#george washington kin

[applefruitluver69]

twinkified washy

[your-everyday-theatre-kid]

HAMILFAN ALERT LMAO

I MADE BRACELETS FOR HAMILTON CHARACTERS

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (totes didnt spend 3+ hours on this and i still have no regrets :3)

I HAS HAMILTRASH GAUNTLET

IM SO KEWL

sorry for bad photo-

in order its: Hamilton, Laurens, Eliza, Angelica, Peggy, Phillip, Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Burr, Lafayette, Mulligan, Maria, Kin George! lol srry it hard to read :3

@laurenshamiltonjr you proud my child?

[marxism-transgenderism]

DAYBREAK, October 10, 1774. In dense forest, a column of 700 Shawnee and Mingo warriors uncoils into a ragged, mile-long line. Unlike years past, the warriors are not stalking game. Rather, they are preparing to strike 1,200 unsuspecting Virginia militiamen camped at Point Pleasant, a craggy triangle at the confluence of the Ohio and Great Kanawha rivers, approximately 150 miles southwest of modern Wheeling, West Virginia. A carpet of red and russet leaves deadens their footfalls. The warriors wear breechclouts, which are single pieces of cloth wrapped around the hips, buckskin leggings, and moccasins. A few also sport linen hunting shirts purchased from white traders. Most carry smoothbore muskets, tomahawks, scalping knives, and bow and arrows for use if their ammunition runs out. Silver rings dangle from their noses. Huge earrings hang on distended earlobes, framing faces painted in fierce patterns of red and black.

The leader of the war party, the Shawnee chief Cornstalk, would prefer to be elsewhere. Although the provocation had been immense, he had called for restraint. Virginians had flouted a royal proclamation prohibiting settlement on Indian land and instead spilled across the Kanawha River into the Kanawha Valley, part of the greater Kentucky country, all of which was prime Shawnee hunting ground. “I have with great trouble and pains prevailed on the foolish people amongst us to sit still and do no harm till we see whether it is the intention of the white people in general to fall on us,” Cornstalk had told a British official, “and shall continue so to do in the hopes that matters may be settled.” But the royal governor of Virginia, the Earl of Dunmore, who himself coveted Indian land for personal profit, had no expectation of a peaceful denouement. Frontier subjects, he wrote the Crown, despised treaties made with Indians, “whom they consider but little removed from the brute creation.” So too did the Virginia aristocracy. With the spring thaw in 1774, surveyors representing George Washington, Patrick Henry, and other Tidewater elites staked large claims along the Ohio River. Waving away the royal edict against land grabs as a “temporary expedient to quiet the minds of the Indians,” Washington told his personal surveyor not to worry.

With the surveyors came settlers willing to wager their scalps on a scrap of land. For a time, Cornstalk succeeded in controlling his young warriors. They turned back white intruders with stern warnings but seldom harmed them. Then in April 1774 a gang of frontier ruffians butchered a small party of inoffensive Mingo men and women who had crossed the Ohio River to buy rum at a neighborhood grog shop. Other Mingoes who attempted to investigate were shot from their canoes. The dead included the sister and younger brother of the Mingo chief “Captain John” Logan, a longtime friend of the whites who, averred a pioneer who knew Logan well, represented “the best specimen of humanity, either white or red,” that he had ever met.

The massacre shocked the colonies and the Crown. The young Virginia aristocrat Thomas Jefferson excoriated the supposed perpetrators. Hard words and hand-wringing, however, marked the extent of the white response. When the Crown’s colonial justice proved empty, Logan sought revenge in the Indian fashion; he slayed just enough frontiersmen to even the score, taking care to exculpate the Shawnees from his bloody work. To the charred door of a ravaged cabin, Logan posted a succinct confession. “You killed my kin . . . then I thought I must kill too. The Indians is not angry [sic] only me.” Backcountry settlers saw matters otherwise. Misconstruing Chief Cornstalk’s neutrality as hostile intent, Virginia militiamen destroyed a large Shawnee village in the Ohio country. They also laid waste to six Mingo towns.

The die was cast. Shawnee and Mingo war parties retaliated. Frontiersmen reciprocated. Havoc and horror rent the wilderness. As the frontier crumbled, Lord Dunmore mustered the militia to deal the Indians a two-pronged thrashing. No longer able to keep the peace, Chief Cornstalk assumed the mantle of supreme Shawnee war leader. He tried to forge a broad Indian alliance, but British threats and cajolery sidelined other tribes. And so in late September, Cornstalk sallied forth with his Shawnee and Mingo force to defend their lands. Calculating that his only chance lay in defeating Dunmore’s armies before they could unite, Cornstalk turned his attention first to the command of Gen. Andrew Lewis, who was then creeping across the wilds of western Virginia toward Point Pleasant. Although outnumbered, Cornstalk had able Shawnee lieutenants, among them the rising star Puckeshinwau, already honored as both a war and a civil leader, offices the Shawnees rarely combined.

The Indians hated the militiamen but respected their fighting prowess. They called the Virginians the “Long Knives” because of the butcher knives and short swords that they wielded with as much skill as the Indians did the tomahawk. Like Indian warriors, the Virginians were a colorful if undisciplined lot. A few of the officers wore regular uniforms, but most were clad in the same sort of hunting shirts, leather leggings, homemade breeches, broad-brimmed hats or animal-skin caps, and moccasins as their men. Each militiaman carried a flintlock long-rifle or English musket, a bullet pouch, and powder horn carved to individual taste. In addition to knives, many also tucked tomahawks into their belts. Well schooled in Indian warfare and raging with the Kentucky land-fever, the Virginians were impatient for the fray.

This morning, however, they slumbered soundly, unaware of the approaching warriors. The night before, the Indians had slipped across the Ohio River in crude rafts beneath a cobalt sky, debouching on the rocky, timber-strewn Virginia riverbank four miles north of the militia camp. Cornstalk and his lieutenants oversaw the carefully choreographed battle preparations. Their warriors slept a few hours, leaning against trees or propped against forked poles, weapons at the ready. Hunters killed twelve deer and ritually sliced the venison under the watchful eyes of medicine men (spiritual and natural healers), who examined the roasted strips for spiritual purity before handing each warrior one piece. After eating, the men buried their blankets and shirts beneath leaves. Deploying in units of twenty, they each crammed four balls into their muskets to inflict maximum punishment at short range. They would tomahawk any survivors. Cornstalk selected the best marksmen to descend to the riverbank to pick off any Virginians desperate enough to plunge into the broad Ohio after the Indians sprang their trap.

And then his plan unraveled. At dawn, October 10, 1774, two early-rising Virginians wandered into the forest to hunt deer. Instead they ran into the Indians. One militiaman crumpled, riddled with musket balls, but the other stumbled back into camp to sound the alarm. Instantly the drums beat to arms. The backwoodsmen rolled from their blankets, examined their flints and priming, and awaited orders.

Feigning composure, General Lewis lit his pipe. He blew a few puffs and then ordered two colonels to lead double columns of 150 men forward to discover the source of the commotion. Both officers fell in the first Indian volley. Concealed behind the trunks of maple and pine and in the tangled underbrush of the river bottom, the warriors dropped dozens of militiamen, screaming epithets at the “sons of bitches” and “white dogs” as they fired. Lewis pushed out reinforcements, and the combatants grappled at close quarters in the smoke-choked timber. “Hide where I would,” a Virginian recalled, “the muzzle of some rifle was gaping in my face and the wild, distorted countenance of a savage was rushing towards me with uplifted tomahawk. The contest resembled more a circus of gladiators than a battle.”

After six hours of close combat, the two sides backed apart and traded fire from behind trees and fallen timber. Puckeshinwau and his fellow war leaders moved along the Indian line, exhorting their warriors to “lie close,” “shoot well,” and “fight and be strong.” Near sunset, General Lewis occupied a high ridge that Cornstalk had neglected to secure. Stung by bullets from above their left flank and low on ammunition, the Indians melted back into the forest and recrossed the Ohio. The Virginians contented themselves with scalping fallen warriors and collecting souvenirs.

It had been a bloody twelve hours. The Indians killed seventy-five Virginians and wounded another 140. Perhaps forty warriors died. Hoping to disguise their losses, the Indians rolled several of their dead into the river. The Virginians nevertheless collected thirty-two scalps. These they affixed to a post at Point Pleasant.

The battle claimed just one prominent Indian, the Shawnee war leader Puckeshinwau. His thirteen-year-old son Cheeseekau, not yet a warrior, had accompanied him into action. After Puckeshinwau fell mortally wounded, Cheeseekau helped ease him back over the Ohio in a driftwood raft. Before dying, Puckeshinwau reputedly admonished his young son to preserve his family’s honor, never reconcile with the Long Knives, and “in the future lead forth to battle his younger brothers” against them. Cheeseekau swore to obey. Puckeshinwau’s warriors buried their chief deep in the forest.

Cheeseekau had accepted a heavy burden. He had three siblings, and his now-widowed mother was pregnant with triplets. Cheeseekau’s favorite sibling, upon whom he would lavish most of his attention and who would best fulfill his father’s last wish, was his six-year-old brother Tecumseh, the “Shooting Star.”

— Peter Cozzens, The Warrior and the Prophet: The Shawnee Brothers Who Defied a Nation

[baynetta]

miguel is def not for the yts! idc if his daddy kins george washington.

EXACTLY!!! like he literally told me the other day that he’s into melanin only so 🤭

[bookdancerfics]

sympathy in hand (inevitability at your door), a Night Agent (TV) fic

Summary: Cisco has known for a few years that he’s Peter’s emergency contact. That doesn’t make him feel any better when he gets a call after hearing about the metro bombing on the news.

Relationships: Peter Sutherland and Francisco "Cisco" Jenkins

Warnings: N/A

Also available on AO3 and FF.net, both under Bookdancer. The AO3 link is in the content source of this post.

I do not own The Night Agent, and thanks to @queenofmoons67 for beta-ing!

--

It’s a clear night, one that Cisco would normally find perfect for a date, except his date ended when the sirens started blaring and word of the metro bombing hit the news. Part of Cisco wishes the guy had stuck around, if only for a distraction, but the other part of him knows that wouldn’t be fair for all parties involved—Cisco, his date, or the person he’s still waiting to hear back from.

Forty minutes ago his phone was lit up with text messages, “I’m safe,” “I’m home,” “I wasn’t in the city,” all variations of the same twenty words with the same intentions. His parents and grandmother live outside the city—safe. His partner, like him, had gotten home from their shift almost four hours ago and then never left—safe. His sibling is out of town for a concert—safe. His ex, his buddies from college, most of his friends from Quantico—all safe.

But that’s the quandary, isn’t it. Most of his friends from Quantico.

Most, not all.

Not Peter.

And Cisco worries, whether Peter likes it or not. Maybe, if Peter had anyone else besides his fiancée in his corner these days, then Cisco would let it go. But when you’re one of only two people who really, really care about someone, then you tend to worry about them a little more. So sue him for being a good friend.

Point being, Cisco could have been spending a relaxing evening with a date, but instead he’s stress watching the news and checking his phone every few minutes, hoping to see a message from his best friend even now that his phone has gone quiet. Or even just to see the little “Read: ‘whatever time Peter decides to actually check his texts’,” so Cisco knows Peter is even alive. Because hell, Cisco texted him “i’m safe, you?” almost fifty minutes ago, and Zoe hasn’t heard from him either, and Peter being Peter would never let either of them go so long without an answer unless he had a good reason.

Every news outlet out there has said that despite the crowded train, there was only one casualty.

That one casualty haunts Cisco; being dead is a very good reason to not answer a text.

And then, just as CNN is finally getting a more conclusive statement from the commanding officer on scene—Cisco’s phone rings. He jumps, expecting a text but not a call, and his phone bounces from his knee to the couch to the carpet, sending him scrambling after it in a panic. It’s on its fourth ring when Cisco finally manages to hit the answer button, barely registering the unfamiliar number as he lays on the floor.

“Peter?” he asks, willing himself to stay calm even as his voice pitches up.

“I’m sorry, this is the George Washington University Hospital, is this Francisco Jenkins?”

“Shit,” Cisco says, and his heart won’t stop pounding. “I mean, sorry, yes, this is him.”

“Hi Francisco, I’m calling about Peter Sutherland—”

If he’s being honest with himself, Cisco doesn’t remember much of the call after that. He thinks whoever was on the other end of the line said something about him being Peter’s emergency contact, which checks out. Peter had made the change not long after Cisco dropped out of Quantico, and had even talked a bit about keeping it the same after he got married—Zoe would be his next of kin, but Cisco would still get a call if something happened. Knowing he’s Peter’s emergency contact is a lot different to actually experiencing it though, and he’s pretty sure the hospital didn’t say anything about Peter’s physical state. Whether that’s a good thing or not he’s not sure.

The next thing Cisco knows he’s standing in front of the University hospital, putting in a 50% tip for the Lyft driver who was somehow willing to drive him halfway across the city the same night of a bombing. His phone buzzes, showing that Zoe liked the text he sent to let her know he was heading to the hospital for Peter.

“I can’t make it out there tonight, pls keep me updated!!” follows a couple seconds later, and Cisco stares at it, not quite sure he’s reading it properly. But he doesn’t have time to wonder what else she’s doing that’s more important than being there for her fiancé, or to question Peter’s choice of life partner.

Instead, he somehow finds it in himself to make the short walk from the curb to inside the hospital’s waiting room, where about three quarters of the seats are taken up by people waiting to be seen or waiting to see someone. Cisco doesn’t know enough about hospitals to even guess whether there’s more people here than usual, but there was a bombing barely an hour ago. Maybe he shouldn’t have to guess.

Instead he hurries up to the front desk and the young woman manning it. The woman—Nurse Boden according to her name tag—has short dark ginger curls and a smattering of freckles that remind him of Peter. There’s a lump in Cisco’s throat that won’t go away.

“I’m here for Peter Sutherland?” he manages, and Nurse Boden must see something on his face, because she smiles at him and there’s a sympathy there that Cisco doesn’t know what to do with.

“Give me one second,” she promises, and he nods as she taps away at her computer. The only reason he isn’t fidgeting is because he got rid of that habit at Quantico, a few weeks before Peter helped him pass Basic Water Survival.

“That’s Sutherland spelt S-u-t-h-e-r and then ‘land’, right?” she clarifies.

“Yeah,” Cisco says.

“And you are?”

“Uh—” There’s a brief moment where they both stare at each other, Nurse Boden in expectation and Cisco in confusion, before the light bulb finally goes off in Cisco’s brain and he fumbles for his wallet. “Right! Sorry, I’m normally more put together than this, I’m Peter’s emergency contact, Cisco Jenkins.”

He slides his ID across the desk and Nurse Boden gives it a cursory glance before handing it back.

“Great,” she says. “Mr. Sutherland is in one of our exam rooms right now being looked over, but if you take a seat in the waiting area then I can ask another nurse to let him know you’re here.”

“Can you tell me how he’s doing?”

Cisco’s request is just met with another sympathetic look though, just as useless as the last one. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Sutherland hasn’t authorized us to disclose that information to you. I can have the nurse ask but we can’t make any promises.”

“Right,” Cisco says, even though it feels like his parents’ dog is using his heart as a chew toy. “Okay, I’d really appreciate that, thank you. I’ll just—I’ll just be over there.”

He waves vaguely toward the back corner of the waiting room, somehow still empty, and then trudges off before Nurse Boden can give any more depressing news. Once he’s seated though, he does see her speak to a Black man in the same color scrubs as her, likely another nurse, and from there Cisco tracks the man visually, down another hallway to the second door on the left. Finally satisfied that he’s at least 99% sure he knows where Peter is, and telling himself that they couldn’t ask his best friend to disclose information unless he was conscious, Cisco settles into one of the waiting room’s plastic chairs to… well. Wait.

None of the TVs in the hospital are airing the news, but given Cisco’s suspicions about why the waiting area is so full, that’s not exactly a surprise. Instead they’re showing the local hockey game, and although it seems to be distracting some people, Cisco can’t bring himself to care about the Capitals when he still doesn’t know how badly Peter is hurt. He tries to tell himself he also doesn’t know why Peter is here, but given the events of the night Cisco is pretty sure that’s bullshit. He knows exactly why.

Speaking of which—Cisco glances at the TV again, just in time to watch the Caps’ opponent score, then pulls out his phone. It only takes a quick Google search to pull up a variety of news articles on the metro bombing, but he’s barely clicked on the first one when the same male nurse from before hurries up to him. From this short of a distance Cisco can finally see that his name tag says Nurse Daniels, and the bags under his eyes suggest he’s at the tail end of his shift.

“Hi, Cisco right?” Nurse Daniels says. “Peter asked if you could join him.”

“Yeah of course—” Cisco jumps up and immediately falls into step behind the other man. “I don’t suppose you can tell me anything now?”

Nurse Daniels shoots him a glance, once more sympathetic. Cisco can’t help but wonder if all hospital personnel are trained in those, or if it’s just the nurses. “I would, but Peter’s doctor is probably going to go over everything anyway.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He will be,” Nurse Daniels says, and maybe it’s ironic to think so, but for the first time since Cisco heard about the bombing, a weight lifts off his shoulders. “Here we are.”

Nurse Daniels opens a door, and Cisco thanks him before moving inside. In front of him—Cisco really hopes this is a case of “it looks worse than it is,” because Peter, quite honestly, looks terrible.

He’s stretched out on a classic examination table, head resting against the faux pillow and feet dangling over the other edge. One of his feet is bare, his pant leg rolled halfway up his calf, and he’s also shirtless, which means Cisco can see every single scrape and bruise and laceration, and there are… a lot of them. Peter’s torso looks the worst, huge splotches of purple and blue bruising covering both of his sides, and he’s hugging his right arm to his chest in a way that tells Cisco the laceration on his bicep is causing him more than a little pain. His face also took a beating, with scrapes and cuts all over his nose and forehead, dried blood making him look like he could star in a horror movie.

And yet, it’s the bruised knuckles that finally make Cisco pause. People could get any manner of injuries from an explosion, but bruised knuckles? The only way that could happen was if Peter tried punching the bomb, which was illogical and definitely not something he would’ve done. Something else happened. Maybe the timing of Peter being in the hospital so soon after the bombing was a coincidence?

Behind Cisco, the door shuts. 

At the noise, Peter’s head lolls over from where he’s listening to a Black woman in a white coat who’s no doubt the doctor. She’s a fair bit older than both of them, with reading glasses perched on her nose and braids pulled into a bun.

“Cisco?” Peter asks. His voice slurs a bit at the end, and his eyes are half closed, making it obvious that he’s only barely staying awake. Cisco mentally adds concussion to the list of physical ailments plaguing his best friend. That or he’s really tired, but they’ve both been trained to let exhaustion affect them as little as possible, so Cisco doesn’t really think that’s the case here.

“Hey,” Cisco says, and somehow his voice is soft, not betraying his anxiety from the past two hours. “Hey, Petey, yeah, I’m here.”

He crosses the room in just a few steps, nodding a greeting at the doctor, who apparently took his entrance as an opportunity to pull out a clipboard and mark down some notes.

“Cisco Jenkins, right?” she asks. At his confirmation she holds out a hand to shake. “Doctor Catherine Reynolds, I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but I think we both wish this was under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Cisco says, shaking her hand. “Definitely.”

He looks back down at Peter, whose eyes are still only half open, and shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from touching him. He’s not sure of much, right now, but he is sure that touching Peter will only cause him more pain.

Cisco lets the scratching of Dr. Reynolds’s pen fill the silence for a few minutes, then looks up at her. She seems focused, a small frown on her lips, and every now and then she checks something on her clipboard against Peter himself. But Cisco has to know.

“Hey, doc?” His voice cracks, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, even though that hasn’t happened since he was at most 19. “Do you know what happened? Why he’s… why he’s like this?”

Dr. Reynolds shoots him a sympathetic look—and damn if that isn’t the fourth one in the same hour—but nods even as she keeps working. “I’ll admit I don’t know all of what happened, but what I do know is that Peter here got caught in the blast on the metro. And that if it wasn’t for him, there would have been a lot more casualties.”

Cisco swallows, but the lump in his throat persists. Having confirmation for what he’d already suspected somehow hasn’t helped.

“Hey, Cisco,” Peter mumbles. Cisco looks down; Peter’s eyes are almost fully closed at this point, but he seems to be stubbornly hanging on. Even as Cisco watches, Peter reaches over with his left arm, ignoring the cautioning words of the doctor that follow.

Peter’s hand fumbles in Cisco’s direction for a few seconds before Cisco figures out what he wants, and takes it. “Yeah?”

“‘m okay. I pr’mise.” Peter’s eyes open a little more, letting Cisco see just a sliver of brown, and he can’t help but squeeze Peter’s hand in thanks. It doesn’t escape him that the injured one of them both is the one doing the comforting.

“Yeah, Peter,” he whispers. “I know you are.”

There’s not much else he can do after that besides keep holding Peter’s hand. Peter dozes, partly because of the concussion and apparently partly because of the pain relief in his system. It’s a minuscule amount, certainly not enough, but Dr. Reynolds says Peter had refused heavier drugs.

She also says it’s perfectly fine for Peter to sleep, despite the concussion, and Cisco’s movie knowledge has always taught the opposite, but he does his absolute best to trust her on this. To trust her with Peter.

It’s harder than he ever thought it would be, when his best friend is lying beat to all hell in a hospital bed.

Still, she’s the doctor, so he holds Peter’s hand and tries to stay out of the way. Over the next hour or two, Dr. Reynolds talks both herself and her nurses through addressing all of Peter’s injuries.

There’s a lot. A whole laundry’s list of them, actually, from the concussion to a twisted ankle, from scrapes and bruises to three ribs that were cracked and broken, from busted knuckles and a bitten tongue to the laceration on his arm, which had also torn through the muscle.

He’ll need surgery for the last one. Not immediately, but sometime soon—within the next couple of weeks. Cisco wonders, somewhat bitterly, if it will be him or Zoe who sits by Peter’s bedside then.

It’s not the kindest thought he’s ever had. After all, he doesn’t know why exactly Zoe couldn’t make it to the hospital tonight. But the fact remains that Peter has a fiancée, and she’s not the one who’s here right now. Cisco is.

So Cisco dutifully takes notes on everything Dr. Reynolds tells him, even as he keeps holding Peter’s hand, and when the final bandage is in place and Peter has been changed into a hospital gown, Cisco is also there as they move him to a gurney and transfer him to an actual hospital room for observation.

Throughout it all, Peter never stirs except to squeeze Cisco’s hand, like he’s checking that Cisco is still there. Each time Cisco squeezes back and Peter falls asleep again.

The trouble comes, as he should have suspected it would, when he tries to stay in the room.

“Sir I’m very sorry,” one of the nurses tells him. “But our visiting hours are over.”

The nurse is unfamiliar, with pale white skin, brown curls, and a name tag that says Nurse Drake, but he’s sporting another one of those sympathetic looks. Cisco is beginning to really hate those.

“I’m a little stuck,” Cisco tries, wiggling the fingers of the hand Peter is still holding. Maybe some humor will defuse the situation. They’re also in a room with just one bed, Peter’s, so it’s not like they’ll be disturbing anyone else.

Nurse Drake pauses, eyes on their joined hands, and then his gaze travels very deliberately to Peter’s face. And it’s been awhile since Cisco did any kind of FBI training, but he thinks there may be some recognition in the nurse’s eyes.

“He was on the train, wasn’t he?” The words come quietly, Nurse Drake’s eyes softening at the corners. It may be sympathy, and Cisco may hate it, but if it gets him to stay with Peter then he’ll use it.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Nurse Drake takes a quick look around the hallway, then turns back and gives Cisco a nod in return.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” he says, and the door closes.

Cisco figures someone else will find out at some point, but it’s not a problem right now, so instead he taps out a quick text to Zoe, letting her know they’re staying overnight but Peter is relatively okay, given the circumstances. Then he leans forward as best he can with Peter still holding his hand, pillows his head in the crook of his right elbow, and goes to sleep.

Cisco wakes, surprisingly enough, to the sound of birds chirping outside. Surprisingly, because he honestly did expect to be kicked out at some point in the night. Maybe someone else took pity on them. Or Nurse Drake made sure he was the only one checking on Peter. Either way, Cisco can't complain.

Raising his head, he finds that his entire right arm has gone numb, but somehow his left hand is still holding Peter’s. Considering it’s been at least six hours, Cisco thinks that’s rather impressive.

And then he looks over at Peter, and Peter looks back.

Cisco scrambles to his feet, the chair tipping over behind him. “You’re awake!”

Peter nods, then winces, and when he speaks his voice comes out rough and dry. “Yeah. Not long though.”

“Hey, well you sound better at least. No more slurring.”

Peter, in the middle of lifting their joined hands, pauses. “Slurring?”

“Yeah.” Cisco squeezes Peter’s hand. “Probably from the concussion.”

“And the hand holding?”

Cisco smiles, and tries not to think about how long it’s been since he last did so. “Well you wouldn’t let go, and what was I supposed to do? Cut my own hand off?”

Peter’s lips curl up at the edges; not quite a smile, but he’s clearly amused. “You’d pass out from pain first.”

“Probably,” Cisco agrees. He squeezes Peter’s hand again. “Don’t ever do that again though. And I’m not talking about the hand holding.”

Peter lets out a brief laugh, then coughs. “Yeah. Yeah that would probably be for the best.” He stares at their hands, then lets go. Cisco jokingly shakes his hand out, pretending not to miss the warmth. Peter looks back up. “No promises though.”

Cisco stops shaking his hand.

There are things in this world that are inevitable. No one ever really knows what all of them are, although Cisco can name a few. Eating shellfish will make him break out in hives. His dad will boo the Orioles even when they’re terrible and losing by ten runs. Cisco is going to steal Kevin back when he drops Peter back at his place, and he’s not going to feel guilty about stealing from a wounded man at all.

And Peter Sutherland, to Cisco’s continuous consternation, will always put other people before himself.

So in the end, even as he’s standing next to his injured and bedridden best friend, all Cisco can do is swallow around yet another lump in his throat, nod, and hope to whatever god may actually be out there that Peter won’t die young.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 15, 2023

Heather Cox Richardson

The Justice Department today announced the arrest of Chinese billionaire Guo Wengui, also known as Ho Wan Kwok and Miles Guo, charged with defrauding followers of more than $1 billion. The 12-count indictment for wire fraud, securities fraud, bank fraud, and money laundering says Guo and a co-conspirator, Kin Ming Je, raised money by promising stock in Guo’s GTV Media Group, a high-end club, or cryptocurrency but then used the money themselves for items that included a $53,000 fireplace log holder, a watch storage box that cost almost $60,000, and two $36,000 mattresses, as well as more typical luxury items: a 50,000-square-foot mansion, a Lamborghini, and designer furniture.

The U.S. government seized more than $630 million from multiple bank accounts as well as other assets purchased with illicit money. If convicted, Guo faces up to 20 years in prison. Guo has attracted donors by developing the idea that he is a principled opponent of the Chinese Communist Party, but Dan Friedman, who writes on lobbying and corruption for Mother Jones, points out that this persona appears to be a grift. Guo is close to sometime Trump ally Steve Bannon, who was reading a book on Guo’s yacht, Lady May, when federal officers arrested him in 2020 for defrauding donors of $25 million in his “We Build the Wall” fundraising campaign. Rather than constructing a wall, Bannon and three associates funneled that money to themselves. Trump pardoned Bannon for that scheme hours before he left office. Friedman points out that prosecutors say Guo’s criminal conspiracy began in 2018, which is the year that Guo and Bannon launched The Rule of Law Foundation and the Rule of Law Society. They claimed the organizations would defend human rights in China and then, according to prosecutors, lured donors to other products. In April 2020, Guo and Bannon formed the GTV Media Group, which flooded the news with disinformation before the 2020 election, especially related to Hunter Biden and the novel coronavirus. Sued by the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission in September 2021 for the illegal sale of cryptocurrency, GTV paid more than $539 million to settle the case. Bannon’s War Room webcast features Guo performing its theme song. One of the entities Guo and Bannon created together is the “New Federal State of China,” which sponsored the Conservative Political Action Conference in Washington, D.C., earlier this month. In other money news, Hugo Lowell of The Guardian reported today that $8 million of the loans that bankrolled Trump’s social media platform Truth Social came from two entities that are associated with Anton Postolnikov, a relation of an ally of Russian president Vladimir Putin named Aleksandr Smirnov. Banks continue to writhe, in Europe this time, as Credit Suisse disclosed problems in its reporting and its largest investor, Saudi National Bank, said it would not inject more cash into the institution. The government of Switzerland says it will backstop the bank. In the U.S., Michael Brown, a venture partner at Shield Capital and former head of the Defense Department’s Defense Innovation Unit, told Marcus Weisgerber and Patrick Tucker of Defense One that the collapse of Silicon Valley Bank had the potential to be a big problem for national security, since a number of the affected start-ups were working on projects for the defense sector. “If you want to kind of knock out the seed corn for the next decade or two of innovative tech, much of which we need for the competition with China, [collapsing SVB] would have been a very effective blow. [Chinese President Xi Jinping and Russian President Vladimir Putin] would have been cheering to see so many companies fail.” Federal and state investigators are looking into the role of Representative George Santos (R-NY) in the sale of a $19 million yacht from one of his wealthy donors to another, for which he collected a broker’s fee. In an interview with Semafor last December, Santos explained that his income had jumped from $55,000 in 2020 to enough money to loan his 2022 campaign $705,000 because he had begun to act as a broker for boat or plane sales. He told Semafor: “If you’re looking at a $20 million yacht, my referral fee there can be anywhere between $200,000 and $400,000.” Today’s emphasis on money and politics brings to mind the speech then–FBI director Robert Mueller gave in New York in 2011, warning about a new kind of national security threat: “so-called ‘iron triangles’ of organized criminals, corrupt government officials, and business leaders” allied not by religion or political inclinations, but by greed. It also brings to mind the adamant opposition of then–National Republican Senatorial Committee chair Mitch McConnell (R-KY) to campaign finance reform in 1997 after he raised a record-breaking amount of money for Republican candidates, saying that political donations are simply a form of free speech. The Supreme Court read that interpretation into law in the 2010 Citizens United decision, but the increasingly obvious links between money, politics, and national security suggest it might be worth revisiting. Money and politics are in the news in another way today, too, as part of the ongoing budget debates. A letter yesterday from the Congressional Budget Office to Senators Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI) and Ron Wyden (D-OR), answering their questions about how to eliminate the deficit by 2033, says that it is impossible to balance the budget by that year without either raising revenue or cutting either Social Security, Medicare, or defense spending. Even zeroing out all discretionary spending is not sufficient. Led by House speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-CA), Republicans have promised they can do so, but they have not yet produced a budget. This CBO information makes their job harder. And finally, today, in Amarillo, Texas, U.S. District Judge Matthew Kacsmaryk held a hearing on the drug mifepristone, used in about half of medically induced abortions. The right-wing “Alliance Defending Freedom,” acting on behalf of antiabortion medical organizations and four doctors, is challenging the approval process the Food and Drug Administration used 22 years ago to argue that the drug should be prohibited. While the approval process took more than four years, it was conducted under an expedited process that speeds consideration of drugs that address life-threatening illnesses. “Pregnancy is not an illness,” senior counsel for Alliance Defending Freedom Julie Marie Blake said. And yet mifepristone is commonly used in case of miscarriage and for a number of other medical conditions. And Texas’s Maternal Mortality and Morbidity Review, released in December 2022, concluded that from March 2021 to December 2022, at least 118 deaths in Texas were related to pregnancy. In 2020, 861 deaths in the U.S. were related to pregnancy, up from 754 in 2019. Public health officials note that extensive research both in the U.S. and in Europe has proven the medication is safe and effective. They warn that a judge’s overturning a drug’s FDA approval 20 years after the fact could upend the country’s entire drug-approval system, as approvals for coronavirus treatments, for example, become plagued by political challenges. Kacsmaryk was appointed by Trump and is well known for his right-wing views on abortion and same-sex marriage. Initially, he kept the hearing over a nationwide ban on the key drug used for medicated abortion off the docket, and in a phone call last Friday he asked lawyers not to publicize today’s hearing, saying he was concerned about safety. Legal observers were outraged at the attack on judicial transparency—a key part of our justice system—and Chris Geidner of LawDork outlined the many times Kacsmaryk had taken a stand in favor of the “public’s right to know.” According to Ian Millhiser of Vox, Kacsmaryk let 19 members of the press and 19 members of the public into today’s hearing.

—

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[tentacledtherapist]

Lisa,

It's funny, despite living in New England all my life I don't think I could ever tire of it. The town I grew up in has a church from the 1780s. One of the many places George Washington stayed is nearby. I grew up in graveyards and old buildings and sinking my arms as deep as they could in the Weird and the Old and the Dark. It makes me unbelievably happy. (It helps that I run warm too, it makes a world of difference to be in a cooler area!) It is funny that we have Wild West Towns and you have Winter Villages when the weather is so opposite. It has a weird cognitive dissonance I think, that makes it humorous. A very dry fake snow covered place at 90 degrees while we have a Fake Desert covered in Real Snow. Why are humans like this I wonder, besides the novelty of what we Don't Have? Like a Medieval Times despite not ever having a european medieval period in America.

I recently watched Bones and All, and while I'm not sure about how well it measured up to the book, I absolutely ADORED it. The metaphor is not lost on me and there is something so jarring and so good about it. I actually do recommend the film, I think I know which actor you speak of and despite not liking them much either their work was really good in this film in particular. I loved making it a bit more of a 1980s period piece to give everything this distance from our current world, and also the narrative the movie is trying to pull opposed to the book. It makes the story make a bit more sense as a movie, in its own way? I'm not someone turned away by cannibalism, so it's not such a weird conept to me. I don't think I'd play a reluctant cannibal character if I was.

I'm so glad we are on the same page about these sorts of stories! Its like getting back to the roots of many of these horror genres, how they turn back into these stories with metaphors about humanity. Dracula and Frankenstein, Carmilla, they're more about people than they are about monsters to me. I'm fairly certain there's roots in Oscar Wilde's famous trials in Dracula, about the fear of male intimacy, since Bram Stoker has been more recently well known for being potentially queer, and Dracula was also inspired partially by Carmilla, itself a horrific lesbian romance. And even beyond that, the strange, the foreign, the twisted humanity, what we see in ourselves reflected from others. Then Frankenstein has its own whole host of human fears laced in it. Parenthood, homosexuality, theology, science. Human connection, our greatest fear and our greatest salvation.

I could write essays about horror, I really could.

- Your Creature

P.s.: I wish you luck with your project! Maybe order from them online? I hate when things are out of stock.

creature,

ordering things online is my Least Favorite way to order things but. i had to and now i must Await My Packidge. agony

i think we’re both talking about timothee chanalet i have no idea how to spell his name— at least i was— there’s nothing wrong with him! i just don’t… care for anything he’s really been in? it’s just never really clicked for me, i guess. but!!! if you endorse the movie, i’ll give it a shot! you haven’t led me astray with media suggestions yet! :D

as for the oddly out of place landmarks: isn’t it human nature to want what we can’t have? there’s a reason we have the turn of phrase “the grass isn’t always greener on the other side”

i would love to read your essays, if you ever decide to write any. you have such… amazing thoughts about this stuff? about horror and the nature of humanity and about love and the inhuman and just… all of it. i’ve genuinely loved reading your thoughts in our letters. i’m so sure i’ve said it before, but just in case: it’s so nice to hear your thoughts on stuff. i missed hearing from you, adam. both while i was away and also. like. lifetime kinning stuff. i keep going back to read things you’ve written me because they’re just so good. you have such a way with describing the things you’re interested in an the things you’re passionate about? i’m going a little overboard, i think, but,,,

suffice it to say: if you ever decide to write an essay and you need a proofreader? i’m your gal

the horrors of each era reflect our society’s fears during that era, but there’s something to be said about the inherent, timeless, and unshakeable fears about humanity and the Other (tm tm tm). those fears, those insecurities about the self? they never go away. i think that’s why we as a society love stories about them so much

- Your Lisa

[theonewithallthefixations]

okay, here we go. Also, @silvercaptain24 please don’t apologize for the length of your thing because it is fantastic and tops this by miles.

It’s so much easier to type than handwrite! Who’d’a thought!

My Toulmin’s Module Analysis of “The Ten Duel Commandments” by Lin Manuel Miranda

The song “The Ten Duel Commandments” by Lin Manuel Miranda explains the rules for a duel during the Revolutionary War in order to set up the scene for a duel between two soldiers in defense of George Washington. 

At the beginning of each paragraph, you can see an example of parallelism. This catches attention for the first line of substance in each paragraph, the purpose of the paragraph. This first sentence states the rule. 

In the second paragraph, the statement of “if they apologize, no need for further action” is found, and this shows that this is not something done for fun. In the third paragraph, however, Miranda states that this is common, and uses slang to show that  nobody thinks much of it, if this is not already shown by the fact that there are rules that have been set up for this specific purpose. This helps the audience understand that this is a time where reputation is defended greatly. The fact that “negotiate a peace” is said, and then Hamilton cuts in, saying “negotiate a time and place” shows that he is itching for a fight. The harmonies mixed with dissonance on the last phrase- “most disputes die and no one shoots-“ adds emphasis to it. This statement is important because it shows how unnecessary most of these arguments are. If someone is willing to apologize that easily, it means that it is not a big enough deal to die over. This also shows how big of a deal Hamilton found an insult to George Washington. 

In the next paragraph, it mentions getting pistols and a doctor on sight, showing how both of these are considered important in a duel. Another example of parallelism is found in “You pay him in advance, you treat him with civility, you have him turn around, so he can have deniability.” The audience feels relief at this statement, at knowing that at least the doctor will be okay, but also panic, because this means that something will happen, making deniability necessary. 

In the next paragraph, where leaving a note for your next of kin is deemed necessary, the audience feels sad because they are leaving family for something that seems so unnecessary. The alliteration in Hell or Heaven puts emphasis on those words, along with the opposition between the meanings. Putting the word “pray” in the same sentence as the word “Hell” creates a juxtaposition, making the audience think about why you would pray to go to Hell. They feel confusion, which melts into understanding as they think about what it would mean if neither Hell of Heaven let them in. 

At the end, with Burr addressing Hamilton rather than the other way around, calls the memory of Hamilton seeking out Burr at the beginning. It shows how much Hamilton has risen since the beginning of the Musical, and how quickly. Faster that Burr, certainly. 

The rhythm of the entire song sounds urgent and calls to mind the vision of an execution. It creates an anxiety in the audience that may have not been achieved any other way. 

The song “The Ten Duel Commandments” is very effective at getting the desired message across, and certainly adds to the story as a whole. 

Very stiff I am completely aware. I wrote timed write style and speed so it’s not as good as I would like it. I will probably go back and edit at some point, make it sound smoother. But I did the thing! YO! ANYONE ON COLLEGE BOARD PLEASE MAKE THIS YEAR’S RHETORICAL ANALYSIS PEICE THIS SONG SO THAT I DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE TO DO WORK AND I CAN JUST SCRIBBLE DOWN WHAT I REMEMBER OF THIS AND THEN SPEND THE REST OF MY TIME ON MY ARGUMENT AND SOURCES PEICES! Anyway. I’m probably going to make a continuation of this for the entire musical, but not now, cause I gotta do some analyzing for a grade.

Why the Ten Duel Commandments is actually genius from a writing perspective.

okay @theonewithallthefixations SO!

(Sorry this got. LONG.)

The Ten Duel Commandments is fascinating from a writing perspective for a lot of reasons, because looking at it- Lin didn't have to do that part. It could've been an easily mentioned and forgotten line in a song, and he could've done something different, But he didn't, and this is why it's genuis-

A. Fantastic writing. It tells us all the rules of a duel, even little nuances ("Pick a place to die where it's high and dry!"). And while it does that, It takes us through the duel between Laurens and Lee.

B. It gives us another view on duels. Because we later see a duel from an outsider perspective (Phillip's Duel) and an dueler's perspective (Burr and Hamilton). But this one we see it from the perspective of a second. We see the duel without the main characters being in danger.

C. FORESHADOWING. Cause some people may have come into Hamilton knowing that he dies from a duel at the end, but maybe not everyone, and I doubt many knew that his son died in a duel. But by showing the duel between Laurens and Lee, we get foreshadowing with the setup of all the rules of a duel.

D. It sets us up for later (Yes this is different from foreshadowing). Like I said, it gives us the details, it gives us the rules. So then later, when we see Phillip's duel, it doesn't have to go back into those details as much. Which makes the reuse of the melody in The World Was Wide Enough hit that much harder, because we get reminded of all of them.

E. It shows the differences between the duels. It shows us the difference between Lee and Laurens, which doesn't seem as high stakes, and Hamilton and Burr, which, while it has the same melody, the differing words and using the melody again really really hammer down that this is higher stakes. This feels more important. there's something different about this one.

[spale-vosver]

Presidential elections are just a bunch of George Washington kinnies shouting "no doubles" at each other.

[hear-ye-hear-me]

My name is Samuel Seabury, and I’m here with a few things about my canon!

- it was a modern setting, everyone was in college.

- my canon would fall under urban fanatasy, I don’t remember many humans at the college

- I remember being an angelic being, though I wasn’t very religious.

- I roomed with (Charles) Lee, who was a wolf shifter who couldn’t handle a lot of noise, George Frederick III, a vampire who was semi-distant royalty who came from a wealthy family, and (James) Reynolds, who was a fae

- We kicked Reynolds the Fuck out of our dorm when we found out he was abusing his girlfriend and my adoptive sister. Burr, who was human, ended up moving in instead

- Mariah (Lewis) was a siren, and she was my adoptive sister. She loved going to karaoke with all of her friends

- I had a huge crush on Lafayette, but I don’t remember if I acted on it or not

- (John) Laurens and (Hercules) Mulligan were both humans, while Alexander (Hamilton) was a mer-shifter and Lafayette was vampire. They all roomed down the hall from us.

- Lee and Burr were dating.

- The Schuyler Sisters all shared a room. The three were all adopted siblings. Angelica was a genderfluid witch, Eliza was a nonbinary Druid, and Peggy was a transfeminine Angel.

- The Washington’s were Alexander and John’s adoptive parents, Martha (Washington) was a selkie and George (Washington) was an Immortal

- The college has an annual fair that always ended up with someone in the hospital, wether it be from alcohol poisoning, getting in fights, or getting in some form of accident.

- Mariah and I would host girls nights with the Schuyler’s and we would paint each other’s nails and talk about stuff while old movies played in the background.

- I used any pronouns, but checked off ‘Male’ when gender was required

- There was a bit of tension between humans and non-humans, but it was only a little and rarely caused any big drama where we were

That’s all I have at the moment, but I’ll probably add more eventually as I remember more stuff!

[thewollfgang]

if all of your followers are your children, you can just say Kinners. that's what my grandpa ( also named wolfgang) always said when we were doing stupid shit. just remember to put on an slight hamburg accent.

Aw, that is very cute. Although, I must admit, out of all the accents I can do, I’ve never been able to pull off a good German one. I ought to listen to it more and get an ear for it and then give it a shot :D

[bad german accent] ahf, ze little kinner, so cute and mischievous 

[hamil-kin]

hello! we’re a double friendly hamilkin server ! we want to help other hamilton kins make friends in a discourse-free environment while accepting others and having fun ! pls click here to join or send in a an ask if you have any questions at all !

[youregoingtobe-thedeathofme]

Alright im gonna say it... Kinning is so fucking weird

[ham1lk1n-blog]

Hey all Hamilkin!

 Want to join a discord chat for Hamilkin of almost all ages? First, read the links in our about (should be accessible to mobile) and then just fill out this form. We currently only have Alexander, Lafayette, and Eliza. Eliza is the only one uncomfortable with doubles.

[kin-squad-finder]

im Alexander Hamilton from the musical and i'm looking for my John Laurens, Aaron Burr, James Madison, Thomas Jefferson, and George Washington. i was severely mentally ill in my canon and practically ran away with Laurens around the time Philip was born (in my canon Philip was born earlier than in the musical i think???). after Laurens died i went back to Eliza for a while and we had a second child. i was close w/ Madison in my canon & rly miss him. interact w/ this post n ill message u

!!!

[xanderwithanx]

Make a kin list for your father in the tags. GO!