#no one should trust me with this knowlege

[friendlycursedspaceotter]

it's wednesday but I can make this worse

horse mouth bird lives inside your head horse mouth bird lives among the dead horse mouth bird wants all your bread and eats it while you're sleeping

I AM SUBJECTING ALL MY FRIENDS TO THIS WITH NO EXPLANATION THEY NEED TO SEE THIS

OP I WILL NEVER APOLOGIZE

it’s friday! post horse mouth bird

[john-laurens-hamilton]

“I am indebted to you, my dear Hamilton, for two letters; the first from Albany, as masterly a piece of cynicism as ever was penned, the other from Philadelphia, dated the 2d March; in both, you mention a design of retiring, which makes me exceedingly unhappy. I would not wish to have you for a moment withdrawn from the public service; at the same time, my friendship for you, and knowlege of your value to the United States, make me most ardently desire, that you should fill only the first offices of the Republic. I was flattered with an account of your being elected a delegate from N. York, and am much mortified not to hear it confirmed by yourself. I must confess to you, that, at the present state of the War, I shd. prefer your going into Congress, and from thence, becoming a Minister plenipotentiary for peace, to your remaining in the Army, where the dull System of seniority and the Tableau would prevent you from having the important commands to which you are entitled; but at any rate I wd. not have you renounce your rank in the Army, unless you entered the career above-mentioned. Your private affairs cannot require such immediate and close attention; you speak like a pater familias surrounded with a numerous progeny.

I had, in fact, resumed the black project, as you were informed, and urged the matter very strenuously, both to our privy council and legislative body; but I was out-voted, having only reason on my side, and being opposed by a triple-headed monster that shed the baneful influence of Avarice, prejudice, and pusillanimity in all our Assemblies. It was some consolation to me, however, to find that philosophy and truth had made some little progress since my last effort, as I obtained twice as many suffrages as before.”

The rest of this letter has not been found.

I find from this letter three observations, one from Laurens’ affection to Hamilton and two about his mannerisms and interests.

The first one is, as it’s not visible here, where it says “progeny”, what Laurens originally wrote was “family.” It was lazily crossed out and replaced by the latter word. Maybe Laurens didn’t want to accept the fact that Hamilton had found a family, and decided that addressing his children as “progeny” would be more impersonal. It was a common thing they did: in these crossed words, they hid the meaning of their affection, which they both couldn't let die, even after this was written two years after Hamilton’s marriage, about a month before Laurens' death. For example, once Alexander wrote to John writing “and now, my dear Jack…” ultimately replaced the nickname for “one.” Jack was a nickname only his close family called him. And “one” can be a move similar to Hamilon’s comma-after-dearest.

The mannerisms are the way Laurens mentioned his all-black-batallion in every single letter written to Hamilon, as he seemed to trust his friend with his abolitionist ideals more than anybody else, as his family benefited from slave work for decades and he didn't have many other close friends—“friends”—like Hamilton. Second, is how he abbreviates words such as “could”, “should,” and “would” as cd., shd., and wd. It’s just adorable.

(source: https://www.founders.archives.gov, https://john-laurens.tumblr.com/post/160878012808/you-speak-like-a-pater-familias-surrounded-with-a, https://john-laurens.tumblr.com/149243379883/fun-fact-alexander-hamilton-did-use-the-nickname )

[yesterdayiwrote]

Some of the takes I see about George online are actually insane.

I saw someone saying basically the issue with the W14 is that mercedes followed how George felt about the car in development and not Lewis, therefore it suits George and that mercedes should not have taken georges opinion in development as seriously as Lewis's. That they should have focused on making the car suit Lewis and have George adapt.

Its like people aren't aware that these cars are a different era of cars to what lewis won his championship with. Plus it isn't like the engineers are gonna go sure we will go with George in this even though what Lewis says will be faster. They go with what they feel the fastest concept will be, they don't just decide to go with George because they like him more than Lewis.

Plus it ignores the fact that George was working in the Mercedes simulator all the way back from the brocedes era. It was his work in the simulator which gave him opportunities to test drive cars and do free practice sessions and tire tests. Surely he must have some abilty in the sim and the engineers have alot of trust in him. They are always praising his technical knowlege. Just look at last weekend. Lewis even admitted that George chose the better set up and strategy, even though on paper it shouldn't have been.

Honestly I feel for the lad. People insulted him last year because apparently he didn't do enough for development for the car and lewis was doing all the experiments and it cost him points and now because the cars a bit crap its all his fault because they put more weight into what George has said about development. Both cannot be true. You can't say George didn't do any development last year but also blame him for the car being bad this year because of what he said in development last year.

Okay, I’ve been trying to think of a way to answer this since I got it, and I’m really struggling to find a way that covers ALL the nuance of the situation whilst simultaneously airing my frustration and trying not to be a biased dick about it. I do genuinely like both of them.

This creeping narrative that everything that goes wrong is because of George and everything that goes right is because of Lewis really does fuck me off big time because it’s just such childish bullshit and I can’t be dealing with it. That said it’s so ridiculously childish that it’s barely worth giving much credence to. The people know what they’re doing and sometimes you just have to let people have their copium and just… laugh?

I think people need to allow Lewis to be vulnerable and this aching need by some people to paint this picture that he is a perfect, fully rounded driver with absolutely no flaws or weaknesses does no one any favours. Sure we haven’t seen them as much, because success has a tendency to conceal these things, but even the GOATs have areas that need improvement. Merc have no responsibility to treat him as a first priority in all eventualities, and doing so would do Lewis more harm than good? If they had insisted on switching the cars in Jeddah like some people wanted, it surely would have been ten times more humiliating for him when he got passed by his teammate five laps later going quicker on the harder tyre?

George has a really solid eye for strategy. He can call strategy in the car while he’s driving a race and that’s no mean feat. Personally, I feel Lewis is weaker in that area. He prefers the team to lead his strategy and he puts his full faith in them to get it right and that’s fine, plenty of drivers do that. It’s not a glaring void in his arsenal, but in times when things go wrong it gives George an advantage he can draw on. People get angry at him doing it, because he’s ‘putting himself first’ but equally sometimes you’ve got to control your own destiny.

The whole situation with the car design is getting a bit ‘He said, She said’. Lewis said no one listened to him and he had all the right answers. George said they all agreed the direction together. We’ll never know who is telling the truth. Chances are it’s somewhere in the middle. Some teams do design their cars to suit one specific driver over another. I don’t know that I buy into any theory that suggests in Merc it would be George, even if he did come out on top last year. I said before I was a bit disappointed with Lewis’ comments and I think they were ill advised and borne out of frustration, as did he in the press conference, and then effectively doubled down and said something just as contentious in the post race interviews 🤷🏼‍♀️

We know George has done car development. You can’t joke about him being locked in the Sim and then simultaneously accuse him of not assisting with development, and then simultaneously accuse him of driving the entire development direction to suit himself. Like any sane person knows all of those things can’t be true cos the maths ain’t mathing?

Lewis isn’t ultimately responsible for his fans and the things they say, that being said I do feel like he sees more than he lets on and he knows when to give a crafty stir of the pot. They all do? This is purely his fans doing it though, not him, even if Spinz hasn’t helped matters in the past 😒

I think it’s a shame it’s got to this state though. I feel sorry for George and I do feel sorry for Lewis as well. It is a tougher situation for him in light of 2021. None of this is George’s fault though and it’s sad to see the online discourse getting so… tribal at times.

[wildglitch]

Random Stuff for that NightGuard Denki Au I sometimes think about.

Im giving this lore so I can get it out if my systum

-I HC that mha happens about 100 year in the future from it was released. So 2113. If quirks appearred in 1913. Fnaf 1 took place in 1993 so make it a year earlier 1992. Im making it so that Denki was born way before canon, around 1977 give or take, so ge can be 15 when he starts working at Freddys

-since its about 100 years before canon, quirks are still super rare to the point that him having an electricity quirk is either unique or down right unheard of in Utha and it would be something people look for, to the point of ignoreing child labor laws. Landing Denki the job.

-I probably explained it in another post but to rehash it, Denki need money to pay for his aunts summer rent or else hes neing sent back to Japan where he will be grounded for forgeting to save up money. Make sense? Cool lets continue.

-Denki is givin the job for the summer, or the 6 weeks hes going to be there. His personal goal? Getting put onto the day shift. He dose not really feel like ruining his sleep the whole summer, so hes determend to get switched to the day shift and not get fired.

-I cant totally see some weird William worshiping going on in the company. Cause theres no way he could have gotten away wity so much shit and no one in the company knowing. He just has a little cult following working to keep everything under the rug for him. They are also very creepy, thank you for noticing

-Denki decorated tf out if the office

-His schegual gets wrecked so he spends his nights exploring the city on a skatebored and hanging out at empty parking lots

-he meets Michael, the son of one of the founders by chance when he was standing at a 7/11 at 3a.m on a sunday. He was gettung a slurpy in his work uniforme cause he noticed it gets him discounts and Michael notices, they chat for a bit and screw around a bit in a parking lot

-Michaels age is fucked so here my take. 1983, the bit happens, Mike is a crappy teen so lets pit him at 16. Years later, in 1992 hes a 25 year old guy hanging parking lot wity a kid thats around the age his brother should be.

-The Ghosts fuck with Denki hard! Or at least some of them do, its kinda a toss up. You see the ghosts recognise that hes a teenager (kid) and not an adult and that changes a few things. For some, its positive, since they had older siblings and/or trust the big kids enough to protect them, so they leave denki alone. Others, had older siblings. Thats all the explination I need, they attack him purely out of spite.

-Denki figures out pretty quickly that the robots are posseded, and he uses this to his advantage using things he liked as a kid to get on their good side, since technically they are the same age.

-He asked Michael for help, who wants nothing to do with Freedys, but gives in and help out realizing, whole crap this place is actually haunted. This sends him on a rabbit hole of trying to figure out what happend with his dad and sister. Cue Fnaf Sister location happeing on Denkis last week.

-Also, everyone thinks hes somr sort of lunitic for working at Freedys cause of all the rumors but he dose not and can not care. He needa money.

-I see Denki either, surviving multiple summers at Freedy until he gets killed and stuffed into a suit or dying on his 6th week and getting dragged into Mikes and Williams beef as another casualty.

-I can see Mike setting Denkis soul free and Denki just being like "nuh uh" and continues hunting Michale. Maybe trough a small animatronic or a plushie, and Mike feeling guilty decides, "ok fine, you live with me. Now help me plan on how Im gonna kill my dad"

-Denki in his undead prime, somehow ends up surviving till the MHA present day with a few other ghosts Like Michael and maybe one of the animatronuc kids and them with their animatronic knowlege and future tech get themselves pretty realistic looking bodys.

-Denki spends a few years enjoying life and decides that being a hero sounds fun, so he moves to Japan to try it out.

-the ghost kid find old cc tv footage of Denkis time as nightguard and post a compilation video online and it goes viral.

-UA kids and others regognize Denki in the videos and hes left in an awkwerd position of trying to decide to play it of or explain that hes actually a dead 15 year old that died more than 100 years ago

And thats that. Short, simple, not that complicated. I'll probably make anotger post with quick skits for this

[theravencawsatmidnight]

A Kings Touch

Part Seven

Art by @knifeewifee ily bb !

Reader is chosen to be Katsukis wife whos only purpose is to give him a son. He has lived for many many years and never once been given one forcing him to kill his wives and children. A curse has been put on him without his knowlege. And maybe you can finally break it.

Tags/ @myunicornpet-unique @tired-marshmallow @fukyouthink @happygalaxymilkshake @insane-without-delirium @random-fandom-24

Kirishima was a little lost for words right now, he knew it would be bad if he ran after his King. there was no talking to him when he was like this. He wouldn't listen, only thing he could do was wait for him to return, hopefully calmer and more level headed. So Kirishima turned his attention to you with his hands up .

“So uh.. Dont worry about..that uhm.. Hes fine. Anyway! Lets have dinner yeah?”

“But.. the King..”

Kirishima pat your head giving you a fangy smile. “Trust me, you dont wanna go after him when hes like this, sometimes he just gets moody is all. “

There had to be a reason… something..someone? What about that room you cant go in?

“alright. .. uhm.. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Only to eat, i have to finish gathering supplies for the winter, cant freeze the second ya get here !”

You faked a giggle at the Dragons words and decided it would be best to get him out of the castle so you could go investigate. So you did what you did best, entertained.

**

King Katsuki stomped through the dense forest cursing up a storm at himself and everything around him. Heavy boots crushed the weak twigs under him and his sword cut through hanging branches like they were nothing. He had no idea if he was going the right way , was he lost? Maybe. But he could always call for Kirishima and be brought back to the castle. So he was never lost, just angry.

“Gave her everything she wanted.” kick

“Foul witch, i will have a son. This one has to be different. If not , ill kill her .. just like the rest. I cant die so ill just ...keep….trying…” very big kick knocking over a rock.

“Woah, easy there stanger” said a voice from the other side of the rock. “Cant plant crops if ya kick the nature around” the voice stood up revealing a tall young man with blond hair and a happy smile. “Are you the King or just playin dress up?”

King Katsuki stood his ground while he looked this person up and down. Who the hell was this? And why did he look slightly familiar… that smile… “i am the King, King Katsuki, youve got five seconds to explain yourself”

“Me? Im just plantain crops my King.”

“In the forest?”

“Yep, no one to bother me, and my guardian said its better for the crops to grow .”

“Your guardian sounds like a loon” spat the King.

This got a hearty laugh out of the young man, “shes alright, promise. But whats got you so worked up friend? I heard cursing and stomping not too far from here”

“Tch.. “ ‘friend’ “none of your business, why should i tell you anything? Im the King”

“Thats true.” the man sat down on the same rock that was kicked to wipe his brow of sweat. “But talkin might help, my King , ya know? My guardian always says to keep your thoughts out in the open , just incase ya get stuck”

“Hmph” Katsuki threw himself down on a nearby stump and stabbed his sword into the cold grass . “this … witch” he finally said, under his breath.

The young man leaned forward as if he was a child anticipating a story from a parent, stars in his eyes.

**

It did not take long to get Kirishima out of the castle; winter was coming fast and the castle needed to be ready. As soon as he left you picked up a knife and made your way to the room you were not allowed in. the chains on it were already cut which was weird.. Gently you placed the knife down on the nearby table and pushed the old heavy door open , the lock falling off its hook and onto the hard floor. Whoever was in here left in a hurry, the King? What could have made him so mad in here? A few more steps in brought you to the middle of the room where a single light was shining in from an old glass window.

“What is .. that? Its so pretty..” you stepped closer to the small table seeing a very large vase with a dying Lunar Tear in it . it had one petal but it was holding on for dear life, the rest were at the bottom of the floating flower making a pile.

“A Lunar Tear? Is he upset about this?”

You turned going deeper into the room to see the cribs smashed together in the corner of the room. They were so old.. Broken… . one crib had a small pile of blankets in it. They looked like babies blankets . “ Prince.. Katsuki?” you picked one up to read over the pretty lettering . “so the stories ….”

“Are true, yes” Kirishima said from the doorway making you drop the delicate blanket.

“i…!!!”

You jumped turning around to see Kirishima walking in with a hand up. “Its alright, your the first to go in here im surprised, then again he did leave the door open.” he sat down by you and pointed his chin at the flower “let me tell you, the real story y/n”

**

“And thats it “ Katsuki stomped his foot into the cold soil. “Thats the story, she gave me what i wanted, and i gave her what she wanted, and now i have this shitty scar on my hand and im cursed or whatever , i dont believe in magic, its all stupid!”

The young man was just staring at the angry King in disbelief . “wow my King, that sounds like its a lot im sorry ya gotta deal with that”

“Tch…”

“Is… uhm.. Being immortal nice?”

“Yes and no” he was.. Surprisingly cooperative with this kid.

“Do you.. Miss your son?”

Katsuki looked at the young man with hatred in his eyes, he hated every single kid he saw now, ever since that damn day. They all reminded him of his son, even this damn farmer reminded him … “does it fucking matter? “ he barked .

“I.. i supose not My king, im sorry, are you hungry? My guardian makes -”

“No, im going home. “ he stood up turning away.

The young man got up picking up his basket of seeds . “it was nice to meet you my King, you remind me of me in a way, i cant place my finger on it.”

“Tch..”

The young man turned on his heel walking back to the his home where his Guardian was waiting for him. She was a happy woman, not a peasant but well off . “hello Ski! Welcome home welcome welcome…” the woman hugged the man tight. “My Ski Bakugo, what took you so long?”

“I ran into the King believe it or not! He sure was upset , something about a witch. Witches dont exist though do they?”

The woman pulled Ski in for another hug. “No.. no my Ski.. “ the womans eyes changed to match the witches. “They certainly do not……”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Caesar and the MC should be Best Friends - Hear me out

This sounds really strange at first to hear. But the game did a terrible job of summarizing the story and showing the characters. The MC should be Best Friends with Caesar, check out why, below the cut.

Act One: The Premise (The MC will be referred to as Female because my character is female and I’m too lazy)

The MC has been trained to fight and use her abilities since she was a child. She’s been competing against others for the privilege of being the best as well. By the time she’s arrived at Cassell, she’s seen horrors that not even the Cassell Trio can boast of seeing.

Caesar in the meantime is planning his wedding. But Nono is AWOL. He’s getting no feedback from her and it leaves him just shooting in the dark for what ‘sounds cool’ For all of Caesar’s big talk, he realizes that he’s not really reaching Nono’s heart and he’s feeling a bit lost.

In the game: You save Nono in the game. 

Why you would grow closer to Caesar: This is not easily reconcilable with the novel’s opening scenes, so if we stretch and pretend you arrive before Nono goes on her Walkabout, that would make one HECK of an impression on Caesar. He would have seen immediately that you are a step far above Luminous. Being a self-described ‘maniac’ he would not have been shy about approaching you and telling you you’re 10x what Luminous is.

Caesar is mischaracterized in the game to a great extent. While his misogynstic leanings and need to be ‘tHe LeADer’ is played up probably for laughs, he’s not that over the top. Here’s how he’s portrayed in the Novel.

Anjou put the two of them (Caesar and Chu Zihang) together and actually wanted them to sincerely cooperate? The move was similar to keeping lions and tigers in a cage, with Lu Mingfei stuffed between them like an innocent red panda. But Caesar decided to do his best, because this time he is the team leader. The success or failure of the task related to his honor, and for honor, he can bear anything. Along the way, he repeatedly warned himself to be generous, to have a leadership style, to be a corporal... Take Chu Zihang as a corporal to "victory", Caesar's heart is much more comfortable. This time he is immersed in the pink mood of preparing for the wedding, and he is feeling very charitable, even to Chu Zihang this serial killer looks more appealing.

There’s no way Caesar would ignore you as the MC. You would be of utmost interest to him. Far more interesting than Chu Zihang and Luminous. He takes responsibility for you as part of the team, he owes you one for Nono, and wants to see you succeed, probably more than anyone else there.

Act 2: Your arrival in Japan

The game skips the whole opening sequence introducing you to Chisei and Sakura. In the novel, those fancy Kimonos were given to you by Anjou and yes they all come with umbrellas. The whole scene is supposed to be funny. Chisei is mistaken for a tour guide, Lu Mingfei compliments Chisei’s Chinese in his own broken Japanese and fantasizes about cute maid cafes, Chu Zihang freaks Chisei out with his golden eyes by accident. So I imagine the MC stumbling and falling trying to walk in Geta.

But things get serious when the police show up and you realize that you’ve entered the country illegally and are now about to get arrested. The MC might voice that this make sense “Because I don’t have a passport or any identity. There was no way I’d ever get into the country.”

After Chisei loses the police, you’re taken to your rooms to stay for the night.

I wrote a little piece about this ‘here’

Why the MC and Caesar would grow closer: At the end of this scene, Caesar is completely isolated, drinking in his room and texting a silent Nono. This scene would change with you as the MC there. This would turn into an opportunity for you to bond. Perhaps you would notice him texting, talking about his love of Nono. You could touch on your past with him for the first time, or not, depending. He’d probably say something enthusiastically fiery and confidence building. He wants you to trust him and trust in yourself. For all his flaws, Caesar is very LIKEABLE and easy to understand. You don’t get into positions of power like his without some level of Charisma.

Act 3: The Mission Details

In the Game: This whole scene goes missing. 

In the Novel: You take a whirlwind tour of Genji Heavy Industries. It’s an engineering marvel that is practically embedded in the central infrastructure of Tokyo (The building is seriously impossible and amazing but that’s for a nother post.). 

You sit down with Masamune for tea. Immediately, something jumps out at Caesar.

“Are you Japanese?” Caesar gave Masamune Tachibana an examining look..

"I'm only half Japanese and the other half Russian." Tachibana said.

Caesar frowned, which made him think of the soviet icebreaker Lenin involuntarily.

"I've been in Japan for many years, and a lot of people don't see that I'm half Russian, Mr. Gattuso.” Tachibana said, inquiringly.

"Accents, your accents have Slavic characteristics, and you'll distinguish between hard and soft consonants, which are typical Russian pronunciations." Caesar said, "You're not just Of Russian Descent, You've Lived In Russia." 

This is Lu Mingfei and Chu Zihang have no say in the matter since their two mother tongues are Chinese. But Caesar was aware when he heard the first words of Tachibana Masamune. He grew up as a different kind of man who could speak English, French and Spanish fluently in addition to Italian, and he could tell the language characteristics of every language spoken in Europe.

Even the wind demon villain Lang and yuan child in this seat are showing a surprised expression, it is clear that other owners do not know this matter.

Why this would bring you closer to Caesar: Not only would you pick up on the exact same thing, but he would speak with the same Russian accent as the MC. Languages are regional, Russia is a HUGE FREAKING COUNTRY. It would be no mistake that the Russian accent - Tachibana’s Russian accent - would match the MCs regional one.  Depending on how much your MC would have told Caesar, Caesar would have picked up a whole lot. Why you were awakened now, why you were sent on this mission... but that’s not even all!!

Later on, Chisei shows up after Tachibana leaves. He’s given you more information on the Lenin and why its sinking seems suspicious. But then he says this.

"Yes, the Lenin passed through the nameless port of northern Siberia, took a precious dragon embryo, and the port was destroyed in a fire. No one knows where the embryo is going to be shipped, the final destination may be Japan, or it may just pass by, but apparently it failed to reach its destination and the dragon embryo fell into the depths of the trench. Embryos have been hatching slowly over the years, but we haven't been aware of them. ”

Now depending on how much your MC might tell Caesar at this point he may or may not notice more parallels between the story of the Lenin and your story. You’re a hybrid, from Siberia who survived not just a fire but a bombs and getting shot. Heck imagine being the MC listening to this and realizing that this mission is intimately connected with you. In the game this happens way late, but in the novel it’s right at the start!

Why this would bring you closer to Caesar: At this point none of this would have been shared between any of the others. This is something only Caesar and you would know, shared knowlege that would likely mentally bond you two as allies.

The next scene is just more obvious bonding time. They all discuss likes and dislikes, their personal goals, dreams, loves, and ideals. The MC would still have Caesars favor but Caesar would fall more and more for Chisei’s charms. He’s bored and wants to see some ‘real gangster’ stuff. So Chisei obliges and takes Caesar to an operation between two rival gangs fighting over turf. 

This would be the first time you’ve seen Caesar actually get serious for once intimidating some gangsters in a comic store. But after that’s all over, he immediately gets interested in the comics. This is very important to note that Caesar is rarely serious about anything. And if he is it doesn’t last long. He tells a long story about wanting a PS2, staying up all night to play Star Ocean when the housekeeper smashed his console. So he purchased 200 consoles, gave the housekeeper an axe and every time he smashed a console he replaced it immediately and kept playing. Finally, they let him play video games 2hours a day after his riding lessons.

This is important. Caesar is pushy and insistent and confident because he HAS to be to be himself and defy his family.  This is is something even Chu Zihang can respect and he makes up with Caesar after, realizing that Caesar’s way towards him wasn’t personal, good or bad, he’s always acting out towards his family.

With you, Lu Mingfei and Chu Zihang closer than ever, it’s time to actually go on the Mission.  So lets recap: Caesar the Leader has pulled the team together, taken you off on entertainment, on adventures, and now just now, on the way to the mission. cooked for everyone while speedreading the the instruction manual for the Lenin.

Why would this bring the MC closer to Caesar? Uh, maybe because he seems pretty freakin’ competent? Almost effortlessly so? As Chu Zihang so succintly puts it:  “Sometimes I admire Caesar. Whenever and wherever there are goals, he’s rarely afraid and never discouraged. In a group of people he will always be the one who inspires fighting spirit. People can choose how they live, Caesar is the kind of man who asks himself to live like a hero." The MC who has never felt so helpless in her life, could have easily been inspired by Caesar. That maybe she CAN get back to the Lenin, figure out who killed her friends and give him exactly what he deserves.

[ao3feed-kakaobi]

Nerium Oleander and Foxgloves

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3GmMAHp

by ChinaDoll120

Kushia love her husband, her friends and comrades but Kushia did not love Konoha the place that swore to protect and help her home Minato love his wife, his students and friends but he didn't trust Konoha the place that weren't concern with children disappearing and the darkness that crept around each corner no he wanted to stay in the light so he too wouldn't disappear

When Kyuubi escape they both knew something wasn't right no one should of know their location so when they laid dying and with their son Kushia used a seal to place their knowlege, powers, memories and pieces of their soul into the seal to help their son because while they loved each other, trusted their friends and student they did not trust Konoha with their son.

Naruto, Sasuke, Hinata, Shikamaru and Sakura knew Five facts in their life 1. They were a family no matter what 2. The village and leadership should not be trusted 3. The village must never find out about them and who they really are 4. They will find out the truth if they stuck together and one day they will be free 5. Do not trust Danzo or underestimate him

Words: 3139, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Naruto

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uzumaki Kushina, Namikaze Minato, Uchiha Obito, Hatake Kakashi, Hyuuga Hinata, Nara Shikamaru, Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi, Aburame Shino, Umino Iruka, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura, Temari (Naruto), Gaara (Naruto), Rock Lee, Hyuuga Neji, Hyuuga Hanabi, Sarutobi Asuma

Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Uzumaki Naruto, Hyuuga Hinata/Uchiha Sasuke, Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Aburame Shino/Haruno Sakura, Temari/Yamanaka Ino, Gaara/Rock Lee

Additional Tags: Fuuinjutsu Master Uzumaki Naruto, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, BAMF Nara Shikamaru, cute shikamaru, Nara Shikamaru-centric, Yami Shikamaru, Naruto is Feral little shit, Protective Naruto, Good Sasuke, Hinata tries to keep the peace, Sakura will punch someone if they make her little Shino sad, crack time, Writer is lost, help me

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3GmMAHp

[swtor-legacy-sitcom]

First Meetings 2

Lana glared at Amun Raa, as the Counciler Darbin Sul was escorted away.  The Conquest of Corellia had proceeded exactly as planned.  But much had been withheld from her.

“You might have told me about half the mis-directions and distractions you were planning. there were at least a half dozen of them. I wound up running around like a chicken with my head cut off.”

Amun Raa smirked. “A Very attractive beheaded...”

“Don’t.” warned Lana.

Darth Decimus entered the chamber, and spoke in his thick accent. “The Conqueror of Corellia has departed. They had other more personal matters to attend to. Thanks to your masterful work, however, all the other Corellian leaders will fall in line. I shall speak of it at the next Dark Council meeting to Ravage.”

Amun Raa remained silent for a moment. expectant.

Darth Decimus continued, placing a hand on his chest and bowing, “You shall have your reward as promised, Dark Lord. I am a Sith of my Word.”

Satisfied Amun Raa nodded, then turned to leave. “Then my business on Corellia is all but concluded.”

Amun Raa and Lana Beniko boarded a dreadnaught in orbit.  The Dreadnaught was called ‘The Tomb of Isis’ and had belonged to Amun Raa’s Father. its interrior resembled a sith tomb as well, more than a dreadnaught.  Lana looked at its barren halls and turned to Amun Raa.

“You really should have this ship serviced. it’s a detriment to the empire that it is never used.” she said.

“It is.” remarked Amun Raa, “It will likely be scrapped at this rate. My Father had intended to turn it into a Sith Superweapon, like the Dark Harvester. But he was unable to find the right components and knowlege to comeplete the runes and pentacles that are required.”

“Don’t You trust me?” Lana asked as they reached the bridge. “I thought you did Raa.  You might have told me your plans to manipulate the Corellians, and trap the Green Jedi.”

When Amun Raa remained unresponsive beneath his helm she pressed, “Look at me.”

Amun Raa removed his mask and looked at Lana.  “I admit it. I was wrong... I just... You know it’s hard for me to trust...”

Lana kissed him. “I promise... I will die before I would ever hurt you.”

She smiled. “come on... You said you wanted to try out that throne on the bridge...”

Lana Grinned mischievously as she unbuckled the top of her green robes, more easily exposing her curves. “A benefit of an under-crewed ship.”

The two gave themselves to passion as the ship jumped into Hyperspace, watching the stars drag by on the viewport.  This was to be a tender embrace that both would recall fondly, and curse as it haunted them, for many many years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lana Approached Amun Raa. She stared at him coldly, and saw him seated at his throne with his Sith Pureblood attendants. Two missassi clashed their axes together as she aproached.  Raa however bade her approach.  The Kassai waited for Amun Raa to speak.

“What is it you want Lana. Some update, perhaps?”

“I just wanted to know one thing. What became of him?” Lana asked

“Who?” Asked Amun Raa.

“Our Secret. You know who.” Lana said.

“He is gifted. and Trapped within his gift.” said Raa evasively

“So You have imprisoned him. I thought as much.”

“You made your choice. It was a mutual one. You have no more right to say anything on the matter. He became strong in your absence.  That strength had to be... controlled. for his own safety.”

“You sound like Valkorian.” Lana said

Raa was silent. “If I was, I’d kill you for your impudence. Know that he is alive, and well. Who knows. I may permit you to see him. He asks about you, after all.”

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Part 9

Woo. This was fun. *sharpens my knife of doubt* time for some stab stabb stabby. lol

Tagging @probablyclever​ @imherefortheforthefanart​ and @funmadnessandbadassvikings​

Of Heaven and Fire 

Part 9

When you reappeared out of your room to get some dinner, Cugas had you both eat in his private dining room so he could talk to both of you in peace. 

“Ok, so tell me what the fuck is really going on?” Cugas demanded. 

“We figured shit out.” Brock shrugged as he inhaled his own food as you did the same. 

“Figured what shit out?” Cugas pressed before you looked at Brock for permission to talk about it before he nodded his permission. Which that act in itself made him unbelievably pleased. 

“I need your help.” You began, looking pleadingly at Cugas. 

“What kind of help?” Cugas asked. 

“I need you and Brock to explain to me how orcs court.” You revealed. 

“Why?” Cugas wondered. 

“Because when the storm dies and we are faced with no option but go back to Suchi with our catch, I will be courted by a lot of individuals from all these backgrounds and cultures. And I need to make sure everyone gets their chance to keep it more or less “fair”. And I need to be informed of all of it in order to make my own rules on how to be courted while not dismissing anyone or putting anyone else at a disadvantage based on my own preference. And I can’t afford to cause offense to anyone, especially if myself, my family and my colony may hang in the balance, much less the lives of the other suitors.” You explained which seemed to be enough to get Cugas on board. 

“Well, orc courting is beautifully simple. You basically have one date that can have three parts. which can all take place in one night, the first part is simply going out drinking, telling stories and of course the classics- legends, folklore and myths and eating until you were both stuffed, if it goes well, the second part usually immediately follows- a friendly spar or wrestle to see how well you match up physically and that usually ends up in a coupling session and if that goes well and both found their pleasure and it’s a good match both in temperament and physicality, you go on a hunt together and the bigger the game caught the better and once the kill is presented to both respective families, showing that you two can work together as a team, which basically announces you as a couple, no ceremony needed.” Brock explained as you took a notes about that on the little journal you packed in your bag at your waist. 

“However in times of war and raid- it changes- if one is wounded, no matter the sex and if the other manages to save the wounded, be it in battle or before or after it, heal the wounded and make a meal, that’s basically the same as a proposal too or even before the war, battle raid, whatever the case may be- armor and or weapons are the perfect betrothal gifts. If however you were an ambitious orc and can afford it in order to woo the elite among the warchief’s many generals, commanders, captains, slayers and raiders- you cook a large meal- the bigger quantity of ingredients and better quality of not just the ingredients but also the spices and the way you cook it- low and slow so that the flavors are intense and the meat is tender and make it extra rich so that the flavor should stay in their mouth longer along with a ruck sack full of food and other supplies such as grooming supplies and especially medicinal herbs or premade medicine to serve the warrior in battle and if it pleases the warrior well, a quick but very passionate coupling session ensues- because going into battle with empty balls is seen as a blessing- so that your seed could take root and you would leave something behind to live up to any and all legends you would leave behind for them is the highest honor you could give the next generation- it would be the best last memory if the warrior died or it would be so good that it would give the intended extra motivation to come home if only to have this food again and come home to strong sons then that was also an acceptable betrothal as well.” Cugas explained as you took more notes. 

“However- there is also risk in going that route.” Cugas began to warn you. “Because you can have so many others competing for the most important orc warriors and your meal can always be compared to the others along with your empassioned coupling session and you run the risk of not being the only one his seed takes root in. Of course in that case- the warrior simply collects his favorite sons and leaves them with his favorite women and if he was successful enough, he could and can afford to keep a few of them and all of them serve a purpose. One is usually kept to raise kids, the bigger her bosom the more she could nurse and you need to have a smart one with a lot of common sense too to teach the little ones as much as possible, and one to keep house, cook the meals and such along with being in charge of money and supplies, and a third to either go into battle with you, keep the weapons sharp and the armor in good repair and if you find a woman to do all three you are especially lucky and such a women is highly sought after and competition for her is a battle of it’s own.” Cugas explained as he gave Brock a meaningful look. 

“But Brock knows more about it since he has more experience with that than I do.” Cugas hinted. 

“How much experience?” You turned to Brock who had his mouth too full to answer you- whether he did that on purpose or it was bad timing you couldn’t say. But he gave a dissmissive shake of his head and a reassuring look to you before you turned back to your plate to continue eating before giving a warning look to Cugas that you caught out of the corner of your eye. 

“Excuse me.” You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and in the mirror you saw Suriel in the reflection of the mirror which nearly gave you a heart attack before he held his hand to your mouth so you wouldn’t cry out in alarm before he pulled away and put his finger to his lips to keep you quiet before a scene showed on the mirror. 

It was Brock- receiving over a dozen ruck sacks and more food than he could ever eat in one sitting and weapons and medicines from over a dozen orc women and you saw exactly who was vying for him. They put so much effort and spent so many hours trying to make the perfect gifts and you could tell Brock took them because he needed them for the trip but you swiped at the mirror, not being able to stomach seeing if he actually indulged them fully or not before it fast-forwarded to when he got back and all of them were trying to heal his wounds that you inflicted and they practically fluttered around Brock everywhere he went, even at the docks while he was building your room and they all seemed to eye you with weariness if not contempt from a distance on the days you and Brock got a long and when you were fighting particularly hatefully- their smug grins seemed to be everywhere you looked. It was enough to have jealousy lick up your spine and sour your stomach. 

“Enough.” You begged in a whisper as you swiped at the mirror again, making it all disappear before a scroll appeared in the mirror. 

‘For your courting rules’ came Suriel’s voice in a whisper in your ear before you reached out and took it and pulled it out and opened it. Written clearly and perfectly were the rules and terms angels courted each other as well as his official offer for your hand. 

Shit. 

“I don’t like being watched.” You muttered to him as you looked up from it to give him a look in the mirror. 

“I know, while you are in your room, you are not I will respect your privacy, otherwise, all you have to do is call out my name and I will come. Besides you are in Cugas’ rooms. So I figured you would like to know you’re not alone.” Suriel reasoned. 

“Thank you, but I…” you began. 

“I know, I will keep your confidence, do not fear that I will expose you. I wish to be your trusted friend and companion in all this.” Suriel reassured you. 

“Thank you.” You thanked him as he came out of the mirror and hugged you. Which you realized you had sorely needed before he withdrew and then promptly vanished as you took a moment to recompose yourself. 

You remembered how one orc woman had even approached you and asked what the fuck you had done to the damn weapons because she was finding it impossible to fix them and you felt guilty about it and didn’t want her to get in trouble with the warchief and had helped her fix them and once they were all fixed and even improved with your own knowlege of blacksmithing from your father, you noticed shortly after how Brock had his new and now improved weapons back along with the warchief who had praised her and her skills for it. You had thought nothing of it at the time, thinking she was just a blacksmith like any other in the clan which you respected her for, but now, you were filled with doubts. 

If that wasn’t enough even as he was leaving for this voyage they were trying to give him even more little parting “gifts” for the journey, which he took and simply put into his own large bag. You just thought they were being nice, now- you understood better. But if he already had kids with any or all of these women and heirs, who would have greater claim to his title. affections and time, was it just a matter of time before he corralled and collected them before he dumped them on you? Or were you still just the moura prize he was so desperate for? What if he would just keep you to turn gold, birth more moura orcs and teach them everything you knew but still had his other wives to do everything else? Including warm his bed on what, a rotation? Could you stand it? Would your affection for him outweigh your jealousy? Could you respect yourself in that situation? And would you fare any differently if you were with a royal moura or heavenly moura? Who would still have affairs either in front of your face or behind your back? You knew from Suriel’s offer that he would forever and always be true to you which you believed wholeheartedly. Could Brock really do much better than that? Could he even match that? Or was that against his custom and culture? Or was he doing everything he could to get you and keep you? Even if he had to say what he thought you wanted to hear? What you honestly wanted to hear? You couldn’t say either way. 

You tucked the letter away and went back out. 

“So tell us about how mouras court.” Cugas eagerly insisted. 

“Well mouras are, of course, much more complicated. Granted it isn’t nearly as intense as Elvish courting or dwarf courting, but close.” You warned them before you sat back down to continue eating.  

“For mouras, it’s all about the dancing. The body in motion. Performance both to see and be seen.” You revealed. 

“Heavenly mouras court at their many balls and galas and can take years to court properly, most take about a decade.” You began.

“Shit, that’s a whole lifetime for most of us.” Cugas frowned. 

“Well, for mouras, heavenly ones especially live- on average 3 to 5 hundred years, a decade is nothing. Mountain moura are lucky to get half of that and royal moura a small fraction of that, most are lucky to see 100.” You countered gently with a small shrug of your shoulders.  

“Besides at these balls and galas it’s all very elaborate and intricate dancing with equally elaborate and intricate music accompaniment, there’s so many distinctly different dances than I could ever count off the top of my head, there are volumes of books describing thousands of dances one could and should dance at court and new dances are being invented all the time. You learn to dance with your siblings as a youngling first and each person spends countless hours perfecting their person and their moves and the subtleties are of course of great importance and you’re judged accordingly and according to your breeding which your own parents take great pains to practically drill into their children because one wrong move could bring shame not only to yourself but to your family as well.” You revealed before you stood up and changed your outfit into such a gown and put your wings out and got into the position your own mother taught you to illustrate what you were saying. 

“The gown of course is important, ever changing with the dance itself so you don’t trip over it and of course eye catching and luxurious.” You gestured to the extravagant gown. 

“It’s about how you hold your head, how you hold yourself and your posture and poise and countenance is extremely important. How you hold your arms- they are supposed to look relaxed yet primed for movement, delicate yet robust, your hands like elegant doves on the wing. Like any good ballerina or geisha. Your legs have to be shapely and strong, flexible and swift yet graceful.” You explained as you posed for them so that they could see this for themselves before you started to walk around the room. 

“Your gait has to be smooth, that at any speed it was smooth like you are on wheels and your feet steady yet nimble, quick and silent when in slippers but confident in hard shoes with a heel so that the strikes should be sharp and powerful.” You demonstrated.

“Your facial expression- schooled to be soft and gentle, approachable and friendly yet serenely calm and composed yet strong and resilient- your jaw should be sharp enough to cut glass with and your cheekbones should be high like the clouds themselves. Your mouth- the perfect soft small smile, your lips- forever full and almost pouty, closed and gently curving up, in a smirk but without smugness, so that anyone looking on across a room would see you at your best because everyone looked best smiling and when your smile bloomed brighter at someone, so that your teeth shine like bright white pearls- it would be a priceless treasure. Your eyes of course have to be lidded perfectly- too wide- you looked alarmed or even worse- crazy, too lidded you looked sleepy and bored which could be disastrously offensive. But just right- you should look both clever and keen, mischievous yet innocent, fun and exciting but not exhausting or heaven forbid stupid or even worse dull. You were supposed to look- at all times- in a word- enchanting, and these rules apply to everyone and all genders.” You explained as you continued to demonstrate what you were talking about. Using yourself as the example before you turned around and opened your wings as wide as they could go in this room. 

“Wings are their own category- how you hold them, tall, proud and confident was good, but too high and you tire quickly because it isn’t natural. Too low however- instead of being perceived as humble- it will be read as insecure and unsure of yourself. Which is just begging for someone to come along and feed your ego if only to take control of you. It showes a weakness of mind and personality. Any asymmetry is seen as an imperfection in your genetics and heavenly moura would rather pluck the offending feather out than have asymmetry. Perfectly symmetrical wings are of course the standard and ideal. However much can be said about your wing shape, proportions and size. The larger the wings, the better in some cases but I personally don’t agree, smaller wings give you more dexterity and are easier to fly but larger wings help you glide better. So personally I think a happy medium is best but heavenly moura don’t agree.” You explained as you showed off how you could hold your wings and have them up or down or hold them out or hold them in such a way to show them off or simply how they naturally sat when you were at rest and not thinking about it before you turned back around to look at your feathers. 

“But what is even more highly prized are the quality of the feathers, the feathers show everything and heavenly mouras spend countless hours grooming and preening their wings.” You explained as you started to preen your feathers, not having been able to do so in a long time as you reached in and smoothed the oils at the base of the feather down each one. “The color, shade and tone of your feathers is also extremely important, white is of course- ideal, but colored wings always have their fashionableness too, the queen of the heavenly moura herself is silver and the king is of course white feathered but together their children have a platinum effect to their wings which is of course gorgeous and they all know it which…” You began as you looked at the variety of feathers you had on your wings before you found a few by the edge that had this before you pointed the feather out to them. “See? Now imagine if every feather on my wings were like these few.” You explained before you put them back into place. “You can even dye your wings the way anyone could dye their hair but the results aren’t always good, often the only way to get rid of it is to molt- which takes a few weeks to a month and a half and if you molted during a holiday or something, of course you missed out on socializing because molted wings are unseemly. But having wings that needed to be molted is even worse- which is a heavy punishment for naturally gregarious and extroverted species where socializing is everything.  If you have white feathers with flashes, iridescence, incandescent and shimmers of other colors- including white with pearl, metallic and sparkling effects, that’s also seen as beautiful but I have so much color in my wings I would be seen as “wild” to heavenly moura but these effects can be achieved through beauty treatments which could cost you a lot.” You explained. 

“Like what kind of beauty treatments?” Brock asked curiously. 

“Um, royal moura sell benar to heavenly moura…”  

“What are benar?” Cugas asked. 

“Oh, these,” you explained as you got into your little purse and pushed aside the letter from Suriel to get the few you had. 

“These are benar, moura cry them when under great distress. They’re like diamonds, and heavenly moura’s lives are so great that they never have reason to cry them and some of them have lost the ability all together so they’ll buy them from royal moura who cry them the most and then they’re ground up into a powder and rubbed into the wings to give them that diamond and platinum effect.” You explained. 

“Of course when wings are seen in moonlight- for mouras- moonlight acts like black light and their own moura marks can glow on their skin without them even having to be ‘turned on’ in moonlight and their feathers can reveal their own patterns in the wings themselves because wings reflect your genetics and to a degree, your personality too. And that the way moura’s read each other’s wings is as quickly as one could read another’s facial expression and body language to determine mood mixed with the sophistication and intricacies of reading palms or eyes. The accuracy of your reading holds your own future. Because if you read and understand the true potential of the other and if they can accurately read and understand your own- a great match can be made. The more beautiful and splendid your feathers- the more beautiful and splendid you are and therefore the more beautiful and splendid your partner should be and therefore the more beautiful and splendid your children should be as well. And of course there are so many books written about how to properly do it.” You explained before you tired of having your wings out because they were very heavy before you pulled your wings back in so you can sit down and rest and continue eating. 

“So what do heavenly moura use as money?” Brock asked curiously. 

“Well heavenly moura don’t have “money” per se but with heavenly moura gaining all their strength from the sun so that they have no need for food and can change clouds into whatever they want for housing with their moura cloaks being whatever clothing they want, most can’t imagine what would they need money for. But there is always an exception, wings of course being the exception and those benar aren’t cheap and royal moura need something tangible for them so heavenly mouras can coruscate clouds, and turn the clouds into light emitting balls of fluff that with just a touch of a finger- can turn them off and on in varying brightness like a touch lamp. They have soft light like candle light or lanterns but brighter than both like light from a light bulb but without the need for electricity. Light from coruscate clouds or simply coru clouds is the only real commodity heavenly moura have besides their own persons. Most heavenly moura leaving the heavens to be on the surface make a living turning fog and mist into coru clouds, it takes a lot of energy but my mother is especially gifted and her coru clouds are purposefully dimmer- specifically to serve as nightlights and she is able to imbue the light with splashes of color that swirl and dance in patterns and practically hypnotize children into sleep, something my mother is particularly famous for in Suchi. So much so that she has a business where others pay her enormous sums to learn the techniques she has mastered and uses so that they can do the same in the other colonies but like any great artisan, she has her own trademark styles. Her most famous student takes those techniques and makes party lights out of her coru clouds which are insanely popular during the solstices and other festivals and celebrations. The most popular coru lights however are black light coru light. They are made using the light of blue moons on clouds in the heavens or thick fog on the surface, it takes a lot of skill to do it right. Plus every house in every colony has special designs drawn on them with special paints that only show up under the light of the moon and is especially bright during blue moons so that on those beautifully rare blue moons, the colonies light up like opals in the mountains.” You explained in a fond smile and you will have thought Cugas was beyond smitten just hearing about it all. He was such a romantic. Bless his heart and soul. 

“Ok, so back to the courting rituals though, what are the mountain moura courting rituals?” Brock asked, bringing you back to the subject. 

“Well mountain moura are different from heavenly moura in key ways. Similar in that moura’s fly and dance a lot in their courting rituals on the solstices but there was of course more to it. Mountain moura are different in that wings and feathers mean very little to us. Sure to have aesthetically pleasing wings is a bonus but not a necessity and if there are asymmetries- that is simply a fun uniqueness to the individual and even if you are a moura born without the wings or a moura cloak, it doesn’t count you out at all you don’t even have to be moura to be counted in. If you can dance and dance with grace, stamina and exuberance and lest anyone forget- rhythm, you’re all set. Besides, your personality and merits are way more important. Of course if you have skills like cooking and cleaning and self sufficiency and if you are good with money- those are the real bars and standards. And if you have skills that bring you gainful employment- it’s a huge bonus. We put more focus on whether or not your personalities were a good fit with us individually. So if you’re easy going and get along with everyone? Guess what, the more you’ll be sought after. So Cugas, I’m serious, once people get to know you, you’ll be a hundred times more popular than he will be.” You said as he gestured to Brock who gave you a frown as Cugas nearly fell off his chair laughing and cheering for himself. 

“Yes!” Cugas cheered. “So do you know how royal moura court?” Cugas asked. 

“I do. For royal moura it is entirely different than heaven or mountain moura. Dancing is of course a performance and has the same seriousness that heavenly moura put with it- in that perfection is always the standard and any mistakes are severely punished. But all it means is that you were a good dancer. What really counts is how you play the political game- how you use intrigue and schemes, how you accumulate your wealth and loyalties and how you use them. Courting is usually all for show to the courts anyway. Because it is all decided by the council, but if you find yourself unevenly matched or you simply hated who you are matched with- it is up to you to persuade the council to change it. Easy to do when you endear yourself to its members or if a relative is on the council, and competition for their favor is as vicious and ruthless as any war and far more devastating when you lose it. It is all about who you know rather than what you know and how many informers and influencers you have because most have a “representative” in every court everywhere and up to 80% of most courts are all representatives to others and it’s just a huge fucking web, mostly of lies but that’s how you play the game. The greater power you have, the more influence you have and therefore the more allegiance you garner and amass. Alliances can be made, bought, earned and won just as easily as they are traded, stolen, lost and broken like the winds themselves. True loyalties are always a mystery. And life in the royal courts is far more trouble than it’s worth.” You explained, disdain clear in your tone which got Cugas to smirk as Brock felt guilty because a little bit of that could be good for his place as warchief. 

“Of course with moura genetics- many of them don’t even have cloaks, and if you were one of the very lucky few to be born with one- it is snatched as soon as it grows and given to the most powerful to cement their own places but it guarentees your safety and often the mother of the one who has the cloak basically sells it to the highest bidder and they get to go off and live in peace, luxury and comfort for the rest of their lives and don’t have to be entangled in anything and each court has either a palace or a group of palaces called “cloak palaces” a palace and servants just for the owner of the cloak.” You revealed before you gave another questioning look to Brock before you nodded over to Cugas before Brock gestured his permission for you to reveal what you wanted. 

“Now, do you mind if I look for something?” You asked Cugas. 

“Sure.” Cugas invited before you got up and moved his own thick braids from the back of his neck. 

“Oh, ok, you’re looking for something on me.” Cugas muttered as he pushed his head forward so you could see his golden moura mark on his neck clearly. 

“Is there something about my birthmark?” He asked. 

“Yes,” you confirmed as you began to massage his neck as he practically melted in his chair as you found all 8 neck vertebrae. 

“This isn’t a normal birth mark, it’s a gold moura mark.” You revealed. 

“What?! No.” He denied. 

“See? I have one too.” You said as you sat in his lap and pulled the moura collar away so he could see yours too. 

“No way.” Cugas breathed. 

“See this gold collar in my clothes as you turned just the fabric around the collar sheer so as not to expose yourself. 

“This is the moura cloak. It grows out of the mark when you’re little. See how it lines up when you put it on?” You said as you put it back on before taking it off and back again to demonstrate it.

“All moura’s have that mark, whether or not they grow a cloak or not. It’s mark you share with countless others. You guys are the first moura orcs I know of.” You revealed as you turned to face him as he happily held you in his lap comfortably. 

“Really? My mother and his mother have it too.” He revealed. 

“He’s told me that means that you’re all moura orcs. But look here…” You began as you took another sheet of paper out of your journal and drew out the moura genetics chart you grew up on. 

“So mouras have weak genetics, they have a very short half life.” You explained. “So lets take heavenly moura since their own genetics are the most pure. You take a heavenly moura and you breed him or her with say a human, all their children will have moura marks with a moura cloak with all the powers and abilities. Great right? Well this is as good as it gets. Now all the children when they have children and say all of them have ten children. Only 9 out of those 10 children will have full moura and the one who doesn’t have full moura will be half moura. So that means something like this grows.” You demonstrated as what looked like capelet. “And their wings are small like this.” You continued to demonstrate as tiny hummingbird like wings showed before you pulled them back in. “They can only turn half as much gold as their other siblings. But otherwise to look at them and to listen to them you would never know that they’re the half.” You explained. 

“Now let’s just stick to the full bloods for now, now you take this second generation full blood and they marry another human, they have ten kids, now 2 of the ten are half mouras and you continue like this until all ten children all are all halves. Past this point- it starts to become a recessive gene. Now when these kids have kids, again- let's use 10 as the standard, now instead of all of them having halves, now 1 out of 10 doesn’t have any moura traits, their golden neck mark is still there but no moura cloak grows. And other than that mark, you are now no different than any other person, you can’t turn gold, you can’t cry benar, you can’t change forms. You just have a cool gold tattoo on the back of your neck and you’re now what’s called a res. Now you continue down and soon you get to all of your children are now recessives. And sure all mouras have leanings, mostly to arts and music and creatives and you may be still gifted in certain aspects but that’s as far as you get.” You explained as you drew it out. 

“Now there is a cool thing that now that you have all these recessives and halves, there’s ways to breed so that one of your children will be a full again but instead of by a magnitude of 10 it’s now by fourths. So you get a half and a half and a quarter of the children will be full moura half of them will be halves but the last fourth- will be something called quarter moura and the quarter moura will have one ability that they’re normal on, the others, are half. Like they’ll be able to turn gold but they’ll only be able to heal half as good as a full. Or they’ll be able to heal great but won’t be able to turn gold well. Or they’ll be musically gifted, like savant good and have voices that make heavenly moura turn their heads but that’s the extent of it and they won’t turn gold well or heal well. It’s a chances game at that point. Now recessives- you breed a recessive to a recessive and then it’s a multiple of four- 1 in 4, 1 in eight, 1 in 16, 32, 64 or 128 chance of having a full moura depending on how far down the line your recessive parents are and this one in 64 and one in 128 is where royal mouras are at with their genetics. That’s why moura cloaks among royalty are so coveted and snatched the moment you grow a cloak, even a half cloak is worth something to them.” You explained. “Now, recently, since the odds have started to get like this- royal council moura have called and pleaded with heavenly moura for members to reinfiltrate the royal courts, in exchange for all the benar the royal members want. Granted they don’t have the same prestiege the royal moura have but they have the genetics because when a full mates with even a recessive- the cycle returns to this one.” You pointed back to the beginning. “So far each court has gotten one full blood back into them within the last. oh, 2-3 generations, my mother’s sister being the last to join her court- the Morr- about 30 years ago.” You revealed.

“So can you tell where we are on all this? Am I recessive then? Cause I don’t have a cloak?” Cugas asked. 

“Once we get to Suchi, she’ll be able to ask around and research it to figure it out.” Brock intergected which Cugas nodded his agreement and understanding to. 

“But you want to see a cool moura trick?” You asked him. 

“Hell yeah.” He agreed. 

“Come here, by the mirror.” You pulled him over to the mirror. 

“Now, don’t take this wrong but take your shirt off.” You giggled as he laughed himself but obliged. 

“Now, this is called lira light.” You revealed as you pulled it into your hand. 

“And when you put lira light into a moura- it turns on their moura marks.” You explained as you gently laid your hand over his chest and pushed the light into it before they lit up and practically filled the room which made Cugas start to cry. 

“This is so beautiful.” He wept happy tears. 

“These are your moura marks, you’re beautiful.” You gently corrected as little tears pricked your own eyes before you turned your own on. 

“Mine are bigger than yours!” He noted. 

“Well, that’s because your moura ancestors are greater than mine.” You smiled. 

“Shut up, that’s not true.” He bashfully dismissed. 

“And yet look with your own eyes, aren’t they bigger, brighter and more numerous than mine?” You pointed out happily. 

“Maybe that’s because I’m bigger than you are.” He argued.  

“Cugas, even if you were an infant, your moura marks are like this, the physical size of the individual moura has no bearing on the actual moura marks. However if you have nobility or royalty in your heritage that’s what makes moura marks like these so great.” You revealed.

“Wait, you mean my ancestors were royal?” He gushed excitedly. 

“Well maybe a minor royal but very easily- great nobility, if you were royalty, we would all be blind because they’re so big and so bright.” You explained before he outright squealed in delight. 

“Sorry.” He apologized but you waived it off. 

“Oh don’t be sorry about outbursts like that, they make you likable and adorable.” You reassured him. 

 “Like I said, you’re gonna be the most coveted man in the colony when we get to Suchi. You will be able to get anyone or as many anyones as you want.” You laughed. “Trust me, the fact that you’re orc? Oh you’ll be treated like a special treasure because that alone makes you incredibly rare. I mean look at you. You’re handsome, sweet, sincere, charming and romantic which that alone would be enough for the masses to faint at your feet. You’re gonna need a ‘rules to date me’ ttoo and we’ll need to go to the printing houses to use their printing presses to have them printed because your hand will fall off trying to write so many copies.” You gently teased. 

“Oh my gods, stop, you’re filling my head with nonsense.” He tried to brush off as his blush got deeper and deeper and his smile nearly split his face in half and his tone you could tell he was basking in all this. 

“Oh all I need to arm you with is a book of poetry and you read that in the square with one of the many magnificent fountains behind you? Artists will gather to paint your portrait while others will come for that deep velvety voice and if you can read with feeling, oh you’ll be practically famous, treated like a rockstar. Oh you may not even need the poetry, you go off telling all those famous orc myths and folklore, they’ll be eating out of your hands. Because mouras- our voices are naturally a little higher pitched than most at rest but your dark, deep and smooth one with just a hint of growl and gravel? Oh you’ll draw them in like moths to a flame.” You flattered. 

“You really think so?” Cugas asked. 

“I know so, or at least that’s what my gut is telling me.” You cooed as Brock just rolled his eyes as he snuck your favorite choice bites from his plate to yours. 

“See? This is what I meant when I said we worked shit out.” Brock explained. 

Cugas just huffed and rolled his eyes in response. 

“So do they get to stay on or do they fade or what?” Cugas asked you as he gestured to his moura marks around him. 

“Um they’ll fade after a while, for a moura, one of our abilities we have to learn is how to mentally turn them off and on again.” You began. 

“So what you can do, is now think- dark thoughts but not dark like disturbing, but dark like a dark room with no light in it, just black nothingness.” You tried to explain before Cugas closed his eyes and you could tell he was trying really hard to think but all the did was make them brighter because he was thinking about them as you and Brock had to squint. 

“No, darker not brighter dumbass.” Brock put his hand in front of his face to shield his eyes. 

“Shut up.” Cugas grunted. 

“Ok, ok, Cugas, clear your head, just follow my voice, now, think of a candle, at the end of it’s wick, the flame is getting smaller and smaller, dimmer and dimmer,” You coached calmly and slowly, a skill you had perfected as you had helped teach your own younger siblings how to do this when they were little and slowly but surely they started to fade as he peeked to see for himself. “Now, a small wind blows and…” you blew a soft breath out like you were slowly blowing out a candle. 

“It’s out.” You ended before they were gone. 

“You did it!” You cheered as he opened his eyes and beamed a happy smile at you.

“I did!” He mirrored. 

“Is this also why my tattoos glow when...uh, I’m...excited?” He worded delicately. 

“Yes, that’s normal for mouras.” You reassured him. 

“Oh, cool!” He beamed. “Now I can’t wait till we get to Suchi.” He gushed. 

[fierywizardmon]

>//:WARNING!!CRITICAL ERROR!! pt.1

“Hey, I don’t appreciate snooping around so whoever is here show yourself!” Is what he called out. Chester found himself in a little forested area near the fields they camped in, one figure originally catching his attention. One figure turned into two before he was met with the duo. A cloaked digimon approaching first as the other trailed behind calmly, a smaller figure with short dark brown hair. From finally being able to see what it was chester was setting his eyes on a...human.

“Got any reason why you’re he-” he asked before cutting off as he saw the child get closer to him. A match raising up to it “Get any closer and I’ll burn you to a crisp, kid.”

The child chuckled, raising his hands in the air at the threat “I didn’t really think the rumors were true, I would think you would know how DemiDevimon like to talk...” it gave a smile “Gotta say, props to Astamon. It’s hard to get things started in such a hurry and he managed to pull that off.” The wisemon watched this event unfold, unblinking  as he looked over to the human. He hovered closer over to them leaning down to whisper “If he’s using this wizardmon for his purpose we should--” “I say we take him right now” the smirk on the human’s face was far from the ones Chester had seen on any other human: it had a hint of malice and mischief far from human-like.

“Wait… what are you talking about?” chester asked, match still raised despite his confused stare.

The kid raised his eyebrows and shook his head in disappointment.

“He didn’t tell you? Then again… I shouldn’t be surprised”

“That backstabber is going to use you for a ritual, Wizardmon” the faceless digimon said matter-of-factly “a summoning ritual”

Chesters match lowered slightly at the statement, he gritted his teeth in annoyance “Yeah and why would I trust a kid like you?”

“I’m not sure you’d understand, but in simple terms.” He gave a shrug “Lucemon is trying to get the demons lords back together and use that power to further the digital kind. My guess, from what it looks like got you tangled into this without your knowlege at all.”

Chester wanted to say something but the child went on “Tell me. how much do you think you know him?”

Chesters matchstick just lowered slightly as he thought and then shook his head, gritting his teeth harshly.  “Well fuck it! Nobody is using me and after I’m done with you I’m going to burn his face off.” He gets out his other match and lights both “So come at me you brat!” “Wisemon.” was the only thing to come out the childs mouth and the cloaked figure got infront of him.

[krpk-remaking]

top 5 leorio moments

HEHE THANK YOU SO MUCH

1. when he punched ging

2. that time in the phantom rouge when the pairo puppet was talking kurapika into dying and leorio brought him back to his senses. loved that

3. when cheadle called him to join the zodiacs for the dark continent expidition and leorio was like “thats such an amazing opportunity, i should be the one asking you to let me join” and then he did that. i love you

4. when he asked killua if he was alright after the chimera ant arc (the only one who asked) and apologized to gon for not being there for him

5. when leorio let the snakes bite him so he could warn kurapika and gon

6. another one bc im weak: when he was yelling at illumi without fear for killuas sake and was ready to fight him and also was ready to kill hanzo for what he did to gon

7. ok another one. when he told killua it was okay not to fight johness bc leorio knew killua was just a kid and tried to make sure hed be safe

8. when he yelled at chrollo and the troupe without any fear to be sensed

9. im still going i know im sorry.. this was only in 1999 but when he told gon and killua to go to bed and then went out to put up posters to help them and only told them he went for a walk but was actually still working so gon and killua could reach their goal

10. 1999 again. the park scene just all of it you know why

11. 1999 once again his trauma flashbacks it made me cry so much i love him so much!!!!!!!

12. when he kept trying to reach out to kurapika

13. in the last mission movie when he was zushis medical advisor and also held kurapikas hands when he was poisoned

14. in york new he told killua “you can count on me” which is a small moment but killua was never able to trust an adult ever and him being able to trust leorio is huge!! and i know he does! im almsot done..

15. last one: when he took off his shirt. and was all sweaty...... yeow!!!!!!!

16. i lied actually. when he used his pre med knowlege to determine that majitani was faking it

17. 1999 only again: when gon went to save him and when leorio saw he was there he put his breathing helmet on him in episode 20 when they were on those boats!!!!!

18. this is the real last one i promise: when he refused to run away from hisoka and still attempted to fight him for not valueing life.. (same as what happend with the old lady. leorio hates people toying with lives.)

[bibliomorgan]

the 1th season was my season

[the notorious ranting about season of Supergirl and how i don’t know why i’m still watching]

There’s this thing about Supergirl, first season, when I started to watch like a year later (I guess they were going to 2th season and all the “Who’s gonna be Superman???” stuff). Lemme explain: I don’t like superheroes, I have no respect for Superman or Batman and anyone who wears different underpants on the uniform pants (Makes no sense! Why superheroes? Why?!), my favorite character of comic books is Daredevil (Far from a usual hero) and the one who get me at DC is the Martian Manhunter (Or how we used to call here in Brazil: Ajax, o Marciano).

And there was Supergirl, the brand new series of DCU to save our geek lives.

I’ve always watched the 1th season as a story about an immigrant. Someone who lost every reference of living and part of her story while escaping, we see this kind of stories at news everyday, Syria (nowadays), here in my country there’s a lot of those who left the place they used to call Home and goes anywhere where they can find for many reasons (Most for trying to make money and escape from poverty). Immigrant story, right? That’s Kara from 1th season.

She’s not homeless, but kinda lost of her doings, her belongings, her story. Fragments of a destroyed world and tales of super awesome stuff her cousin did and still doing, must be hard to step out of shadow of someone for so long. And then there’s Alex. She’s Kara big sister, the best sister if you ask me about sisters relationships, still overshadowing since she came to Earth: Kara needs to fit, to be low profile, to understand that all what she lived once it’s over. Not going back, nope, forget it. Alex is there to reminder her every single episode that she can be more of it, more than the regular adults expectations. She can be Kara Zor-El, but most of all, she can be herself. And that's beautiful to watch.

The 1th season i’ve watched called me out for my own story, me and my family have moved of houses so many times we lost count, my big sister often tells me we never gonna settle as the other families because of it, sometimes I desperately wonder when I’ll fit to somewhere, for someone, I don’t know, maybe be normal, you know? Just like Kara from 1th season. That’s what we call somehow representation.

I’ve watched while I was very upset about how my life were going, how to fit, be the average seems so better than outstanding (and getting riled up for it),to be normal was a quiet and nice place to be. And every episode of 1th season gives us the completely opposite, empowerment, full knowlegment of our habilities, and ffs gawd Cat Grant and her weird motivational speeches! Every single episode hooked me so deeply cause i've saw something I was missing: I could be myself and be happy for it.

The Danvers's sisters relationship got me good too, I have a big sister, we don't get along so much since I was 13, I missed her so badly, but when we grow up we're trying to figuring things out. I still don't know how to get along with her, and seeing how supportative Alex and Kara are with each other goes to my soft spot. The 1th season was that mostly, their relationship, their trust about each other, their struggle to be as a family even with all the worse odds (The House of El dysfunctional family, hello?). It remind me I also can be better too. I loved Alex Danvers character at the first sign, I want to be like her someday.

And all this 1th season was like a blast to me, as a viewer and as a storyteller, as a person. That season means a lot to me, for real. Because I've grow up watching television shows that never gave too much attention to these particular topics (And match with my own living): how to be the outsider, having the most wonderful sister support ever and not get lost. And includind the space dad J'onn J'onzz? My favorite League of Justice character EVER?! That plot twist was amazing, right at the solar plexus feelings for good!

Aaaaaaand the season 2 comes.

The writers just... i really don't know what happened right there, it's just... The 2th season it's a completely different show. I can't relate anymore to anyone, I can't see anything as a nice way to keep the hopes up, I definitely can't stand the way how Kara's development was subsided by some misogynist plot ever (FFS of Rao! We are talking about the Girl of Steel, she should not bend like that!) and well here we goes Alex Danvers, my true hero, get out of the closet. Oh well... We've seen this situation before, I finally related to that too, i was pretty older when I finally got the nerve and say out loud I was gay, so been there, done that Alex! All the hugs for ya honey! I hope they didn't fuck your coming out story with cliches. It was the best I could ask for them (writers), do not fuck with this plot. Because this plot it's already doomed since ever, we don't wanna go there again. Make a change, please? 

We saw how it ends, right? And I don't know where exactly the writers and producers wanna go with this mess of plot they invented. I just want to say I miss 1th season Supergirl, because that was the truly storytelling of someone trying to figuring out to be human, as we normal boring humans do everyday, even not realizing it, but we do. That's the power of some of media does to us everyday, shows like Supergirl has all the potential of bringing nice messages and bring people together not only for the fun of watching, but because maybe the story that is telling is about them, about us, everybody, somehow.

(BTW thank you Kate McGrath and Odette Annable for saving the plot, I wish Krys Marshall was there since the very beginning - that would be a A+ of dramatic background for the Worldkillers)

[bidisasterevanbuckley]

it has a title now!

Caught in the Middle (2/?)

prev. / next

Red flags were blaring in Bills mind when he’d finally gotten an update from Stan. If his job didn’t leave him with the knowlege of what goes on out on the streets they work he would have written both of them off as paranoid. They were being watched by someone because they were now connected to Bill. He already managed to get Georgie safe from his line of business, he can protect his new friend and boyfriend.

Bill felt niave, he hadnt realized how closely they were being watched until Bev had handed him a manilla folder. She simply rose her perfectly sculpted brow silently telling Bill to follow her. Avoiding grabbing any unwanted attention, Bill followed her to her office without a single peep.

Once safely shut in her office, she plopped into her chair and waited as he sat across from her, pulling glossy photos from the stiff folder. The picture on top was the day Stan let him meet Richie. Or let Richie meet him depending on your prospective.  They were at a little cafe they had helped through hard times. The pictures in succesion had shown Bill arriving at the table they two had gotten comfortable at. Stan standing to give him a hug. Then shaking Richies hands before the three re-situated themselves. They had been there for hours just talking. It was a wonderful day, but a chill ran down Bills spine now, that day started this all. He should have been more careful, people follow him with typically empty threats all the time. They shouldn’t have to deal with this.

The next set was of Stan at work, slightly blurred in the window of the building. He was placing books back on shelves, his co-worker fixing tags close behind. The following picture, Bill almost wanted to keep. Stan looked beautiful, mid-laugh, probably at something his co-worker said. Who is now looking familiar through the blur. The one with a big genuine smile had Bills heart skipping a beat.  Bev cleared her throat to break him out of his daze, flipping through the next set of pictures.

It was Richie at work, his shirt was an awfully bright color wit the kids gym logo on it. The front tucked into his pants as he had lead by example, handstands against the wall. Face red from being upside down for god knows how long. The pictures in the set had Ricie returning to his feet, looking graceful for once in his life.

Knowing they are being followed to their place of work has Bill unsettled. There was still a hefty ammount of pictures he hadn’t looked at yet. That fact put dread in Bill. Where else had they been followed. He almost doesn’t want to know.

Taking a deep breath, Bill moved onto the next picture. It was Stan out early in the morning, the ligt hitting him so perfectly he looked godly. He was at the park binoculars and all, birdwatching before everyone flocked to burn their kids energy. Birdwatching. He was birdwatching. Bill felt a tug on his heart strings, he looked cuter than ever doing something so mundane. There were more from that morning, Stan taking polariods and sticking them in the book he brought along.

The pictures thusfar were all taken in public, Bill felt uneasy but full panic had yet to set in as he flipped to the next set. It was pictures of them alone, or hanging out together but all in public.

Bill could only hear is heart beat as he continued. There was a picture, crystal clear a shot into their living room. Both boys on the couch, a bowl of popcorn inbetween them, wrapped in blankets as Richie chose a movie. He was slipping through them faster now. Richie asleep on the couch. Stan making breakfast. Stan asleep in is own bed. Richie in is bed.

Pictures of the day Richie had locked himself in a public bathroom and called Stan crying. Him practically running across the street and into an arcade. Stan showing up. Then them both leaving. The creep was close enough to have a clear shot of Richies red blotchy face. Stans knuckles white, holding Richies hand so tight. That was followed by the two curled up in Stans bed, both clearly in a restless sleep.

“Wuh-What can I do right now to protect them.” Bills jaw set as he looked down at the photo in his hands.

“There’s always having our people watch them, it’d open a window to find the crepe taking these.” Bev offered.

“I don’t want them to feel eh-anymore puh-paranoid. They already feel this creeps eyes on them. I wont go behind their backs.” He pointed to the picture of Stan and Richie outside the arcade “He luh-locked himself in the bah-bathroom. He cuh-called Stan crying. He nuh-knew this creep was f-following him.”

“What do you want to do, tell them about what you really do for a living? Get them involved in this? Then what?” Bev had a point, he hated that she always had a point.

“Could we assign bodyguards to them? I won’t give any in-information about what we do. Stan thinks I’m a normal duh-debt collector.” Bev was rubbing his temples. “I’ll ask Stan how he fuh-feels about it, then we can move on from the-there.”

“You’re making this job harder, Denbrough.” There was a beat of silence. “Make sure he’s a hundred percent okay wiht being watched like that. I’ll pull files of our best people.”

Bill could kiss her. “Thank you s-so much Bev! I owe you one!”

He could hear her laugh as he left her office. “You always owe me one, Denbrough! Let me know what happens!”

-

He and Stan were having lunch in the shared appartment when Bill brought it up. “I duh-don’t feel com-comfortable leaving you and Richie alone.” Stan raised a delicate eyebrow placing his glass back on the table.

“What do you mean? We’re fine.” Bill eyebrows drew together.

“Meeting eachother halfway from work and home isn’t fine.” Stan now had sat back with his arms crossed. “I nuh-know you and Richie are more than capible of taking care of yourselves and I may be over stepping a boundary.” Stan didn’t look happy, this wasn’t going well. “It would give me a puh-peace of mind knowing someone was here for you guys, watching out for any sus-suspicious people. I know it would take a weight off both of you to not worry about being alone for extended puh-periods of time.”

“I appreiciate your concern, but this is someting I’d have to run by Richie” Bill noticeably relaxed as Stan dropped his defensive look.

“If you ch-choose to allow body guards in your life, I’ll bring you some files of people I trust.” Stan snorted.

“How many guards do you need, Denbrough?” Stan was now leaning forward, chin rested on his hand. “Is being debt collector that dangerous?”

Bill laughed this time. “You don’t know the ha-half of it, Uris.

If Bill took longer to get back because Stans lips were addicting, Bev didn’t have to know. Being pulled back into the appartment to soft lips again with whispered words was something he didn’t want to give up. Yeah, Bev didn’t have to know.

-

A weight was lifted off his shoulder when Stan texted him that night a list of time he and Richie he were home and to bring his files of body guards. Once he glanced at the time a new weight entered, Stan never texts him past midnight. First thing the next morning Bill swiped up the files of body guards from Bev and headed to the shared apartment.

-

Richie was the one to answer the door, he looked tired. He squinted at Bill witout his glasses on, dark circles under is eyes. "Hey, Bill. Stans in the kitchen.” The shorter boy stepped back letting him in. “I’ll join you guys in a minute.” Richie patted is arm before heading back towards his room.

Bill smiled as his eyes fell on Stan as he’s pouring two cups of coffee. “Hey,” Stan turned and threw a smile over is shoulder as Bill left the files on the dining table. moving to place a kiss on Stans temple. “Good morning.” he was met wit a mumbled greating and a cup of coffee handed to him and a kiss placed on his own cheek.

Stan looked as tired as Richie. Dark cicrles and paler complextion. “How’d you sleep last night, babe.”

Stan sighed into his cup of coffee. “Something happened. Richie wont tell me what happened.” He hadn’t looked uo from his cup. “He stayed in my room last night, he didn’t fall asleep until late. Even then it was restless.” Bills eyebrows drew together, no wonder he accepted the offer of bodyguards so soon.

Before anything else was said Richie showed up, looking sligtly more awake, his glasses magnifying his own circles. Looking like actual bruising on pure white skin. He sat down, placing his water carefully of the files sitting on the edge of the table. “So what do you got for us, Big Bill.” he wasted no time swiping up the one on top.

-

Richie had been drawn to Mike Hanlon. Given Mikes file is the only one her was interested in enough to completely read. Many of the others he read one line and passed over to Stan. “Are you really just a debt collector, Billiam? Why would you need to have worked with all these body guards?” Richie had a goofy smile on is face. Bill looked to Stan who was hiding his own smile behind the folder of Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Shut up, Richie.” Stans tone was light, he had this look in his eye. Bill was caught off guard by Richies scoff.

“A betrayl, Staniel. You of all people.”

It was Bills turn to laugh “Staniel, really now.”

“I’m amazed we’re still friends Tozier. Once that trashmouth gets going, I shut off.” Stan had punctuated his statement, mouthing a blah blah blah while hand puppeting it. The two errupted into laughter much like the day Bill had met Richie. They played off eachother scary good.

-

It was all going smoothly until Richie opened up the last file, “Wait Stan don’t, you work with Ben?” Bills heart stopped as he handed the file to Stan. How did someone like that slip through.

Stan had directed his attention towards him. “Why is Ben in your files of bodyguards?” Time to lie his ass off.

“Do you mind if I see? Our files are guh-getting re-or-rganized, there had to be a mix up.” Stan hesitated, before handing the Bill the file before getting a chance to read it. Bill hoped the relief wasn’t clear on his face, Ben was in the wrong section. He’s been a look out, not a body guard. Bev must have pulled his file for something else, she knew from pictures alone that they knew eachother. “Ben suh-sometimes hands over the puh-payments for your boss, we keep them all on file.”

Richie shrugged his shoulders in the shit happens manner. Stan previous expression fell, “Okay, babe.” Bill didn’t like the glint in is eyes, like he didn’t fully believe him. “Now tell me about this Eddie character. How much do you trust him?” Stan gave Richie a look for not asking questions before he chose Mike.

Bill however took the chance to change the subject. “Eddie is most feisty person I’ve ever met. He’s on the short side but he has so much fight in him when logic goes ou the window.” Stan looked impressed, Bill took the second to turn to Richie. “Mike is the best option for you. He can stop a problem before it arises. Better for slightly reckless and spontanious people.”

Richie fake gasped. “I’m not that reckless, am I, Stan?”

“When we met in middle school you were running for your life from Bowers. You still had a baby face and you were picking a fight with Bowers. I’d count that as reckless.” Stan had on his deadpan voice. Bills eyes were wide, hoping it wasn’t the same Bowers he was thinking.

“Henry had it coming and you know it!” Ofcourse it was the same bowers that had given him trouble before. Honestly how rude of you to leave out the important part of the story.“ Richie had turned to Bill. "Bowers had stolen Stans yarnmulke that morning. I didn’t necessarily pick a fight, I ran through Bowers gang and snatched it back. I may have called him an asshole, yes. But i didn’t pick a fight.” Bill felt proud of the shorter man before he glanced back at Stan who was smiling with a bit of color dancing back to his cheeks.

“You are one buh-ballsy idiot, Richie Tozier. I like that.” The three shared a lighthearted laugh. Yeah this would work out fine.

-

Their morning was cut when Bev started texting him about what needed to get done today. “Sorry to cut this wuh-wonderful morning short, gentlemen. But duty calls.” Richie snorted at Stans pout. “I’ll call out my boys and see how fast I can get them on a schuh-schedule to watch you guys.” Bill leaned down to kiss Stan. “I will however see you tonight.”

“Get a room.” Richie groaned as he swiped up his glass of water and making a quick exit. Stan laughed against Bills lips before kissing him again.

“I’ll see you later, Bill.” He didn’t want to leave, Stan looked so soft. Shooing him off, pushing his files into his arms. “You got work to do.” Bill laughed placing one more kiss on his a beautiful boy before he absolutely had to leave.

- 

He placed the files back on Bevs desk, reorganized, who they’re hiring, rejected and Bens file which he will be asking her about later.

[lionwrote]

To Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens

Preakness, New Jersey, October 11, 1782

 Since my return from Hartford, my Dear Laurens, my mind has been too little at ease to permit me to write to you sooner. It has been wholly occupied by the affecting and tragic consequences of Arnold’s treason. My feelings were never put to so severe a trial. You will no doubt have heard the principal facts before this reaches you; but there are particulars, to which my situation gave me access, that cannot have come to your knowlege from public report, which I am persuaded you will find interesting.

 From several circumstances, the project seems to have originated with Arnold himself and to have been long premeditated. The first overture is traced back to some time in June last. It was conveyed in a letter to Col. Robinson; the substance of which was, that the ingratitude he had experienced from his country, concurring, with other causes, had intirely changed his principles, that he now only sought to restore himself to the favour of his king, by some signal proof of his repentance, and would be happy to open a correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton for that purpose. About this period he made a journey to Connecticut, on his return from which to Philadelphia, he solicited the command of West Point; alleging that the effects of his wound had disqualified him for the active duties of the field. The sacrifice of this important post was the atonement he intended to make. General Washington hesitated the less to gratify an officer who had rendered such eminent services, as he was convinced the post might be safely trusted to one, who had given so many distinguished specimens of his bravery. In the beginning of August, he joined the army, and renewed his application. The enemy, at this juncture, had embarked the greatest part of their force on an expedition to Rhode Island; and our army was in motion to compel them to relinquish the enterprise or to attack New York in its weakened state. The General offered Arnold the left wing of the army; which he declined on the pretext already mentioned, but not without visible embarrassment. He certainly might have executed the duties of such a temporary command, and it was expected from his enterprising temper, that he would gladly have embraced so splendid an opportunity. But he did not choose to be diverted a moment from his favourite object, probably from an apprehension, that some different disposition might have taken place, which would have excluded him. The extreme solicitude he discovered to get possession of the post, would have led to a suspicion of the treachery, had it been possible from his past conduct to have supposed him capable of it.

 The correspondence thus begun was carried on between Arnold and Major André Adjutant General to the British army, in behalf of Sir Henry Clinton,4 under feigned signatures and in a mercantile disguise. In an intercepted letter of Arnold which lately fell into our hands he proposes an interview, “to settle the risks and profits of the copartnership”; and in the same stile of metaphor, intimates an expected augmentation of the garrison, and speaks of it as the means of extending their traffic. It appears by another letter that André was to have met him on the lines, under the sanction of a flag in the character of Mr. John Anderson. But some cause, or other, not known, prevented this interview.

 The 20th. of last month Robinson and André went up the River in the Vulture Sloop of War. Robinson sent a flag to Arnold with two letters; one to General Putnam inclosed in another to himself; proposing an interview with Putnam,5 or in his absence, with Arnold, to adjust some private concerns. The one to General Putnam was evidently meant as a cover to the other, in case by accident, the letters should have fallen under the inspection of a third person.

General Washington crossed the river, in his way to Hartford, the day these dispatches arrived. Arnold conceiving he must have heard of the flag, thought it necessary for the sake of appearances, to submit the letters to him and ask his opinion of the propriety of ⟨comply⟩ing with the request. The General with his usual caution, though without the least surmise of the design, dissuaded him from it, and advised him to reply to Robinson, that whatever related to his private affairs, must be of a civil nature, and could only properly be addressed to the civil authority. This reference fortunately deranged the plan and was the first link in the chain of events that led to the detection. The interview could no longer take place, in the form of a flag, but was obliged to be managed in a secret manner.

Arnold employed one Smith6 to go on Board the Vulture the night of the 22d to bring André on shore with a pass for Mr. John Anderson. André came ashore accordingly, and was conducted within a picket of ours to the house of Smith, where Arnold and he remained together in close conference all that night and the day following. At day light in the morning, the commanding officer at Kings ferry, without the privity of Arnold moved a couple of pieces of cannon to a point opposite to where the vulture lay and obliged her to take a more remote station. This event, or some lurking distrust, made the boatmen refuse to convey the two passengers back, and disconcerted Arnold so much, that by one of those strokes of infatuation, which often confound the schemes of men conscious of guilt, he insisted on André’s exchanging his uniform for a disguise, and returning in a mode different from that in which he came. André who had been undesignedly brought within our posts in the first instance remonstrated warmly against this new and dangerous expedient. But Arnold persisting in declaring it impossible for him to return as he came, he at length reluctantly yielded to his direction. Smith furnished the disguise, and in the evening passed Kings ferry with him and proceeded to Crompond where they stopped the remainder of the night (at the instance of a militia officer) to avoid being suspected by him. The next morning they resumed their journey Smith accompanying André a little beyond Pine’s bridge, where he left him. He had reached Tarry town, when he was taken up by three militia men, who rushed out of the woods and seized his horse.

 At this critical moment his presence of mind forsook him. Instead of producing his pass which would have extricated him from our parties and could have done him no harm with his own, he asked the militia men, if they were of the upper or lower party, distinctive appellations known among the enemy’s refugee corps. The Militia men replied they were of the lower party; upon which he told them he was a British officer and pressed them not to detain him, as he was upon urgent business. This confession removed all doubt; and it was in vain he afterwards produced his pass. He was instantly forced off to a place of greater security; where after a careful search there were founded concealed in the feet of his stockings several papers of importance delivered to him by Arnold; among these were a plan of the fortifications of West Point, a memorial from the Engineer on the attack and defence of the place, returns of the garrison, cannon and stores, copy of the minutes of a council of war held by General Washington a few Weeks before. The prisoner at first was inadvertently ordered to Arnold; but on recollection, while still on the way, he was countermanded, and sent to old Salem. The papers were inclosed in a letter to General Washington, which having taken a route different from the one he returned by, made a circuit, that afforded leisure for another letter, through an illjudged delicacy written to Arnold with information of Anderson’s capture, to get to him an hour before General Washington’s arrival at his quarters, time enough to elude the fate that awaited him. He went down the river in his barge to the vulture, with such precipitate confusion, that he did not take with him a single paper useful to the enemy. On the first notice of the affair he was persued, but much too late to be overtaken.

   Arnold a moment before his setting out, went into Mrs. Arnold’s apartment and informed her that some transactions had just come to light which must for ever banish him from his country. She fell into a swoon, at this declaration; and he left her in it to consult his own safety, ’till the servants alarmed by her cries came to her relief. She remained frantic all day, accusing every one who approached her with an intention to murder her child (an infant in her arms) and exhibiting every other mark of the most genuine and agonising distress. Exhausted by the fatigue and tumult of her spirits, her phrenzy subsided towards evening and she sunk into all the sadness of affliction. It was impossible not to have been touched with her situation; every thing affected in female tears, or in the misfortunes of beauty, every thing pathetic in the wounded tenderness of a wife, or in the apprehensive fondness of a mother, and, ’till I have reason to change the opinion, I will add, every thing amiable in suffering innocence conspired to make her an object of sympathy to all who were present.8 She experienced the most delicate attentions and every friendly office ’till her departure for Philadelphia.

   There was some color for imagining it was a part of the plan to betray the General into the hands of the enemy. Arnold was very anxious to ascertain from him the precise day of his return and the enemy’s movements seem to have corresponded to this point. But if it was really the case, it was very injudicious. The success must have depended on surprise, and as the officers at the advanced posts were not in the secret, their measures might have given the alarm, and General Washington taking the command of the post might have rendered the whole scheme abortive. Arnold it is true had so dispersed the garrison as to have made a defence difficult, but not impracticable; and the acquisition of West Point was of such magnitude to the enemy, that it would have been unwise to connect it with any other object however great which might make the obtaining it precarious.

 André was without loss of time conducted to the Head Quarters of the army, where he was immediately brought before a board of General Officers, to prevent all possibility of misrepresentation or cavil on the part of the enemy. The Board reported, that he ought to be considered as a spy and according to the laws and usages of nations to suffer death; which was executed two days after.

  Never perhaps did any man suffer death with more justice, or deserve it less. The first step he took after his capture was to write a letter to General Washington conceived in terms of dignity without insolence and apology without meanness. The scope of it was to vindicate himself from the imputation of having assumed a mean character for treacherous or interested purposes; asserting that he had been involuntarily an impostor, that contrary to his intentions, which was to meet a person for intelligence on neutral ground, he had been betrayed within our posts and forced into the vile condition of an enemy in disguise, soliciting only that to whatever rigor policy might devote him a decency of treatment might be observed, due to a person who though unfortunate had been guilty of nothing dishonorable. His request was granted in its full extent, for in the whole progress of the affair, he was treated with the most scrupulous delicacy. When brought before the Board of Officers, he met with every mark of indulgence and was required to answer no interrogatory, which could even embarrass his feelings. On his part, while he carefully concealed everything that might involve others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating to himself; and upon his confession without the trouble of examining a witness, the Board made their report. The members of it were not more impressed with the candor and firmness mixed with a becoming sensibility, which he displayed than he was penetrated with their liberality and politeness. He acknowleged the generosity of the behaviour towards him, in every respect, but particularly in this, in the strongest terms of manly gratitude. In a conversation with a Gentleman who visited him after his trial, he said he flattered himself he had never been illiberal; but if there were any remains of prejudice, in his mind, his present experience must obliterate them.

  In one of the visits I made to him (and I saw him several times during his confinement) he begged me to be the bearer of a request to the General for permission, to send an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton. “I foresee my fate (said he) and though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life; yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfortune, not guilt, has brought it upon me. There is only one thing that disturbs my tranquillity—Sir Henry Clinton has been too good to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to him by too many obligations and love him too well to bear the thought, that he should reproach himself, or that others should reproach him, on the supposition of my having conceived myself obliged by his instructions to run the risk I did. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind, that should embitter his future days.” He could scarce finish the sentence, bursting into tears, in spite of his efforts to suppress them; and with difficulty collected himself enough afterwards to add, “I wish to be permitted to assure him, I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a necessity imposed upon me as contrary to my own inclination as to his orders.” His request was readily complied with, and he wrote the letter annexed, and with which I dare say, you will ⟨be as⟩ much pleased as I am both for the dic⟨tion⟩ and sentiment.

  There was something singularly interesting in the character and fortunes of André. To an excellent understanding well improved by education and travel, he united a peculiar elegance of mind and manners, and the advantage of a pleasing person. ’Tis said he possessed a pretty taste for the fine arts, and had himself attained some proficiency in poe⟨try,⟩ music and painting. His knowlege appeared without ostentation, and embellished by a diffidence, that rarely accompanies so many talents and accomplishments, which left you to suppose more than appeared. His sentiments were elevated and inspired esteem. they had a softness that conciliated affection. His elocution was handsome; his address easy, polite and insinuating. By his merit he had acquired the unlimited confidence of his general and was making a rapid progress in military rank and reputation. But in the height of his career, flushed with new hope from the execution of a project the most beneficial to his party, that could be devised, he was at once precipitated from the summit of prosperity and saw all the expectations of his ambition blasted and himself ruined.

  The character I have given of him is drawn partly from what I saw of him myself and partly from information. I am aware that a man of real merit is never seen in so favourable a light, as through the medium of adversity. The clouds that surround him are shades that set off his good qualities. Misfortune cuts down the little vanities, that in prosperous times served as so many spots in his virtues; and gives a tone of humility that makes his worth more amiable. His spectators who enjoy a happier lot are less prone to detract from it, through envy, and are more disposed by compassion to give him the credit he deserves and perhaps even to magnify it.

  I speak not of André’s conduct in this affair as a Philosophe, but as a man of the world. The authorised maxims and practices of war are the satire of human nature. They countenance almost every species of seduction as well as violence; and the General that can make most traitors in the army of his adversary is frequently most applauded. On this scale we acquit André, while we could not but condemn him, if we were to examine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude. It is however a blemish in his fame, that he once intended to prostitute a flag; about this a man of nice honor ought to have had a scruple, but the temptation was great; let his misfortunes cast a veil over his error.

  When his sentence was announced to him, he remarked, that since it was his lot to die there was still a choice in the mode which would make a material difference to his feelings, and he would be happy, if possible, to be indulged with a professional death. He made a second application by letter12 in concise, but persuasive terms. It was thought this indulgence being incompatible with the customs of war could not be granted and it was therefore determined in both cases to evade an answer to spare him the sensations, which a certain knowlege of the intended mode would inflict.

 In going to the place of execution, he bowed familiarly as he went along to all those with whom he had been acquainted in his confinement. A smile of complacency expressed the serene fortitude of his mind. Arrived at the fatal spot, he asked with some emotion, must I then die in this manner? He was told it had been unavoidable. “I am reconciled to my fate (said he) but not to the mode.” Soon however recollecting himself, he added, “it will be but a momentary pang,” and springing upon the cart performed the last offices to himself with a composure that excited the admiration and melted the hearts of the beholders. Upon being told the final moment was at hand, and asked if he had any thing to say, he answered: “nothing, but to request you will witness to the world, that I die like a brave man.” Among the extra ordinary circumstances that attended him, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally esteemed and universally regretted.

 Several letters from Sir Henry Clinton and others were received in the course of the affair, feebly attempting to prove, that André came out under the protection of a flag, with a passport from a general officer in actual service, and consequently could not be justly detained. Clinton sent a deputation composed of Lt General Robinson, Mr. Elliot and Mr. William Smith15 to represent as he said the true state of Major André’s case. General Greene met Robinson & had a conversation with him, in which he reiterated the pretence of a flag, urged André’s release as a personal favour to Sir Henry Clinton, and offered any friend of ours in their power in exchange. Nothing could have been more frivolous than the plea which was used. The fact was that besides the time, manner, object of the interview, change of dress, and other circumstances, there was not a single formality customary with flaggs and the passport was not to Major André, but to Mr. Anderson. But had there been, on the contrary, all the formalities, it would be an abuse of language to say, that the sanction of a flag for corrupting an officer to betray his trust ought to be respected. So unjustifiable a purpose would not only destroy its validity but make it an aggravation.

   André himself has answered the argument by ridiculing and exploding the idea in his examination before the board of officers. It was a weakness to urge it.

  There was in truth no way of saving him. Arnold or he must have been the victim; the former was out of our power.

  It was by some suspected, Arnold had taken his measures in such a manner, that if the interview had been discovered in the act it might have been in his power to sacrifice André to his own security. This surmise of double treachery made them imagine Clinton might be induced to give up Arnold for André, and a Gentleman took occasion to suggest this expedient to the latter, as a thing that might be proposed by him. He declined it. The moment he had been capable of so much frailty, I should have ceased to esteem him.

  The infamy of Arnold’s conduct previous to his desertion ⟨is⟩ only equalled by his baseness since. Besides the folly of writing to Sir Henry Clinton; assuring him that André had acted under a passport from him and according to his directions, while commanding officer at a post, and that therefore he did not doubt he would be immediately sent in; he had the effrontery to write to General Washington, in the same spirit, with the addition of a menace of retaliation, if the sentence should be carried into execution. He has since acted the farce of sending in his resignation. This man is in every sense despicable. Added to ⟨the sc⟩ene of knavery and prostitution during his command in Philadelphia, which the late seizure of his papers has unfolded; the history of his command at West Point is a history of little, as well as great, villainies. He practiced every dirty art of peculation; and even stooped to connections with the suttlers of the garrison to defraud the public.

To his conduct, that of the captors of André forms a striking contrast. He tempted them with the offer of his watch, his horse and any sum of money they should name. They rejected his offers with indignation; and the gold, that could seduce a man high in the esteem and confidence of his country, who had the remembrance of past exploits; the motives of present reputation and future glory to ⟨cloak⟩18 his integrity, ⟨had no charm for three simple peasants, leaning⟩ only on their virtue and an honest sense of their duty. While Arnold is handed down with execration to future times, posterity will repeat with reverence the names of Van Wert, Paulding and Williams!

I congratulate you my friend on our happy escape from the mischiefs with which this treason was big. It is a new comment on the value of an honest man; and ⟨if it were possible, would endear you to me more than ever.⟩

Adieu

A H

[happiness-in-little-things-blog]

"List of things I need to do, during lockdown"

No: 10 Draw a half moon mandala 🌙

Ok, let me begin with this. I was bored. India was under pure lockdown. Whole country was scared. Social distancing, wearing pretty masks & zoom classes were the new normal. And still it is. I wondered and coped up with new quarantine life. Until, I thought why not jot down few points on what should I do during lockdown. Trust me, it was easy to write, my mind started working as if a new chromosome began to act.

I finally jot down 12 important things I would like to do. And this mandala is one of them. Basically, if you see the picture deeply, you will realise i am not at all artistic. But, I haven't explored this artistic expression much in my life. So I gave a shot. It seemed good. Matter of the fact is, i enjoyed it. Learning about mandalas and gaining knowlege was an cherry on the top.

So basically, with my experience I can tell one important thing. We don't need to be expert on the first day. Trying is the new expert. Opening arms for a new venture is the new expert. Learning about yourself but indulging into things that has never been done before is the new scene.

I am learning more. And wish to continue even if, there is no more quarantine. I have explored something special while sketching this beautiful half mandala. Is that, I was happy.

[habibialkaysani]

therewas-a-girl

replied to your post

“@therewas-a-girl yeah and I’ve been trying to reassure myself of that...”

To be completely fair with u, i dont trust ur parents judjment in saying ure on the wrong path bc lets be honest, they have zero knowlege of the field. They wouldnt k ow ifnits wrong ir right for you its simply not their area of expertise. Not to mention the fact that they might even say that not cause its true or cause they really think its wrong for u but bc they had sth else in mind for you. And this is not law. Its not weong just bc its not law

yeah, I said that to them, and they said “when we were your age we would never dared disobey our parents” and how they’ve both been on this earth longer than me and therefore I should listen to them.

therewas-a-girl

replied to your post

“@therewas-a-girl yeah and I’ve been trying to reassure myself of that...”

Idk about ur uncle and how much u can trust his word either. Like, why does he even think that? Why would this - the one thing that makes u happy and that u want to do - be wrong for u? Why?

he says - and so do my parents - that I’ve invested a lot of time in law so I shouldn’t just ditch it. and when I said it was literally causing my anxiety going to my internship, my aunt’s response was that I need to deal with what’s causing the anxiety rather than running away from it, not realising that the internship was the cause of the anxiety. like I kind of got where she was coming from but I don’t feel like I was running away from my problems? idk, it’s hard to explain.

also. maybe it’s just the law firms I was at but I encountered a lot of homophobia when I was interning. in an ideal world I would like to be out to my colleagues at the very least, but I can’t do that when I’m literally fearing for my safety just at the thought of telling anyone I work with that I’m not straight. even the job I’m at now - it’s not safe for me to say anything, and I hate that and feel suffocated by that. so one of the reasons interning caused me so much anguish was actually because I couldn’t fully be myself at work. but obviously I can never tell my family that.

@therewas-a-girl replied to your post “@therewas-a-girl yeah and I’ve been trying to reassure myself of that...”

Whats his reason for saying that why does he think so? Idk. I think you have a good way of putting concepts and ideas to word and paper. I think u love this and i think that makes u better at what u do. I think youre determined and that u might get discouraged but u know what it is to fight hard. I think u can adapt. Ur family gets all kinds of compromises from you. They can’t have this too. They should stay in their lane

thank you. I mean I like to think I’m not half bad at the whole writing lark and it’s really nice to hear it from you. I just wish that my family would realise that this is what I love.