Yerli partner

dizi izle yerli dizi izle film izle yabancı film izle son bölüm izle tek parça izle . Sitemiz 5651 yasa gereği içerik sağlayıcı olarak yerli dizi izle hizmet sitemizde bulunan yerli film izle, film fragmanları yerli dizi izle, yabancı film izle,ve diğer tüm videolar çeşitli paylaşım ortamlarında da bulunmaktadır. FOX'un yerli 'This Is Us' dizisinin hazırlıkları sürüyor. Dizide başrolü canlandıracak olan Songül Öden'in eşini canlandıracak isim de belli oldu. AMD will be Crytek’s exclusive technology partner for its VR First initiative, which “provides colleges and universities a ready-made VR solution for developers, students and researchers.” Love is an ice cream sundae, with all the marvelous coverings. Sex is the cherry on top. Hey, i am looking for an online sexual partner ;) Click on my boobs if you are interested (. Yanıtlayın Sil Adsense Derdine Son - Yeni Yerli Partner Yolda! ... youtube buna göz yummaz spam alacaksan. kanal özgünse zaten her türlü partner bulunur. tüm kanalları alacaz deyip yanıltmaca cümleler kullanıyorsun. awalktoremember bunu beğendi. #47 14.02.2017, 21:49 ... 07.May.2019 - Güncel yerli sinema filmlerinin listelendiği panomuz. Film, Sinema, Izleme hakkında daha fazla fikir görün. dizi izle yerli dizi izle film izle yabancı film izle son bölüm izle tek parça izle . Sitemiz 5651 yasa gereği içerik sağlayıcı olarak yerli dizi izle hizmet sitemizde bulunan yerli film izle, film fragmanları yerli dizi izle, yabancı film izle,ve diğer tüm videolar çeşitli paylaşım ortamlarında da bulunmaktadır. 12.Eyl.2020 - Gülşen adlı kişinin Pinterest'te 102 kişi tarafından takip edilen 'Yerli sinema' panosunu keşfedin. Sinema, Film, Film afişleri hakkında daha fazla fikir görün. View Faruk Onder Yerli’s profile on LinkedIn, the world's largest professional community. Faruk Onder has 5 jobs listed on their profile. See the complete profile on LinkedIn and discover Faruk Onder’s connections and jobs at similar companies. İngilizce Türkçe online sözlük Tureng. Kelime ve terimleri çevir ve farklı aksanlarda sesli dinleme. partner eş partner partner become a partner ortak olmak ne demek.

Yer Da on... Modern Defensive Tactics

2020.09.17 14:44 Krubbis Yer Da on... Modern Defensive Tactics

Zonal marking? Pressing? Counter-pressing?
Just force as much sweaty brawn between the ball and the net as possible, and if some teeth end up in the mud along the way, all the better.
Start with the keeper. Just stick the fattest bloke in goal. If it’s destined for the corner, no one’s getting there anyway. Might as well pick the guy who can occupy the most acreage. Sure, he can’t jump for a cross, but he’s a human bowling ball so it doesn’t matter. (This is as good a time as any to bring up the Golden Rule of Defense: Anything goes on corners).
“Ball-playing centre-half” is just another name for fancy-dan centre midfielder plucked off the bench to fill a vacancy in the back line. Inevitably they’re emaciated continentals who can’t head their way out of a piss-soaked paper bag.
Here’s who you want: absolute psychopaths. Whoever won the last fight at the pub is the first man on the team sheet. His partner is whoever in the squad has the most criminal charges. Doesn’t matter if they’ve never successfully passed a football or a spelling test. All they need to do is put some bone into opposition flesh and hoof the ball skywards. It’s rather difficult for the opposition to score when their two forwards have eight charley horses and the ball’s stuck up a tree.
Who am I forgetting? Right. Full-backs. Easy. One job: get skinned by the opposition’s fastest players and serve as an outlet for their team’s most incandescent and creative vitriol. Best place to stick the shittest players on the team.

Want some more, do ya?
submitted by Krubbis to soccercirclejerk [link] [comments]

2020.09.12 07:52 CrystalPlayStation TTYD in Spanish

Since I recently played through the game in Spanish, I thought I'd record some of the differences/similarities between the Spanish and English translations. I'm pretty certain that both versions were translated from the original Japanese, so the Spanish isn't just a later copy of the English version; they're just adapted differently from the source. No matter how I played it, I enjoyed going through this game twice. If I missed something you want to know, specific or otherwise, I can answer it.












EDIT: Added things/fixed a few typos.
submitted by CrystalPlayStation to papermario [link] [comments]

2020.09.09 23:21 Rigatoni_Man Wokeness Comes To Mayberry, USA

Well, now, the City of Mayberry is a sleeping little southern town where everybody still sleeps with their doors unlocked, families all enjoy great big old Sunday dinners together after church, and the unmarried women folk are all still virgins (for the most part). This here little town is officially runned by Mayor Pike. But while Mr. Pike may be the top elected official, all the real business of running this here charming little community is done by Sheriff Andy Taylor.
Old Andy lives a quiet, redneck-shaman like life in Mayberry. He lives with his boy, little Opie Taylor, and Aunt Bee (who cooks and cleans, and helps keep an eye on that little fucker, Opie). Andy ain’t married or nothing. See, Opie’s momma ended up dying real early on in his life for some unexplained reason that Andy don’t ever want to talk about. But old Andy gots him another fine slam-piece by the name of Helen Crump. Anytime old Helen go to talking about marriage, old Andy give her a hard punch in her cooch, then talk of that shit dies away fer a spell.
I would be remiss if’n I didn’t mention Andy’s partner in crime (crime fighting, that is!): good old Barney Fife! He and Andy run Mayberry together. But they is tighter than that. Old Barney and his bitch, Thelma Lou, swing with Andy and Helen most every gosh darn weekend. They sit and have their Sunday dinners together. Old Andy made Barney the godfather of Opie. And both Andy and Barney gang-ass-rape Otis, the town drunk, when he is passed out in their jail cell. Yessir, old Barney and good old Andy are like two peas in a pod!
So one fine morning came around during a particular scorching summer. Old Andy did not knowd it, but this here day was a’gonna put his faith to the test. Andy was having his breakfast at the eating table, along with Aunt Bee and his boy, Opie, just like he had done did each and ever morning for as long as he had a mind for remembering. Andy was shoveling eggs in his mouth with one hand, and sopping up the egg runs with his piece of brown and buttery toast with his other. Aunt Bee noticed that little Opie had already finished his whole glass of milk, so she asked the boy “Opie, would you like another glass of milk with your breakfast?”
Well, it was just about then that Opie let loose with a pack of swear words 10 miles long. “Go fuck yourself, Aunt Bee!! Not everyone drinks WHITE milk every day. That is just a product of YOUR white privilege!”, said Opie.
Andy quickly looked up at his son, then to Aunt Bee, then back to Opie. Opie just sat there with a defiant look on his fact, while Aunt Bee wore a shocked expression like she had just been stabbed in the pussy. “OPIE!!! HOW DARE YOU USE THOSE WORDS AT THE EATIN’ TABLE….AND IN FRONT OF YOUR OLD AUNT BEE….AND TO YOUR OLD AUNT BEE!!!! GIT YER ASS UP AND MARCH UP TO YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!”, screamed Andy at the boy.
Opie looked at Andy, paused, and then raised his middle finder at Andy and said “Eat shit and die. You are part of the dying patriarchal power structure and a fucking murderous pig!” As Opie then got up and started heading for the door, he pulled out a blade and said “Not another word, you white racist fuck, or I will cut you!” Andy was floored. All he could do was watch with his mouth open as the boy walked out the front door. It was then that he noticed that Opie was wearing a black tee shirt with “Black Lives Matter” printed on it in white letters, and a shirtless denim jacket with some kind of Nazi-like symbol on it (it said something like “Antifa”, whatever the hell that is), along with a rainbow patch fer some reason.
Poor old Aunt Bee immediately fell over dead from a stroke as soon as Opie left. Andy just finished his coffee as she twitched and grunted on the floor. His mind was on his son. He was thinking that something powerfully evil must have gotten hold of poor Opie’s mind. It were like he had been brainwashed into a cult to believe that up is down and white is black. This put a powerful darkness over Andy’s day. After good old Andy buried Aunt Bee’s body in the cellar, he figured he had best get to work. Maybe he would feel better after talking to old Barney about what happened.
Well sir, as it turned out, old Barney was not worth a shit for support. Of course, what did he expect from a Kermit the frog sounding retard like Barney anyway? Andy had sent Barney away to take out the trash (and to get him out of his hair). When he returned, poor old Andy was slumped over his desk, brooding over a cup of coffee. Barney asked, “Uh, Andy, would it be ok if I knocked off a little early today? I want to go to the demonstration.” Andy asked “What demonstration?”
Barney continued, “Oh Andy, it’s just going to be great! There’s gonna be antifa and BLM marching to City Hall today, RIGHT HERE IN OUR STREETS! Just think about it, Andy! Our little Mayberry here is gonna be ground zero for one of them thar big city riots!!! There’s even rumors that some of them White Supremacists may be here too!!!!”
Old Andy thought, “Holy sheep shit!!!! I got to go see the mayor!! We are going to have to call in some backup from way over thar in Raleigh!!!!!”
Andy ran straight over to Mayor Pike’s office. He secretary tried to stop him from barging into the Mayor’s office, but Andy walked right past her, saying “fuck off, bitch” as he passed. As soon as he walked in to the Mayor’s office, old Mayor Pike jumped up from his fancy leather chair, cock hanging out in hard-on position. “What the fuck?”, thought Andy. Then came a little lady out from under the desk, wiping her chin and looking ever bit like a children who just had his hand caught in the cookie jar.
Then Andy realized who he was looking at. “THELMA LOU?!?!?! What the fuck are you doing blowing the fucking Mayor?!?!?” It was Barney’s girlfriend, and Andy’s swing mate (and occasional pegging buddy). Andy continued “OHHHHHHHH Thelma Lou, why?” She responded “Well, Andy, ya see, it’s like this. I am a super mega slut. I have that nymphomania disease, real bad. Oprah taught me about it.” Andy continued, “Oh, Thelma Lou! Are you telling me that it was you who gave me the pubic lice…. That you caught from old fatfuck Mayor Pike? Cuz I know I didn’t get it from Barney, and we been crossing swords for years!”
Well, things did simmer down eventually, and I got to finally get to talk to old Mayor. I said “Mr. Mayor, I here tell that thar is some kind of new-fangled movement of some sort, maybe political I’m thinking, that is headed fer the streets of Mayberry this here very day!”
Before Andy could get another word out, the Mayor held up his right hand to silence him and started explaining the matter to Andy. “Now, look, Andy. These here BLM and Antifa folks are getting all sorts of tv air time. They are civil rights warriors, or some such nonsense. I don’t rightly know for certain. But, I do know 2 things fer certain. First, if we do not placate these rascals they are going to burn down Mayberry and libel us as a bunch of privileged white supreme racists. Second, wherever these protesters go, they get covered by the national media. Hell, Andy, this here is gonna put the spotlight on Mayberry!!! The money will be pouring into our town!! You know the old swimming hold down by Dead Man Creek? That will become BLM Lake and Estates!!!!!!. We’ll all be rich as hell!!! And not just “ni**er rich”; we’ll be WHITE RICH!!!!!”
So, the Mayor told Andy to get back to his station because the demonstration would be starting soon. Old Andy thought about it, twice or more, and decided that he could be OK with it. It is just a sign of the times, he thought. Although, Andy was still a little perplexed about the Mayor telling him and Barney to stay out of site during the march because the participants hate cops. Oh well, thought Andy.
It twas about that time when old Andy started hearing a huge ruckus outside. He ran to the window and saw the streets full of black masked people fighting, smashing out windows, and through Molotov Cocktails. Old Andy thought that he had better do something fast before this here street demonstration gets out of hand. So he ran to the weapons locker. He was gonna grab him a couple sawed off 12 gauge pumps to dual wield on the street. But instead, Andy found the locker…EMPTY!!!!
Old Barney then came walking into the room. He said, “Oh, hey there Andy! Sounds like the ole BLM demonstration is starting up!! I’ll see ya later!” Andy noticed that Barney was dressed oddly. He was wearing what looked like football pads and a helmet of some sorts. He also had a odd shaped, red symbol on his helmet. “Barney, is that the hammer and sickle on your head?”, asked Andy just as a Molotov Cocktail came crashing through their window and ignited on the floor of the office.
Andy desperately yelled, “Barney, the guns!!!! Where are the fucking guns?!?!?!?!” Barney replied, “Well, now, Andy, promise not to get mad at me, OK? But I cleaned out the long gun cabinet earlier gave them to a couple of freedom fighters who said they needed them. Yep, old LaQwanda Muhammed Jones and Jimmy-Joe “Boom-Boom” Cornegay…. They is two of the finest freedom fighters BLM has, yessiry bob!”
Andy, approaching despair, pulls his .38 Sp revolver and dashes for the window. The crowd has grown. The street is filled wall to wall with punks, and they are setting fires and looting. There is no way he could handle such mayhem by himself and without guns. Andy even sat there and helplessly watched as poor old Floyd the barber was dragged down the road, beaten, raped, and then stomped on the head til his death. Oh, the savagery!!!!
They came a loud bang at the from door of the police station. Andy thought they were breaking in, and he suddenly remembered the Mayor’s admonition to stay out of sight because these assholes hate cops. In fact, Andy could make out a chant the rioters were yelling outside. It had to do with frying bacon. Then something peculiar struck Andy. He raised up and looked out the window next to the door (which had not yet been broken). He saw two things that disturbed him immensely. First, the protesters had stacked a lot of boxes and wood at the front door of the police station to start a fire. Second, it was Opie that was lighting the fire. “MOTHERFUCKER!!!!”, thought Andy.
At that point, Andy yelled out “Barney!!! Barney!!! They are going to burn us down!!! We got to get outa here.” No answer. Andy turned around, and squinted his eyes to see through the smoke. “GODDAMNIT!!!”, Andy said. Barney was setting his desk on fire!!!! Andy yelled out “What are you doing there, Barney?” Barney replied, “Well Andy, when in Rome, Ya know!! We got to nip this racist white privilege shit in the bud. Yep, nip it in the bud!”
Eventually, the BLM/Antifa queers broke into the police station. Both Andy and Barney were unconscious due to smoke inhalation. The fiends dragged both bodies into the street, beat them, raped them, and then kicked them to death.
But don’t worry, as all was not entirely lost. You see, Gomer and Goober’s garage was really a front for a far right white supremacist militia. They quickly assembled a crew, armed themselves to the teeth, and drove down into Mayberry. They took out all the BLM/Antifa fags in 15 minutes. Yes, some lives were lost. But you got to break some eggs to make an omelette, you know? The fact is, these leftist fags are not omnipotent. In fact, that is far from the case. All you have to do is push back with real resistance. These fags are simply spoiled kids, and the BLM fuckers are emotionally charged fuck-ups being used as pawns by the global Marxists. However, if they are on the receiving end of some live ammo being thrown downrange, they will knock off this bullshit and start supporting both America and its police again.
submitted by Rigatoni_Man to freeworldnews [link] [comments]

2020.09.08 15:14 quinarose Fuelling Discussion Pt 5 - Getting investors to buy in bigly when your product isn't really real

KEY: [BUT…] Statement contradicts actual events or contradicts previous or following statement [QC] Questionable claim [!TA!] Tense alert. Spoken as if it's happening right now or already happened. AKA Trevor Time [??] Whut??
1. Jump on the $u$tainability bandwagon
Emissions are bad; "we're taking profits from big oil." If you're against Nikola you don't care about the environment #gocleanabeach FFS
2. Tout your founder as Musk level genius...
"Hydrogen is the most abundant element on the planet."
"I got my numbers from Wikipedia."
(JCP/ 53:29)"There's so many things that he could actually do that would be like, monumental change rather than like, like what, incremental change, I, like, monumental change, I don't, like because erm, change is revolutionary not evolutionary increments." LMFAO
3. Steer attention away from annoying facts.
Say you want to be "the most transparent executive" even if you "get hammered." Done! Critics see right through Trev. Every false claim rebutted is another nail in Nikola's coffin. [BUT...]
TM/Nikola Corp tweet a lot knowing suckers believe it all. Their willingness to read filings equals TM's ability to read books.
Block anyone asking those awkward questions.
Hide replies showing those unwanted facts.
4. Fight the naysayers.
Repeatedly claim 'haters' are paid accounts set up to attack Nikola - with no evidence .
18th June: threaten to sue Bloomberg. Whine that the 'hack' says the 2016 semi was 'inoperable, with missing parts.' was. We're waiting...
2nd July: throw a hissy fit over ARKInvest. Say you'll do a live interview and Cathy Wood "better be prepared." ARK be like 'kay, let's do it. We're waiting...
"grandstanding like her saying our management is wrong DNA and comes from steel & old school tech. She attacked me. She's never had a conversation with me, how would u/ARKInvest know. She doesn't know me. She's never seen our vehicles either. Come look at us before bashing managent." [sic] Me me me wahhh.
Jessica Meckmann does a thorough interview with TM - then he blocks her on Twitter.
5. Completely ignore other zero emission trucks. Because Nikola's first right?
6. Name drop business partners; hoping you look legit provided no one reads the 'contracts'. And you know most won't do that.
7. Gripe about Tesla comparisons but repeatedly bring them up yourself. Say FCEV and BEV/Toyota and Tesla aren't competitors [BUT...] then later say of course you're competing against Tesla. [??]
8. Copy Tesla. You'd be invisible otherwise.
(JCP/43:03) Naming Nikola after Tesla "would be a prick move.” Let's do it!
"We’re an energy-tech company that just happens to {get someone else to] build cool vehicles."
We're vertically integrated. Cos it's "really cool."
TM "might rip a bumper off Badger" at Nikola World. Hey, it worked for Elon.
Badger has a pet mode! See Tesla Dog Mode.
Tesla t-shirts - vertical script down right side. Nikola's - vertical script down left side.
Nikola fonts are remarkably similar to Tesla's. Compare this with these.
"Oh, and one more thing..." Yes, they actually did that (Nikola Two unveil)
9. Undermine Tesla. You'd be invisible otherwise.
(AL) When Nikola started batteries "weren't ready yet" @ $1000/kWh [QC]. Hahaha. Lie. Pack cost in 2013 - $599 /kWh and 2014 - $540 /kWh. Trev pulls numbers out his arse.
Tesla semi battery weighs 15,000 lbs and "costs around $110k- $125k for the 300-500 mile truck" [QC] Wait, you said only Nikola has semis that can do over 300 miles! No matter because no one actually knows these numbers.
Tesla will have "massive losses" on their semi selling at $150k as "their costs are $200k." And you know this how?
(JCP) Tesla should’ve partnered with Daimler and solved their manufacturing issues; they're easily distracted and trying to do too many things [??] - pot meet kettle.
Tesla pivoted to copy Nikola's charging per mile. [QC] Lie. Tesla has always fixed charging at 7 cents/kWh.
Sue Tesla for IP 'theft.' TM's 'explanation' (RMDP/45:00) runs to almost 1,900 words over 9 minutes! Also, they need to sue Tesla to survive!
JCP (61:32) Dig at Tesla re credits and government subsidies.
"Nikola's a problem Tesla has to deal with" cos they've 'sold' $100 million worth of contracts to AB while Tesla's "lucky they could be bothered to buy 50 from them!"
(JCP) You don't see Tre or Tesla semis driving in fleets as "they're not safe for others to drive". Lie. Tesla's semis have been delivering for 2 years.
10. Copy Musk. You'd be invisible otherwise.
TM's an Elon wannabe. TM says "am not" [BUT...]
Gets the same haircut as Musk.
EM - 'short shorts' - TM 'shorty shorts'.
100% rips off Elon's take on status; right down to cleaning the bathrooms.
He too can calculate complex equations in his head.
Buys a private jet - wannabe Elon.
Sue Bloomberg for 'lies'? Media reports 'channelling Musk.'
Don't bet against Elon? "I wouldn't bet against Nikola."
Says he was bullied at school - like Musk. Unfortunate if true but by now I'm too cynical to believe it. Because that's what happens when you keep MAKING SHIT UP!
11. Undermine Musk and fake a billionaire beef.
Musk "can't stand being beaten by someone else." [??]
Accuses Musk of personally rebuffing communication re Nikola's lawsuit.
"He called me a fool on Twitter today." Lie. He said 'fool cells'.
"He's quite smart." Jason Calacanis - "I nearly spat my coffee at that."
(CA/19:55) "Elon hates me...literally despises me...has a very hard time not being in the spotlight." Says Musk feels insulted for Nikola naming company after the same inventor (Why? Musk didn't name Tesla.)
12. Make grandiose claims (Milton says 'bragging a bit'. No, mate. It's lying!)
"Nikola has engineered the holy grail of the trucking industry...a zero emission truck that can haul 80,000 pounds more than 1,000 miles and do it without stopping."
The servers crashed due to huge Badger reservations. Ha ha ha. No.
Add in screeds more crap like that.
13. Create milestones then days later go 'and here's one I made earlier'.
14. Pump up the stock
So much that even investors tell you to shut yer trap. But you can't because it's all about the share price.
Could this look any worse? Actually, yes. Yes it can.
submitted by quinarose to RealNikola [link] [comments]

2020.09.07 22:12 Oculusfluffy Policefluffs by Oculus (xpost from fluffybooru)

Policefluffs by Oculus (xpost from fluffybooru)
Originally posted on:
By Oculus
>you are Sprinkles >your official name is Rainbow Sprinkles >but your colleagues call you "Donut Sprinkles"
>you are a policefluff >you have never known your parents >your earliest memory was of the Hasbio staff who nursed you, and, Jenny, who raised you >you get routine check-ups. you get surgeries >you maintain the appearance of a near-adult foal for a specialized role only you can perform >you do not know your actual age. or if you can actually age >every time you feel that you are getting weaker, older, or injured in some part, and you mention it to your superior, you get the huwtie that puts you to sleep >you wake up, and you feel better >but you sometimes feel like the arm you have is not the same as the previous day >some days, it is some other part >this happens a lot
>it is morning >you're in your room >you have just woken up, and you're nude >the figure of the kind police missus comes into the room, with your uniform. Its Jenny
"Big day today huh, Princess?"
>she's one of the few people who call you 'Princess' >you nod, in response to her question >she gets downs on her knees, and places the police shirt on you >followed by the jacket, which she carefully buttons up
"You know what to do right?" "Same as awways, mistwess." "Don't be afraid to call for help if you need it, Princess." "It otay, mistwess. Mistwess knuw Pwincess can taek it."
>she smiles at you and hugs you >she leads down to the corridor, outside the interrogation room >you can see the child in there. >she's huddled in a corner, her face buried in her knees, her arms around her legs >you eavesdrop, and hear the big Cap’n Burke talking
"Poor girls not talking. We got enough evidence to convict her father, but we need some testimony from the girl herself." "Has Jenny tried talking to her?" "She won't budge even with Jenny around."
>the big Cap’n looks at you >he really wants to avoid using you
"I guess we have to send in Donut here."
>the captain bends down. He's ready to brief you
"Wats da situwation, Cap’n?" "The girl in the room has a bad daddeh, but is afraid to talk about it. She's not talking to your mummah Jenny."
>you look into the room >you look into the eyes of the girl >it feels familiar
"Spwinkles is weady." "Remember to press the buzzer if you need help, Donut. Remember, you're not Superman."
"Hewwo dere."
>the girl is still huddled in the corner
"Dun be afwaid. Fwuffy am Pwincess Spwinkles. Fwuffy wanna be yo fwen."
>she looks up at you. She hesitates
"Pwincess am jus a fwuffy. Mummah Jenny sez yous haz a fwuffy?"
>the girl nods
"Is fwen otay?"
>she shakes your head
"Pwincess is sowwy. Can fwen tell pwincess aboot yur fwuffy?"
>the girl remains silent. Perhaps that was the wrong approach >you have to try something else. You glance to your Mistress and Captain Burke >you know that you could stop at any time. But you also got a job to do
"Do yu liek fwufftv?"
>the girl looks at you >she nods
"Coo~! Pwincess wuv FwuffTV! Wha yu wuv to wotch?"
"....I like to watch Babbehs."
>oh no >that's a bad sign. This has happened before >Jenny has a very worried look on her face, and so too does Burke. They already want to stop the interrogation >but you press a blue button on the device hidden underneath your jacket. You have to do this
"Pwincess wuv babbehs too! Babbehs are so cute." "Babies are very cute. I would like to have babies. My daddy wants babies."
>She starts to stand up. She picks you up, and places her arms around you, in a tight hug >sits the sit on the chair. You are placed on her lap "Daddy would hold me like this. Then the show would come on. And then we sing "Daddeh wuvs babbehs, babbehs wuv daddeh, babbehs get miwkies, grow up big and stwong." >the line is wrong. you know this. "Why are you not singing, Princess?" >before you could finish your sentence-
>it comes out slowly
"D-daddeh w-wuvs babbehs, babbehs wuv daddeh, babbehs get miwkies, gwow up big and stwong."
>she keeps hugging you >as she keeps hugging you, you realize that her hand is going towards your special lumps >your lumps are neutered, so you feel no sensation. but you can feel the vigorous rubbing >the girl keeps singing. a tear drops from your eye
>Mistress Jenny is uncomfortable. Officer Burke sighs, knowing full well what is going on. The video footage is enough
"It otay, fwen. Yu can put fwuffy down." "Its not okay.
Daddeh wants to give miwkies."
>oh dear
"Give miwkies... give miwkies......"
>she keeps rubbing you around your lump areas
"Daddy, I don't want the miwkies...... don't want the enfies......"
>the rubbing is become vigorous. It is starting to hurt >Officer Burke wants to get in, but you keep pressing the blue button
"Don't want enfies... don't want enfies”
>she's starting to dry hump you >she sobs softly, while repeating the sounds "Enf, enf enf" >as she keeps bumping you up and down on her pelvis, you want her to stop >You remain silent and feign a lack of emotion >but inside, you are crying.
>and with a sudden motion, she throws you across the room >you hit the wall >god, it huwt.
>Officer Burke and Jenny rushes into the room >for a moment, your mistress wants to attend to you, but she then remembers that her place is with the child first >she kneels down before the child, huddled in the corner again >the girl is sobbing uncontrollably. When jenny approaches her, she holds her arms back, fearing that she is about to be hit.
"Don't cry, dear. It's not your fault." "I'm sorry....I’m sowwy.... fwuffy is sowwy."
>the girl keeps calling herself a fluffy. another bad sign
>Cap’n Burke is with you
"Donut?! Are you okay?"
>you're hurt. but you stand up
"I'm otay, Cap’n."
>he hugs you. A tear drops from his eye
"You're too brave, Donut."
>You are Carlos >you are a Policefluff >you are in uniform >you’re seated on the desk with your daddeh
>it is another day >all the hummehs are passing by >there are hundreds of them >no thousands >the hummehs walk through a rectangle >then the daddeh waves the magic wand around them >you understand it almost >there is a “good boy” beside you >your frens, Sprinkles, Buddy and Outback call them “doggos” >but you like to call them “good boys”. That’s what Buddy calls them too >the good boys love to sniff bags >sniff sniff >you like to sniff to, but you are designed to sniff in a different way
>there a weird looking Mistah coming in. >he’s holding a fluffy >usually, girls hold fluffies >sometimes boys >and if it’s a daddeh, he would be wearing a cute t-shirt or something that shows how much he wuvs fwuffies >but this mistah is wearing sunglasses and a long green coat >he wooks shushpichus
“Anything to declare?”
>the sunglasses mistah looks at your daddeh >he shakes his head >the good boy is smelling his bag. They’re not smelling something suspicious >but something about the fluffy feels odd >he looks sick. Kind of unwell >the mistah is pacing about >he looks like he’s in a hurry
“Sir, I want you to put down the fluffy.” “Its just a fluffy.” “Yes, but in this state we have to check fluffies.” “It’s a toy, its not even-“ “Here, biotoys count as animals.”
>reluctantly, the mistah slowly puts down the fluffy >he’s pale. He looks sick >he looks at you >you initiate contact
“Huwwo fwen!” “H-huwwo.” “Wha’ fwen name?”
>he’s silent. He looks at his owner >the shuspishus mistah is still shifting about >he looks back at you “H-Hawwy.” “Otay, Hawwy. Wun pway a gaem?” “O-otay!” “Wets pway Pattycaek!”
>Both of you hold your hands up. You’re ready to play Pattycake. >both of you sing the song
“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, bakuh's man. Bake me a caek a’ fass a’ yu can”
>as both of you clap, you then have your right hoof clap with his left hoof >clap again, and then left hoof with his right hoof
“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, bakuh's man. Bake me a caek a’ fass a’ yu can”
>the two of you keep doing it faster >as you keep it doing faster, Hawwy is starting to look like he’s going to throw up
“Pat it, and pwick it, and mawk it with "B" And paht it in da oven for Babbeh and me!
>with the final clap, Harry vomits >out of the vomit, you can see a bag >and the smeww >the terrible smeww of the vomit >but also the smeww of the things that give weirdie sickies >the good boy is starting to bark. He couldn’t smell this from the luggage
>the mistah is starting to blush >he tries to run, but your daddeh aims his huwtie at the munstah mistah >the mista starts to shake violent, then fall to the ground >another lady officer comes in, this time to pick up Harry. You overhear your daddeh talking to her
“That’s another one Miranda. The kind of things these bastards do to these poor fluffies.”
>you wonder what will become of Harry
>You are Outback >You are a fair-dinkum Ozziefluff >You are also a fair-dinkum fluffalo >Fluffalos have a long and strong history in ‘Straya >You grew up on a ranch in ‘Straya with your “father” >Your father, Buck, was one of the largest steers among Fluffalo-kind >one day, you were shipped out of ‘Straya to the Mega-City >you still remember your father’s advice
“Alright sonny Jim. Yer be a good lad, yer hear me? Don’t be a fuckhead, do hard yakka and fuck up anyone whose a fuckwit to ya.”
>you know what you are. You are also a steer. >Ozziefluffs are not stupid, even when Hasbio staff try to hide the truth from them “Mega-City wants to purchase Jim here?” “You said he’s the finest clone of Buck right? I think there be a far better use for him than in meat production if he’s too large for the fluffalo abattoir. Plus Outback is pretty unique.” >you got it luckier than most other steers. Your father was also lucky. >you are fine with the name Outback. To you, only a few people, including your father, can call you Jim. >you’ve been in the force for about a year now >you’re a fluff of few words, at least when you’re in public >most times, you nod, you grunt, and when you’re happy, you smile >you subscribe to the belief of “speaking softly, but carry a big fucken’ stick.” >sometimes you work with the dingoes, but you prefer to work with the human blokes >particularly the blockhead coppers who are in the special weapons and tactics team >buncha loveable cunts
>some big shit is going down today, you reckon >you’re being outfitted >your handler places the Bosstown Kevlar suit on your body, making sure that your body is covered where needed >you feel like a fuckin’ Rhino
>Because you’re an Ozziefluff, you’re able to understand the briefing >you can remember what the commanding officer said
“Alright, we got reports of members of the JellenHeim cult located in Sector 54. They’re hauled up in this area of the arcology.”
>your commanding office waves his hands around on the hologram, in order to enlarge the building your mates are going to raid. Buncha technology shite.
“The 35th to 50th blocks are the Industrial sectors, while the 5 blocks below are the residential areas for the workers. The industrial sectors have been inactive for a while, so the cultists must have moved into this warehouse block about a month or so ago. However, the warehouse cleared up a week ago, according to our contacts, so they may have retreated to residential blocks here to avoid suspicion.”
>you raise your hoof
“Oi mate. Are there some fucken Jellenheimers down there?” “No Jellenheimers have reported, Outback, but stay frosty. That’s why both Rex and you are on this mission as well. Remember to keep your Psi-Blocks on, men.”
>Fucken Jellenhemiers, you think >you only say them once before, in ‘Straya >Ozziefluffs of all kinds are able to fight back the various invasive species, including the lop-eared cunts and the fukken cane toads >but Jellenheimers, those are the fukken devil. They’re rare, but when you see one, they can make your knees shake >The Jellenheimers have been known to kill people. And when you saw that Jellenheimer that day, as its black eyes stared into your soul, you could feel it invading your mind >but you walked back to the farm that day. Bruised, bloodied, but not beaten >with the corpse of the tiny Jellenheimer on your horn >your father licked your wounds for the rest of the day. You were out of action for a week. >but you survived. And you are stronger because of this.
>The team have assembled outside the room >all the other rooms have scanned for activity, and only this one was left >two of your squadmates are standing beside the door. Ready to start the breach >as they wave the hand signals, its all down to you
>you lower your head >you snort >you drag your right hoof against the ground, mimicking the Spanish Fighting Bull >and you charge!
>as you break through the door, your squadmates throw the tear gas cyclinders >they rush in, laser sights on >however, as they do this, you hear the thunder
>fuck, the cultists are also wearing gas masks >you bend your head down >and run towards the fuckhead
“WHAT DA FU-” >with all your might, you push him, allowing your squadmate the chance to incapacitate him >in the next moment, with your powerful hind legs, you kick the other cultist next to him >it’s over
“Sir, there’s only two men here. Most of the cultists left a week ago. No explosives were found, this feels like either an amateur job, or the real important shit moved out earlier.” >as your squad continue to investigate, you see the cultist pinned down on the ground “Fucking big shitrat. You’re kind will die out, and all-“ >you turn you rear towards the direction of his face, and let out a big gasp of flatulence “Ah fucking hell! The fucking shitrat far-“ “SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT! ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN BE USED AGAINST YOU IN COURT. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO TALK TO A LAWYER-“ >as your squadmate reads out the Miranda rights, you see a poster of the face of a Jellenheimer on the wall >its big black eyes staring at you, along with the letters in black ink reading “JOIN US” >you mutter to yourself “Buncha fackhead cunts.”
>you need a bowl of VB
>you are rather thin for a fluffy pony >some have compared you to a greyhound >others have compared you to a Dalmatian >but you still have hooves, you still have a snout, you still have a lot of fluff, and you still neigh. Sometimes >your mother was a pedigree Yehdoo, one of the more common breeds of Fluffy, popular as a service animal. You have her legs, her size, and her stamina > your father was of Hasbio’s second generation line of IntelliFluffs. From him, you have your intelligence, and your ability to speak to your masters with reason. >you grew up with both of your parents in a controlled setting in Hasbio, but you have been trained, day to day, for a specific purpose >about 6 months ago, you have been shipped, from Hasbio’s main HQ, to one of the Police Units at the Mega-City.
>you are a Policefluff >You are Buddy >you have been assigned to the K9 unit of the police force >you hold two important roles >as a fluffy member of the K9 unit, you are a companion to the police canines >police dogs tend to be rough around fluffies, particularly the weaker ones, so one of the programmes currently is to breed fluffies that can ‘live with the dogs’
>you live in a kennel with the other dogs >the life is hard, but you are used to it >though you were born in comfort, the Hasbio staff had slowly groomed you to live without the comforts you had been exposed to as a foal >you had spent a week in outfield at one time, and had to learn how to live without amenities, relying on the elements for survival >you do miss FluffTV, but you can live without it >your handler, Clark, is kind of enough to give you the one thing that does help you go to sleep – a book
>the dogs are good boys >they can be rough, but they’ve come to accept you as a friend >in many ways, you find the entertainment in playing with the dogs more fulfilling than FluffTV >sometimes, you have worked with the veteran, Outback >a fluffalo, he’s a lot more rough around the edges and very crass >but he has helped you fit in. You’re indebted to him
>one day, your handler received a call >though meant only for his ears, you managed to eavesdrop on the communication “The victim has been missing for about a week now. His parents are worried, but we have reason to believe that he is being targeted by the JellenHeim cult….” “Are you sure about this? Shouldn’t we at least….” “We have to avoid suspicion. Human contact should be as minimal as possible….”
>a few hours later, Clark leads you to the carrier drone >you are accompanied by your three partners: Huey, Dewey and Louie >they’re all German Shepherd Good Boys >Clark presses the button on the drone that preps its engine for the autopilot >as the drone starts to ascend, Louie starts to howl >placing your hoof on his back you try to calm him “Good boy…. Don’t be scared….”
>the drone travels through the skyline of the city >it is night. The lights are alive, and the buildings radiate with continuous energy >you see the billboards alive with the dreams and machinations of your masters >from the distance, it feels like progress. But behind the facade of the smiling faces are wiring and movements incomprehensible to the naked eye >smoke stacks billow from the various arcologies, which triple as residential, commercial and industrial facilities, rolled into one convenient location >in a world with an ever-increasing population, the easiest way to solve a shanty town problem is to just make them taller
>the carrier slowly hovers towards the entrance for hovercars on the 51st floor of the Arcology in question >the contact is a plainclothes detective who is currently waiting at the alleyway >his name is Mac, and fills you on the details
“Alright, here’s the skinny.
The victim was last seen skulking around the alleyway during the past few days. We have reason to believe he was hiding, from the Cult, but there’s been a rumour that he is actually with the cult.” “What rumours?” “From what we understand, the ferals in the alleyways around here have been creating symbols that we don’t understand yet. Some seem to indicate the possible presence of Jellenheimers, but there seem to be new symbols that make no sense. We need you to investigate these symbols by talking to the ferals around these alleyways. One dog will be assigned to you, but you can call the other two for backup if need be.” “I’ll take Huey with me, but won’t the ferals be suspicious about a lone fluffy with this good boy by my side?” “Just say the dog is your friend. Remember, you need to convince them that he’s a good boy, and not a bawky munstah.”
>An hour or so has passed >walking by the alleyways of the abandoned warehouses of the arcology, you see the many created alleyways >these slums are the result of Man’s continuous climb to build greater things over a limited landscape, but inability to manage them during hard times >as you walk through the dank atmosphere of the small hallways, you catch a glimpse of a feral running by >he was apparently making a symbol on the wall >the symbol of a rotund face with a smile and two black eyes >the Jellenheimer >but there’s also another symbol. You can’t quite make it out >a seemed to be a Stick figure. But the figure is not holding the dreaded sorry stick >it seems to be holding a tray of sorts
>you’re on to something. But chasing ferals will be tough >you look for a local >as you walk by, you see a cardboard box >you tap on it
“Go ‘way! Fwuffy wan no twubble.” “It otay, fwen. Imma fwuffy.”
>this is your other role. Being raised by an older generation fluffy as a mother, you are capable of alternating between the speech of the Megacity, and Fluffspeak. Your handler says you are capable of learning more languages, but you can’t speak a lick of Outback’s Strine. At least not yet.
>the feral peeks out >he sees the good boy beside you, his tongue sticking out. Huey is not detecting danger and is being friendly >the feral is still unsure though
“Will bawky munstah bite?” “It okay, fwen. Doggo here a good boi.” “O-otay.”
You’ve talked to him for about five minutes.
“Fwuffy know what dat sine mean?”
>he looks left and right >he is shuddering
“Sum time, da munstah come. A hummeh munstah. He kiww fwuffyies. And den, wen dey forever sleepie, he bwing dem to the prayie pwace.” “Da prayie pwace?” >he nods “Sum of fwuffys frens hav oso gone to prayie pwace. Join da Jewwy hurd.” “Iz prayie place ver big?” >he shakes his head “No, only a woom. But fwuffy no wan go dere. Jelly hurds fwuffs make dose sines dere. Fwuffy iz scured.” >as he keeps talking, a line of concern crosses your mind “Why stay in box, fwen?” “No udda pwace to go. Speshul fren forever sleepies, daddeh forever sleepies, babbehs forever sleepies. Onwy fwuffy lef.”
>You’ve talked to too many ferals who have been in that situation >but now there’s a larger problem. The fluffy is clearly speaking of a JellenHeim altar, somewhere nearby >though what is more puzzling is that some ferals are now joining the cult >the cult has been capturing and sacrificing ferals as part of the ritual, but this is the first time you are hearing of them recruiting fluffies
>that’s enough evidence for the day >you make your way from the alleyways to an area where you can see people walking >there’s a few shops, a number of people (mostly homeless) and enough pedestrians >within the arcology, residences beside a warehouse is considered a little safer than the alleyways and the abandoned warehouses. > you make a call “Hello Mac, this is CuChi reporting. Please bring me-“
>Just before you can finish your sentence, Huey starts to bark. >he’s picking up a scent >you chase after him. He’s moving way too fast >you have been able to pace with these dogs, but you’re not the muscle, they are (also Outback, but he’s picky) >Huey is standing over a grate >he’s barking way too loud >you look carefully
“What’s tha-“
>and then you see it. The face of a young man, about 17, who dropped out of high school, and had gone missing for a week. His hands are bloodied. But a knife is planted deep into chest. His eyes are bulging out, but have gone completely black >you have found the missing person. A little bit too early, a little bit too late.
Buddy is walking down the hallways of the stations. The dogs are at the kennel resting. They had their dinner earlier but, this evening, Buddy was not dining with them. At 60 centimeters tall, Buddy is fairly tall for a fluffy, having traits of the Yehdoo pedigree. He walks with a confident stride, his eyes always alert, and his sense of smell keen. Along the way, he passes by one of the clerks. Although it was said softly, he could hear the clerk spit, followed by the words “Shit rat.” It is not the first time he, or any of the other fluffies, have endured this prejudice at the office. But they take it. Except for Outback, but that’s another story. No one in the office messes with Outback. This is a special evening, which occurs at least once a week. In a small room, near Jenny’s office, there is a recreation of the mess hall the other police officers eat at. However, this “mess hall” is scaled to the size of a typical office room, the tables reach up to the height of a small child. There are sinks, and a place where you can wash trays, but the “mess” serves another purpose.
Buddy is the first to be seated. As he takes place at the table, he sees the meal prepared for him. A tray of various types of dog food, including minced meat, kibble, and biscuits. To his left is a bowl of vegetarian ravioli, with donuts as a desert. Across him is a tray with prawns from a barbie, Vegemite on bread, some lettuce, and a bowl of Victoria Bitter. And on his right is a nice, steaming plate of spaghetti Bolognese, with an extra helping of tomato ragu. Princess comes in next. She’s been with the force the longest out of the fluffies, and has the most experience. She is an alicorn, which makes her a rarity, and disliked by many ferals. However, more domesticated fluffies, including the policefluffs, have grown accustomed to her. Buddy is not sure what breed Princess is, but he knows that she is a showfoal, and thus, one of the ‘toy’ breeds. However, and from what he understands, Princess undergoes various operations to keep her current figure. Princess was the student of Gerald, who was a bit of a legend as a Policefluff in the Force.
“Huwwo Buddie.” “Huwwo Pwincess. How is fwen todae?” Princess blushes. Buddy has been a nice fluffy in the short while he has been in the force. But sometimes, she feels that he is too formal around her. “Fwuffy iz otay. Awso, siwwy Buddy, nu need for fwen to tok wike Pwincess aww da tiem.” “Oh alright then, Princess. I just like to practice my Fluffspeak.” “Pwincess ahndastahn.”
Carlos is the next to come in. Out of the four he is the youngest. He is rather typical for a fluffy, with short munchkin legs and a yellow fur. Having just reached adulthood, he’s rather young and enthusiastic. “Huwwo Pwincess! Huwwo Buddy!” “Hey there Carlos” “Huwwo Cawl!” Carlos sits at the table, licking his lips. He loves spaghetti. Bolognese, Carbonara, Aglio, he just loves spaghetti. Without waiting for the others, he begins to chow down. Working at the immigration without a break makes him a fairly hungry fluffy.
Outback is the last to come in. He can barely fit through the door, but he manages. Taller than Buddy, he is the biggest fluffy in the room. An Ozziefluff, he is also a Murray Grey type Fluffalo, and has recently been ‘edited’ to have his fluff look like urban camouflage. “G’day mates.” “Hey Outback.” “Huwwo Ou’bak!” With Outback seated at the table, the rest of the fluffies start to eat. Buddy wolfs down the minced meat, much like Carlos with his spaghetti. Princess is daintier, and slowly eats each ravioli bit, piece by piece. Outback is the slowest, chewing each lettuce leaf one by one in a manner not that different from cattle.
For the first five minutes, the only sounds in the room are that of the constant chewing. But that is not the only reason the fluffies congregate to this particular mess. And after a while, Buddy tries to initiate the conversation.
“I heard today was pretty rough, Princess. Sorry to hear.” “It tuff. Bu’ Pwincess twy.” “There’s been more of these bad daddehs lately.” Princess sadly nods, as she says “Lotsa bad daddehs join da Jelly hurd.” “The Jellenheim Cult?” “Dat wat Pwincess mean. Wittwe mummahs made to prep for da Jelly Hurd.” Buddy feels disturbed, and he’s not the only one. “Buncha fackheads.” “Heard you took down a cell all by yourself, Outback.” “Hardly a cell, Buddy. Just two fucken cunts. But there’s been more of 'em fackhead cuntists, bloody oath. What 'bout you Carlos?” “Carwos doin’ fine, baht daddeh haz ben maken more bad mistahs dancie watewy. Dere woz this one fwuffy, Hawwy, who daddeh made sickie.” “Absolutely disgusting, mate.”
As Outback says this, the door opens. It is Roger, the meter maid. Being a Fluffy with Smartie traits, Roger keeps trying to have dinner with this particular group of fluffies. However, as a meter maid, Roger has his own mess hall with other fluffy meter maids.
“Go ‘way, Woger.” “Bu Woger no wanna eat wit udda fwuffies…” “Get lost Roger.” “Piss off, cunt!”
Feeling dejected, Roger walks off. Carlos feels a bit sorry for him, but Princess is the first speak to him. “Roger iz a bad smawtie. He nu wun of us.” Outback nods in agreement.
As the fluffies are about to finish their meal, a thought lingers in Buddy’s mind. One that he decides to voice out. “You know, with the increase in drug traffickers, reports of cultists, and more of these bad daddehs, I can’t help but feel like there’s something looming across the corner. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it.” “It awways nuu good, Buddie, but we awways twy.”
submitted by Oculusfluffy to fluffycommunity [link] [comments]

2020.09.04 04:36 bobipineman replaying TTYD 10 year after (part 2)

Now I'm on the way of glitzvile
submitted by bobipineman to papermario [link] [comments]

2020.09.03 15:21 LSDBX14 Can't cope

Just need a place to write. I broke up with my ex partner a few months ago, yesterday was the first day I have slept in a different house to them for 3 years.
At the time of the break up I felt it was the right thing to do but now I'm living with all the what ifs..
I love them so much and just want to be with them, if you check my post history you'll get an idea of what has happened but yer I'm just feeling so empty and lonely right now...
I know I have to work through this and in a few weeks, months I'll start to feel better but I just want this overwhelming sadness to go away...
submitted by LSDBX14 to BreakUps [link] [comments]

2020.09.02 19:13 thesilverpoets96 A Closer Look: The anger showcased on World Container

Hey everyone! Since I’m going to be off of work for awhile because of some minor nose surgery, I thought I would do another one of these longer album analysis. This time I want to take a closer look at the band’s tenth studio album World Container, and especially the emotion behind a lot of the songs.
Anger is a word you could use to describe how certain fans felt about this album. Possibly because it was one of two albums that rock music producer Bob Rock produced. Around this time Bob Rock was producing albums for band such as Simple Plan, American Hi-Fi and Motley Crüe. So yeah, a lot of fans were not on board for this collaboration. But angry could also be the word used to describe a lot of the songs on this album.
To me, World Container is actually an underrated album with a lot of fantastic songs. It has the super upbeat and smash hit In View and other fan favorites like Family Band, You’re Not the Ocean, The Lonely End of the Rink and The Drop Off. But once you get to Luv (Sic), I feel the songs take a shift in tone and it stays that way all the way through to The Drop Off. And the tone these songs take are more in an emotionally devastated and upset nature.
Luv (Sic) maybe on the surface is not the heaviest or angriest song. But musically it has a very dark baseline and when the guitars in the chorus kick in, it adds to the confusion of Gord’s frustration as he yells “Am I love sick?” Some of these words and phrases that Gord “carries in his heart” like “Uncommonly held”, “clung to”, “emotions get frayed” and done for” are kinda sad. And it seems Gord may be coming from as emotional place lyrically as he sings “We’re best when we’re tender” in the bridge.
These enraged emotions only seem to simmer more as The Kids Don’t Get comes next. This song was always one of my favorites on the album just for the power of the music and vocals alone. The verses start with these really slick guitars and with Gord singing one of my favorite verses. “If I ask you a question, are you going to lie to me? Is that you question? Because that one is easy.” It’s tongue and cheek but it’s also kinda sad because it seems like Gord is indeed going to lie to this person. But who is this person? For me, this song always seemed to be one of Gord’s kids talking to him and how Gord doesn’t think the kids get “it” or understand just how much there is. Now what is “it?” That remains to be seen. All I know is that when the chorus hits, and when the guitars amp up their power chords, Gord delivers one hell of a vocal delivery with him screaming and even yelling in between verses. Who knows why Gord is shouting about being the right whale, but if that doesn’t get your blood flowing I’m not sure what will.
Now Pretend musically is not angry or even rock at all. I mean hell, it starts off on a piano (thanks Bob Rock). But lyrically, it’s very similar to The Kids Don’t Get It. In fact, it lyrically steals the first couple of verses from The Kids Don’t Get It word for word. Except this time I think Gord is talking to a significant other. This time it’s about an adult relationship and how they are both having to pretend to be there for each other. It’s a devastating song and one that people often skip on. It may not sound full of angry, but it’s definitely there with a touch of frustration and a hint of sadness.
Last Night I Dreamed You Didn’t Love Me is a sad sounding song just based off the title alone. Musically, other for the intro and maybe the verses and kick ass solo, this song doesn’t sound that menacing. Especially the chorus where you get some nice acoustic guitars and a breezy chord progression. But lyrically this song is upsetting. Gord is singing about a dream where he and his partner visit hell, where there was “no singing bird, no last laugh.” Ultimately the dream ends where this person no longer loves him and those type of the dreams are the absolute worst. Especially with bitter lyrics such as “'honey save those tears of yours for the show.’” And the emotional and passionate way he asks “Why don’t you love me like you used to?” It is just amazing and heavy. I love it and hate it at the same time.
Of course you can say the heaviest song of the album is The Drop Off, and it is. It starts off with some heavy wah guitars, a sinister riff and with Gord wailing at the top of his range. Lyrically I have little to no idea what this song is about, but it maybe doesn’t matter as much because it’s just a fuckin rockin song. Especially the two bridges where Johnny let’s lose and Gord exclaims “Holy fuck it’s Jesus!” I mean, it doesn’t really get better or harder than that.
Of course there’s some other songs on the album that maybe seem to fit this theme of angry and frustration. Yer Not the Ocean seems to be about telling someone that their not as important as they seem to be. The Lonely End of the Rink might be more autobiographical song about Gord’s dad and even In View mentions how that particular relationship isn’t perfect. Not to mention Family band contains some lyrics from The Kids Don’t Get it and Pretend. It seems like maybe there is a narrative with some of these songs since there’s definitely a connection lyrically and musically too. There’s a lot of yelling, a lot of heart break and a lot of frustration. Who knows if these themes came from personal life or just what the band was feeling at the time. But this an album that raises the hairs on my arm and gets me in a fist pounding mood everytime I listen to it.
But what says you? Is this a later career album from the band that you like? Why do you think this album is so angry? What are your favorite songs from it?
Thanks for taking time to read this long and winded post, see you on Sunday for the next song of the week!
submitted by thesilverpoets96 to TragicallyHip [link] [comments]

2020.08.31 15:15 penasiaexpress Today's Fortune telling at east Asian method, September 1, 2020
Below content's tells todays fortune telling which describes east asian fortune telling methods..
It was translated by google translator.
Eg. " 84 born at this yer " --> People who born at '1984' / add "19" ahead to two-number.
48 who were born at this year
You don't have to give up hope yet. It is not too late to get up and try again. When you ask for help from your family, you will get a lot of unexpected help. Confidence is paramount.
60 who were born at this year
Please show me your room. You will need extraordinary determination. Don't betray a coworker who has been with you for a long time. If you have difficulty, please play head-on. These are the things you must do. Don't avoid it.
72 who were born at this year
Don't turn away from your responsibilities. When you have a young mind, your body also gets younger. Don't have unnecessary things. Love will always be a beautiful dream.
84 who were born at this year
It's not good to focus on one thing. It's better to keep your life ordinary rather than doing things that aren't in your plan. Even if it's hard, I want you to act as usual. The last days are bad luck to invest, but you can see the breakup.
49 who were born at this year
You may end up leaving home care in the countryside. All you need is a peaceful rest and mindset.
61 who were born at this year
If it's worse than not knowing anything, it's better to get rid of it quickly and move on. It is important to inform your work partner normally so that there will be no behind-the-scenes.
73 who were born at this year
You can get a part-time job for a short period of time, such as seeing young children. I would like to have more experience or more rewarding than money.
85 who were born at this year
It's a time when you're likely to be betrayed or a new stranger will take your place. Develop your abilities and express yourself confidently.
50 who were born at this year
I hope you don't show any regrets. Please try to give it to others first. Even if there is a change, it should not be shaken. If you are too stubborn, you will lose money. Do not leave it to others, but directly deal with everything.
62 who were born at this year
It is beneficial to ask for a way to know. I hope you face the difficulties head-on. Please keep your mind calm. You must be able to resist many temptations.
74 who were born at this year
I will discuss difficult things with my family. Don't keep miscellaneous thoughts for a long time. The old worries will disappear like snow melting. Unexpected wealth comes in. You shouldn't be annoyed for no reason.
86 who were born at this year
It needs a big change. I hope you will devote your energy to developing an inner sense of stability. You should be able to produce satisfactory results for yourself, but it seems like a difficult time. The financial side is good. Part-time jobs that you never thought of have been suggested.
submitted by penasiaexpress to Freefortune [link] [comments]

2020.08.31 05:10 zedleppelin_ Staying with for the kid

Hello there,
Long time reader, that finally decided to pull the curtain on my situation and put it out there in the world, see what comes of it...
My story is like so;
I (34M) have a 4yr old son with my common law partner (34F) and we live in an apartment. (We are technically engaged, since found out pregnant)We’ve been together 7 yrs and it’s been a very challenging time for me, as my current situation is about as far from where I wanted to be. Possibly buying a house due to such good mortgage rates..
Quick backstory...
I am a pilot and former bartender, who was always single and enjoyed that scene. I met a girl and we connected, fell “in love” and all that jazz..long story short, she had followed me to a small northern community and we ended up getting pregnant (neither wanted kids at all), but she decided to keep it. I did the right thing and stayed and still felt ok with things, we were still active sexually and things were fine. Fast forward 4+ yrs, I’m quite unhappy, due to the lack of not just intimacy, sex and anything physical (other than her mandatory “goodnight pecks”), but not to forget the fact we have quite little in common (kid has become more of a business partner type of situation, I wouldn’t feel that bad if she just said move out, go away of if I died tomorrow)
Our child has slept in her bed every night of his life (4+yrs). I’ve never been okay with this, as you can imagine how that reeks havoc on one’s relationship physically, but I’m also understanding and know I’m not around much and she’s not having an easy time with it. I am so understanding of her situation (basically a single mom, working at a job she hates, plus a side job that she loves, but won’t quit the crap paying job to do full time, cause she thinks it’s noble somehow, when the cash job **salon spa thing makes enough to pay bills and then some.
With my weird hours (night cargo pilot) and my little time at home, it is quite hard to be gone so much and be up at odd hrs that when I come home, yes an early night cuddling into the 4yr old is excellent and my favourite, but I come home for long stretches and somehow there seems to be a lack of interest from her thrown my way at any time. Ppl in their 30’s shouldn’t feel like we’re in our 60’s. All I ever see when it’s bedtime, is the son asleep, her on her phone doing a crossword and me, looking up at the ceiling in the dark, wondering why am I even here. If all I wanted was someone to cook and do my laundry, I’d hire a maid. Having said all this, I lay in bed, on my phone after she falls asleep (plugs phone in, leans over to give peck and forces Me to say “I love you”. I’m always reading these forums or googling “stay together for the kids”, what I should do, yada yada and I just do that till I die a little more inside and pass out. Wake up feeling empty and put on a brave face for the day. She complains that I look miserable all the time. Mainly cause deep down, I know this woman is not the one I see myself spending my life with. The child has caused a lot of things to change, and being understanding, I know that roles are different now, but going 6 months or more without sex Is not healthy in my mind. I’m not an ugly person, I’m a professional, I look good in a uniform, I’m plenty charming and all that, I just feel like I’m dying inside. When I’m at my crash pad or in hotels, I’m so much happier, minus the missing my son. I don’t want to feel like I do, but honestly, I am at a point where I kinda just don’t care anymore. Last year, I bought a bunch of really nice tailored suits and shirts and starting dressing much nicer. I keep them in my apt and wear one home when I go on days off. I look Good, but she never seems to be interested. I know having a baby changed her body, she put on a bit of weight (she usedto be the pretty thin athletic blond) but now, since the baby, she’s a bit chunkier and has a rump. I always compliment her and tell her she looks good, she does, but knowing how motivated she can be and how little she actually tries infuriates me. I know she tries in regard to diet and has her diet in check, but she never does any exercise whatsoever (good metabolism, but it stopped). I even put the exercise bike by the couch, so it can be used anytime and with ease. (Now that the kid is self sufficient and not on her 24/7), but she never touches it. I put it there for myself and I use it, even in front of her, hoping maybe it’ll give the hint, “hey, maybe try this out, you’ll feel better” than sitting looking at your phone on the couch.
I used to be active, always doing stuff, but since her, all we do is sit on the couch and watch tv. I’ve become a shell of my former self, I find it so hard to get back into my routine. I’ve started eating better, but the night work makes it hard to be motivated on the Road. She’s a lazy person and laziness is contagious. I know her Situation isn’t easy, but I also know what she’s Capable of. So much more. I’ve wrote letters, I’ve said talks, I’ve heard her side, I’ve moved my situation many times to accommodate, ive been more than accommodating actually. Even after I found out about a Secret 20k debt.
Her ex was a real piece of work and she stayed for way too long. Gave him the house. Dummy.
Anyways, I’d like to get into detail about everything, but what I’m wondering is, is staying with someone, who is by all accounts a good mom, good looking (if she tried), and loyal worth it, if I’ve lost 80+% of my interest and know I’d be just fine out in today’s single world (I am fine on my own, did my whole adult life before 29 single/no relationship longer than 6 months) I find she infuriates me with everything she does. I’m Massive into music, play in bands, etc and she is not. When she turns the music down in the car I die a little inside every time. She never even saw me play live once when I was doing it, even tho we had an option for a babysitter.
We just dont have anything in common except the kid. It’s sad, cause if she’d change just a few minor things, I’d probably be happy, but I’ve mentioned them on multiple occasions and they never happen.
All I’ve ever wanted is the two of us to just sit on the couch and play guitar (she knows a few chords, but never plays)(even if I ask). Rolls her eyes and picks up her phone..She makes me feel guilty for wanting to play.
I’m at a point where I’d rather play the guitar than sit with her and she gives me crap about when I grab it. I even think of her feelings, as I know I need to spend quality time with them, engaging and hanging out, so I do y play hardly at all anymore.
I’m a pilot, so I’m away a lot and also commute, so I have a second apartment as well. My time home equates to roughly 10 days a month, give it take. I want to Hang with her, but honestly it just makes me feel dead inside. I’m staying in it for the kid and only reason I don’t leave is thought of either her somehow magically changing to what I “need” and missing out...or another man coming in and getting to take my place in a lot of ways. I’ll always be the dad, but we never get the good side of things when we go..
I dont ask for sex or anything I want anymore (last couple times I wasnt able to cum, as I’m just not mentally turned on by who she has become), I just do my job as a dad, tell her what she wants to hear, try to put on a brave face and accept that this is me now..I’ve asked and she’s told me “I’ll work on it” but it always comes back to the same thing. I have zero desire for anymore kids, pets. nor anything close to it. She doesn’t like to travel or be adventurous and it’s killing me. I’ve changed so much of myself to be who she wants I’m A very patient person and I don’t want to hurt her, as I know it would be devastating to the whole family, but I’m also getting depressed from it. Her negativity is contagious. I always tell her “go out, see friends, enjoy yourself” when I’m home. I support her in all ways, I buy her clothes to make her feel sexy, I clean, do dishes, do the dad thing well. I’m just caught in a hard spot I have no desire to marry this woman. She’s a great person, I just know she’s not who I’m suppose to be with. Just typing this is making me feel even more so. I see women everywhere and all I can think of is how unhappy I am. But I hold my son and it helps. And now I’ve rambled.. So in short, I need some advice, I just being too demanding of her and need a good ol shut yer mouth you little whiny bitch, be a man and just stick it out...
or should I chase my own happiness (whatever the hell that is at this point, I’m not sure who I am anymore) on my own, not put my son first and say the hell with “Staying together for the kids”
Is it silly to buy a house with someone in this situation, or is it better to know the child will be in a house, with a yard, safe and also a lower monthly payment
Sorry for the long, windy, sometimes incoherent rant, there’s a lot more I could go on about, but yeh.. thought I’d throw it to the wolves, see what happens
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2020.08.29 23:20 bongo08 What is the point !

If you are one of those who is cheating and shooting people through walls I guess you can’t satisfy your partner where ya need to so you have to cheat here to make ya feel good :-/ bravo ,,, you probably cheat at everything in life and if that is what makes you feel good well fill yer boots , Ohhhh you really earned that golden skull didn’t ya
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2020.08.28 16:00 ekszoszajzbuuk My [19F] Boyfriend [21M] won’t cut ties with toxic ex and her family who he calls “crazy”.

Basically the title. We have a lot of history as we were online friends but stopped talking when he got together with his now-ex. They were together for almost 4 years, got together after 3 days and met on tinder. He told me it turned out in the beginning that he was only a replacement for her which he heard from her in some way.
Fastforward, they are together, she is very childish and immature, she’s jealous of me even though I had a partner at the time and never flirted with him, we were just friends. She made him block me, we did not talk for years except for a few minor chats on instagram where he apologized but said he didnt want to lose then-gf, she’s really jealous, etc etc.
I stepped out of 2 toxic relationships during that time period of barely no contact, thought about him a lot, so at the end of october,2019, I contacted him, asking if he’s still not allowed to talk to me. I was also hella bored because I was at work when the idea popped into my mind. He said he’s afraid we still can’t talk but told me he’s missed me and thought a lot about me, etc. Told me he and his GF were again on bad terms bc of an argument and he was scared of bringing it up. Gave me his number, started talking on whatsapp instead of messenger as e felt it was safer. He told me he was unhappy and had fallen out of love for a long time but is unable of breaking up. I felt bad, had nothing against her at the time, tried giving advice, told him to try to fix things but he said it was impossible. Sent me some screenshots, their arguments were pretty bad, she was really really rude and name calling
Fastforward, he broke up with that thot in november, 2019, she quickly got some new dick and whatever, I don’t care. Fastforward, we meet often, sleep together, everything is perfect, we match, I’d say. We become a couple in March.
Problem is, even though his descriptions make her seem like an annoying brat, he is still friends with her on facebook because he does not want to be rude. They talk once a week or so, nothing serious, he likes her profile pics, sometimes insta pics, despite “feeling uncomfortable seeing her pop up”. Yet he wished her happy birthday. I asked him why he follows her on insta if seeing her gives him the creeps or whatever. Said because he does not care. Ugh, okay. He is still in a group chat with her family where they post baby photos! Why wouldn’t he quit? It does not concern him anymore! But every time I bring this up I have to cry. And yer he brushes it off like it’s nothing. Am I in the wrong? I feel that you should cut ties with TOXIC exes if you do not have a child or children together or some other necessity.
Why do exes feel the need to send random ‘funny’ videos to each other when they don’t talk about anything? He never has anything good to say about her. Why pretend to be friends then?
I’ve been hurt before and now believe that you should not pursue relationships like this. Why pretend? It makes no sense to me.
You keep shit talking her! I find it very two-faced. And I hate that.
submitted by ekszoszajzbuuk to relationship_advice [link] [comments]

2020.08.22 22:50 mialbowy Vanquishing Evil for Love [Ch 9]


Chapter 9 - Festive Flirting

The first step of Sammy’s and Julie’s preparations was for Sammy to politely ask Pam to leave the room. “My Julie is the only one I want to see me,” she said, her tone light and a mischievousness in her eyes.
Pam, again blushing, shuffled out while saying, “O-o’ course.”
Once the door closed, Sammy turned to Julie and let out a little giggle. Not for the first time, Julie noticed how—now it was just the two of them—Sammy made no move to cover her mouth as she laughed. Sammy also looked rather beautiful with laughter on her lips, giving Julie’s gaze reason to linger.
However, sweet moments of innocence were often fleeting with Sammy around, and this time was no exception. No sooner did her laughter stop than a sly smile emerged, her hand crawling up her body.
Before Julie realised what was happening, Sammy had tugged down the neckline of her riding habit, nimble fingers undoing the top button. A burst of shyness flushed through Julie’s mind, yet she didn’t—couldn’t—look away. The pale skin and slight curves captivated her.
Then her senses finally returned and she looked away. Not helping her embarrassment, Sammy let out another round of giggles.
“Indulge as you wish,” Sammy whispered, her voice deeper than usual, alluring, as it carried across the room.
A shiver ran down Julie’s back, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “No, thanks,” she mumbled.
Silence lingered for a second as Sammy silently closed the distance to Julie’s back. “Then, may I indulge as I wish?” she asked, her words caressing Julie’s ear.
Letting out a shuddering breath, Julie felt her heart race in her chest—whether out of surprise at Sammy’s sneaking or from the words spoken, she didn’t know. “If that’s what you want,” she said, barely a whisper.
Left in silence, unable to see Sammy, Julie’s heart became only more restless, anticipating, afraid, unsure how she felt. And Sammy could see right through her, so tense and almost cowering, shoulder’s hunched and breath held.
Rather than unsure of her own feelings, Sammy simply had a myriad of emotions and desires swirling around inside of her. Oh how she wanted to truly indulge, to hold Julie close and leave kisses along that bared nape, to nibble on those cute ears, to feel Julie melt in her embrace. And she wanted to stroke Julie’s head and tell her she need not be so brave, comfort her. And Sammy wanted to do everything in-between.
But Sammy held steady, acting thoughtfully rather than impulsively. “Are you afraid of me?” she asked, her tone not accusing.
Julie didn’t know exactly how to answer that question. As unsteady as her heart was, she trusted Sammy, didn’t hate the little touches and kisses they’d shared. “It’s more that… I don’t know what’s gonna happen, so….”
Although Julie didn’t finish her thought, she’d said enough for Sammy to understand. And Sammy understood. She knew how much other people liked order and routine and hated things like adventures and upsetting gender roles. Of course, as someone of high standing and affluence, she herself was somewhat shielded by being branded an “eccentric”.
Still, she had plenty of experience nudging others off the path of normalcy.
“May I kiss your neck?” Sammy whispered.
“You don’t have to ask,” Julie mumbled.
Sammy let out a note of pleasant laughter. “Being lovers means we are sharing our bodies with each other, not simply taking. And it is most wonderful hearing you tell me I may. I yearn for the day you do not merely give me permission, but beg for my kisses, for my touch. Feeling desired is… perhaps the most beautiful one can feel.”
From behind, Sammy happily watched as a touch of red coloured Julie’s tanned neck—not simply embarrassment, but an inner heat that could not be contained. That thought was confirmed when Julie quietly said, “You may.”
Sammy wasted no time; she leaned forward and left a light kiss on that enticing nape, earning the softest gasp from Julie.
“Did you like it?” Sammy asked, her voice husky.
After a long moment, Julie said, “I didn’t dislike it.”
Chuckling, Sammy tore her gaze away and took a step back. “Let us not keep Pam waiting.”
“Y-yeah,” Julie said.
In a silence thick with unspoken words, the two undressed and then put on the borrowed clothes—light dresses, the muslin fabric suited to the warm weather. Next, with each other’s help, they put on their ribbons as chokers (the colours almost matching their dresses).
At that point, Sammy invited Pam to join them again. Based on her face, she may have heard some of what they had said, or perhaps had simply indulged in her imagination; whatever the reason, Julie found the embarrassment infectious and tried to busy herself while Sammy talked to Pam about hairstyles.
So Julie idly rifled through her pack. As well as a handful of uniforms she’d brought with her, it had some medical supplies, her papers, and a few other bits.
But one of those bits gave her pause: the hair clip Sammy had bought her. She hadn’t worn it since they’d left the capital, afraid to lose it. Since they were dressing up, she thought she ought to wear it, yet she was still worried about losing it, a festival hardly a calm place to be.
However, that decision soon left her hands.
“Oh my, how did you know what I wanted to ask you?” Sammy said. She plucked the hair clip from Julie’s hands. “Come, let me brush your hair and then we shall put it in.”
Sammy sat on the edge of the bed behind Julie. She’d brought a brush over with her and got to work with it, and Julie couldn’t help but feel Pam’s gaze, suddenly this innocent ritual they had done several times in the capital feeling illicit. It was as if Sammy was running her fingers through Julie’s hair like lovers do, every touch full of contradiction, both embarrassing and calming, melting under Sammy’s ministrations while aware that she shouldn’t do so in front of Pam.
Regardless of what she thought, she couldn’t muster the presence of mind to do or say anything. Every stroke of the brush broke up her thoughts, pulling her into the moment, keeping her attention on the pleasant sensation.
All too soon (or so it felt), Sammy stopped. Before Julie could finish letting out a long breath, Sammy was on her feet and in front of Julie, leaning down to neatly put in the hair clip. “Perfect,” Sammy murmured.
Julie heard the praise and it went straight to her cheeks. Before she could even think to play it down, though, Sammy spoke again.
“May I kiss you?” Sammy whispered close to Julie’s ear.
Immediately, Julie’s gaze snapped to Pam, breath hitched.
“She won’t mind,” Sammy said.
Julie forced herself to take in a deep breath and then carefully let it out. That seemed to be enough for her to calm down, and the answer was easy for her to give. “Okay.”
Again, Sammy didn’t dawdle, bringing her lips to Julie’s forehead for a heartbeat. “How about another?” she asked.
This time, Julie couldn’t help but let out a note of laughter before she caught herself, chuckling into her hands. “You’re terrible,” she said.
“You make me like this,” Sammy replied, one hand up to just touch Julie’s cheek.
That touch quickly grounded Julie, humour replaced by a warm gaze she shared with Sammy. Who knew what such a gaze may have led to if not for Pam sneezing. Sobered, Julie ducked her head, the flush that had coloured her for so long now irritating in its prickliness.
As for Sammy, she smiled as she turned to Pam. “Bless you.”
“Ta,” Pam mumbled—by far the reddest of the three.
The moment of flirting finished, Sammy gave Julie the brush and sat nicely for her. Although it was the first time Julie had been given such a monumental (in her head) responsibility, she’d brushed her own hair before and it wasn’t exactly difficult, but she was overly careful all the same.
It also gave her the chance to inspect Sammy’s hair up close for the first time. Ever since they’d met as children, she had admired the long, blonde hair that every princess in every story had. How many ways she’d heard it described—spun sunlight, threads of gold, buttery silk—and none came close. Well, it was just hair, boringly normal, yet that didn’t take anything away from it. So pleasant to brush, smooth, fairly clean despite their days travelling, and a beautiful colour, almost brown when in the shade and pale in the light, more like wheat than gold.
Unable to hold back, she ran her fingers through it after finishing a stroke with the brush. It was oily, leaving a slight residue on her hand, and wonderful all the same, begging her to comb it with her fingers some more. But her senses returned too quickly, hastened by Sammy’s giggle.
Swallowing her embarrassment, Julie carried on brushing in a calm manner, unsure when to stop. Fortunately, Sammy soon decided it was enough.
Turning to Pam, Sammy asked, “Shall we put my hair up?”
Broken from the daze she’d been in, Pam took a moment to reply. “Um, didn’t I say? Us girls ’ave our hair loose.”
“That is for maidens, no? I am very much parly pou,” Sammy said, slipping in a Sonlettian phrase as she pointedly looked at Julie.
Again, Pam had to pause to process the words before replying. “Ah, yeah, o’ course,” she mumbled, nodding.
A silence settled then. Julie could only watch as Pam skilfully arranged Sammy’s hair, acknowledging that she herself had no clue how to do anything with hair but brush it, her own having never been longer than her shoulders (and usually much shorter). Still, she felt uneasy and didn’t know why. In the end, she turned away, occupying herself with taking inventory of their packs.
It was a few minutes later that Sammy grabbed Julie’s attention with a question. “How do I look?”
That discomfort in her chest lingering, Julie had to force herself to turn around, only for the feeling to be immediately overwhelmed by the sight. As well as the beautiful hairstyle, some colour warmed Sammy’s cheeks, a thin shadow around her eyes framing them, making them all the more vivid, eye-catching. Even wearing a (by royal standards) cheap dress, Julie couldn’t help but say, “Like a princess.”
Sammy rather liked that answer, her smile widening.
Dressed up now, they were nearly ready to leave. On the topic of money, Pam helpfully said, “Ah, we can swap some if ya want. This near the border, everyone likes Starlings.” Sammy conveniently knew the rough value of the coins, so she was comfortable to exchange a handful of the silver coins with small birds on them for Sonlettian currency (branded with the King’s face).
Finally, they left, sent off by Marge’s reminder: “Don’t sneak so many drinks ye wake up in a ditch with yer knickers ’round yer ankles.”
To which Sammy whispered to Julie, “I shall make sure to sew pockets onto our dresses so our knickers will be safe after a night drinking beneath the stars.” To which Julie ducked her head, caught between laughter and embarrassment—the Sammy special.
With seemingly the whole village celebrating, the muffled sound of good cheer greeted the three of them outside. Although dusk had settled, it was busier on the street than when they’d come earlier; Sammy rather naturally ended up at Julie’s side, holding her hand. After having done so so many times before, Julie wouldn’t have even noticed if Sammy hadn’t given a small squeeze.
“If ye like, I can show ye ’round the stalls and stuff,” Pam said, walking a step ahead of them.
“While we appreciate the offer, we would like to spend our time alone with each other,” Sammy said.
Julie had to admire how honest and straightforward Sammy could be at such times.
As for Pam, she swallowed the words she was going to say, taking a moment to reply. “Ah, o’ course,” she said, cheery tone forced.
Though Sammy picked up on that, she had nothing else to say. It wasn’t in her nature to coddle someone she wasn’t courting and she had no need to dance around topics, unafraid of how others saw her. Yes, she preferred to be direct, to be hated for who she was than tolerated for who she pretended to be.
Besides, it was enough for her that Julie liked her as she was.
They walked towards the square in silence, meandering around the people hanging outside their houses and chatting to neighbours, drinks in hand, small children clinging to their legs. Pam struggled to keep moving—often because someone called out to her—so Sammy and Julie left her behind with a few parting words eventually.
The crowd at the edge of the square was thick, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looking on. Of course, even that proved no obstacle to Sammy’s keen senses and they soon broke through into the square itself.
Less of a crowd here, the (mostly) older teens shuffled from stall to stall and clumped in patches of friends. Still, there was such noise, incomprehensible, loud chatter blended with squeals and screams, covering the music but for the powerful beat of a drum. Julie took care with every step, always someone to bump into or bump her nearby.
It was all a kind of chaos Julie had never experienced before. Even the dances the garrison had thrown were modest, too close to the palace to be rowdy. An hour or two standing to the side, acting inconspicuous and trying to avoid catching any man’s eye, a drink of water, a nibble of whatever, and then going back.
Yet there was such energy in this place, an infectious mood that tempered how intimidating it was for Julie. It felt fairly similar to the times when Sammy had swept her up in some mood, the voice in her head quieting, her body acting on instinct as she couldn’t process everything.
Sammy negotiated the fickle crowd with ease as she led them towards the stalls; Julie followed closely behind, Sammy’s hand reassuring her. Lit by flickering candles and oil lamps, half of the stalls were devoted to foods and drinks: from the beer and battered snacks they’d seen earlier, to fresh fruits and berries, baked goods, soups, stews, pastries. The other stalls sold trinkets of flower crowns and garlands, various things carved out-of or in-to wood, and one even had jewellery.
“Shall we have some fruits? I have been constipated these last days,” Sammy said, tugging Julie along. That sentence lingered in Julie’s mind for a moment before she dismissed it.
While they had some fruit first, Sammy made sure to pry out what Julie wanted to try too, ultimately filling themselves on a mix of sweet and fat. The beer battered onion rings and potato fries came dripping in oil, and the latter with a dollop of mayonnaise that had such richness to it. Julie, already bad with rich food, could barely dip her chips in the sauce—something which Sammy had no problem with, her last few bites more mayonnaise than chip as she didn’t want to waste it. Some small beer washed it all down, thoroughly pleasant after nearly a week drinking boiled river water.
Now fed, Julie felt more conscious about everything going on around them. The people were dressed lightly, the young women in dresses much like she and Sammy were wearing, the men in shorts and shirts (barely buttoned up halfway). Where they were, most people were, like them, milling around as they ate and drank. However, she picked out glimmers of distant dancing where the music was coming from.
“Shall we?” Sammy said.
Even amongst all the noise, Julie picked out that voice easily, turning to look at Sammy. “Yeah.”
With a smile, Sammy shuffled through to the bonfire, Julie close behind her. Without anyone in the way, the music became louder, strings twanging and woodwinds whistling, accompanied by the heavy beat of a drum almost as tall as the man banging it. But there was also the clapping of the watchers, many of them chanting along to the upbeat melody—a far quicker, cheerier piece than she and Sammy had danced to.
As for the dancers, they were all young women performing a routine. While graceful, their dancing had a humour to it, almost a play with how they acted so playful. Julie could very easily imagine Sammy joining in, as if someone had made a dance based on her.
“Aren’t they pretty?” Sammy said, mouth close enough to Julie’s ear to tickle it.
Julie suppressed to the urge shiver before giving the question consideration. “Yeah,” she said, only to then worry if she’d said it loud enough for Sammy to hear.
“Do you think they would mind if we joined in?” Sammy asked.
Jerked away from her worry, Julie could only pause and take a deep breath, unable to give an immediate answer. “You probably could, but I definitely can’t.”
“Well, if I cannot dance with you, then I shan’t,” Sammy said.
And Julie almost laughed, how Sammy had spoken sounding quite childish and petulant. Really, it reminded her of how Sammy had been back at the palace, only for her heart to become unsettled. She didn’t understand why, but the feeling quickly dried up as Sammy squeezed her hand.
The two of them stood and watched the dancing as darkness proper settled. Although the lamplighters had been around, the candles barely softened the night; fortunately, the bright moons and stars supported the twilight.
Then cheers arose, deafening, and Julie unconsciously drew near to Sammy, squeezing her hand tightly. Sammy brought over her free hand, stroking the back of Sammy’s hand.
Nearly a minute from when the cheers began, someone holding a flaming torch emerged from the crowd, walking over to the bonfire. In disjointed unison, everyone began counting down from ten in Sonlettian; Sammy whispered the numbers in Schtish for Julie’s benefit, her gentle voice caressing Julie’s ear, clear amidst the chaos and so very soothing.
The person set down the torch and the hungry fire lurched this way and that, taking to the straw like, well, a flame to tinder. Painfully bright, Julie had to look away, but the sound of crackling quickly competed with the crowd’s cheers and, some dozen paces away as she was, felt the heat radiating from the young fire.
Once her eyes had adjusted a bit, she looked back over. Flaming tongues reached high into the sky, enveloping the huge pile of wood in a brilliant light, flickering, yearning for more. And the dancers had returned, their light clothes trailing behind them as they moved, wispy, pale colours dyed by the fire. Rather than the earlier humour, there was now simply grace and beauty, an ethereal touch as if they were some kind of spirits devoted to the fire, perhaps even summoning it.
Meanwhile, Sammy had found an even more incredible sight: her precious jewel. In the glow of the fire, Julie glowed as if lit by an inner light, eyes sparkling, skin like honey, sweet, begging to be tasted.
Even after taking in a deep breath, Sammy couldn’t pull her gaze away. It really had been too long since she’d last addressed her urges.
As if feeling Sammy’s heated desire, Julie looked to her side, breath hitching as their eyes met. It wasn’t simply that she understood what Sammy’s gaze meant, but that the firelight glittered as it fell on Sammy’s fair skin coated in a sheen of sweat. If the dancers looked ethereal, then, to Julie, Sammy looked divine, glistening marble brought to life and coloured by the fire’s dusky colours, warm and vibrant.
Amidst the hundreds-odd crowd celebrating around them, they were in their own world.
Despite Sammy feeling the pull of Julie’s lips, she didn’t lose sight of Julie, mindful of the boundaries she had gradually marked out in their relationship. So Sammy didn’t go to take those lips, but brought up her hand and cupped Julie’s cheek, a rush of euphoria coming from how Julie leaned into the touch.
The moment lasted but a handful of seconds, yet felt an eternity to the two. Then the crowd shifted around them and brought them back.
Rather than a spell broken, Julie held on to those warm feelings, her mouth settling into a broad smile, eyes pinched by it. Sammy quite liked the sight, a beautiful contrast with Julie’s usually-stoic expression. Oh she’d seen Julie embarrassed and shy more times than she could count on both hands, but rare were these smiles, this unbridled joy. She even spent a second trying to memorise every detail of the sight, hoping she could recall it for the rest of her life.
As they slowly returned to the rest of the world, they noticed that, now, the festival had truly begun. Around the bonfire, all sorts of people danced in all kinds of manners: couples swayed with wandering hands; a group of women did a kind of jig together, seemingly well-practised; some men egged on their friends as they tried an exaggerated dance, often stumbling, sometimes falling right over. And there were all sorts in-between, all sorts watching, giggling and chuckling, nervous and boisterous.
“Shall we join them now?” Sammy quietly asked.
Julie hesitated, but, when she thought about it, dancing together at the hotel had been much harder. No one would watch them in the same way here, and there were already some women dancing together—albeit clearly as friends. Still, that moment of thought had settled her instinctual reluctance.
“Sure,” Julie said.
So Sammy led them into a space nearer the bonfire, the heat more intense, music louder. As they settled into their starting position, Julie couldn’t help but glance at the crowd. And no one was giving them any attention. Everyone there, faces lit by flames, were too busy talking to each other or watching the little shows others were putting on.
“Eyes on me,” Sammy whispered.
As if a spell, Julie’s gaze snapped back and she took all of a second to lose herself in Sammy’s beautiful eyes. She didn’t even notice when they started dancing, naturally following Sammy’s small steps: their dance.
Although slow at first, they gradually sped up to match the upbeat music, but that meant they couldn’t hold each other close. Sammy didn’t mind too much, an out of breath Julie with a slight sweat a valuable treat in its own way. But it did mean that, after a very long while (Julie hardly had poor endurance), they slowed to a stop.
Sammy insisting, they shuffled back to the stalls for a cool drink. Away from the bonfire, the world looked rather murky to Julie, her eyes adjusted to the bright light. It sounded quieter too. The music was muffled, no more crackling of the fire in the background. Even the people, while still merry, were busy eating, drinking, or having conversations rather than singing.
Sipping, it took the two of them a while to finish their cups of water. In that time, Sammy had chosen a pair of garlands for them to wear; the carnations on hers were arranged in a beautiful gradient from pink to purple, while Julie’s went from orange to red.
Of course, she then also had to buy a white rose for Julie; she responded to the stall owner’s insistence that white roses were what men bought for their fiancées with a simply said, “I know.”
That conversation taking place in Sonlettian, Julie was none the wiser. Holding the rose in her free hand, Sammy once again held her other and led her around by it, exploring the rowdy crowd.
With everyone more spread out now that the bonfire had been lit for a while, Julie felt her breath come easier, her world not so constrained. Nothing in particular caught her eye, but that wasn’t true of Sammy who navigated them towards the edge of the square. Despite looking around, Julie didn’t notice anything, but her heart started to race when she noticed that, in the alleys adjoining the square, many couples had slipped into the shadows therein.
Yet Julie’s heart barely had the chance to quiver before Sammy stopped beside a group of young men. Though the smell of beer lingered in the air, they stood up straight, their chatter coherent.
And that chatter came to a stop as Sammy approached, her presence tangible even in the half-lit gloom. With a pleasant smile, she spoke to them in Sonlettian, saying, “I think your friend over there may have had too much to drink.”
They followed her gesture (as did Julie) to one of the couples nearby. Only, now that Julie’s attention was focused there and the young woman’s face came into focus, she could see clearly something she couldn’t easily put to words. Oh the woman smiled, and she was hardly pushing away her partner, but there was a tension—a tension in her smile, in her posture, the discomfort infectious.
One of the men turned back to Sammy and said, “Ah, we do not know him well at all. So, calling him a friend’s a bit much, no?”
“Nor do I know her. However, are we not all friends tonight?” Sammy said, her tone light. Then she leaned closer and whispered, “Besides, if you will not intervene, then I shall have to.” Sammy punctuated her statement with a smile that sent a shiver down their spines.
Quickly enough, they awkwardly laughed and then did as she’d asked, walking over to the couple and talking to the young man like they really were close friends. Just behind them, Sammy and Julie followed.
While the men handled the man, Sammy slipped around to talk to the young woman. She naturally positioned herself and Julie between the woman and the men, and greeted the woman with a gentle smile.
“I hope I have not overstepped,” Sammy said softly.
The woman shook her head as a relieved smile graced her lips. “No, thank you.”
Sammy looked pointedly towards the square and said, “Shall we?”
“Ah, yes,” the woman said.
So they left the men behind, Sammy and the woman talking as they walked. They exchanged names and Sammy introduced her to Julie and vice versa; the woman—Louise—couldn’t speak Schtish, so Sammy made sure to translate for Julie’s benefit.
As for Louise, she lived nearby and had visited the village many times over the years, the man a childhood friend who had invited her to celebrate. She had apparently misunderstood his intentions and he had seemingly drunk away his nerves—and drowned his wits in the process.
Sammy listened to the story with a smile, offering her measured condolences at the end before speaking her own bit. “It is a bit late for us, but we happen to know someone here—a very sweet girl. Would you like to meet her?”
Nodding, Louise said, “Oh, if it wouldn’t be a chore.”
Sammy relayed that answer to Julie as she led them towards the bonfire, her gaze darting from person to person. Julie was surprised, though, having not seen Pam at all whereas Sammy mentioned having seen her a few minutes earlier.
Well, Julie was getting rather used to being the one being guarded; comparing herself to Sammy had never been a good idea.
Sure enough, Sammy soon picked Pam out from the crowd—one amongst a group of friends. Even from a few paces away, Julie couldn’t much tell Pam apart from anyone else, little more than silhouettes, shadows constantly dancing across their faces as the fire waved back and forth.
Then Sammy started speaking Sonlettian again, taking hold of Julie’s attention and refusing to give it up. Just the way Sammy spoke, Julie really did think it sounded like a lullaby, pleasant sounds strung together, so soothing. When Pam replied, Julie thought it sounded pleasant too… but not as pleasant.
Since the other three were conversing in Sonlettian, Julie didn’t have anything better to think about as she just stood by Sammy’s side. At the least, she had the white rose to twirl with her free hand, unaware of the looks Pam’s friends were giving her, their gazes glancing between the rose and linked hands. If that wasn’t enough, once the conversation between Sammy, Pam, and Louise finished, Sammy informed Pam that, “My Julie and I will be returning to our room now,” and punctuated the statement with a smile directed at Julie.
And Julie, having heard her name, looked at Sammy, naturally returning the smile even though she didn’t know what else had been said.
Pam, face stiff and eyes clouded, said, “Ah, okay.”
So Sammy’s and Julie’s first festival together came to an end. Julie had nothing to ask, Sammy nothing to say, the streets similarly quiet at that hour on the walk back. But, once they arrived, Marge admonished them with a lightly said, “Ain’t the night young fer youngsters, ey?”
Sammy laughed it off, a few words settling the old woman before they headed upstairs. It was only when the door closed that, seeing Sammy’s posture slip, Julie realised that Sammy had been up for some twenty hours by now, no doubt exhausted.
Yet, when she asked, Sammy replied, “I rather enjoyed tonight.”
Julie smiled awkwardly, trying to put aside her worry. “Me too.”
Pushing off bathing until the morning, they took care of other necessities and then crawled into their beds—such a luxury after days sleeping on the floor. With the candle extinguished, Julie could barely see Sammy by the light of the moons. However, she felt Sammy’s gaze on her, returning it even though she couldn’t truly see Sammy’s eyes.
“Goodnight, Lia,” Sammy whispered.
A natural smile came to Julie. “G’night.”
submitted by mialbowy to mialbowy [link] [comments]

2020.08.18 18:45 ComunCoutinho 5th Anniversary Costume lines

Except Bunyan because she was already covered here.
Leonardo da Vinci Active Seifuku
Costume Unlock I get that I'm fascinating, but try not to fall too hard for me, ok?
My Room Dialogue I look like a Japanese elementary schooler? Of course I do, little Master, I made this to match your culture~. These ice skates with wheel really are the technological revolution of your era... but I was shocked to learn that you make your children carry backpacks this heavy.
Battle Start 1 You like your battles to be quick? ...Alright! Let's get this rolling!
Battle Start 2 Ooookay, I got this!
Skill 1 Lemme hit it.
Skill 2 Full speed ahead!
Skill 3 I can give you a hand... literally.
Skill 4 Anything needing maintenance?
Command Card 1 All in order! Ready to go!
Command Card 2 Hi there~
Command Card 3 Thrilling!
Noble Phantasm Card 1 Let's keep moving forward.
Noble Phantasm Card 2 Sure thing, I'll get them good~!
Attack 1 Hou-!
Attack 2 Eii!
Attack 3 Yaah!
Attack 4 Goccha!
Attack 5 Hello~
Attack 6 Look at me go~
Extra Attack 1 Phew~! Sorry for getting rough!
Extra Attack 2 Let me attack without the electromagnetism.
Damage 1 That's not gonna end well.
Damage 2 Khhh...
Defeat 1 I thought I could do so much better than this...
Defeat 2 Owiie... Can't win this one...
Victory 1 I'm sorta used to winning, but it never gets old.
Victory 2 Even as Rider, I'm still my universal self. Oh yeah... I'm awesome.

Okada Izou This haorihakama looks rad
Costume Unlock How's it, Master? This's ma best getup... A dang classy kimono and... the should thingy. It's gotta nice texture, whatever it's called. Anyways, I'm looking fine, ain't I...? C'mon, say it. Okay, be countin' on me to keep ya safe and protected~ Hm, this gun...? Got it long ago as thanks fer a job well done. Kept telling him I didn't want, but the dude was insistent. Hmph... he'd've lived longer if he didn't waste such a expensive gift on a manslayer...
My Room Line Yo there... 'night's a good night for some booze! Let's keep goin' 'till the sun rises, Master! Huhahahahahahaha...! Early bird gets the worm! Go go go go! C'mon... If ya need a bodyguard, I'm right here! I'm here for ya!
Battle Start 1 It's a festival, yo! Festivals only matter if ya party hard! Lemme party hard... with yer dead bodies!
Battle Start 2 I'm here as yer guard, Master. Ya don't need to worry 'bout anything!
Skill 1 Your swordin' sucks... I'mma fall asleep here.
Skill 2 Ya'll pay for this...
Skill 3 I don't get what's going on... die!
Command Card 1 Got ya!
Command Card 2 Ok, heard ya!
Command Card 3 I'll slit them in half...!
Noble Phantasm Card 1 May I serve the divine punishment.
Noble Phantasm Card 2 I just gotta slay'em, right...?
Noble Phantasm Card 3 Take a nice look at blade...!
Attack 1 So slow!
Attack 2 C'mon, c'mon!
Attack 3 Kyahahahahaha!
Attack 5 ZEEEEEI!
Extra Attack 1 Partying hard... with yer dead bodies!
Extra Attack 2 Got ya!
Damage 1 What the heck, what the heck, what the heck!
Damage 2 Dheagh-!
Defeat 1 What... Was this all a dream! 'course it was... I could never get fancy clothes in real life...
Defeat 2 Sorry there, Master... I ruined... my best looks...
Defeat 3 What's this blood... I-is it mine...?
Victory 1 Tha's all... Let's just leave the bodies there and go for a drink! Follow me, Master!
Victory 2 Ya got what was coming for ya! This's how Okada Izou swordfights!
Victory 3 Tehahahahahaha! Training and fightin' fer real're worlds apart!

Nero Claudius Venus' Silk
Costume Unlock Huhuhu... I cannot keep wearing that manly dress forever. I wear that only casually... When I am hosting a banquet, I must wear something appropriate for the occasion. Are you charmed by me anew... Master?
My Room Line You like this dress...? Aye, do not be shy about it! I am also quite fond of it! This dress is a symbol of passion and prosperity. It represents one aspect of Venus, my dearly beloved goddess of beauty. May your your future journeys be filled with radiance and affection.
Battle Start 1 What a fine festivity! May I propose a toast?
Battle Start 2 You shall get no sleep tonight! Let us befuddle with decadence...
Skill 1 Wait quietly for me.
Skill 2 You would be better off as my partner.
Skill 3 Banquet is yet to start.
Command Card 1 I shall take good care of them.
Command Card 2 There, correct?
Command Card 3 I love you.
Noble Phantasm Card May the applause never stop! It is time for the drinks!
Attack 1 Huhuhu!
Attack 2 Intensely!
Attack 3 Passionately!
Attack 4 Bewitchingly!
Attack 5 You are unromantic, you know that?
Extra Attack 1 Well done. You are under my care.
Extra Attack 2 Is this a fine enough reward?
Damage 1 I shall not perish yet!
Damage 2 Mhh-!
Defeat 1 I am thrice-revived... and yet I was cornered like so...
Defeat 2 Flowers are short-lived... To preserve this very valuable dress, I will have to leave now!
Victory 1 An unsurprising victory! Did you enjoy it, Master?
Victory 2 I am years ahead of the high fashion! ...I mean, I look still great on this glossy outfit, don't I?

Arjuna Endowed Travelling Outfit
Costume Unlock Travelling can make one evolve, but often can also twist them... However, as long I'm by your side, I'll do all I can to make our travel fun... No, that's not it. Just travelling with you is already fun. Let us go.
My Room Line This duck was bought from a hawker along the way. Think of it as... a companion in our moments together. I bought a lot more things as well. Is there anything you want, Master?
Battle Start 1 I used to feel nothing about fighting, but I still always saw it as a valuable experience. That said, allow me to defeat you.
Battle Start 2 Then let us fight. I'm on the mood for it now. Prepare yourself.
Skill 1 "Offer what was endowed to you"... was it?
Skill 2 I have no interest in your idea of decency.
Skill 3 I'm in high spirits.
Skill 4 Prepare yourself.
Command Card 1 Yes.
Command Card 2 Understood.
Command Card 3 Roger.
Noble Phantasm Card 1 Then I'll destroy them already.
Noble Phantasm Card 2 Let's take it easy... I'll throw my Noble Phantasm on them!
Noble Phantasm Card 3 I'll activate my Noble Phantasm. Clean up after yourselves when I'm done.
Attack 1 Toh!
Attack 2 Hu!
Attack 3 There!
Attack 4 Take this!
Attack 5 I'm not done yet!
Attack 6 Collapse!
Extra Attack 1 I'll get this done quickly. I have other things to do.
Extra Attack 2 Excuse me! I'm on a hurry.
Extra Attack 3 You'll be my stepping stone.
Damage 1 Darn... I was careless.
Damage 2 Oops.
Defeat 1 I'll take a short rest... Good night.
Defeat 2 I made a mistake... This requires a strategic retreat... I haven't lost yet!
Victory 1 I won. The V-sign for "victory" is the same as the peace sign, right?
Victory 2 You still need more training. And so do I.

submitted by ComunCoutinho to grandorder [link] [comments]

2020.08.14 08:31 puffnstuff272 Yer time is up, Partner.

Yer time is up, Partner. submitted by puffnstuff272 to Sigmarxism [link] [comments]

2020.08.11 21:41 fortunemaster The next 300-500% runner. (Complete DD) [Nasdaq: XERS]

Current Price and Suggested Entry: <= $3.50
Suggested Exit and First Price Point: >= $11.00
Highly Liquid.
About XERS
Xeris is a specialty pharmaceutical company leveraging novel formulation technology platforms to develop and commercialize ready-to-use, liquid-stable injectables for the diabetic population. Original IPO at $15 a share in 2018 with a peak price of $25, the stock (similar to any drug development company) fell significantly due to lengthy product development, capital raises, and infrastructure set up. Now, after beating analyst expectations in their ER with many PRs upcoming, they are ready tp springboard into double digits.

Institutional Investors:
George Soros recently purchased close to 6% of the entire company. Many other specialty pharma investment firms have invested heavily. Analyst professional Price targets range from $14.00-$28.00. JP Morgan filed today showing purchase of 2.7m shares.

Paul Edick is spearheading the operations and has recently purchased six figures in stock, and currently holds just under half a million shares with another million exercisable . He sold his previous two biotech companies for over $20 a share, and was the founder of a large pharma consulting firm. His goal has been to cut costs and ramp up revenue generating services. Now he has finally achieved that in 2020 and is poised to deliver superb results in q3 and beyond.

Product Pipeline:
Gvoke PFS(Finally launched beginning of this year) and Gvoke Hypopen(Launched Officially in July)-> Prescriptions have grown 74% from q1 and have exceeded demand for their Hypopen. Current Competition is Nasal Spray Baqsimi( Not as effective in Delivery and Side Effects are painful) and then the conventional syringe and mixture. They hold over 100 patents, and have patent protection until 2036 for their current marketed product. Sales Estimates have exceeded $250m annual sales with 9 figure additional from their other specialty products. The product treats extreme hypoglycemia which is deadly to the diabetic population. Once hypoglycemic conditions fall under the acceptable low, patients enter into a state of "shock". Of the 6m plus diabetic patients, all should and generally go have at least a prescription for hypoglycemia. During Covid the other two treatments faltered and fell in presciption growth, while Gvoke was the only treatment that grew.

Fast Track/Orphan Designation, Skipping Phase 2 directly into Phase 3. Met all Primary and Secondary Endpoints.

Both are entering Phase three with positive topline results, met all primary and secondary endpoints.
Positive Topline Results and Met all Endpoints.
" We anticipate end of Phase 2 meetings before the end of the year for PBH, EIH and pramlintide-insulin programs and report the outcomes of each. As with our diazepam program, we plan to seek a partner for our pramlintide insulin program to take development forward post meeting with the FDA. "

Their other 4 drugs have sales potentials of 9 figures each.
Cash on Hand $146 million, enough for at least two years. Goal is to break even with product sales, and have proven path towards that.

-Update on 3 drug candidates (FDA YER)
-GVoke Hypopen Sales
-Upgraded Price Targets
-Big Pharma Collaboration as per June Presentation
-Q3 sales growth
Significant possibility of being acquired by a large player( Their XERISOL and XERIJECT Tech is valuable and the backbone of the company). Market Cap needs to be at least 500m. Companies that don't even have phase one products and funding are higher. Some examples of bloated market caps: BCRX, VSTM, MNLO. XERS should at least be 500m, from its current 150m Market Cap.
No significant downsides as they are currently in their company wide low, management has clear goals with infrastructure in place to achieve them.
submitted by fortunemaster to pennystocks [link] [comments]

2020.08.11 03:39 Albanachh "I like yer cut, Partner" *whip crack*

submitted by Albanachh to reddeadredemption [link] [comments]

2020.08.04 00:18 Ivan_the_Unpleasant The Faircourt Agency [1.05] (part one finale)

• • •
Gus had been admitted to Mt. Sinai Queens. He lay on the bed, eyes shut, still unresponsive. The only sound in the tiny hospital-room was the steady beep of the EKG monitor.
It was close to 5 AM now. Rick sat in the lone visitor’s chair by Gus’s bedside, his eyes glued to his smartphone. He browsed and read at a furious pace, flicking from site to site, webpage to webpage. Wikipedia, Encyclopedia Mythica, even some old archived GeoCities pages dating back to the “web 1.0” of yore.
“…breathing on his own, but I can’t think of any medical reason the patient should still be asleep like this…”
“…said it was some kind of bite or sting, but there are no marks on his body; just a hole in his shirt…”
“…be a couple of days, at least, before we get the tox screens back…”
Rick only caught brief snippets of conversation between the attending physician and the nurses on rotation. Most of what they said, he ignored completely. He was too engrossed in his impromptu research-binge; his brain was working in overdrive.
The supernatural was real. Or, at least, a supernatural thing was real. It took a great deal of focus on Rick’s part not to dwell on this fact and its awesome implications. There wasn’t time; not yet. He had to stay on track; he had to help Gus.
Had his first instinct been correct? Reading up on the pookah—or púca in the Gaelic—led him to research other shapeshifting spirits, like the kelpie, nøkk, and nuckelavee. But those didn’t seem to fit the bill: they were water-spirits, not house-spirits. And there was nothing in those creatures’ legends that suggested they could sense people’s fears.
Fear… maybe that was the key. Looking up the boogeyman proved fruitful indeed, since this particular creature of legend was related to the buggane, bugbear, bogey, boggle, and boggart, all various shades of fearsome hobgoblin. And hobgoblins in general were house-spirits, like the English puck, the Slavic domovoi, the Irish clurichaun, the Scottish brownie—
Rick jumped to his feet and looked down at Gus’s comatose form. “I know what it is!” he shouted.
“Know what what is?”
Rick whirled around and saw that the doctor had just come into the room; she held a clipboard and medical chart under one arm.
“Oh—uh, nothing important really,” stammered Rick after an awkward pause. “Just something me and my partner here were working on earlier.”
“I have to admit, this case has me a little baffled,” said the doctor, who crossed the room and hung the chart on the end of Gus’s bed. “If you have any more information that could shed some light on the case—”
“Sorry,” said Rick. “Not really. Not yet. Look, I, uh, I think I need to get out of here—”
“Yes, you do,” said the doctor. She fixed Rick with a well-practiced, withering glare. “Visiting hours aren’t until nine.”
“You guys can—uh, call me? If anything changes?”
“We’ll be sure to have someone do that, Mr. Carter.”
“Okay. Great.” Before the doctor could finish shooing him out of the room, Rick went over to Gus’s side again, took the unconscious man’s hand, and leaned down close. “Hang in there, bro,” he whispered. “I’ve got an idea.”
• • •
Rick didn’t have the funds to spring for a cab, but it was only fifteen blocks or so to schlep from the hospital back to MacKenzie Manor on foot. He would probably make it there right at or just before sunrise.
On the way, Rick made a point to stop inside a convenience store, where he bought a bottle of whole milk and a pack of Twinkies.
• • •
Rick Carter was a young man who loved his books. His literary tastes were more varied these days and tended towards the classical and the romanticist; but as a kid, he’d been enraptured by myths and legends. Thomas Bulfinch, Edith Hamilton, and the Brothers Grimm were his perennial favorites—the upshot of all this being that he knew his folklore.
He turned the corner at 36th Avenue and picked up his pace: the old house was in sight now. Gus’s van was still parked across the street, where it thankfully hadn’t been disturbed.
The front door of MacKenzie Manor was shut. Rick had been the one to do that, hours earlier: while waiting for the paramedics to arrive, he’d searched through Gus’s pockets for the house-key and used it to lock up, just in case. Now he crept up to the front porch and used that selfsame key to let himself back into the manor’s foyer.
Rick’s equipment-cases were now scattered haphazardly around the entry-hall. Looks like the little bastard has been doing some more poltergeisting while I’ve been gone, he thought to himself. Wait, wait; nope. Don’t forget. It’s not a ghost; it’s a fucking fairy. That’s why it didn’t like the iron.
He cast about until his eyes fell upon the object he was searching for: the iron fireplace-poker with which he’d managed to hurt the creature. It was still lying on the floor, just where Rick had dropped it. Perfect. He picked it up; now suitably armed, he went back outside.
On the front stoop of the manor, he took out the things he’d purchased at the convenience store: he opened the milk, set the bottle down, and unwrapped the Twinkies, placing these next to it. Then, poker in hand, he crouched low and concealed himself in the bushes off to the side of the stoop—where he waited.
• • •
Sunrise came at about half past six.
In fairy tales, you could always appease a pissed-off brownie by leaving it cream and cakes before dawn. So Rick wasn’t too terribly surprised when, at the very moment the sun was coming up, a misshapen little humanoid thing materialized out of thin air on the porch.
It was rather goblinesque in appearance, no more than two feet tall, with pointed ears and a pointed nose, sharp yellow teeth, and one eye that bugged halfway out the socket so that it appeared larger than the other. It wore only a tattered brown tunic and walked with a bowlegged stance on duck-like feet. The creature immediately started devouring the Twinkies and slurping greedily from the milk-bottle.
Rick wasted no time. He leapt out of the bushes and shouted, “FORE!!!”
The brownie looked up from its meal just in time to see an angry human swinging an iron poker like a golf-club. THWACK! Rick brained the brownie on the head and laid it low. A second later, he was standing over the unconscious form of the little hobgoblin-creature and laughing off the adrenaline-rush. “You’d think a Scottish spirit would’ve seen a golf-swing coming!”
He raised up the poker again to finish the critter off; only, then and there, something stayed his hand. The brownie wasn’t by any means cute, or even vaguely pleasant to look at, but it was still a humanoid creature. It was a living thing—sort of—and definitely at least sentient, maybe even sapient. Looking down at the small and helpless creature now, Rick found that he simply couldn’t bring himself to put it out of its misery.
It felt too much like… cold-blooded murder.
After all, he rationalized, the thing was only defending its territory. Hell, that’s probably why it was trying to scare us—not just for shits and giggles, but to get us out of its house. The house that it’s bound to. In that moment, Rick had an epiphany.
He got down on one knee, set the poker aside, and unlaced his right boot. He took off the boot, removed his sock, and then gently nudged at the unconscious brownie. “Hey there, little fella. Wake up. I have something for ya.”
After a couple of minutes, the brownie’s eyes fluttered, and its head began to loll from one side to the other. It groaned—its voice was high-pitched enough to remind Rick of the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz—and then sat up.
Rick held his sock out to the brownie. “Go on, little guy. Take it. I know it’s a cliché, but—it’s yours. A gift.”
The brownie stood up and stared at Rick in seeming wonder and curiosity. Nervously, it reached out both hands and snatched the sock away from the human, so that it could examine the article of clothing up close.
“Now go on; get outta here, Dobby. Take a hike; hit the bricks. You’re free.”
“Free,” repeated the brownie. It spoke with a lilting brogue. “What a lovely gift. I do think I’ll make a cap out of it—” Here, the creature reached into a tunic-pocket and produced a razor-sharp dagger that was nearly as large as the brownie itself, like a cartoon character pulling a gag-mallet from hammerspace, “—after I’ve dyed it in yer fooking blood, fleshbag!!!”
The brownie—the redcap—roared and brandished the dagger; Rick screamed for dear life, snatched up the fireplace-poker, and brought it down on the creature’s head multiple times—THWACK, THUMP, SMACK, CRUNCH, SMUSH, SPLAT. “AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGHHHHHH…”
A short while later, a breathless Rick had dropped the poker into the puddle of pulp and gore at his knees. He was positively drenched in an absurd quantity of brownie-blood. Gobbets and viscera were splattered all over the stoop and the front door. He looked down at his red-stained hands: they were shaking.
He tried to pull himself together, to ignore the shock that was setting it. Gotta go… see Gus soon. See if he woke up. But first… gotta clean off. Clean would be good. Dear God in heaven, please let this house have running water.
• • •
submitted by Ivan_the_Unpleasant to HFY [link] [comments]

2020.08.01 06:47 Pr1ncezz ILPT Revenge on my scammer from Paxful

I have a BTC selling/exchanging company and I also have an understanding for people who would like to stay anonymous or they are just too lazy (or stupid) to follow the proper KYC. In fact, I am even focused on people from 3rd world or 1st world countries with a "BTC problem" like Australia or Japan (I have no idea why is so difficult to buy crypto there but they are willing to pay for my expensive offers and be grateful for that).
Trading on Paxful, I am EXTREMELY careful when dealing with people from my focus group, mostly from Africa or the Near East. Almost all of my potential "business partners" are scammers but I am slowly teaching them a win-win concept. I almost never deal with people from the European Union (including my country Czech republic), because I cannot set interesting margins for them and they have too many options to buy from someone else. You know, low risk, low profit.
Anyway, time to time I have an EU client, and this one was even from my homeland. To build the point, there is very low criminal activity in my country, competing with Iceland or Denmark for the safest country title every year. This fact caused I didn't pay much attention to check my client and made a trade with him. After a day he came back. And then again. And again. Until I got an e-mail from a poor woman asking when she is going the get the respirators for her children. She told me she googled the account and found my company. She paid me and was expecting the respirators.
I was shocked to realize I have been scammed. With a very classic trick. I sent the money back and after some time forgot about it. For my surprise, the scammer came back! And wanted to trade again! What a thick-skinned bastard! I saw he has verified ID now, yer very fresh. I pretended I don't know what is happening and finished the trade. And the next day prepared a honey pot for him. When he came to deal, I played a dumb blonde again. After he asked, "once more?" I quickly changed the bank account number to similar in my offer (it's the same bank, but a personal account).
Having the second trade with him that day and seeing he arranged the money come to my first account, I told him to check the payment because I hadn't received the money (I lied). He sent some screenshot, with a payment obviously sent to the account from the first trade. I gradually provoked him to be very angry, refusing I got the payment. He was very arrogant and so sure his victim sent the payment, he hadn't noticed the account number is different all the time. I accused him of being a scammer and started a dispute. It was very hard work for moderators because all our dialogues were in our native language. But I knew I was going to be a winner when the moderator asked for a video showing the payment to the actual account from the terms. There was no way for the scammers to make the sender send the payment to another account. His lost the dispute and his fresh verified ID was ruined.
He tried to arrange revenge of his own, telling the sender (a woman again) it was me who tried to scam her. Unlike the first one, this woman was very arrogant and offensive. I told her the situation is too complicated and the police must tell me if I can send the money back. She never wrote to me again. I kept her money and also my crypto from the dispute. Win-win, but it's me on both sides now. :P
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2020.07.30 18:56 itsallalittleblurry The kids Ain’t all right (Part 7: Down and Dirty)

The night of the cotillion had passed without further incident, but then, it had been pretty much a wrap, anyway, by the time I tenderly helped tuck Hardass into his rack for some much-needed nighty-night.
I made sure that he was on his side, just in case all the booze he had pickled himself with decided to vacate the residence in the middle of the night without informing the landlord.
I tucked his stank pillow under his weary head (which was more than the trouble-making shit deserved), and left him to dream whatever it is that professional degenerates such as himself dream about.
I had briefly debated another kick in the ass before doing so (I owed him a few), but settled for drawing a smiley face on his ass with a magic marker, and pulling his shorts back up.
It was good work, if I say so myself. I’m quite artistically inclined, among my many other talents. I truly am a renaissance man. I got gifts.
I had taken a few lumps, as expected, but not as many as I would have without the polite intervention of caring friends of the local variety. My noble visage was still intact, for which I was grateful. I love me very much, and am always disappointed when someone decides that I need to be rearranged.
Hardass had taken considerably more, though he had deserved it much more than my wide-eyed innocent self. He wouldn’t be noticeably uglier than he already had been.
Ralph got his nose readjusted to its more or less natural configuration. We told him later that he needn’t have bothered. It had always been something of a mystery to us why his parents hadn’t sold him to the circus for a tidy profit long before the Marine Corps grudgingly agreed to accept his dubious assistance.
Gary, being Gary, of course, was fine. His hair might have gotten mussed a bit, but we’ll never know. He always carried a comb in his pocket. I always suspected that it was mostly so that he would look good in his mugshot. He could be a little vain.
We had become informed that our dance partners of the evening had been members of Kilo Company, and it would transpire that they had become aware of our own professional affiliation, as well.
The hoedown had left them with something of a grudge, which we deemed as unseemly among associated gentlemen such as ourselves. We had a little more self-respect than to assume such a base and baseless attitude.
It might be interpreted, in a broad sense, that we might have been partially at fault, but we were more big-picture people, and could not be over-concerned with insignificant details. We held ourselves to a higher standard than that.
We had never had problems with Kilo before the night of the unscheduled sock hop, but began to experience them on a suspiciously regular basis thereafter.
Our teams attached to them in the field would find themselves on an unintended weight loss program when it was discovered that it had somehow slipped someone’s mind to requisition rations for us.
We would find ourselves inserted into the sentry roster, when we were not supposed to be.
We would be deployed in ways and positions contrary to our SOP.
A highlight came when a two-man team was orphaned in the middle if nowhere, manning an extended perimeter position of little or no value, when the Kilo unit that we were attached to went on a road trip without first gathering our foodless, waterless, radioless, screwed young selves to their loving bosoms.
Hardass did protest, as did others. We ourselves whined, complained, and pouted like the little bitches that we were, but we always did that anyway.
Issues would be resolved, bottoms spanked, and noses wiped, and then some new devilment would manifest.
Cooincidence? ........Perhaps.
It became tiresome. In the immortal words of the Bard (probably), we got tired of that bullshit pretty quick.
The companions of our youth in the rest of the Company pitied us in our woesome travails, as we did pity ourselves. These disgraceful treatments could not go unatoned, and occasions of mutual whoopassery began to escalate above the norm, culminating in an all-out midnight brawl in the street seperating the two Companies. Eventually the game show contestants had to be persuaded to retire to the green room for tea and nibblets by the gentle ministrations of the Camp Guard reactionary force.
To be honest, this was not the first incident of its kind, and we were not the only units with a less than tolerant attitude toward each other.
We in the Company would take humble pride, however, in days to come, that our impromptu block party was the one that caused the Pope to throw his mitre at the alter, punch a Priest, bitch-slap a Bishop, and kick a Cardinal in the ass.
Something must be done to restore order and civility, and restore the inmates of the ward to some semblance of unhinged normalcy.
It was ultimately decided that the autistic children had too much free time on their hands and too few unbroken toys to play with.
The solution was to restrict liberty base-wide (none of us had a voice in this, and would have vetoed the idea had we a vote).
Weekend festivities would, for the foreseeable future, commence not on Friday evening, but at 1300 on Saturday.
The block of Saturday time thus freed was to be dedicated to the pursuit of excellence in an organized sports activity of personal choosing.
No one was happy. We whimpered. We wept tears of bitter sorrow. We complained to uncaring ears. We threatened to hold our breath. We contemplated running away from home (then they’d be sorry!).
We changed the Big CO’s name, and suggested certain unnatural and physically challenging acts he might perform upon himself.
All to no avail.
A number of us chose soccer (or football, as our former masters insist on calling it - Brits are wierd). None of us were lazy, by any means. We just, sensibly, preferred to preserve our energy when we could, and this Euro-Disney pastime seemed to offer the most potential amusement, measured against actual effort required. We were good at math.
Baseball was considered by some, but rejected by most. It was considered too slow, too banal, and the lack of physical contact promised ill for entertainment purposes.
Many of us had also, by this point, developed a Pavlovian response of curling up into a whimpering ball and pissing ourselves at the sight of anything remotely resembling a nightstick - Fuck Camp Guard! We’ll catch you off-duty out in town, you fuckers! And we’re bringing Gary with us!
An elimination tourney was dreamed, among competing units, and made reality, and commenced apace. We actually started to get into it.......
The day had come! The time was at hand, the journey nearly complete! One would be the laurel-crowned victor! One would slink away in ignominious defeat.
We were to play Kilo for the championship!
We sneered at our hated enemy where they gathered in their ignoble goatish ranks on the other side of the field. Surely were they foul! Surely were they unwashed! Surely did they enjoy intimate congress with chickens, dogs, and sheep! Surely were their Mothers unfaithful! Surely did they have unnatural affection for their sisters! Surely would we stomp some effeminate ass!
We were happy to see them, and they were glad to see us. This was evidenced by the many gestures of affectionate greeting.
It should be noted here, lest the savage reader become alarmed, that the game we played was in some wise different than that enjoyed by subjects of the Queen. The only goal was the goal. That was paramount, and the attainment if it the only consideration. Anything toward its realization was permissible. There were no officials, and no other rules.
You begin to see the reason for our delight. Oh, the possibilities! Oh, the opportunities for vengeance on a despised enemy, long-denied.
Of course, similar thoughts were in their minds, but we were mighty! The shaved apes didn’t stand a chance!
Besides, we had Gary........
“God damn it!!” raged Gary, spitting out some grass and wiping the mud from his face. “If that cocksucker stomps on my head one more time, I’m gonna bite ‘is dick!”
For the second time, he had ben sent sliding headlong across the ground from a judiciously applied forearm to the back of his neck, a rooster-tail of water in his wake, whereupon someone accidently stepped on the back of his head, grinding Gary’s face into the mud and water as he paused to check his watch to see if he was late for an appointment.
The sky had been pouring rain for the last while, and black clouds had filled the sky, turning the daylight into darkness, and causing the field lights to come on. The grassy surface was covered in two inches of water, more in spots where the ground was a little uneven. Footing was treacherous.
Thunder was rumbling constantly now, seemingly right overhead, and crackling gunshots of lightning were becoming more and more frequent.
The sidelines were crowded with spectators who had come to watch the show, and had stayed, nearly as sodden now as the players, so intense and hard-fought had been the contest. The Base Commander was there with his family, cheering both sides on.
No one wanted to call it, and none had any intention of leaving until the match was over.
“Don’t bite ‘is dick, Gary” said Mason, spitting out some blood. “Folks might get the wrong idea. Bite the fucker in the ass. With them needle-dick bugfuckers, ‘s more meat there, anyway.”
Larry was rotating his arm, trying to loosen up his shoulder. Someone had done their level best to yank it out of its socket.
Ralph was cupping his busted nose, blood dripping off his chin, mixed with rain.
I was limping pretty good from a knee I’d taken to the outside of my thigh earlier on.
A short break had been called to let both teams get their breath back and strategize for one final push. There were minutes left. Time was running out.
Both teams huddled with their coaching staffs.
The wind was picking up, and the rain started coming down harder.
We were cold, exhausted, wet, muddy, and damaged.
We huddled with Hardass in the pouring rain. On the other side of the field, a little apart from the spectators, Kilo did the same.
We were up by one goal, the only one scored that day, and we had to keep it that way for just a little bit longer.
“Listen, shitheads!” Hardass said. “This thing’s almost over, but you’re about to blow it out your ass! Jerry, that long-legged cocksucker’s been dancin’ all around you, man! You got t’ git yer head out!”
Jerry was our secret weapon, and the main reason Kilo hadn’t scored. Jerry was a big guy, with a big ass and an even bigger gut from the prodigious amounts of beer he drank. He would not look at all out of place turning a pig on a spit at a redneck barbecue with somebody yelling “Ee-hah!” and porking their cousin in the background.
His job, and his Only job, was to hang out at our end of the field and guard the goal and the goalie. His instructions were clear: anybody makes it that far, knock ‘em ass over teakettle with that prodigious beer gut and kick the ball out of bounds.
Jerry was constantly broke, and constantly borrowing money to further finance his drinking habit. He owed money to most of us. He had been promised forgiveness of all debts and free beer for the foreseeable future if he could just keep those Kilo asswipes from scoring. Hell, we’d even let him order Budweiser.
Properly motivated, Jerry had been doing a real good job. But he was slowing down.
“I’m tired, Boss!”
“We’re All tired.......well, you guys are. But it’s jist a few more minutes! You got to keep ‘im away from the net! He hadn’t slipped and fell on ‘is ass that last time, we’d be tied right now! I cain’t win with no tied God damn match!”
“What you mean, SSgt?” Asked Ralph, licking blood off his lip.
“I got money ridin’ on this motherfucker!”
“Damn, Dude! You really trust us, hunh?” asked Larry.
“I don’t trust any you motherfuckers any further’n I can throw your devious, lyin’ asses, but I thought you might be just sneaky enough t’ pull this off! You cain’t let that skinny Hopalong Cassidy lookin’ motherfucker near the goal! You gotta got rid a’ his ass!”
“What you think this is? North Dallas damn Forty?” snarled Gary.
“No” replied Hardass. “An’ I ain’t as pretty as Mac fuckin’ Davis! But here’s what yer gonna’ do.”
The ball was put into play as another massive crack of thunder split the air. Lightning strobed. They were approaching our end of the field, rainwater splashing to either side at every step.
Hopalong had control of the ball, and was moving it downfield, shuffling, ducking, and dodging like a preacher trying to make it to the door in the middle of a police raid on a whorehouse; our guys slipping, sliding, and falling trying to take it away, him dancing through them like Tinkerbell dodging raindrops.
Gary came to a sliding stop twenty feet in front of him, and threw back his head in a drawn-out howl that would have done justice to a methed-out opera singer with his nuts clamped between a ferret’s teeth ( in truth, he had been doing this the whole match, but this time it was on purpose, and he was really laying it on).
G began hopping from side to side snapping, snarling, and barking like a rabid rottweiler chasing a mailman dipped in cat shit and covered with bacon grease. I couldn’t be sure, but I think he might even have managed to foam and slobber a little bit.
Hopalong stopped still in open-mouthed shock, staring uncomprehending, the ball dribbling away through the rain.
Larry came charging in from the side and close-lined his ass.
He didn’t get up. It was raining hard enough that he might drown if somebody didn’t come and get him pretty quick. I wondered in passing if his neck was broke.
There was a panicked scream from Jerry, and he began to charge through the downpour, water splashing to either side in sheets every time his feet hit the ground. To his horrified gaze, he was watching all those free suds swirling down the drain faster than an anorexic Olympic sprinter with the shits trying to beat a midget on a motorbike to the last roll of toilet paper in the supermarket. Another Kilo had gotten control of the ball and was closing in on the goal and the goalie.
The spectators drowning in the cheap seats were screaming and jumping up and down.
A Kilo Lt got so excited that he had to check his pants to see if he’d just shit himself.
We’d seen it, too. Ralph was closing in at an angle from behind. I was hobbling as fast as I could right behind him.
Lightning flashed and strobed. Thunder rolled in one long peal loud enough to drown out the downpour and the screaming from the sidelines.
Mason and Larry were closing in from the other side. Larry dove for the guy’s ankles. The dude jumped over him. He launched a straight jab at Mason that caught him square and put him on his ass.
Ralph made a move for the ball and got an elbow for his trouble. I didn’t know how much more his poor shnoz could take. Ralph was down, and out of the competition. I tripped over Ralph.
Jerry came charging in with the desperate speed of a guy trying to outrun his girlfriend’s husband and belly-slammed the guy so hard that he flew off his feet and slid twenty feet through what was now practically a wading pool, his head making a bow wave through the water. Jerry kicked the ball out-of-bounds and collapsed in an exhausted heap in four inches of water.
Hell, maybe we’d buy him some Coors.
The Lt keeping time blew his whistle, waved his arms above his head, and reached back to check his pants again.
Hardass stepped out onto the field, faced in the direction of Kilo and the assembled cheering multitude, gave his crotch a lift and tug with one hand, flipped the bird with the other, and yelled, loud enough to be easily heard up and down the field, over the rain, “How ya’ like them apples, bitches?!!!”
The Commander’s wife and daughter were with him, but they didn’t take offense.
You go, Hardass!
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2020.07.30 12:59 ComunCoutinho [Chaldea's Case Files] Hijikata Toshizou (and the) Kidnapping Incident - part 1

[Chaldea's Case Files] Hijikata Toshizou (and the) Kidnapping Incident - part 1

Hijikata Toshizou (and the) Kidnapping Incident - by Korumono Migiwa
One morning, a roar echoed through the boiler room themed like a golden tea room. “Where the hell is my Hougyoku Hokkushuu 21? How can it disappear when I’m putting a poem in the thing every day?” “Oh, I didn’t know you were still committed to your terrible haiku hobby.” Most men would shrivel in fear upon hearing the roar of the Shinsegumi’s Demon Vice-Commander Hijikata Toshizou, but neither Okita Souji nor Oda Nobunaga got too distracted from their morning ice cream. “The new flavor is carbonated red beans… What a sorry excuse for a product release…” “Truly a flavor concept intended as a dropkick to the competition’s barbecue flavor! Would you trade a spoonful of yours for a spoonful of mine? This egg and bacon flavor is astonishingly astonishing.” “How come both ice creams are death sentences? Nobbu, can’t you get normal food, at least for me?! I knew I shouldn’t have let you do the grocery.” “You have no heart for adventure.” The ridiculous ice cream flavor surprises have already become a part of the angelic girls’ daily routine. We don’t have enough page space to explain why the overlord of the Warring States Oda Nobunaga and the captain of the Shinsengumi’s First Squad, the tragic samurai Okita Souji are angelic-looking teenage girls. Hijikata Toshizou intimidated the young girls with a menacing, merciless glare. “You got no time for ice cream, Okita. Vice commander’s orders, help me find it.” “Hey, commanding subordinates for personal affairs is not allowed… Can I finish my ice cream first? Melted ice cream never unmelts! Wasting food is wrong!” “For all your whining about the carbonated beans, I see you actually enjoyed it.” She had to eat all of her ice cream. And as usual, our day in the boiler room was about to become all a mess. Okita Souji threw her ice cream cup and disposable spoon in the trash can, stood up, and stretched. “Actually, I didn’t even know you were still doing haiku, Hijikata! Don’t tell me… you’re trying to get an Alter or a Summer alt released as a Caster? Where’s your self-awareness? Male swimsuits are only costumes, remember? Just get a regular Saber alt, like Lancelot.” “The fact you took 4 years to get your Summer alt is showing.” “I’m not going for no alt.” Hijikata Toshizou suddenly crossed his arms and stared into nowhere with mellow eyes. “A warrior is more than just a fighter. Yagyuu Tajima and Miyamoto Musashi both wrote books, and Mori Nagayoshi holds tea ceremonies. A warrior’s heart is the same in the calm and in the conflict. If you can stake your life in what you do for leisure, you can stay relaxed on the battlefield, y’know.” “Even as a Berserker?” “That rowdy Hosokawa was supposedly quite the poet and yet he fought like a berserker.” Oda Nobunaga put her finger to her forehead and started looking through the knowledge she gained from the Throne of Heroes. “Uhhh, haiku… that is the poetry style where challengers compete with just three 5-7-5 verses, correct? The one spread for through all lands by the Ninja Master Matsuo Bashou, right?” Okita Souji made a sorrowful face upon hearing this. “Nobbu, sorry to break it to you, but Hijikata’s poems aren’t on such a high level…” “Ah, Oda Nobunaga, wanna read one of my classics?” Before she could stop him, Hijikata Toshizou took a piece of paper, effortlessly wrote a haiku, and handed it to her. She took a careful look at it.
Even if a plum Tree gives flowers in full bloom The plum’s still a plum
His most famous piece. “I have no comment, for my art is Rock, not haiku… The ATSUMORI is all about the themes of rebellious souls and memento mori, not this.” Hijikata Toshizou, seeing how Oda Nobunaga unnaturally averted her gaze, said: “So the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven prefers the eccentric to the refined, huh.” “Hijikata, sorry if this sounds rude, but I always admired your baseless confidence.” The excessively composed Okita Souji voiced her complaint. “A trait common to all Berserkers, no doubt… So, you say you lost your scrapboo… your unpublished collection?” Oda Nobunaga tried to advance the conversation as best she could. “Yeah, I added a poem to it last night and left it right here.” Hijikata pointed to a low desk in the corner of the tea room: the desk Chacha uses to draw the scribbles she called “plans”. It was coated in pure gold, which made it look awful, but the entire room was already tastelessly golden, so one more piece of furniture didn’t make any real difference. “Last night was when that enigmatic feast was held in the cafeteria, was it not? The opening night for the ServaFes, I reckon.” “Someone must have taken it while we were at the feast.” The Servants in Chaldea drank to celebrate the Master returning safely with another Grail, drank to welcome new Servants, drank to drown their sorrows of every Event... they were basically doing these feasts all the time. “We were drinking as a group pretty much the whole time, so we can prove each other’s alibis.” Okita Souji put her hand to her chin. “The first thing we must consider is that the word salads Hijikata calls haiku are not worth the effort of stealing… Could this be the work of someone with a grudge against you? A crime of vengeance.” “YOUR words are salad.” Hijikata clicked his tongue. His eyes reflected his insecurities. “I’m the Shinsengumi’s Demon Vice-Commander, it’s hard to imagine no one resents me.”
In that case, the first suspect was in the detective office next to the boiler room. To avoid a long and irrelevant exposition, we won’t be explaining why there’s a detective office in the last fortress of humanity. During his lifetime, the outlaw samurai who deserted Tosa, Okada Izou, never directly encountered the Shinsengumi (keyword: directly) but they were, politically and ideologically, oil and water. “I know we never had any serious historical conflict in here before, so this really feels a bit too random, but honestly, the only one who’d do this kind of pathetic childish harassment would be you, Daoka!” “Be grateful for our kindness, we chose to investigate this place before we inspected the usual event masterminds: Caesar, David, Paracelsus, Amakusa Shirou and Moriarty.” “T’hell with yer kindness! Ya curs came here t’milk on my popularity!” “You think you’re special just because you sold some books to buy a prettier grave, outlaw? I’ll have you know that a new Shinsengumi-themed media gets released at least one season per year. You’re just a fad with no confirmed lasting power!” “You think you are a match for the overlord of entertainment Oda Nobunaga? There is an abundance of Oda Nobunaga media without the Warring States, but no Warring States media without Oda Nobunaga.” “What’re ya here for, pests!” Okada Izou kept barking through the whole explanation. “Haha, Hijikata’s poetry? I already usen as toilet paper, morons!” Explaining himself would be easier, but the manslayer of Tosa preferred to laugh like a mad dog instead. “Okada, you bastard!” “Unforgivable, Daoka! I will have to sully my blade with your blood!” “Wanna piece a’ me, Shinsengumi? Yer silly code says ta slit yer guts if ya think ya can take the blade for personal shit!” The three stood ready, swords in hand. The office felt hotter than the boiler room, until… “Sorry about that, Hijikata. Izou is just trying to act tough.” The fight was interrupted by a couple in navy uniforms. They were Sakamoto Ryouma and his partner Oryou. We won’t be explaining why they call themselves detectives, this time not because it would be too long, but actually because we have no idea. Ryouma smiled, unintimidated by the room’s hostility, and behind him, Oryou spoke matter-of-factly. “He’s what people are calling ‘tsundere’ nowadays.” “Yer the tsundere, bitch! I ain’t going dere any time soon!” “Ok, I’ll rephrase it. I meant ‘chuunibyou’.” “Worse!” “Do you have any proof?” As the only person there with nothing to do with the Bakumatsu riots, Oda Nobunaga was completely apathetic. Sakamoto Ryouma laughed nervously. “Yesterday evening, Yagyuu Tajima lectured Izou on his bad posture with the sword, leading to them fighting in the dojo. They went to drink afterwards, and it started a big party. Izou spent the whole night with Yagyuu and Li Shuwen, so I don’t think he had an opportunity to steal your anthology. You should be able to cross-check my claim with Mori Nagayoshi.” “Yesterday’s feast was because of Okada?! It was not about the ServaFes to any degree?!” “Yeah, if I recall right, a lot of people didn’t come to the party because the ServaFes deadline is so close.” “You say the ones who truly cared about the ServaFes were absent from what I assumed to be the ServaFes party?!” With that, Hijikata relaxed, sheathed and unhanded his sword, and dropped his stance. “Okada and Sakamoto, I still don’t trust either of you, but I can’t suspect Yagyuu Tajima, the Baji Quan geezer or Oni Musashi.” Okita Souji also sheathed her sword and pointed at Okada. “Daoka, I hope you learned something from all those lectures!” “Shaddap!” Okada’s face was red from ear to ear and it stayed like that. “Your allegation was flawed from the moment you suggested Servants go to the toilet. Despite your edgy façade and thuggish exterior, you have quite the salesman spirit.” “Yeah, Izou is finally learning how to behave in public.” “Why ya lookin’ so motherly, Ryoumaa!” “If it wasn’t a crime of vengeance, then what could it have been…” After becoming convinced of the suspect’s innocence, Okita tilted her head. “The question still remains, what’s the point of stealing Hijikita’s seemingly worthless poems?” “Hey, Okita, c’mere for a sec.” Hijikata Toshizou was intimidating, but Oda Nobunaga was still there next to her, yawning. “Could it be that a kid Servant took it for a scribble book? Or perhaps the opposite, someone mistaking it for a decent book returned it to the grand library?” “They wouldn’t need to mistake it for shit, it IS a decent book, it’s just incomplete.” Hijikata paused to think about what he was told. “The grand library… the one with Murasaki Shikibu.” He remembered the most famous literary woman of the Heian era. Leaving the office, he immediately turned the other way, returning to the boiler room. “I’ll just change these clothes real quick.” “Who’re you trying to dress up for?!”
It turned out the gorgeous gothic garbed gal was not the only one to greet the trio in the grand library. There was another girl, still not even in her teens, also wearing a similar gothic lolita outfit. “Oh dear, a book disappeared? That’s a kidnapping!” “Y-yeah.” “I wouldn’t say it’s a kidnapping, but this kind of disrespect to a book is unforgivable! There’s no excuse to steal a book! You have no idea how many times I had to deal with people borrowing books from the library and never returning them!” Nursery Rhyme is a legendary Heroic Spirit who is technically also a book. This one actually makes sense if you think of her as just a mage’s familiar. The trio was perplexed at how she and Murasaki Shikibu were so much more infuriated by this case than the actual victim. “Damaging and stealing books are unforgivable crimes! In my era, there were even people who would mark the culprit’s name on the book’s character list, or worse, copy all the text without permission!” “I can’t deal with this! How can they live with themselves after doing that? I’m going to go question Jack and Bunyan now! I’ll be back soon, hopefully.” “There’s also one person named Qin Shi Huang who burns books, Nursery! A person who can burn a book can burn a person too! I’ve been somehow classified as the most ‘confucianist’ person here! They’ll burn me and bury me alive!” “What an evil monster, I’m terrified! I’ll need to ask the Count of Monte Cristo for help!” Driven to find the culprit, Nursery Rhyme left the grand library with a graceful bow. The trio just stared dumbfounded. “Clever of the lass to go for the Class advantage.” “She may be a kid, but she’s still a Caster. They’re the scary Class here.” “Well, she’ll be handling the brats and Qin Shi Huang for us. If she really can bring Monte Cristo into the case, we picked the best person for the job.” “Hijikata, you adapt so fast.” “I’ll use any tool I got available. Though I think that if Qin Shi Huang felt like burning some books, he’d start from this library, not my haiku… More importantly, Murasaki Shikibu’s not like I imagined she’d be.” Hijikata closed his eyes, trying not to say out loud that he wasted his time changing into a better coat. “You shouldn’t feel bad. I hear her ideal man is Ariwara no Narihira2.” “You’re saying I’m worse than Narihira?” “How would a thorny brute from Tama’s countryside even have a fighting chance? All you two have in common is being Japanese men who traveled from Kantou to Kyoto a lot. I don’t believe Narihira tortures people with 15cm needles.” He and Okita were whispering at each other right in front of Murasaki Shikibu, but she pretended not to notice anything. She finished checking her wooden book trolley and raised her head. “No Japanese poetry book was returned today or yesterday. Hougyoku Hokkushuu 2, was it? I’ll notify you if I find anything that could be it.” “Thanks, I’m counting on you.” “I had no idea a warrior of your caliber recited poetry. And haiku, no less.” Hijikata Toshizou was sucker punched. “First thing I’ll do when I find it is bring it to you.” “You’ll show those haiku to Murasaki Shikibu!? What a Berserker, you know no fear! Wait, wasn’t she ‘not like you imagined’?” “Okita… It pains me to tell you, but the radish man talking to me is a completely different man from the radish man talking to my Avenger self.” Nobunaga whispered into the horrified Okita’s ears. “Shikibu, will you not do your usual stunt? Give us your ‘What’s making her so annoyed? Okita can’t put her feelings into words’ deal.” “You didn’t need to make up a caption for it!” Murasaki Shikibu covered her face. “You mean the Taizan Kaisetsusai curse? I used that incantation today on…” She pointed to one of the library tables. One of the people there was Shakespeare, sitting perfectly still in front of a mountain of paper with a quill in hand. Another person was buried under a pile of books on the floor and only their hand was visible. From the gaps between the books, it was possible to see a scanner, a digital tablet, and three human legs. They were all right legs. One was a child’s leg with leather shoes, another wore armor and the third wore white socks. “W-what am I seeing?” “They are using our space to write their manuscripts for the upcoming ServaFes. Osakabehime and the Hokusais also made use of our copy machines a few minutes ago… Oh dear.” It took until this moment for Murasaki to realize how disastrous the situation was, but when she did, she immediately lost all of her composure and left the counter. “A book avalanche! Mr. Andersen, are you hurt?” “That’s not the way I wanted to die!” Something groaned from inside the books, so Okita and Hijikata rescued the buried survivor. Instead of moving to help with the rescue, Shakespeare remained eerily still, staring at the void with his mouth slightly open. “I’m not kidding, the death animation sparkles were about to appear!” The boy with glasses was saved, but it was too early to celebrate with two pairs of legs still under the books. “I see a few more limbs in there! Is there anyone still buried?” Despite Nobunaga’s yell, Andersen’s face remained cold. “Yeah, there’s a couple automata Hokusai was using as anatomic models. She was trying her hand at the American comics style. She’s doing the actual work in her room, but she might come back later, so she asked me to keep her stuff here. She’ll pick them up after the deadline.” “Wow… I don’t think she’s ever coming back to pick them up…” Okita was trying not to laugh, and Murasaki was sighing. “With so many famed authors invested in their manuscripts, I got curious and powered up the captions curse… causing their raw plots to leak, ruining their earnest efforts. Thinking back, I realized it would be rude to take a peek at an unfinished work…” “And yet, you were dying for a peek before you thought back.” Apparently, adding captions to people’s hearts against their wills wasn’t rude to her. Writers are incorrigible. “This morning I finally learned how to seal. I won’t be using it until the day of the ServaFes. I’m sure Seimei couldn’t see this scenario coming…” “That Skill is beyond your control, is it not, Shikibu? What a shame, it would be the perfect tool to instantly find our culprit.” “Oh.” Murasaki collapsed upon realizing she missed something this obvious. “I never considered how useful this could be in such a critical moment… What a blunder, Kaoruko…!” “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Murasaki.” “Oh dear, everyone has gathered here. Welcome to hell! What a clichéd line… I see I’m finally running out of gas…” Here’s where Shakespeare finally spoke his first words. He had his arms open dramatically and a lot of energy in his voice, but his eyes didn’t look awake. Nobunaga took a look at his desk and found an emptied black can. “Shakespeare, you already had enough magical energy drinks. Your mind is far away from your body. This sort of hyperconcentrated tea drains from your lifespan, you know?” Hijikata asked, with low expectations. “Did any of you happen to see my haiku book?” “I’ve seen no haiku book. But really, Hijikata? You’ll be submitting Japanese poetry to the ServaFes? You want me to write down the poems I remember to copy them to your entry?” “No, that’s not what I’m here for. I’m not participating in the ServaFes.” This conversation with Andersen made Okita’s jaw drop. “Andersen… you read Hijikata’s haiku? You even have some memorized?” “Someone asked my opinion on them.” “What did you think…?” Andersen sighed, cleaned his glasses on his lab coat’s sleeve and put them back. “Every part of them is flawed. They’re the pinnacle of imperfection. Beyond terrible. But that’s clearly because you’re not striving to be an author, but to reach mental uniformity as a warrior. I couldn’t be more jealous of how you can have a side like this to yourself without it reflecting on how your Noble Phantasm works. That said, the first step to improving is caring less about metrics and more about creativity. Practice your imagination. Originality is not a bad thing. And if you really can’t be sensible with your writing, being insensible to the point of parody is also a perfectly valid option to strive for.” “W-what a rational criticism!” “I also have read thy pieces. Classic of a samurai to nourish his mind through poetry! And I find thy style delightful, in a ‘so bad it’s good’ sense. It shows far more personality than thine average well-done piece. It has more character than it has any business having. To the point I find myself wishing to copy it! Dear librarian, you should also read it, and rewrite the story of Suemutsuhana with his words in mind!” “I’m definitely interested!” Shakespeare laughed like a broken record. It was impossible to tell if he knew what he just talked about or not. “Speaking of fixed form poetry, I cannot seem to find mine own newest sonnet compilation.” “That’s a much bigger problem than the disappearance of Hijikata’s salads!?” “I could have just penned them all in a dream, hahaha!” He fell from his chair laughing then turned face up. He started snoring. The Shinsengumi were in the middle of a violent battlefield unlike any they’d ever seen. After having stood and returned to the counter, Murasaki Shikibu watched them jealously. “How passionate they are. I’d be interested in participating in this ServaFes, but since I already did my worst in Hollywood, I’ll be only appreciating everyone’s pieces this time around…” “H-how modest of you… You’d be guaranteed to get a premium booth if you participated…” Okita was equal parts shocked and admiring, but Murasaki kept herself humble. “No, I’m certain that if I got a large booth on a hall wall, I’d be subject to mockery for reasons that have nothing to do with my content, such as talking too much to my friends in the venue space, or making people wait in too long of a line, or selling out too soon, or not shipping my work to other regions, or being too inaccessible to talk.” “That’s too graphic!” “That is our answer!” Nobunaga suddenly clapped her hands. Okita turned her face to her. “What answer?” “These sorts of events always have resellers leeching on the sleep deprived folks over there, and those would not mind one more product. Okita, you call Hijikata’s haiku word salads, but look, there are folks who properly value it.” Nobunaga crossed her arms and let out her signature laugh.
The grand library was a facility that logically belonged in Chaldea. A boiler room is theoretically necessary, but the existing boiler room had its purpose and definition twisted. The detective’s office had no comprehensible reason to be there. And the place they arrived at never even had an official name. People just came to call it “the hangout spot”. Its steel racks contained figurines and the type of adult manga you wouldn’t find in the library filling its shelves with no room to spare, and with some more piled up on the floor. “The swimsuit booths will be on the venue walls and on row 6…” “Are Fran, Mash, or the Grand Duchess participating with photo albums? And where’re the peek-a-bangs booths?” “Lmao, good luck searching the rare fetishes area.” “It’s not as rare as you think!” “That sure’s not a disgusting kink but the way you act about it makes it disgusting. I say ‘disgusting’ because just ‘gross’ is too short of a word to express how awfully horny you get about it.” “As if BLACKBEARD has any moral high ground here!” The two pirates were found with their laptops open on the meeting table as they checked the event’s digital catalog. “I’m already starting to regret having come here!” Okita Souji had already completely lost her will to talk to them, but Hijikata Toshizou raised his voice loud and clear. “You’re under inspection by the authority of the Shinsengumi!” “WTF?! Our art is being censored by the shogunate?! To think the enemy was hiding right under our noses!” Teach was the only one of two to be horror stricken. “Hello, dear samurais! Why is that long-haired dog-like friend of yours not with you today? Or the little lady’s other Saint Graph?” Bartholomew stood up with fire in his eyes, and Nobunaga was taken aback by his rapid speech. “Your interest in me does not surprise, but is Okada Izou really within your range?!” “He’s earning a place in a hall of fame of sleazy fetishists!” “Let’s not get off-topic.” Hijikata got the conversation moving. Hearing the situation, Teach kept a serious expression for the first time in forever. “Hijikata Toshizou’s handwritten haiku anthology…! Colored reprints would sell for a sweet profit! Big bucks!” No one is quicker than a pirate when it comes to counting treasure. “And who would do this sort of business?” The two pirates stepped away, revealing Columbus sitting on the couch behind them, taking a close look at the event venue map with his legs spread wide and a red pencil on his ear. “Oy, you can’t just make every problem ever my fault. I’m not even a pirate, what kind of joke is having the pirates accuse me of piracy?” Columbus laughed softly like a good-natured old man, but everyone knew better by this point. “If you’re no pirate, why are you in their room?” “He’s here cause we couldn’t find a good excuse to kick him until now.” “I can’t find any reason to be civil with him, no matter how I try. He doesn’t even conceal his eyes.” Columbus shook his head, dejected at Bartholomew’s declaration. “How unkind. Where’s the solidarity between the men of the sea? Tho I guess no crew can work when everyone’s a captain and no one’s a sailor. Anyways, I’m not selling your thing.” The old voyager grinned and bowed forward, stroking his beard. “I’d have brought the business up to you and discussed your share of the profits, vice-commander Hijikata. How ‘bout 30 to me, 70 to you? I’d then compile Sakamoto Ryouma’s letter and, Okita, I’d make you write something too, then…” “I see you’re an archetypical convention shark!” The Three Deadly Sins of the doujin community are sleepless work, reselling, and this sort of thuggish business. Some argue that booth fraud is the fourth sin, real time sketching is the fifth, and attending to see the cosplayers instead of the products is the sixth, but no list is ever made official due the lack of a seventh sin. There are dozens of discussions about this online already, so we won’t go in detail about it here. “Are you alright with this publishing contract?” In an instant, Columbus filled out a sheet of parchment paper into a fine document and laid it on the table. “Wait a second, this contract has a second page glued to the first one!” The moment Okita pointed this out, everyone in the hangout spot heard an unsettling whisper.
“An unyielding Asian Berserker… he’s gonna be a great product.”
“Murasaki Shikibu’s Taizan Kaisetsusai activated with a time lag? I clearly remember her saying her ability was sealed!” “No, I believe it is just that his face speaks so loudly we can physically hear it.” While Nobunaga had no real reaction, Okita was ready to draw her sword, until she was stopped by Hijikata’s hand. “Quit it, Okita, the opponent here’s not a living human. Fighting Servants who follow your own Master is a waste of time.” “But Hijikata…” “If you try to leash and tame a Wolf of Mibu, you’ll suffer the consequences, but only when you actually try it. Lemme see if your scrap of paper can knock down the flag of Honesty.” Hijikata was standing still, not in his fighting stance. His sharp and menacing voice was all it took to discourage the Servants from fighting. “Columbus… your tactic was too risky. You had a lot more to lose than to gain.” “You’re dealing with an 5*Zerk, senseless violence incarnate. We’d get ripped in pieces just for being in the same room.” “No, a better punchline would be you all being made into Shinsengumi members.” “Tsk…” No dream is meant to last forever. Thanks to the pirates’ desperate attempts to stop him, Columbus’ ambitions fell apart. Teach returned to his computer and checked the data. “Hijikata Toshizou handwritten book… No results in the event catalogue, no one advertising it on social media either…” “But whoever our mastermind is, they should have to go through this to trade their product.” “Is it possible to put an item for sale without advertising it?” “Your life depends on your publicity! No ads means no distribution! You gotta be really naïve to think quality is all it takes to get your art noticed! It’s a dog eat dog world!” He grabbed his gun and spoke weirdly fast to add more stress to his explanation. “That said, the line-up is not complete yet… There’s a few dudes who haven’t announced their works yet.” “There’s also someone who practically announced she’s not announcing what she made. Katsushika Hokusai filled her title form with just a -, so we can’t even tell if she’s releasing anything new.” Okita took a step back upon hearing Bartholomew’s words. “T-That’s some proof of her strength…!” “A lion never screams ‘I’m a lion’.” “And I remember she’s been in the library.” Hijikata started thinking for a while until Teach called on him. “But Hijikata, why’re you not selling your poems on the ServaFes? All artists deserve to have their work compensated. Or do you just not care about leaving your work to the public?” “Ridiculous.” Hijikata took only one word to reject his ideas. “I’m no writer. Yagyuu and Miyamoto Musashi wrote their teachings with the sword, so it makes sense for them to take money for it, but for me it’s out of the question.” “Free publishing is a thing. Are you not confident in their quality?” “I couldn’t be more confident.” His face suddenly softened, coming as close as it could get to a smile. “I just don’t wanna show them to everyone. Y’know, it’s a lot more stylish to show them only to someone special to me.” “Really cool way to word it, but basically what you’re trying to say is that you want to show your poems to Murasaki Shikibu as a way to hit on her!” Okita Souji could never bring herself to trust Hijikata about this.
Translation notes:
1) The Hougyoku Hokkushu is a haiku compilation completely written, edited, and compiled by the man Hijikata Toshizou himself. It’s famed for being very cringe. The poem in this chapter is one the most commonly mocked in Hijikita’s repertoire.
2) Ariwara no Narihira is one of the Six Poetic Geniuses of Heian era and popularly considered the best among them.
submitted by ComunCoutinho to grandorder [link] [comments]

2020.07.28 14:29 spindizzy_wizard [Alien Crash] Bk 01 V30 Ch 08 Freedom to Run, Freedom to Die

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Chapter Eight: Freedom to Run, Freedom to Die

"I knew these blokes were good folk. But really, they're amazing!"
— "Jack" / Head Ranger / Maasai Mara National Reserve, Kenya.

Maasai Mara National Reserve, Kenya

There is an official greeting that quickly dissolves in a sea of Hamathi, exploring everything in sight. You can see that they are eager to move through this veld, the closest to their homeworld that exists on Earth. Finally, the lead ranger steps up next to the dignitary and has a short chat with him. Part of which seems to be slightly pungent from the expression of the dignitary. In the end, he bows to the inevitable, and Jack takes the microphone.
"Alright, you blokes! Listen up!"
The Hamathi, understanding this, turn their attention to him.
"Yer welcome here, 'tis what that other fella was trying to say."
A murmur of thanks to the dignitary, and a bow, who is now beaming.
"There's maps over against that wall. You've been given GPS to track your position. Stay within the bounds marked, and do not hunt! This is your chance to get used to this land. Hunting will begin tomorrow.
"For your safety and ours, we have cleared the marked area of all but Rangers, they'll be dressed like me, so they're easy to recognize. Anyone else? They shouldn't be here. Find the nearest Ranger and let them know.
"Now, go have fun!"
With a cheer, the Hamathi scramble for the maps, taking a good look and comparing them to their wrist mount GPS system. As each group understands the boundary, they scatter among the grass, quickly disappearing.
Standing next to Ms. Foxfire, Jack comments. "Them blokes of yours can move fast then?"
"Yes, Jack, the average sprinters among them can best Usain Bolt's time by a second. The exceptional sprinters can blow past him like he's standing still. That drops off for the longer distance runs until you get to the marathoners. They can break the two-hour marathon; by minutes. Keep in mind, for the marathoners, they haven't been training specifically for that."
"I take it that those are the blokes that ran for the compass points?"
"Yes, they decided that if they didn't have a ship, they should start learning ground tactics. They will be the long-range scouts. Bo'sun Gryul started as a ground soldier and somehow got switched over to crewman. He's reluctant to talk about that, so don't push."
"What's with that one bloke who hasn't joined the others?"
"That's Captain. He'll remain here in the event of an emergency."
"That's something else that's bothered me, they didn't take any water, and they didn't take any radios. How do we know if they get into trouble?"
"You know how elephants can communicate over long distances?"
"Yeah… you don't mean…"
"Not as far, but they can be heard by each other at a distance that is just impossible for most humans. I've been told that what Captain is waiting for is either a rallying cry or a danger cry. The number of things they can express easily is limited. We're working on that."
"And he'll be able to guide us?"
"If the cry comes only once, he can give us a direction, and guess at the distance. If the cry repeats, he can home in on it. It's imprecise, but it's also what the ground troops are trained for when equipment fails. The ground pounder's distrust of equipment seems to be a universal thing."
Under his breath, "They got that right!"


Orites was one of the first to get to the map and is out in front. He's a long-distance runner, but not a marathoner. He's outdistanced the marathoners for now.
I am glad that I spoke with Ms. Foxfire, even if it almost killed her. The freedom to run here is worth it. Even more, my promotion chances are now higher. Who knew that I would be one of the one in ten? Not I.
Uvir should be through the map now. The hunt begins. Uvir will track me through this beautiful land, while I try to evade him. Time to get a better view around. There, that outcropping should do.
Orites leaps to the top of the outcropping, using one foot to push off the middle of the span and gain enough height. There is a cheetah already using the rock. It is startled and bounds off to one side. Seeing this strange new being who does not smell of human surveying the land as it had been, it becomes curious.
There, to that side, there is broken ground, I may be able to lose him there, or even turn the hunt back on him.
With the usual disdain of cats for the unimportant, the cheetah returns to the survey of its domain. An errant breeze wafts by, the arrogance is instantly gone, and the cheetah disappears into the brush. The breeze came from the direction that Orites chose.

Jack and Ms. Foxfire

"What is that rumble?"
"More felt than heard?"
"That's the Hamathi. Several of them made prior arrangements for a hunting game."
"No hunting!"
"Only of themselves. It's sort of like hide and go seek, but with prizes and punishments. One runs off, is given a certain time, and another follows, tracking the one who left first. As they're crewmen, it is unlikely that they will do well, but since nothing here is going to smell like a Hamathi, they've got a better chance than usual."
"How good's their sense of smell?"
"Better than human, we haven't really tested it."
"And the rumble?"
"A personal call, letting the runner know that the hunter is starting."


There! There's Uvir's call! He's started!
Another waft of breeze, and Orites drops and freezes.
That was… diesel. Practice time, see if I can sneak up on the Rangers.


He's been this way, just about as careless as Gryul warned us not to be. Well, this is play, but I'm still going to catch him. We'll see what he has to say for himself when he comes up before Gryul. Means I can put on some speed, and catch up with him sooner.


Almost have them in sight, this grass is lovely. I've been a lot more careful since I left the rock Uvir is going to get into trouble if he thinks he can just keep following my trail.
As he moves through the grass, he does so with almost the same skill as the cheetah. Not quite as silent, but the wind is in his favor, and the little sounds he makes are pushed away from his target.
There are the vehicles. Ugh, it must have a fuel leak to smell that bad.


Okay, he made it to this rock, Where did he go from here? Huh. That broken ground would do nicely, but if I go straight for it, I'll be coming from a direction he expects. Let's head for that end … diesel? … must be rangers. I'll bet he's practicing tracking them. Ha! A two for one as the humans put it. Catch Orites and the Rangers!
Uvir clears the rock, never noticing the cheetah in hiding, or the marks where Orites landed. He moves swift but silent to the end of the broken ground.
Yeah… I think I'm outside the smell their diesel makes. Now, turn into the broken ground, and start sneaking up on both of them.


"Jig, you din't say nothing about hunting a human."
"Cog, they ain't human. They don't belong here, and we're going to get a ton of money for bringing one of them in. Alive gets us more, but if it comes to that, dead still gets us more money for a single hunt than anything else we've done."
"Jig, it ain't right! They're as intelligent as a human. They're human. You want to hunt them, you go right ahead. I'm taking my Rover and heading back."
"Don't expect to get no money then, and don't expect to partner with me either."
"Jig, if I never see your ugly face again, it'll be too soon. And you can face that way now, I don't trust you worth a damn, and I'm sure not going to turn my back on you until I'm clear. So you just keep looking for your blood money, and I'll get myself out of here."
He ain't got the guts to shoot me. He knows damn well that I do. Took him too long to get smart, and didn't stay stupid long enough.


Those aren't Rangers. What are they? Armed. Not Rangers. Poachers? That's what the briefing said, poachers. I wonder what they're hunting? Orders, call in the Rangers. Haven't seen Rangers at all, haven't smelled them or their diesel either. Hah, they've had an argument. That one, the one backing away.


Damn fool, hunting a Hamathi? We ain't never targeted a human before. Yeah, sure, we get into it with the Rangers, but that's just part of business. Everyone knows what could happen. The Hamathi? They're only here for safari. I wonder… Should I warn them? I ought to…

Orites & Cog

"You are poacher, yes?"
"I was poacher. Right now, I'm not sure what I am."
"What were you hunting?"
Damnit. I can't not tell him. It's his folks, and I'm quits with Jig. "My partner … EX partner … thinks he's going to bag himself one of you."
"He hunts Hamathi?"
"Yeah. I told him no way, but he's stupid stubborn. Honest, mate? I was arguing with myself if I should tell the Rangers."
"You have radio?"
"Head to Rangers, when you are clear, call them. They will know where to find me. I will make sure of that. Oh. If you do not go to Rangers? I will hunt YOU." Orites gives him a very toothy grin.
GULP "Right'o Mate, Straight to the Rangers it is!"

Jig, Uvir & Orites

There's one of the beggars. Come to papa you ugly thing.
That is not a Ranger.
A low rumble from behind Jig. <> Uvir slowly shifts back, fading into the brush.

What the fuck was that!? Sounded like a big hunting cat right behind me! Nothing there… No… One of them just warned the other off. He's there alright, I just can't see him yet.
A low rumble from one side of Jig. <> Uvir has responded to Orites.
Good, now to fade back out myself.

Damn. Time to get out from between.
This could be fun. Move to one side, even sneaking, I'm faster than him. <>
Uvir! No! Curses, he's decided to play with the poacher. Knowing which direction the danger cry came from, and where the poacher is, he rumbles: <> <> <>.

Hah, I'm almost clear; that one is too far back, and the one to the side isn't close enough to get me before I get him.
Rally? Me? Rally?! No. I am higher ranked than Orites. <> <>
No. This is stupid. Let the human go, the Rangers will catch him soon enough. This time, the rumble is loud enough to be heard as well as felt. <> <> <> <>

Ranger HQ: Captain, Jack, & Foxfire

"Danger. … Danger. … Danger. … Uvir. Rally. Orites. Uvir and Orites are in some sort of trouble, we need to head", pointing, "that way, now."
Jack is already headed for the Rover. "Right! Jump in; let's go!."
Joanne joins them. "Me too!"

"Orites. Attack. … Uvir. Danger. Rally. Orites." At each call, Captain points the direction.
Jack has his hands full driving at this speed. "Foxfire! Put that headset on, and tell me if anyone calls."
"Got it." … "Someone named Cog is calling for Rangers, his partner .. ex-partner .. is hunting Hamathi and he doesn't want any part of it."

That call was so loud. Orites is telling Uvir not to engage, but Uvir wants Orites to attack? That's stupid!
"Tell him to keep heading for Ranger base, we're on our way."
"Cog, Cog, Cog, message received, head for Ranger base, we're on our way."

Jig, Uvir, & Orites

That last one was so loud… I wonder. Could I turn the tables on him? He sounds upset with the other one.
For Deities' sake, Orites! Grow a spine!
Uvir. Do not be a fool. <> <> <> <>

Captain, Jack, & Foxfire

"Uvir. Danger. Rally. Orites. We're getting close! Less than a klick! I'll see if I can get them to come our way." <> <> <> <>
"The broken ground! There's some really broken ground up ahead. Good spot for an ambush!"
Please, be alright Orites.


No. Time to get out. Make a break for the Rover and leave.

Orites & Uvir

They've met up, not because Uvir wanted to, but because Orites came to get him.
"Uvir! Damn it! Leave the human to the Rangers!"
"Grow a spine, Orites! Besides, I outrank you."
"Rank doesn't matter if you're stupid!"
<> <> <> <>
"See! He wants us to attack!"
"Uvir, he just told BOTH of us to rally with HIM. That was not the attack call!"
"You'll do as you're told."
"No. The Captain ordered us to rally with HIM. I'm going to the Captain, as ordered. Gryul is going to chew you a new hole."
Uvir sits there, fuming. Orites heads towards the call the Captain gave. Which just happens to be the direction of the Rover that Jig is making for.

Captain, Jack & Foxfire

I can get there faster on foot, this vehicle has to follow the road.
"Did he mean to bail out like that? It looked like a really rough roll! Hell`a recovery though, up and running without a stop."
"Yes, I think he did. He's got two of his people out there, who may be in danger, and they're not responding anymore. The best thing he can do now is try to get close enough to drag them in."

Jig & Orites

Damn. Ranger's already coming. Damn, Damn, DAMN! Not this time, you sanctimonious bastards. Almost to the Rover. Shoot them when they come over the swale, and then run like hell.
His vehicle… Why is he waiting there? He should be leaving. Orites moves around the poacher towards the direction he's looking. In the distance, he can finally see what the hunter sees, a Ranger's Rover coming towards them at speed. In the passenger seat, red-gold hair flying in the breeze. Joanne!

"So, ya brought a bint with ya, did ya? I'll take her first."
NO! A screaming charge.
The poacher swings his weapon…
A flash of movement.
…and pulls the trigger.
Uvir falls dead in the arms of Orites.
In the last moment, he sprinted between them.
Orites looks at Uvir, looks at the poacher, and growls. {{{DEATH!}}}


Captain arrives. I am too late. Though perhaps, not entirely too late.
"Orites! Stand Down!"
"No, Orites. Let the Rangers have him. You are one in ten. Let this go."
A lighter voice, one well known, one with red-gold hair. "Please, Orites. I know what he's done, don't make it worse."
Orites comes back to himself. "He killed Uvir. Uvir died to save me. Am I not allowed to avenge Uvir?"
Captain responds in precise icy tones. "Orites. While we do have diplomatic immunity, it would be best to let the courts of Earth deal with him. However. If those courts prove ineffectual, I assure you that the hunt will be on.
Poacher? You are the one called Jig?"
"You had best pray to the deities of this world that your courts see fit to either lock you away for life, or to execute you themselves. For I swear that on the day you are freed, all Hamathi will hunt you down. No matter where you go. No matter what you do. You will die."
Jig is stunned for a moment, "NO! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!" His rifle swings up to train on Captain. A second shot rings out. Jig slowly crumples to the ground.
Jack holsters his pistol. "Bad choice, Jig. Bad, bad choice.
Let's get your friends back, leave this bit of carrion for the buzzards. We'll get back to him sooner or later."
The death call has been heard, rally calls are coming over the land as the dispersed Hamathi close on the point the death call came from.
Three Hamathi — one carried carefully — and two humans climb back into the Ranger's vehicle. Driving off slowly, as rally cries surround them, following them back to headquarters. Every so often, Captain gives the Rally cry with his own name. It will bring the others in.


At the edge of some broken ground, near an old Rover, a cheetah comes to an intriguing smell; but the hyenas have gotten there first.

The Second Day

The safari is somber. Hunting is put off another day. The Hamathi range widely across the veld, picking up the odd dry branch here and there. Rallying to pick up something more massive. They build Uvir's pyre in a clear span where there is no grass. Just stony soil. Despite that, they carefully groom the ground around the pyre, and fire pumps are brought in to soak the entire area down. They would not risk burning this beautiful land, even to send their comrade off. This does not take the whole day, so there is time left before sunset—too much time, with too little to do in it.
The news of Uvir's death has spread among the Maasai in the area. Though the Maasai believe that when you are dead, life is over; they know other people have different views. Having heard of the great ritual, they have come out of curiosity. It is a hectic time for Ms. Foxfire, as she is continually defusing landmines before they get stepped on. Things start getting a bit rowdy, and Jack takes a hand.
"Right you lot! Time for races!"
The Hamathi are surprised, this is a day of mourning. Games? On a day of mourning? The Maasai are confused as well, races are not what they expected. Both sides have too much energy. Nerves. Anger. Upset. Regret. Curiosity. Challenge.
The rangers set one long race, and plan out a series of sprints.
Those known for long-distance running start out on the north road, away from the broken lands. This will be a marathon. The first one to reach the halfway point sets the duration of the race. The Ranger will wait at that point for half an hour. After that, he will follow the last person in the Rover. Everyone who reaches the Rover falls in behind it. They run easily now because they would not have been in contention for the win anyway. If the last person falls, they are picked up and helped along; carried if need be.
The sprinters work in groups over a shorter course, finding those who are best. To everyone's surprise, one of the Maasai beats all of the Hamathi sprinters.
"Yes, Ms. Foxfire?"
"Do you know who that young man is?"
"Can't say that I do."
"I'd find out if I were you."
"Why's that?"
"You remember I told you that some of the Hamathi sprinters pretty much blew Usain Bolt out of the water? That young man just beat them. What's that tell you?"
"Best call headquarters; See if there's a spot on the Olympic team."
"That's what I thought too."
At sunset, the ceremony takes place, and although not as grand, it is still comforting. A sense of camaraderie has grown about the two peoples. They have raced together, they have seen a comrade off, they have learned of each other. In the morning, a gift from the Maasai, a sapling planted in this stony place. Although the rangers are doubtful that it will grow, the Maasai who move through the area will care for it, enriching the soil and ensuring that it gets water every time they pass through.
Over the years, the tree grows tall and strong. Providing shade to all who come, including the descendants of a particular cheetah.

Hunting and Departure

The first day started exciting and ended sadly. The second day saw no hunting and the sendoff of yet another crewman. Since then, it's been an exciting experience. Yes, Hamathi do indeed like to catch their own. Yes, they do succeed — about as often as any solitary predator in the area does typically, which is to say, not nearly as often as they might like.
Working in groups, they catch more but have to share. This is not a problem.
Despite the death of Uvir, the safari is an excellent release of tension for the Hamathi. In addition to hunting, they practiced ground soldier movement, tactics, and even had some runs against the rangers. The results were a bit one-sided until the Hamathi caught on. Things got a bit more exciting all around, as the Humans and Hamathi brought their ingenuity to the problem.
A parting speech from "Jack."
"You blokes have been a right handful. I wouldn't have you any other way. Yer all welcome to come back, anytime, with or without friends. In fact, if any of you would like to become rangers, we'll sort something out. Now, before I go all soppy, get out'a here."

Interlude: Resolution of Property

The Outer Control Zone (OCZ) has been down for some time. The debris cleared, roads restored, and other repairs made as needed. Those who lived within that area, but outside the ICZ have returned to their places. They are compensated for the small amount of land that they've lost to the ICZ.
When the Hamathi learn of the plight of those who lived in the ICZ, they are offered a choice; return, or receive value for their property and whatever personal property was lost. Many have lived in their houses for generations, they choose to return.
Before they make their choice, they are informed that the Hamathi have plans for the available land, but for the indefinite future, it will remain open for farming as usual, except for the fields used for cremation. Those farms receive compensation for the lost land, either as a lump sum or as a yearly fee paid equal to the average earnings per active acre of all the farms in the local area.
At the mention of their rations running out, the families ask what sort of foods they need. A list is provided, primarily small game animals, and larger game still hunted for food. With the promise of good pay for the animals, they start stocking what they need to switch from farming to ranching… Although how one "ranches" hares is a strange question.
This solves, eventually, the issue of food supplies. In the interim, the farm families are provided funds and asked to purchase the necessary animals, alive. This is explained as an opportunity for them to choose the best of those they get for breeding stock. Any excess is theirs to keep. This causes a great deal of very sharp trading. The better they bargain, the more they have to restart their lives.
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