a heavy weight to Angel’s ears. There was a moment where he just took in those words before she spoke up again. “Maybe you’re just finally in the right place.” 

She had gone back to doing something, not paying Angel any attention as he slowly put the book in the bag. Maybe it was true, he was in the right place, he had finally escaped all the violence, the stress, the uneasiness, and he could feel free. That still didn’t come without punishment. The thought of feeling free reminded him that his brother, father, and mother died being stuck. The images of his mother on the floor of the shop followed by his father on the gurney and his brother on the floor of the Mayan clubhouse rotted his brain. Repetitive words of the things they said throughout their lifetime haunting Angel. How could he be free when he felt so chained to their memory. 

“Are you okay?” The woman’s voice snapped Angel out of his thoughts. 

“Si, Yes, Gracias, seriously for all your help.” Angel started stepping away now. 

“You are welcome, Angel.” She smiled and went back to her work before looking up when Angel stuttered after wishing her a good day but realizing he had no idea what her name was. 

“Isabeth–Isa.” 

Angel stood there frozen again and repeated her name. “Isa?” The woman’s head nodded and she looked at him confused.

“Is there something wrong with that?” She let out a nervous laugh. 

 “I’m sorry, that was sort of my mom’s name.” He closed his eyes with a smile. 

“Sort of?” She twisted her head and met him with the same smile. 

“Yea, sort of–it’s complicated.” He chuckled back. 

“Well to make it more complicated, you can call me Izzy. That’s what my friends in the states used to call me, I kind of miss it.” 

“How’d you know I was from the states?” He asked curiously, a look that didn’t last long as she gave him a knowing look and tried to hold in her laugh. “Fair enough, Izzy it is.” He nodded and with that he left the library with a feeling of content.

It was nice to finally have a conversation with someone that held some sort of mature value, despite the fact that it brought Angel some of his darkest thoughts, but he would have had those regardless, at least this time he was offered some solace. Maybe he was finally in the right place, maybe this is where Maverick needed to be, where he needed to be. Perhaps it was everyone he lost that guided him to this spot simply because it was the right place. Maybe wanderlust didn’t need to be about huge travel but just roaming around your own space, your mind even, finding one place of peace and calmness where all the bad things weren’t allowed to go. That was what Angel’s next adventure would hold, wanderlust of his mind, a place where all his demons and nightmares weren’t allowed, and just peace and tranquility could be found.

[zyana-wyvern]

Ode to Oaks of Gold

"I close my eyes and I am there once again, among leaves of green and red and gold, in the land of my father. I walk among the young oaks, touch their living bark, speak and sing to them. They answer and sing back, gently leading me to their father, to Father Oak, to Tar Nordho. His branches reach the bright blue of the skies and he wears a crown of clouds. I bow before him, touch the blessed ground with my mortal lips, and he receives me, opens his arms of green and gold to me. His leaves rustle in greeting and he speaks to me: "Welcome, daughter of Corellon, child of the Blood, walker of dreams." Tell me then, if He, the protector of our Realm, who we received as a seedling from Sehanine Moonbow herself, doesn't see my human blood, but only the immortal soul within, why should I not rule the Realm? Why should I not have a chance at being chosen as Coronal?" Idunn of Tar Nordho

[hvbris]

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌’𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 . 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

For the parade...

Cinna keeps the idea of fire for District 12, but with Prim, who is so young, he goes a different route. The burning fire that adorns her dress is more akin to the wamth of a hearth, a sunset. Prim is above all a healer, a comforting vision.

For the coronation...

Prim’s coronation is a nod to her name, Primrose. But it’s also an ode to the arrival of spring after winter, to the sunrise after the night. Cinna keeps the dress fresh and youthful, but with hints of fantasy and whimsy.

For the Victor Tour’s party...

This dress symbolizes a time for healing, for peace. Prim has won, she has done the tour, she can return home. Finally. Fire is fading from the dress, revealing a pure white. The fabric is light, she is barely wearing any makeup.

[th3-art-of-dying]

I died once, but they brought me back......

Only within the last few years ( give or take a few) has it been possible to do what I did and live to tell the tale. What I did was a half gram of street grade fentynal at once. This is not exactly a good idea for a guy who didn't do opiates on a regular basis. I remember at one point hearing the doctor tell me that I had done enough to kill 3 horses. That must be the reason it took them 4 doses of narcan to revive me.

I couldn't get high. Either that or I was too high to know how high I was. I had got through an 8ball of ice by myself before my guests had arrived. When they got there, in total, there were 5 8 balls between us.

I had not injected the drug in years but because I couldn't get high, I decided it was time. I did .4 and felt nothing. So I did about a gram. Nothing. A fucking gram of ice and felt nothing. I was not happy.

Everyone else was High and having a good time. I had a half gram of fentynal in my pocket that no one knew I had. After the next two 8 balls were gone, and I should note that we did 2 8 balls in under an hour, I decided to try the fentynal to see if it would get me high.

The last thing I remember after snorting the half g was one someone saying ' dude, your going to die' and then, I did.

I stopped breathing and fell to the floor. Two of my guests were a couple of tweakers I had met on Facebook that same day. The third guest was a long time friend, nurse and the only reason I'm alive. Well, her and narcan.

It took the EMTS 17 minutes to arrive. During these 17 minutes a lot happened. I died, stopped breathing on my own. The two dudes decided to throw water on me , which did nothing. They carried me down stairs and set me down. There, my friend, Jessica, gave me CPR. I took a few breaths, and then quit breathing again.

After all this was over, Jessica told me her part of all the chaos. She had actually given me CPR multiple times. I would respond by taking a few breaths and then stop again. She said that each time it was a little harder to get me to breathe. Like I was fading.

I was fading. More specifically, I was floating. I had left my body. I don't recall at what point I left it but I know I did. Strangely, I was no longer aware of self when I began to float. I was not aware of anything at all. It was complete peace.

The only reason I even know it happened is because of them bringing me back. The 4th dose of narcan, I came to. The moment I was revived, I became aware again, but had yet to reach my body as I had managed to float a distance away.

I was in my neighbors back yard to be exact. So, 4th dose of narcan, I awaken in my neighbors backyard. I began to float back to my body. I pass over the street in front of my house. I can see the ambulance, the neighbors standing around being nosey, and a police officer walking toward the house.

The first thing I remember feeling once I hit my body was anger and cold. I was soaking wet and madder than I've ever been. They robbed me of the peace I had attained. I spoke to no one.

I thought I was in the hospital for months. However, it was only 3 hours. The doctor came in and told me to try and walk. I did, took 2 steps and started throwing up. He said " I got another OD that needs this bed. Your being discharged."

At one point I remember seeing something on the news that said the chief coroner in the state I lived was attempting to get the president to declare a state of emergency because upwards of 80% of the bodies coming through were from Fentanyl overdoses.

If this would have happened to me 3 years before it did, I would not have made it. It is crazy to me to think a person can kill themself on dope and be brought back to life. What a world we live in.

Currently to date, I have lost every friend I had in high school to fentanyl overdose. Well my circle of friends the ones I spent the most time with. My two best friends, both dead. One of them died on his way to a rehab which he was traveling to on foot. He stopped under a bridge with the girl he was with to shoot up. They both fell asleep and only she woke up. She did not even know his name and they could not identify him in the state he was in. His mother hired a private investigator to find out what happened to him. My other best friend died 20 minutes after arriving at a rehab. It's just me now.

I don't know how I'm the one who survived. I was always the one who went all out did as much as I possibly could of whatever was available yet somehow I managed to get this far. I have overdosed on drugs more times than I can remember. I have gotten hurt attempting to do ridiculous things. I have put myself in situations that I should have been shot or killed over and over again in my life. Yet I still stand. But why?

The experience was something I guess I could say I wish never happened but not because I was able to handle the drug. I wish it never happened because I didn't do the stupid things I do. However the experience did show me a couple things. First it showed me that when we die we are no longer self aware. This confirmed my theory. Secondly I determined that we do not sit idle in the state that we enter into after we die. We travel. This goes along with the theory I had that are Essence returns to the source upon death. It's not proof but it definitely kind of reinforced some things in my mind.

I had this experience and I know that death is peace. I know that death does not last forever. I was never afraid to die, but if I'm honest I think that I am now. Not as much of death itself but more of not being here for my boys. I cannot imagine leaving them in any way. My life is very difficult and it's not easy at all to be in their lives due to external forces which make it difficult for me. I go through hell just to be near them and I have not very much to live for apart from them.

I feel like I want to die a lot. My life is full of depression and anxiety and addiction. I feel misery most of the time, but I still cannot help but want to live for them. And so I'm afraid to die. I don't know what to do with myself at this point. I feel like I want to be sober and try to remember who I used to be. I do not however, know how anymore. The thought of being sober is something I just cannot imagine. For me sobriety is torture, a story for another time.

At any rate, for now, I am still here and I will try to make the best of the time I have. What more can I do?

Thank you to all who read this for your time invested with me. Much love to you all as always.

[imaginationofomi]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter Two

☪︎

People made mistakes when they didn't listen to their gut. Aubrie didn't want to be that person.

Detective Hughes was a straightforward man. To him, the obvious answer was usually the right one, and because it was rare that he was challenged, his record of solving cases validated that. It was Aubrie's job to agree or convince him otherwise. As far as he was concerned, Bianca Cross overdosed, and they were looking for whoever dumped the body instead of calling an ambulance. He didn't want to waste extra time or money coming to a different conclusion.

Aubrie couldn't sit comfortable with that. She never knew Bianca to take drugs. The young woman was upbeat, outgoing, kind, working her way through a Doctorate program for psychology. Aubrie supposed it wasn't completely impossible that drugs were involved. Stress could make a person do crazy things.

But the track marks that littered other parts of Bianca's body made it hard to accept that conclusion. They were too obvious and too organized for her to do them herself. Almost like they were some sort of code

She stood in her lab, sick to her stomach and tears warming her eyes as she looked down at Bianca on the metal slab that protruded from the refrigerated wall. Her body was covered with a white sheet, head, neck, and clavicle visible. Her eyes now closed, it was easier for Aubrie to look at her. She'd been in agony when she died, evidenced by her facial expression. Aubrie touched her hair with a gloved hand and bent down by the woman's ear.

"I promise I'm going to find the dick that did this to you, and when I do, they're going to pay," she whispered. It didn't matter that Bianca couldn't hear her. The promise would be kept regardless.

"Parrish, the parents are here." Neil, one of Aubrie's colleagues, popped his head into the room. She nodded once and tried to appear stronger than she was. Watching families and loved ones identifying bodies never got any easier. Aubrie grabbed the sheet and draped it over Bianca's face.

"Send them in." The sobs could be heard from the hallway, and it was the first time in her career that she regretted wearing two hats. Being a forensic scientist was one thing. Being a coroner was another. Putting the two together left her in a strange position, one that blurred the line of helping and harming, "Mr. and Mrs. Cross," she said quietly. 

Bianca looked exactly like her mother with minus the beginning stages of crow's feet, same small eyes, pointed nose, and hair texture. The father was a burly man with coiled black hair dotted with grays. He was trying to remain strong, keeping an arm around his wife's shoulders, but his dark eyes were empty and rimmed with red, and dried snot crusted the corners of his nostrils. Few words were exchanged as she led them to the table and removed the sheet so they could be sure that their little girl was gone. Watching the realization flood people's faces would never get any easier.

Mr. Cross held tight to his wife as her knees buckled and she screamed, "MY BABY! NOT MY BABY!! WHY?!"

Aubrie used her wrist to wipe away the tears that were beginning to fall from her own eyes. It didn't feel right to cry in their presence. She was only acquainted with Bianca. They raised her.

"I'm sorry for what happened. I knew your daughter, and she was an exceptional person. So many people loved her."

"Thank you," Mr. Cross said shakily, "Do the police know what happened?"

She couldn't say much. Joel didn't plan to spend a lot of time on it, but she hoped the autopsy would make him see reason to rule it a homicide and not an OD. There was no way Bianca overdosed, she was sure of that.

"They're working hard to get all of the necessary information," she answered, "With your permission, I'll be performing the autopsy this afternoon. We'll know more then. I can give you some time with her."

"Please."

Nodding, she stepped out of the room, pulling the latex from her fingers and sobbing into her fist with the door up against her back. She was around death everyday, but none hit her as hard as this one. She didn't understand anything; why it had to be Bianca of all people.

"Do we need to have someone else take over?" In the realm of good cop/bad cop, Forest Edison was a good one. As Joel's partner, he was also serious about his work, but not lacking empathy like the former. He laid a meaty, hairy hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

"I can get through it," she whispered, undoing and redoing her bun of twists.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." It was difficult to trust anyone else to do what she did. Her mind excelled at discovering details most people overlooked. If they were going to find out the truth about what happened to Bianca, she had to be the one to do the work.

"Okay." Forest eyed her skeptically. He'd never seen her broken up about anything. The sight worried him, but they had work to do, "Another body dropped at a warehouse near the beach. One of the rookies thinks it's connected to this one. We're heading out."

"Let me finish up. I just need a few minutes." She needed more than few minutes, but time was of the essence. Forest walked to the elevator, and she took several deep breaths before she stepped back into the lab.

🂡🂡🂡

The clicks and flashes of cameras soothed Aubrie; familiar sounds that oddly felt like home. They gave her focus, but the scene she was shooting was enough to turn a strong stomach. Blood smeared the concrete, dried and fresh. Body number two had been dragged from the front of the warehouse back to a door that led to a storage room.

Pieces of a chair littered the ground, and there were other signs of struggle; a broken fingernail, what looked like part of a shredded t-shirt, shattered glass, bloody prints on a few of the cardboard boxes that lined the metal shelves on the rear wall.

Aubrie didn't recognize this victim. She was a white brunette, likely early twenties with a gash in her side that could be seen beneath the rip in her dirty orange tank top and multiple cuts to the face. A flap of her scalp hung loosely, explaining the pool of blood under her head. The bruises on her wrists and ankles were new and raw, with several puncture wounds and blood that was still wet but beginning to crust over. Aubrie switched her angle and snapped more pictures.

"What do we got?" Detective Hughes asked gruffly. He didn't like hearing that there was a possibility of cases being connected. It meant more work for the department, a possible serial killer. There were stark differences in the crime scenes, and he was ready to write it off entirely. But one body had been moved, and the dried blood stains created more questions than answers.

"Woman in her twenties, contusions on her neck, wrists and ankles from rope restraints. Lacerations to the face and crown of the head, gash in her side. The blood on her hands is probably hers. Prints show that she tried to crawl, likely to that door, and she was dragged back here," Aubrie said, walking him through what she was seeing. The conversation continued until she mapped out everything she noticed, including things that could've been deemed insignificant. She hadn't missed a single speck, "There are dried fluids on the seat of the broken chair, and blood on one of the legs. We're swabbing everything. A lot of the stains are old. I'm thinking she was restrained here. There was a clear struggle, prints on the boxes show she either stumbled into them or she was pushed. We have a broken fingernail, a piece of cloth that doesn't match anything on the victim." 

Some rope hung from hooks on the ceiling, more blood crusted into the cut and frayed edges. She snapped pictures of it before it was bagged for evidence. Joel showed his frustration. In his eyes, she was saying a whole lot of nothing, absolutely nothing that connected the dots.

"Any nut job with a knife and a vendetta could've done this. Who said this was related to the vic from last week?" he demanded.

"A rookie named Pete Knox, first on this scene, and he was called to the last one."

"Who talked to him?"

"Edison is with him now."

"This isn't giving me anything that makes me not want to rule Cross an OD, so you need to give me something, Parrish. Do you see anything that can connect them?"

"Bruises from the restraints. It looks like she might have a similar pattern of track marks, but there's too much blood to be sure. I'll know more once she's on the table."

"What's the progress on Cross?"

Aubrie hid her disdain for his attitude. That was all the victims were to him; last names, pictures, pieces of paper he filed away in a never ending cabinet. They weren't people, just burdens. He didn't care about their families or all the things those people would never get to accomplish, the weddings they wouldn't have, the promotions they'd never receive. He didn't care about actually putting away criminals beyond giving himself a pat on the back. It was an ego stroke, a power trip, not an act of justice. He was good at his job for all of the wrong reasons.

"Her parents came in to ID her body right before we got this call. They gave permission for the autopsy. She's on my schedule for today."

"Finish up here and get back. I want answers."

"Copy." She rarely ever prayed, but for a moment, she closed her eyes and asked whoever was listening to do her a solid. She needed a win.

🂡🂡🂡

It wasn't rare that investigations brought up more questions. Getting to the nitty gritty took time, attention to detail, thinking outside the carefully curated box Detective Hughes was trying to put Briton Beach's two most recent murders in.

Aubrie was not a detective, but she learned to look where most people overlooked. Sticky Fingers was as good a place to start as any. Hughes and Edison already made their stop there, but like she knew they would, they ruled it useless.

The first level was a standard bar, loud music, pool tables, dart boards, and two old school arcade games. The basement, however, wasn't so standard. Empty during daylight hours, at night it turned into a club for the sexually liberated, the curious, those that lived the pineapple lifestyle, all the wonders of the world. No one got through the door without signing an NDA.

It was where Aubrie met Summer for the first time, and Bianca was their bartender. She worked both floors depending on the day of the week. Aubrie's off day should've been spent in bed, as it was never truly an off day, but she made a promise to Bianca and her parents.

Sticky Fingers' basement was free of patrons, a few bartenders prepping for their upcoming shifts. She hesitated before she fully stepped off the stairwell into the dim lighting of the club. The walls were slate grey with silver detailing, vintage leather booths with dressed tables that offered privacy to those that wanted to get freaky and high black tables for those that wanted to be seen. Pristine glass shelves sat on a mirror that formed half a hexagon with a granite bar that rounded it all off and gave multiple views of the space. The sixteen barstools were always full.

"Hey Aubrie! I haven't seen you down here for a while," Tom said with a wide smile topped by a thin mustache, bald brown head shiny with coconut oil. His thick fingers worked a white towel over the rim of a highball glass. He was the lead bartender and worked strictly underground. She hadn't visited the club for several months at Summer's request, though she was something of a regular upstairs.

"Hey, Tom. Been busy," she said to avoid throwing her lover under the bus, although it wasn't a lie, "How's it going here?"

"Slowing down. We've had a problem with a couple of creeps that are scaring away some of the regulars. Gio removed a few and banned one. Nothing violent happened, so we couldn't call them in."

"Creeps?"

"Watchers, and not the curious kind. Men sitting in the corners. You can tell they're looking for someone specific, the drunk ones that won't remember much the next day or if they look like they can't fight back."

That put Aubrie on high alert. Predators lurking in the shadows of the club was more than enough cause for concern, but not enough for Hughes to look deep into. Plenty were roaming the city. He wouldn't respond to every uneasy feeling.

"Have they ever followed anyone out?" she asked, sliding onto a cold barstool.

"Once. That's how he got banned. We've beefed up security since then."

"Who did he follow? Do you know his name?"

"No, I don't, but it was Bianca and the new girl, Madison. She was training her, and I think they live together. Bianca brought her in from another job."

Aubrie went over every conversation she'd had with Bianca in her head. She couldn't remember her mentioning a second job, but then again, the consumers did most of the taking to the bartenders.

"When did that happen?"

"Maybe a little over a month ago? He always requested her to make his drinks, but she got weird vibes from him. She stopped coming in a while back."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

"White guy, mid-30s maybe? Dark hair, average height, kinda skinny. Gio should have a file on him in the office."

"Can I see it?" The sooner the better. Tom finally picked up on her body language and line of questioning, setting down the clean glass and leaning over the bar so their faces were closer as he lowered his voice.

"Is there something we should be worried about? You don't look too good," he said, gently covering one of her hands with his.

"I need to see his picture, Tom." She was beginning to panic because she was sure Forest and Joel didn't have any of that information.

"Let me go get Gio." He left the towel on the counter and stepped out from behind the bar, passing the booths with dance poles on top of the tables and knocking on the door in the back corner.

She looked around her playground. Her memories there were fun, wild, and free, but fear struck her. Her safe haven was tainted.

"Aubrie." Deep voices were one of her weaknesses, and the man speaking to her had been another for a time. Tall, lean, tan with eyes the color of hazelnuts and brooding brows, he made people weak with a simple look. He was a smooth talker, an equal opportunity lover, and came with no strings attached. Well, some strings, and she cut them quick. Their relationship only lasted a few months because he couldn't handle her lifestyle despite living it himself. He wanted freedom, just not for her. No fun when the rabbit had the gun, but they still enjoyed each other from time to time. He kissed her on both cheeks and held her neck, "My darling, I've missed that bewitching face," He went for her lips, and she let him, scratching the stubble on his jaw, "How are you, love?"

"Not great, Gio."

"Come in the back." His sky blue button down strained against his broad shoulders as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and turned around. Once upon a time, those shoulders were dotted with a combination of bites and scratches; her doing, his request. She shook the images from her brain. There was no time to reminisce. Following him to the office, she hoped for something that would give her a lead, even if it was a small one, "Tom said you needed to see this?" He pulled one of the paper printed pictures out from underneath yellow thumbtack and handed it to her. Other pictures filled the cork board behind his desk, dine and dashers, repeat offenders for fighting. She focused on the one he handed her, the man he banned.

He looked typical, exactly as Tom described, no one she would glance twice at walking down the street, but she would be keeping an eye out from that point forward. Gio had to have a copy of his driver's license, but ethically, she needed a warrant for that information. And she needed cause for a warrant. Following women out of a club didn't exactly qualify if it went unreported. She needed something concrete to cover her ass at work because she didn't like asking for favors.

"How often did he come by?"

"Everyday for about three weeks. Always asked for Bianca. She said he was a weirdo, and Stan caught him following her and Madison out, roughed him up a bit. Cops came by last week asking questions about her. She said she was leaving to visit family and hasn't shown up in almost a month. That's what I told them."

Aubrie felt sick to her stomach. Bianca wasn't one to miss work. The one thing she did talk about often was needing every penny she made for tuition and her dream house. So she'd gone through only the heavens knew what weeks before she turned up, and the mention of Madison gave Aubrie second wave of nausea.

"Do you have a picture of Madison?"

"I think a couple on social media. Hold on," he said, pulling something up on his computer monitor before he turned it to her. It was hard to tell for sure, as victim number two's face was carved all to hell, but the hair color matched, same body type, same nose. Aubrie keeled over and vomited into the trashcan adjacent to Gio's desk, "Whoa, what's the matter?" He helped her into a chair and grabbed a small bottle of water out of the mini-refrigerator. She rinsed her mouth before taking a few slow sips.

"Keep this under wraps because it's an open investigation, and we don't want to alert too many people," she said quietly. She was pretty sure no one was listening, but she was losing strength, "Bianca's not coming back."

"What do you mean?"

"We found her buried at the beach last week, and we got called out to another body a couple of days ago. No ID yet." But she was becoming more sure as the seconds passed that it would be Madison.

"Shit." Gio dropped himself into his chair and rubbed a hand roughly over his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Do you know if she was using?" Aubrie hated to ask, but she needed all of the facts, and she was still waiting for the tox screen.

"Not that I know of. She was practically a health nut. She improved my green juice recipe."

"Fuck," she groaned and stuck her knuckles into her eyes. She felt like she was onto something, but she didn't have enough. Maybe she could get Forest to listen to her and take a closer look, "I need you think about the first and last time you saw this man come in. Tom said you banned him. Can you remember anything? What kind of car he drives? Was he always alone?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll ask the bouncers and give you a copy of the surveillance tapes from the last few months and whatever else you need."

"What's his name?"

"Robin Shank."

A horribly ironic title. She dry heaved when the crime scene showed up behind her eyelids. She had to get out of there and get some fresh air, "Thanks Gio. I need to go, but remember, under wraps. I'm going to take a picture of this. If you see this guy again, call me," she instructed, pulling out her phone and taking a snap of what was essentially a mugshot.

"You got it. Hey, Bianca was one of my best. Clients loved her, and she was a good girl. Make sure you find that son of a bitch, yeah?"

"Yeah."

[koval-ptaki-birds]

73) Corvus orientalis (Corvus corone orientalis); Czarnowron orientalny, eastern carrion crow (wrona padlinożerna wschodnia) - ptak z rodziny wron i podgatunkiem wrony padlinożernej. Różnice w stosunku do podgatunku nominowanego obejmują większy rozmiar, długość około 500 milimetrów (20 cali) i bardziej stopniowane zewnętrzne pióra ogona. Wrona padlinożerna występuje na Syberii od Jeniseju po Japonię, na południe do Azji Środkowej, Afganistanu, wschodniego Iranu, Kaszmiru, Tybetu i północnych Chin. Zwykle składają od trzech do pięciu jaj na drzewach lub budynkach. Jaja nie różnią się od podgatunku nominalnego.

[twowivestwoknives]

coroner says Des' death was not a OD; greatful cuz he was so proud of getting 3 weeks sober, complex bc then wtf happened

[giantpetrel]

The entire mystery makes no sense without the Ecuadorian nurse simultaneously being unrealistically good/perfect and also "deserving" the inheritance. Let's look at what actually happens in the film:

She's an illegal Ecuadorean immigrant, or her mother is, and she accidentally gives him the wrong dose of the wrong medicine or something (although apparently someone else swapped the vials). The old white male benefactor wants to cover up her mistake and slits his throat so it looks like he committed suicide.

The deal was that the asshole son had switched the labels. The nurse actually injected the paterfamilias with the right medicine, relying on her natural female intuition. Then she looked at the labels and thought that she had given him the wrong medicine. In a moment of weakness, she doubts herself. Self doubt, as you know, is the only flaw a leading woman is allowed to have in modern Hollywood. She tells him that he's going to die from the OD unless she can give him the antidote. She can't find the antidote, because the asshole son stole it.

Paterfamilias assumes that he is doomed to die. He's also absurdly confident in his erroneous knowledge of the slayer law. This law prevents a murderer from inheriting from their murder victim. Since he's screwing his family out of their posterity more directly than most Boomers by willing it straight to the help, he doesn't want to die by her hand. Thus, he takes a knife and kills himself.

Now, the old man's plan is objectively stupid on two points:

1) Even if he doesn't kill himself, the nurse is at absolute worst going down for negligent homicide. The slayer rule only kicks in for murder, so she'll still get the inheritance.

2) When he dies from a self-inflicted knife wound, the coroner will almost certainly do a toxicology report which will reveal the morphine overdose—if it exists—revealing the incompetence that led to his suicide. She's probably still fine, but now he's opened up the possibility that she gets blamed for the slit throat and actually does get charged with murder.

If he really wanted to help her, what he really ought to have done was write a suicide note in which he claimed to have requested that she give him the syringe and morphine so he could kill himself in that fashion.

Anyways, setting aside the ur-Boomer, I'd honestly put the nurse on the hook for not noticing that he's showing zero effects from the absurdly high dose of morphine she thought she had just given him. She falsely told him he was going to die, which led him to slit his throat in order to go out on his own terms. It would be a thin reed for a homicide case, but she still ought to feel guilty if she's really as unrealistically angelically good as portrayed.

Of course, that kind of nuance might get in the way of the ending where a Mestizo immigrant sneers down on the undeserving white racists from her new balcony, sipping from a cup of coffee proclaiming "my house, my rules" and wearing her emergency blanket like a royal cloak, which is why all the critics ate it up.

Knives Out is a shit film, and Rian Johnson is a retarded hack.

[aresdifesa]

Soluzioni IT di MilDef per i nuovi blindati estoni MilDef ha comunicato di essere aggiudicata il più grande contratto fino ad oggi ottenuto dal Ministero della Difesa Nazionale Estone per l’integrazione del proprio hardware IT tattico a bordo di veicoli blindati, del valore complessivo di 53 milioni di corone svedesi, pari a 4,53 milioni di euro. Secondo il comunicato stampa rilasciato dall’azienda, oltre 400 unità dei server, switch, router e convertitori multimediali personalizzati saranno consegnate dal MilDef al Ministero della Difesa Nazionale Estone a partire dal 2024 per offrire solide soluzioni IT in ambienti difficili e contestati, in modo da impedire che le informazioni siano interrotte, intercettate od interferite dal

[menefie]

Tbh, I'm surprised supplement companies aren't involved in lawsuits cause a lot of the products od in nutritional amounts and lack proper intake information and other warnings.

[billoakshot]

CORONATION ODE

They came by pogo stick and tube, to Loyal London Town - To see their Liege and Emperor - Nick all, not quite screwed down. Herded by the thousands - Millions more watch on TV The Met’ watch all the watchers by A.I. - C.C.T.V.

Behold - A costly spectacle - No change in who’s to rule - In this - The country of the blind - (The one eyed man’s a fool.) No news at all occurred today! All planes refused to crash - No Murders - Rapes or Wars took place - To mar our Regal Bash.

“Zadok The Priest” - Rings out abroad - The Organ’s mighty thrum - An entourage of Spiv’s and Tart’s - Each osculates the bum. The crowds who've had their brains washed clean by God’s relentless rain - Observe their Ruler and his Bird, embezzle their domain.

They wave their soggy Union Flags - And very gently steam. (A clever move on someone’s part to make it Cowboy themed !) The King wears Gold Chased Spudguns, on the John Wayne Belt of State. The Queen rides "Trigger" up the aisle - No way they’ll abdicate.

The Witch Doctors turn out in force, recite the magic words - Anoint with God’s own axle grease * (Well shaken but not stirred.) All hatchets, briefly out of sight - Barabas freed from jail. The I.R.A. attend to show, no one’s “Beyond the Pale.”

Inclusive - Each minority (Or, those bereft of sense) Are represented - Token lite - In lieu of recompense. The Telly deconstructs the day - But nothing much get's said - The Great and Good apparently agree and nod their heads - Approved - Non controversial stuff - On one thing all concur -

“GOD SAVE KING HENRY CRUN THE FIRST! AND MINNIE BANNISTER!”

2 x Parts - WD40 - 1 x Part - Mary Queen of Scots Tears - 5 x Parts - Distilled essence of 300 years of Slavery./