do you want to be my assistant instead


A letter from the Moors Murderer, Ian Brady , in which he advises a young pen pal away from a life of crime and to focus on his studies instead. Here, Brady almost seems to show genuine concern and kindness for the boy. The letter reads:

Dear Thomas,
Thank you for your letter. Now I want you to read this letter very carefully to ensure you fully understand the important points I intend to make. I’ve told you repeatedly in previous letters that crime is a mug’s game, and that you can earn more by training for a skilled job, as you are presently doing, getting good results from your courses and exams, which I tried to assist you with. I spent most of my life in prison advising other prisoners to get out and keep out. There’s nothing romantic about crime, it’s hard unrewarding work even for the criminals who are clever. An amateur would be caught or sold out immediately. Seeing cases in headlines only gives the impression of excitement, while the people behind the headlines rot for decades in tiny cells. If you find ordinary life and freedom boring at times, you can’t imagine how much worse it is in prison. If you could imagine it, you’d soon lose any interest in crime and criminals. Try to imagine sitting in a cell for forty years, while your friends outside are enjoying themselves. I get the impression that you may have written to other prisoners. If they have ever suggested that crime is an intelligent occupation, they are lying simply to comfort themselves. You’ve as much chance of becoming a successful criminal as winning the lottery. The majority of successful criminals have also spent most of their lives behind bars, flash when they win, but never mentioning when they lose. I’m talking from 36 years of experience of criminals remember.

And for me, well my example says it all. I’m already a dead man walking. What’s to be admired about having death as a sole ambition? What’s even interesting about that? You’re young, free, and have everything to look forward to. Forget crime and criminals entirely. Even the Krays spent most of their lives in prisons. So did the Train Robbers, I met them in prison and they were broken men. They would’ve chosen different lives had they been able to see the future. I am weak now and also have flu, so I’m losing all interest in the outside world and have nothing left to teach you or anyone else, except the futility of crime. So I’m beginning to say goodbye to all the people I write to, including you. I enjoyed our letters and the many intelligent questions you have asked - much more than many other people I write to. Simply guide your interested intelligence in a more positive direction. My life is over, long ago. It’s important that you do not believe my stopping writing to you is something personal. It isn’t. I’m simply tired with the outside world in general. It has no relevance to me as I will never see it again. The crucial thing is that you forget all about crime and criminals and get on with your life in a positive manner. Once you commit a crime and are caught, you forfeit all the many benefits of society.
It is also important to realise that your innocent letters to me would get you into a great deal of trouble if certain people outside found out about it. That alone could ruin your life. Understand? Destroy all my letters and simply remember the good advice I’ve given.
There’s no need to answer this letter. I wish you all the best. Thanks for writing.

Best wishes, Ian Brady

anonymous asked:

Different anon; they were probably referring to this scene in season 1 Scott: "I'm just - stressing about classes. I'm not doing as good this year" Allison: "Not doing as well." You can find the complete transcript at foreverdreaming

He was lying to her, my friend.  He couldn’t really tell her that “I’m worried that Derek is dying and that your family wants to kill me, which is why I’m so distracted.” 

And, as I have said before, turning into a creature of the night is bound to affect your grades.

As for using ‘good’ instead of ‘well?’   That is not an indication of a lack of intelligence.   I’ve got a masters degree and I still do it.  I caught the Assistant Dean at my place of work using it.   It’s quite a stretch to equate using an adjective in place of an adverb as ‘unintelligent.’ 


Summary: set shortly after Castiel engraved Enochian into the boys’ ribs to hide them from the angels, angel!reader wants information on their whereabouts and goes after Cas instead.

Gender: neutral

Author: virtualcreativecorner

A/N: When I was writing this I realised it was pretty much neutral, bar a few female pronouns. I’ve replaced these and tried to make it as gender neutral as possible, although I don’t think I could do that all the time, it’s just my style of writing. Anyway, enjoy!

*two weeks earlier*

“We have a mission for you.”
“How may I be of assistance?” You obliged with a slight bow, shaking as you lowered yourself onto one knee. You’d never spoken to an archangel before. Whilst you were hardly far below them in the running order of things, you knew how dangerous they could be. It wouldn’t be wise to, aggravate them with your more casual tone. They deserved your respect.

Michael stepped towards you, and held out his hand,
“You have no need to be afraid.” He spoke with a strangely soft tone. When you raised your head, you saw he had taken the form of a young man, approximately in his twenties, with dark hair and a clean cut facial structure. His posture was straight and he wore a smart casual outfit composed of jeans and a button up shirt. His eyes were glowing blue with grace that was practically leaking out of him, making you feel calm and terrified all at once.

He took your hand in his own and gently helped you onto your feet.
“Please, make yourself comfortable. This is a matter of great importance but it doesn’t mean we have to be so formal about it…” he trailed off, ushering you towards a chair which had appeared to your left.

You took a seat and crossed your ankles in front of you, interlocking your fingers which you held in your lap to try and reduce your incessant habit of fidgeting whilst you held a human form.

He laughed when he saw your hands, gripping each other tightly.
“Yes I too have trouble keeping still in this form…”

You smirked a little, twiddling your thumbs, you supposed if an archangel had the same problem, it was no cause for concern.

“Anyway,” began Michael, you sat up straight and started paying attention.
“We need you to find somebody for us.”
“Okay…” you started, nodding slightly. This didn’t seem like that big a, ‘mission.’
“We need you to find Castiel.”

Castiel…..The name sounded vaguely familiar to you. But you weren’t sure where you recognised it from.
“You may know him. He served under you for many centuries Y/N.”
There it was.
“Why do I need to find him?”
“He has information regarding an important….playing piece, in the fight against our brother Lucifer.”
You bit your lip in contemplation.
“What, ‘playing piece’ are we talking about?”

Michael sat on another chair in front of you, leaning forwards and placing his forearms on his knees. His face softened and smiled,
“It’s none of your concern. Just bring us Castiel and you will be rewarded justly.”

You pondered this offer for a moment, why wouldn’t they give you any more details? What were they hiding?

“What kind of reward…” you asked, trying to sound on-topic as your brain wondered elsewhere, searching for some reason as to why there was no more information to be given.

“A promotion for a start…but when the fight has been won? Anything and everything you want.”

You were picking up nothing on the Castiel front, it must be a routine check up on a foot soldier, just to make sure they weren’t becoming too…human.

“Where would I start?”

“Castiel has his ways of evading us, but there are two human boys…Sam and Dean Winchester. If you were to find them, you could find Castiel.” Michael bit his lip, choosing his words carefully.
“I want the brothers too. But only when you’ve found Castiel and returned him to heaven, bring me the Winchesters as well.”

You shifted in your seat, fidgeting again. Human vessels were useful but somehow you always wound up picking up on their habits. This one seemed to be a particular favourite. Couldn’t they just sit still?

Michael chuckled a little,
“You’re uneasy…”
“Pardon?” You asked, polite as ever.
“You’re fidgeting, humans do that when they’re feeling on edge. It’s your vessel… Look if you don’t want this job we can find someone else, but honestly? You’re my first choice.”

Your eyes lit up, you must have done something right if an archangel favoured you. You stood, kept your hands by your side and spoke without hesitation.
“I’ll do it.”

*Present day*

With nought but a flutter of your wings, you stood in an abandoned warehouse, maybe ten, fifteen years old. Rusty implements that were once part of a car manufacturing process were strewn across the floor, some leaning against pillars and the likes, the stench of iron, combined with what appeared to be mould, filled the whole room.

The concrete slabs which covered the floor seemed to radiate cold air but this didn’t bother you. Your vessel however took took a strange reaction to the temperature change. In an instant small white lumps appeared all over your skin where individual hairs stood on end in a desperate attempt to hold onto any heat at all. You paid no attention, the cold meant nothing to you, instead you were drawn to the figure walking away from you. It was the angel. After weeks of incessant work, you had found him. Castiel.

A week ago you had picked up a trail on the brothers, and opted to follow it instead. But after receiving orders from on high, you let that lead take a back seat whilst you tried to find Castiel. Michael had made the point that if Cas was still loose when you took the brothers, he was liable to attack. So whilst you still kept an eye out for Sam and Dean, Castiel was your priority. A few hours ago however, the brothers just, disappeared off your own personal radar. They had been warded. And you knew exactly who was responsible.

He turned around at the sound of your arrival, you greeted him with a smile.
“Hello Castiel.”
“Y/N.” He replied in his gravelly tone. Behind his initial glassy expression lay what looked like either intimidation or distress, you hoped it was the latter.

“Where are the Winchesters?” You asked him.
“Far away from here.”
“I guessed that Castiel, which is why I’ve come to find you.”

“Did Michael send you?”
“How do you know?” You puzzled, staring at the angel with your head tilted to the side. How did he know about this?

“Listen Y/N you’re being dragged into something you do not need to be a part of, you can turn around and leave, I don’t want to hurt you (sister/brother.)”

“You are needed in heaven Castiel. And the Winchesters are needed…elsewhere. Tell me where they are.”

“I would die first.” He sneered, furious.

“You do realise that can be arranged…”

“I SAID NO!” he screamed.

Castiel seemed to grow even taller as his grace illuminated the room. His eyes lit up a neon blue and his perfect posture seemed to a straighten itself even more. Then you saw them, his wings, unfolding behind him. They were huge, spanning what must have been twenty, thirty feet in diameter. Black feathers, from root to tip, reaching high above his head and spreading out at the ends. You took an involuntary step back, trying to take it all in. These human eyes wouldn’t exactly let you see far…

“Castiel. Where are the Winchesters.”
But the angel gave you no answer, instead assuming what appeared to be a protective stance, as if he were preparing for combat. A glimmer of light caught your eye and you looked down, only to see his angel blade gripped tightly by his right hand.

“Oh come on now brother,” you spoke to him, casually sliding your hands into your pockets and taking a few rather relaxed paces in his direction, “it doesn’t have to be this way…”

In no time at all you were standing right in front of the angel. There was a scuffle as Castiel attempted to jam his blade between your ribs, but before he had the blade even raised, it was in your hand.
You couldn’t be bothered fighting, you wanted information, not his grace.

“Castiel I did not come here to fight you. All I want is an answer.”

He said nothing yet again, his mouth welded firmly shut. Perhaps he needed reminding who his superior was…

Your grace filled the room in a glow of blue light as you stood straight, assuming your full height and showed him your wings, which were considerably larger than his. Seeing as in heaven, you were but a step or two down from the top. This came with certain, privileges.

Your wings, unlike Castiel’s, were grey in colour. You unfolded from behind your back slowly, carefully, and stretched them horizontally first, as you watched your brother widen his eyes in an alarmed fashion. Then you threw your wings upwards as if you were about to fly, and brought them crashing down again after having shaken them out. After this, you let them assume their natural curved position.

Castiel fell backwards, catching himself before he hit the floor. You stepped towards him, still alight with grace, and held your hand towards him. When you spoke this time, you used your real voice.

The windows in the warehouse smashed simultaneously, fragments of glass flying everywhere. You felt your grace fill you up, practically spilling out of you. The Enochian rolling off your tongue came in a noise that was like no other. A noise that to the human ear could only be described as several people screaming all at once in a mass of tones, languages and volumes. What were you saying…There was no describing this.

You were just about to touch Castiel’s forehead and take him to heaven when he flew away. He had escaped. Your wings folded behind your back as you took it all in. He had gotten away once. But it would not happen again.

You wouldn’t let it happen again.

"Honesty is the best policy " said no spoonies ever.

My mother is constantly complaining about how I’m “not honest” with doctors, nurses, and physical therapist.

But I am.

Yes, I can do things I want to the majority of the time.

Did you want me to say no?

Yes, I can walk without assistance.

Is that a bad thing?

I feel better. The fact that my doctor put me on 6 pills of methotrexate instead of 8 proves that!

Ever since my diagnose its been “I need you to get better.” Or “You’re going to have to get better.”

I love my parents, but for goodness sake! They are NOT the ones going through this.

Yes, I will have my bad days but I will also have good days.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

If you didn’t know already, I’m on twitter. I promise updates like this won’t be a regular thing on this blog. I just want to get the word out about what my twitter account can offer.

Unlike this blog, my twitter account does not specialize in writing advice. Instead, it is a resource for book giveaways, publishing news, publishing jobs, query writing tips, publishing tips, editing tips, and pretty much anything to do with publishing and books.

So if you’re thinking about publishing, go check it out.

To get a taste of the content you might find on my account, here are some highlights from my retweets so far:

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