#BRITHER CORE

[explosionanon]

oh? and whys that?

…too much death? and drama? yeah, i get it.

one of the many reasons i like your blog is because its just silly and loght-hearted…not deep lime somw others…honestly,,, i sometimes try to stay away from drama and blogs like those. key word sometimes

I don't really have any enemies, so.. I mean, you'd think I would given my history and all, but i stopped that stuff. Don't really believe in violence unless it's necessary.

Killing people isn't my thing anyway. It was, but not anymore. Trying to keep that stuff far back, havin' a family and all. Gotta be a good wife and mom, ya know?

I don't want him to be surrounded with stuff like that. I wasn't the best person around him, I'll be honest — missing that little booger every day. Makes me want to go back sometimes.

But he can't come here. It's not safe for him.

[tinyshe]

                            Tam O 'Shanter                                                                                                                                                                By Robert Burns                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.         This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonie lasses.)         O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; That ilka melder wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roarin fou on; That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.         Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!         But to our tale:—Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious: The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.         Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!         But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white—then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide: The hour approaches Tam maun ride,— That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.         The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.         Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,— A better never lifted leg,— Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares. Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.         By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane: And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze: Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.         Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou can'st make us scorn! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light; And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!         Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast: A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge; He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip sleight Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae the rape— Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft— The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.         As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit Till ilka carlin swat and reekit And coost her duddies to the wark And linket at it in her sark!         Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!— Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!         But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock. I wonder didna turn thy stomach.         But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie; There was ae winsom wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore. For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear); Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!         But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r, Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jad she was and strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.         As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.         Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig: There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle— Ae spring brought aff her master hale But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.         Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear. [X]

[twitchesandstitches]

a very important custom in the fleet is the use of ritual body paint, usually neon colors that glow brither in darkness but are still pretty noticable regardless, even shining through leathers and fabric.

Think a combination of:

and

These specific designs vary by a number of factors. The most important is intent; there are different design aesthetics used for war, peace times, diplomatic action, and other mindsets. Usually more aggressive/bold designs indicate wartime paints. This in turn leads to the second factor: each clan has their own specific style, colors and paint designs, and are shared with root-clans they may have common origins with. (For example, clans formed by Rose Quartz and her original core Crystal Gem team tend to have common designs based on Gem heiroglyphics, though Rose Quartz’s looping curlices vary greatly from Amethyst’s more wild designs.) Body paintjobs can, therefore, be a way to indicate a clan’s philosophical lineage and give outsiders an insight into the principles that guide and direct them!

The markings can vary greatly, in both design and visual effects. For instance, while neon colors and glowing effects are almost universal, some clans may opt for visual effects that call to mind other members of the clan or its legendary founders. Many clans led by Gem matriarchs employ a sparkling effect on their body paints so that non-Gems still have a shimmering effect similar to that of the light-based bodies of true Gems. These tastes can be HUGELY diverse, covering only a small part of the body or completely cover a person up; when the Fleet mobilizes its clans in large numbers, its forces can look so utterly different from one another that it is impossible for an outsider to be sure that this teeming horde is actually one united group!

Wearing special markings (especially of the face) are common for more religious members, and special holidays and personal events have their own ritual face paints.

Actually putting on the paint is a ritualized thing; several others are required to administer the paints, and so you have to trust them to get it right, and not make you look ridiculous. (By Fleet standards.) It works on a similar fashion to the paintjobs of their vehicles. Note that the paint’s exact composition is something of a Fleet secret, and specific to each clan: some clans make them out of plants and animal parts native to their homeworlds, while others make them out of their own milk or the physical products of powers common to their clans. Any of these might have secondary effects: a clan famous for its oil-themed powers might have powers related to such abilities as well as the sheen of their markings, while those who wear markings made of ground dragon bones tend to mutate into draconic forms in subtle, mild ways while they wear the paints.

Heavy painting of the breasts, hips, backside and thighs are extremely common in the Fleet for its more curvaceous women. This is even moreso for those who do not practice heavy tattooing in these areas! Those who are pregnant tend to also have their bellies equally marked up, usually with murals that identify the fathers of their children, or the original identities of those whom are being reborn inside them, and the prey consumed to make their offspring stronger.

These paints are also very difficult to wash off, requiring special waters proprietary to each clan in order to remove them. The paints stay until damaged or deliberately removed, and so changing them is actually a fairly big deal.

----

[thewishingpages]

Introduction

Name: Natalya Orlov Age: 21 Earth Cycles Gender: Female Race: Terran-Human Hair: Black, with teal fading out of the ends Eyes: Green Sexuality: Bisexual Build: Muscular, Short, Small chest, Masculine leaning Aesthetics: Neon, Space, Punk, Cyberpunk, grunge Physical Quirks: Prosthetic leg (Left) and connecting neurons up her back. Tattoo of a cherry blossom tree over top the wires and reaching up over her right shoulder.

Relationships

Family members: Six younger brothers, Abusive mother, Absent Father, A thousand cousins including her favorite (Ivan), and a Babushka (grandmother) How well do they get along with their family: She is very protective of her brothers, and though her family from Russia is amicable, her mother is her worst enemy (even though they’re way too similar) Best friend: Parker, a Tech geek hiding out on Jericho-4869 What is their friendship history: She used to run with a group of teenage rebels who would tag things, smoke pot, trespass, etc. The only one she got along with in the group was a girl named Emily. She met Parker when she fled Earth with her youngest brother. Relationship History: She got close to Emily, despite her mother’s bigotry. They had a falling out right before her mother hurt Nat, and since she left Earth, she hasn’t been with anyone. What do they dream of in an ideal partner: Not afraid to butt heads with her, not afraid to let her indulge in her hobbies, but able to slap her upside the head when she needs it.

Personality

Do they have any quirks: Negative: Severe alcoholism, anger management issues, nihilism, defiant, PTSD Positive: Tech and Robotics savvy, Independent, thrill-seeking, passionate, hands-on What are their core values: Live in the moment, life happens now. What do they want in life: To be left the hell alone and allowed to live her life the way she wants. Maybe win the lotto, that’d be great too. What are they passionate about: Robotics and tech. she fixes and calibrates her own prosthetic, and loves tinkering with things. She couldn’t tell you about programs, she leaves that to Parker. What are they afraid of: Losing control of herself, and then losing everything good in her life. Having her youngest brither, Misha, taken away from her. Being contained. What do they regret: Pushing Emily away. How happy are they: Meh. She tries not to think too hard about it. As long as they have food and a clean place to sleep, she’s content. What’s holding them back: Honestly, the drinking and the agression. Whenever Misha is asleep, she drinks. Whenever she’s out in public, she’s a time bomb, waiting for someone to piss her off so she can get her agression out.

Plot

Plot role (MC, friend, mentor, enemy, etc): Main character What do they add to the plot that no one else can: She’s a mover, she creates action What is their plot goal: She wants a better life for her brother, and to find and reunite her other brothers. Is it their goal or someone else’s (an order/command, etc): Hers (and sort of Misha) How motivated are they to complete their task: 100% when she’s sober, 40% when she’s drunk What are they willing to do (steal, kill, etc): Beat people within an inch of their lives, “borrow” parts from the junk yard for her tech and prostetic, Lie about her affiliations to get into nicer places Thanks to this post for the character sheet. I���ve added some bits and took some away where appropriate. This is for the Late Late night sprint and @sugarmommamusings , this is just the beggining girl!!! 2 am to 4 am LETS GO!!

[emotoothtiger]

Tam o’ Shanter by Rabbie Burns

                    When chapman billies leave the street,

And drouthy neebors neebors meet,

As market-days are wearing late,

And folk begin to tak the gate;

While we sit bousin, at the nappy,

And gettin fou and unco happy,

We think na on the lang Scots miles,

The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,

That lie between us and our hame,

Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,

Gathering her brows like gathering storm,

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

        This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,

As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:

(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,

For honest men and bonie lasses.)

        O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise

As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,

A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,

Ae market-day thou was na sober;

That ilka melder wi' the miller,

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,

The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;

That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.

She prophesied, that, late or soon,

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;

Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

        Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,

To think how mony counsels sweet,

How mony lengthen'd sage advices,

The husband frae the wife despises!

        But to our tale:—Ae market night,

Tam had got planted unco right,

Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,

Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely;

And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:

Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;

They had been fou for weeks thegither.

The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;

And ay the ale was growing better:

The landlady and Tam grew gracious

Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious:

The souter tauld his queerest stories;

The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:

The storm without might rair and rustle,

Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

        Care, mad to see a man sae happy,

E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy:

As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,

The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,

O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

        But pleasures are like poppies spread,

You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;

Or like the snow falls in the river,

A moment white—then melts forever;

Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;

Or like the rainbow's lovely form

Evanishing amid the storm.

Nae man can tether time or tide:

The hour approaches Tam maun ride,—

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;

And sic a night he taks the road in,

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

        The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;

The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;

The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;

Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:

That night, a child might understand,

The Deil had business on his hand.

        Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,—

A better never lifted leg,—

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,

Despising wind and rain and fire;

Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,

Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,

Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares,

Lest bogles catch him unawares.

Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,

Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

        By this time he was cross the ford,

Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;

And past the birks and meikle stane,

Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane:

And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,

Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;

And near the thorn, aboon the well,

Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.

Before him Doon pours all his floods;

The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;

The lightnings flash from pole to pole,

Near and more near the thunders roll;

When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,

Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze:

Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,

And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

        Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!

What dangers thou can'st make us scorn!

Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil;

Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil!

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,

Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,

Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,

She ventur'd forward on the light;

And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!

        Warlocks and witches in a dance;

Nae cotillion brent-new frae France,

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels

Put life and mettle in their heels.

A winnock bunker in the east,

There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast:

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,

To gie them music was his charge;

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.—

Coffins stood round like open presses,

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;

And by some devilish cantraip sleight

Each in its cauld hand held a light,

By which heroic Tam was able

To note upon the haly table

A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;

A thief, new-cutted frae the rape—

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;

Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted;

Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;

A garter, which a babe had strangled;

A knife, a father's throat had mangled,

Whom his ain son o' life bereft—

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',

Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

        As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious,

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

The piper loud and louder blew,

The dancers quick and quicker flew;

They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit

And coost her duddies to the wark

And linket at it in her sark!

        Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,

A' plump and strapping in their teens!

Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,

Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—

Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,

That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,

I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies,

For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!

        But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,

Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,

Lowping and flinging on a crummock.

I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

        But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie;

There was ae winsom wench and walie,

That night enlisted in the core

(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore.

For mony a beast to dead she shot,

And perish'd mony a bonie boat,

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,

And kept the country-side in fear);

Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn,

That while a lassie she had worn,

In longitude tho' sorely scanty,

It was her best, and she was vauntie.

Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,

Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),

Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

        But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r,

Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;

To sing how Nannie lap and flang,

(A souple jad she was and strang),

And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd,

And thought his very een enrich'd;

Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain,

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:

Till first ae caper, syne anither,

Tam tint his reason a' thegither,

And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark:

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,

When out the hellish legion sallied.

        As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,

When plundering herds assail their byke;

As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;

As eager runs the market-crowd,

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

        Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!

Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!

Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,

And win the key-stane of the brig:

There at them thou thy tail may toss,

A running stream they dare na cross.

But ere the key-stane she could make,

The fient a tail she had to shake!

For Nannie far before the rest,

Hard upon noble Maggie prest,

And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;

But little wist she Maggie's mettle—

Ae spring brought aff her master hale

But left behind her ain grey tail:

The carlin claught her by the rump,

And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

        Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,

Ilk man and mother's son, take heed,

Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,

Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,

Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,

Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear.