#int. sorcha

[euphememoon]

"¿Eso es Amortentia?"

Los ojos de la escocesa se abrieron como platos. Había intentado ser cuidadosa, pero estaba claro que su plan había fallado. "¿...No?" Trató de mentir, mirando a la joven por el rabillo del ojo. "¿...Quizás?" Volvió a probar. Pero siempre había sido una mentirosa horrible, así que acabó confesando de inmediato. "¡Está bien! Lo encontré ayer en una de las celdas donde trabajo... ¡Creo que es de un troll! Aunque desconozco cómo se ha hecho con ella o para qué la quiere." Y ahora trataba de averiguar el misterio. (༄ para pandora / @meetmeafftcrdark )

[meetmeafftcrdark]

☽. sorcha macfusty said: “AAAAAHHHHH!”

La exclamación ajena la puso en modo pelear o huir ( y ella, probablemente, huiría si era necesario, muy a su pesar ), dejando caer lo que tenía en las manos con un sobresalto– ¿Qué? ¿Qué pasó? ¿Estás bien? –preguntó alarmada, mirando a la joven. / @euphememoon

[aidenmacalistair]

(( ~ @sorchvs ~ ))

He had to be something. People he kind of recognized were sprouting wings or fangs or turning into wolves when he knew that wasn’t what they were yesterday. That light did something and Aiden easily figured out that what species people were yesterday, they weren’t today. Vampires were wolves, fae were now vampires, wolves were now mermaids? The whole world had turned to shit and Aiden had to be something. He could not just be a mere human. He refused to believe it.

A rock tumbled as he reached the cliff’s edge. The water below seemed safe enough, no rocks to crash into and no large waves to push him into a current he couldn’t swim, but granted, Aiden couldn’t swim. He was a fucking fire fae. The last place he ever wanted to be was near a large body of water, yet here he was, overlooking the ocean because the only thing left on the list was a merman. Merfolk weren’t immortal, but at least they had power and it was something more. Aiden was also in no way rational to remember his own years of training. He would have remembered, but he took the jump and just hoped for the best. Aiden never shied away from leap of faiths before.

[euphememoon]

“Dicen que le propuso matrimonio en la final del Mundial de Quidditch.”

"¿Es una broma? ¿Te estás quedado conmigo?" Especuló repentinamente, con galletas en la boca. La contraria había pillado a la escocesa en el momento más importante del día: la merienda. "¡¿Por qué no he oído nada hasta ahora?!" Era una gran fan del Quidditch y esta era la primera vez que se enteraba de tal cosa. Como siempre, habló más rápido de lo necesario, como si no tuviese tiempo para expresar sus pensamientos con más claridad: "¿Es que acaso intentaban esconderlo? ¿Es un secreto? ¿O él ha dicho que no y al final no se van a casar?" ( ༄ para bertha / @theglassbeads )

[midnight-blue-blood]

❤ could you do baby Sorcha as well pwease?

A fascinating fledgling who serves as a glimpse into a world an ocean and centuries away. It is very much the pity that her clan has such bad blood with the locals. It would be interesting to meet. If nothing else, I believe signorina Vicario would appreciate a more personable few nights. Sometimes I feel as if I'm watching a candle burning from both ends, however. That is the English saying, isn't it? Tene’ ‘a neva ‘int’ ‘a sacca. Like that. Perhaps it's just the byproduct of youth, but those candles do not last long I think.

((OOC: Love you love you!!!! You always listen to me rubber duck debug my plots! You come up with such fascinating, intimate horror for your players. A grab 'em by the balsl and then rip 'em off slowly kind of personal horror, you know? I'm always looking forward to what you'll do next!))

[euphememoon]

"Yo sí, pero... no mucho... al menos, no lo suficiente, ¿sabes?" Llevaba días en shock por la noticia de su prima, y aprovechaba cualquier oportunidad para desahogarse como solo sabía hacer: nerviosamente hablando. De hecho, ni siquiera escuchó la súplica ajena. "No me puedo creer que ya no esté con nosotros... somos un clan muy grande, sí... y no la conocía muy bien... como he dicho, somos tantos..." Suspiró, mientras tomaba asiento. Su cabeza no paraba de pensar en su familia. "Pero siento que la he traicionado de alguna manera... y mi familia está furiosa, claro... quieren que vuelva a la isla para no volver... aunque eso siempre lo han querido, pero ahora más aun..."

"No, nunca la escuché" respondió de mala gana a quien parecía acercarse a preguntarle, por milésima vez, si era fan de la fallecida Nina MacFusty. "No me interesa, ya basta." No sólo estaba traumatizada y su entorno continuaba resultando aterrador, también estaba sumamente abrumada por la desaparición de Lily. Apenas había dormido la noche pasada. No quería escuchar sobre MacFusty.

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

The Winter’s Ball ... [Duchebus]

In which Duchess and Phoebus attend the Order’s Winter Ball in London. [takes place: December 29th]

@the-duchess-lablanc

[tw -- phoebus being phoebus which means like objectification and plotting murder,,]

PHOEBUS: Ah, the Winter’s Ball.

The tradition. The glam. The frivolity.

It was everything that the Order of the Prince wanted to emulate.

Phoebus normally found it dreadfully boring. Sure, he liked a good party, but he knew these were the types of events where even he had to be on his best behavior. When he’d been younger, he’d tripped over himself like an overgrown pup, excited to meet all the pretty girls and feel them up in corridors...erm, dance with them…

Anyway, as he had gotten older, everyone had paired off and it had led to a rather boring procession. Of course, he danced with his mother and his sister and his little niece. Occasionally, he managed a dance with Olivia. (That was always the highlight of the night.)

But now, he was here with Duchess on his arm. Who looked more beautiful than any of the Order women. Was smarter too. Independent. And looked absolutely gorgeous in her dress, which he was sure would be the talk of the ball, if they weren’t the talk of the ball themselves.

See, you weren’t supposed to bring someone who wasn’t your betrothed with you to one of these, if they were outside the Order. Phoebus didn’t really care. He trusted Duchess and that was all that mattered to him. Also...he hadn’t exactly told his family. Which was going to be hilarious, for they were going to have to just grin and bare it. It would be unseemly to yell at their only adult son, the only remaining male heir of age, in front of the whole Order.

They stood outside of the Guild Hall doors now, people sweeping in and out around them. Though located in the theatre district of London, no one paid them a passing glance in their formal wear. Hiding in plain sight, as the Order was wont to do.

Phoebus turned to Duchess before entering and smiled lightly at her. “Are you ready? I’ve got to find my mother first and say hello. Tradition,” he explained with a little roll of his eyes.

DUCHESS: She had been surprised when Phoebus had invited her to the Winter’s Ball. There was still so little she knew about the Order of the Prince. Just what Phoebus had told her. She’d tried to do her own research but there hadn’t been much. Just stories that changed and twisted and contradicted with every other source. It was infuriating.

Added to that the new status of her and Phoebus’ relationship and it was very safe to say that the normally very well put together designer was in a state of panic. Not that that could be seen if you looked at her. As usual she was a picture of confidence. Inside, her mind was a tornado of thought. So many questions that she felt she couldn’t ask, situations that could happen, and what if’s twirled around mind. Sooner or later it would quiet down; more than likely once they were in the midst of mingling and more in her element.

She watched as people milled about, amazed how not one single passerby stopped to question the people standing around in such attire. Her own dress, while simple and understated, was not one that would be seen just out on the streets of London; even if they were in the theatre district.

Phoebus easily and quickly brought her out of her thoughts, his voice causing her gaze to return to him. His mother. Duchess had not yet gotten that far in her spiralling thought process but now that it was there she couldn’t help the way her stomach clenched. Very rarely had she ever had to meet parents as a significant other. Most of her relationships either fizzled before that point or she already knew the parents.

“Who am I to argue tradition,” she returned his smile easily. “Shall we?”

PHOEBUS: This was a very big deal.

Which meant that Phoebus was acting like it was not a big deal at all. In fact, he didn’t think it was, not really. The Order was who made it into a big deal. They were the ones with the rules that said so. Phoebus just happened to...follow those rules. Which was why he thought the same way. He had never done this before. Taken someone to meet his parents. Well, when he had been younger and a rapscallion, he had brought girls to these events just to be scandalous.

He had never done it seriously.

But, here they were.

It was a good thing if Duchess was nervous that she was doing a good job masking it. Her nerves would certainly make his own worse. She was calm, however, and it calmed him.

“We shall,” he said, offering his elbow to her before stepping forwards into the building that had been owned by the Order for generations.

It opened into a hallway, people mingling, but Phoebus ignored them--heading right for the ballroom at the end of the hall. He knew that his mother would be more likely to be mingling inside, as she always arrived to these events promptly. Unlike him.

“That is the King of the Order. Not a real king. Title only. This year is the melee to change the family. I will be fighting for my family and I have a very good feeling about it,” he murmured to her as they walked, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Ah! My little far-darter,” came a cooing voice and Phoebus turned just before his mother reached up to tug him down by the shirt and kiss both of his cheeks. “And who is this, you rascal?” His mother said, pushing him away and zeroing in on Duchess. “Could it be that LaBlanc woman I’ve heard so much about?” Her expression was assessing, but not negative nor positive.

“Duchess, meet my mother--Lady Sorcha de Chateaupers. Mother, this is Duchess. My date.”

DUCHESS: This was a daunting feat that left Duchess feeling so out of her depth. While she was known to be charming and alluring, it was all a facade for the public. A way to keep her life as private as possible.  But this was her private life. She was very much smitten with Phoebus and after the rather frank discussion about his dalliances with other women, she was sure he felt completely the same. Being allowed to see this part of his life, to actively participate in it, was surreal and terrifying. Too far out of the unknown.

She took his arm without pause, gliding along beside him. Inside the building she could see the heads turn towards them, hear the whispers. This must be as new to them as it was to her. At least she was making an entrance. Her head was held a bit higher, her gaze staying ahead of them. It only faltered when Phoebus pointed out the ‘King’ of the Order and even then she assessed the man quickly before turning back to look at Phoebus. “Winning would make you king, non?” She asked with a raised brow. The term sounded almost silly on her tongue. Though she couldn’t deny that Phoebus already held a somewhat regal air that would allow that title to fit him quite nicely. (And if there was a part of her that wondered if that would make her Queen, she didn’t speak of it. Simply squashed it down with the other questions she had.)

In what felt like no time at all, they were approached and as Duchess had turned to admire the great ballroom she couldn’t help but feel a small chill. There was absolutely no turning back now.

A small smile tucked itself into the corner of her lips as his mother greeted him. For the briefest of moments she wished her family was the same, but just like her previous thoughts it was whisked away to the farthest reaches of her mind. All too quickly, however, the attention was turned to her.

Duchess knew the look the woman wore well. She was being appraised much like she had done to various runway shows before. To be the object of that appraisal was nerve wracking. Her heart beat out a staccato sort of sound in her chest, rattling her rib cage as she held her breath. Said breath wasn’t released until her name fell from Phoebus’ lips.

“A pleasure, Lady Sorcha,” Duchess bowed her head towards the woman, her nerves skillfully hidden away. Mothers were like predators. They could smell fear and Duchess refused to give that to the woman. “I do hope all you have heard has been good things.”

PHOEBUS: Well, she’d used his mother’s title. That was sure to earn her some points. Though, Phoebus had a feeling his mother was simply putting on a show. She had been wanting him to settle down for a very long time now. And with someone as beautiful and accomplished as Duchess? With so many connections and influence?

She really was the complete package, and his mother should know that.

Still, Phoebus reached over to give Duchess’ hand in the crook of his elbow a little squeeze, though to the outside it would look as if Phoebus was simply resting it there.

“Oh, of course, my dear. I don’t know what there would be bad to say!” His mother smiled then, looking much more warm. “We will have lots to talk about, I’m a bit of an artist myself.”

“Duchess is also a businesswoman, mother,” interjected Phoebus.

“Ach, I know. Beauty and brains? I wouldn’t have any less for my Phoebus. I don’t think he’d have any less for himself, though the last girl he’d brought was a bimbo if she was anything.”

“Mother, that was eight years ago,” Phoebus protested, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Well, you shouldn’t have brought her at all.” She sniffed and her expression turned a little harder towards Duchess. “I am sure this one has a proper head on her shoulders, though, don’t you, my dear?”

DUCHESS: Phoebus’ mother turned to her fully and Duchess would have wilted under that assessing gaze if she were a lesser woman. As it was, she didn’t feel the need to. Instead met it with a smile of her own as she gave a soft laugh. It was a quiet relief that the woman had not heard bad things about her. After all, the rumor mill was always churning against her. Tabloids trying to do anything they could to dig up dirt on the elusive Duchess LaBlanc.

Still, she was grateful for Phoebus’ gentle touch.

“Oui,” she spoke quickly, interest painting it’s way onto her words. She hadn’t known that his mother had an interest in art. In fact there was not much that she knew about his mother. Nothing at all could have prepared her for this meeting. Something she would have to chide Phoebus about later in private. “Do you paint?” She found herself asking, wanting to know more about her. The Order was still a confusing thing to her. It’s purpose was clear but the role of each member was still something unknown to her. Were the women of the Order simply there for decoration? Or was there more to it? She had a feeling that if she was able to please Lady Sorcha she would have a better in on everything to do with The Order.

As Lady Sorcha continued, Duchess couldn’t help but chuckle oh so softly.

“I can assure you, I am no bimbo.” Duchess sobered quickly as that harsh gaze was once again turned towards her. The fact that she needed to assert that was almost an insult. Duchess kept her remark to herself only because she knew that his mother was feeling her out. “And I do not mean to brag but if my business is anything to go by, I can also assure you that I have quite the head on my shoulders. Good enough to keep Phoebus in line, should he need it. Though, I can safely say that he has been nothing but a perfect gentleman since I’ve known him.”

PHOEBUS: “Of course he has been.” Sorcha reached out to pat her son’s chest fondly. “But, I’m sure you could handle him otherwise,” she added, giving Duchess an appraising glance.

“I’m standing right here,” Phoebus said with a little huff--if only to make his mother chuckle at him.

His father appeared through the crowd just then, weaving his way towards his wife and son--whom he had not seen in several months.

“Phoebus!” his father greeted in a gruff voice, reaching out to shake his son’s hand. “And who might this lovely woman be? Surely not our Phoebus’ date!” It was said jovially but Phoebus heard the words beneath: that better not be Phoebus’ date.

“Silas, stop it. This is Duchess LaBlanc,” Sorcha introduced, “Duchess--this is my husband, Silas.”

“A pleasure.” Silas’ blue eyes twinkled but Phoebus knew better. There was a calculation to his gaze. Not that Phoebus cared, he would be with Duchess either way, because that was the kind of person Phoebus was. He didn’t care to listen to an old man’s opinions about who he should or should not be with. The Order had always been stifling that way. Phoebus agreed with their mission, but he did not agree with their traditions.

“And how are you finding our little gathering, then?” Phoebus’ father asked, but Phoebus knew what he was really asking: how do you feel about the Order?

DUCHESS: For a moment, as Phoebus’ father approached, Duchess was speechless. The man was, in a word, handsome. Of course it went much deeper than that. There was something about his presence. It demanded to be noticed, commanded Duchess’ attention even as she hung off of his son’s arm. Maybe that was what Phoebus would look like when he was older. The hair that he’d clearly gotten from his mother would turn a lovely shade of white and he’d grow some black in there for that lovely salt and pepper look. He’d be so dashing; even more dashing than he was at the moment.

Not long after he announced his presence, Sorcha introduced her to him and Duchess had the good sense to at least incline her head at him as she offered a kind smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Silas.” Even his name felt handsome rolling of her tongue. Rich and decadent. And she only hoped that she could make as good an impression on him as she did with Lady Sorcha.

His question caught her off guard just a bit. If anyone were to ask that question, Duchess thought it would be his mother. After all, it was a question Duchess would have asked because that sort of thing was important to her. What people thought of her events often reflected what they thought of her and— oh. There it was. The secret question hidden within the other question.

“Well,” she started slowly as she looked around at the people that were beginning to mill about more. “From what I have seen this is all very lovely. While the events in Swynlake are nice. It’s more satisfying to be in a more familiar space.” She gave him a smile as she leaned into Phoebus just slightly. “This is the type of soirée I would prefer to associate myself with.”

PHOEBUS: Silas chuckled heartily at Duchess’ answer, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, well, you fit in wonderfully, my darling,” Silas complimented, his eyes trailing up and down Duchess’ frame.

“Silas,” Sorcha said with a smile of her own, leaning in to take his elbow. “Let’s leave the children alone to have their fun.”

“Yes, dear.” Silas smiled at his wife, touching her cheek for a moment before turning back to Phoebus and Duchess. “Have a good time. Duchess, I hope we will be seeing more of you in the future. Phoebus needs a woman like you to keep him in order.”

Phoebus rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Good-bye, Da.”

With another chuckle, Phoebus’ parents moved off. They were still getting curious glances from other members of the Order, though Phoebus knew that a few of them were jealous women--Phoebus now taken and Duchess looking ever so beautiful He put a hand on the small of her back. “Well, that went much better than last time. Not that I am surprised.”

And he wasn’t. Before, Phoebus had been trying to get under his father’s skin. Show him that if he did not think him better than Clemens, then Phoebus really would be the worst son imaginable. Now that Clemens was gone, Phoebus was trying to temper his ways. Also, he did find this life suited Duchess. He wanted to shower her in gifts of jewels and smithery. She would look beautiful against the wild sea of Denmark, where he hoped they could make a home.

“Would you like to dance, my love? Show off that beautiful dress of yours?”

DUCHESS: Duchess caught the look that Silas gave her but she ignored it purely in favor of basking in his approval. It had seemed that she had gained the approval of both of his parents and it was a good feeling. One that made her feel light and airy; giddy even. “Thank you, Silas,” she smiled at him, nodding her head at him. “I hope to come to more of these. They are certainly enjoyable.”

And it was all true. So far from what she had seen Duchess was very much enjoying herself. The Order was not some stuffy institution to be trapped in. From what she had seen it was a place where like minded people could come together and celebrate beautiful things, all while making the world they lived in a safer place. It was a place she would be able to find her place in easily.

She was stuck in her thoughts, watching as people danced and mingled and interacted. So much so that when Phoebus addressed her again she nearly startled. Instead, though, she turned towards him with somewhat of a smirk on her lips. Oh did she love the chance to show off. And from the looks she had garnered from some of the women (and their counterparts) there was already some jealousy in the room.

“Mmm, maybe show off the woman on your arm. Have I snagged the most eligible bachelor?” She smirked as they moved towards the dance floor.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus hoped that Duchess could attend more of these as well. His mind spun with all the possibilities. It spooled out a thread--

One day, soon, Phoebus as King, Duchess by his side.

A year from now, perhaps, a wedding (the Order had very specific courtship rituals and whilst Phoebus had never been interested in marrying within the Order (besides one), he would want to honor those rituals.)

A year after that, a baby. A boy first, and then a girl--and after that, as many as Duchess would want. He had always wanted a big family. Duchess would be a wonderful mother and they would raise strong sons who would keep their seat as King for longer than any family that had come before him.

Years from now, he and Duchess would retire by the seaside--their children grown, the castle theirs. Duchess would still do her fashion. Phoebus would write his demon encyclopedia for young hunters.

It would be a good life.

But first, a dance.

Phoebus pulled Duchess onto the dance floor and spun her once. “Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter, because I found a woman smarter and more beautiful than any of them could ever hope to be.”

[uoblgbtq]

Next up, our LGBTQ+ Guild Part Time Officer (PTO), Sorcha! They are a de facto member of the committee and co-chair of the association. 

 Introduction Text: “My favourite thing about my degree is that I get to talk about gender and sexuality all the time- Judith Butler is my idol! When I'm not doing that, choral singing at UoB and abroad is my passion. Coming from small-town Ireland, I absolutely love the Gay Village- I will never pass up the opportunity to see some great drag. 

Talk to me about: my year in Sweden, queer theory, new music you've discovered, travelling, and queering the heteropatriarchy in media, politics, and everything else!” 

 Stats! 

Age: 22 

Pronouns: they/them 

Course: International Relations 

Year: 4th year 

 [Image Description: A pale pink background with a white thin frame. In the middle there is a white rectangle with text. 

On the right, there is a selfie of Sorcha. Above it bold black text reads “Sorcha, LGBTQ+ PTO”. 

On the left there is the following text: “My favourite thing about my degree is that I get to talk about gender and sexuality all the time- Judith Butler is my idol! When I'm not doing that, choral singing at UoB and abroad is my passion. Coming from small-town Ireland, I absolutely love the Gay Village- I will never pass up the opportunity to see some great drag. 

Talk to me about: my year in Sweden, queer theory, new music you've discovered, travelling, and queering the heteropatriarchy in media, politics, and everything else!” 

Underneath there is a table layout with the following text Age: 22; pronouns: they/them; course: Int. Relations; year: 4th year. Above the text white square, to the left, there are three little circles. 

In between the two columns there are two small squares with the 8 stripes lgbtq+ flag and the non-binary flag. 

/end ID] 

[rauthschild]

Trump Takes Command Of Worlds Most Feared Spies More Powerful Than CIA-FBI Combined

By: Sorcha Faal

A mind-blowing classified at the highest level “Of Special Importance” new Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) report circulating in the Kremlin today stunningly reveals that the “productive meeting” held yesterday in the White House between President Donald Trump, his top intelligence officials and New York Governor Andrew Cuomo marks one of the most momentous events to have occurred in modern American history—most particularly because Cuomo was directly threatened at this meeting and ordered not to interfere in any way whatsoever with the just activated massive cybersecurity center opened in New York City called CyberNYC—which is an actual massive intelligence operation being organized and operated by the world’s most feared spies known as Unit 8200—the Israeli Intelligence Corps unit responsible for collecting signal intelligence and code decryption—is the foremost technical intelligence agency in the world that stands on a par with the US National Security Agency (NSA) in everything except scale—whose elite spies are called “Israel’s equivalent of Harvard, Princeton and Yale”—and whose $100 million CyberNYC public-private funding was 70% financed by multi-billionaire American hedge fund manager Paul Singer—the same Paul Singer who warned last March-2019 that “socialism is on the march again”—a warning followed a few months later, in September-2019 by Republican Party mega donor Paul Singer using his Elliott Management Corporation (EMC) to buy a $3.2 billion stake in the telecommunications giant AT&T, most notable because this company owns the anti-Trump fake news network CNN—an Elliott Management Corporation whose tactics traumatized the chairman of a German company who described them as “psycho-terror”—and when the Unit 8200 operation CyberNYC went active this past week, saw Singer then using these “psycho terror” tactics when his Elliott Management Company took a major stake in the Japanese multinational conglomerate SoftBank Group—the significance of which now gives Unit 8200 a media arm to use (CNN) as well as an international bank (SoftBank) it can utilize to keep its funding hidden from prying eyes—thus making the Unit 8200 run CyberNYC operation more powerful than the CIA and FBI combined—a power now fully commanded by President Trump—who during his showdown meeting with Governor Cuomo, had at his side acting US Department of Homeland Security Secretary Chad Wolf—the same Secretary Wolf, who immediately after this Trump-Cuomo showdown ended, ordered “Elite Tactical Agents” deployed to 10 socialist Democrat Party iron-grip controlled sanctuary cities—“elite tactical agents”, however, most other nations call “death squads”. 

According to this report, though the vast majority of the American people believe that one of their most important historical dates is 8 November 2016, the day President Trump won his shock election victory over Hillary Clinton, nothing could be further from the truth—as it was the following day, 9 November 2016, future historians will mark as being the day the United States was forever changed—and is entirely due to a single individual named US Navy Admiral Mike Rogers—who on the day Trump was elected, was director of the national-level intelligence agency of the United States Department of Defense called the National Security Agency—the most secretive and powerful of all US intelligence agencies, otherwise known simply as the NSA.

On that fateful day of 9 November 2016, this report details, it saw in its early morning hours NSA Director Admiral Rogers leaving his home in Washington D.C. wearing civilian clothes—an odd occurrence for a high ranking US military officer then matched by his dismissing his armed bodyguards and getting into a taxi he had previously called to pick him up—a taxi that then brought him to Washington Dulles International Airport where he boarded a flight to John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City—where upon landing, he took another taxi to Trump Tower in midtown Manhattan—and with no prior notice or appointment, or his even notifying his Commander-In-Chief President Barack Obama, requested an immediate meeting with President-elect Trump.

One can only imagine the surprise President-elect Trump must have felt when NSA Director Admiral Rogers suddenly appeared on his doorstep, this report continues, but as history has now recorded, this surprise quickly turned into shock and horror when Rogers revealed to Trump that he was being targeted by the most massive and illegal spying operation on a political campaign ever recorded in American history—a massive and illegal spying operation being directed from the highest reaches of the Obama Regime using all US intelligence agencies—and once known, saw Trump immediately moving out of Trump Tower and evacuating his entire family and operations to his New Jersey golf club facility the very moment Rogers left to return to Washington D.C.—and upon returning, saw top US intelligence directors demanding that Obama fire Rogers—but before that could happen, saw Rogers handing in his resignation—and whose most staggering aftermath of reverberating to this very day are contained in the bombshell revelation that:  

The Trump Dossier was not created to allow for spying on the Trump Campaign.

The Dossier was created to obtain a FISA Warrant to cover surveillance activity that had already taken place.

That may well have been the origin of the Trump Dossier creation — to create a rationale for previous illegal surveillance activity.

But heroic actions taken by Admiral Mike Rogers stopped the plan from being implemented. The FISA Court had been warned.

Our entire intelligence apparatus was weaponized to alter a Presidential Election.  The chain of activity may rise all the way to the top.

How does a nation prepare itself to deal with that level of criminality?

In answering the question as to “how does a nation prepare itself to deal with that level of criminality”, this report concludes, President Trump provided the answer for with his vow that “this should never happen to a president again”—but to fulfill, saw Trump, in December-2017, having to create his own private intelligence service in preparation for his going to war against his own US intelligence agencies—a private intelligence service now known as Unit 8200 who are running their CyberNYC operation against all of Trump’s enemies—most important to know about as because they’re all Israeli intelligence operatives, they don’t need US warrants to spy on any American citizen they target—and whose information they’ve collected is being funneled to feared US Attorney John Durham and the criminal investigation he opened to target those who tried to overthrow Trump—with Durham’s main witness to these crimes being former NSA Director Admiral Rogers—and Durham’s main criminal target being Obama’s former CIA Director John Brennan—with it now being reported that CIA officials questioned by Durham’s investigative team “are extremely concerned with the investigation and the direction it’s heading”—as they know when Brennan falls, the gates of Trump’s hell will open up for all of them.

[euphememoon]

"¿Lo dices en serio?" Las cartas insistentes de su familia seguían sin respuestas y la joven, que trataba de buscar algo que escribir de vuelta, seguía sin tener suerte. "¿Ni siquiera a un familiar?" Bien, eran primas segundas y nunca habían mantenido una relación cercana, pero su parentesco tenía que servir de algo.

"Lo siento, no puedo contarte nada," respondió la joven de cabellos oscuros a quien se había acercado. Miriam supuso que, debido a la novedad de la noticia, era alguien más tratando de averiguar si ella había sido parte del equipo de sanadores que asistió en el evento donde Nina MacFusty fue asesinada. No podía evitar sentir un nudo en el estómago al recordar aquella fatídica noche. La tensión en el aire, el caos y la desesperación todavía la perseguían.

[crhs-imc]

The Valiant by Lesley Livingston

The Valiant by @LesLivingston #fiction #historicalfiction #gladiators #ancientrome #celts @razorbillbooks

The Valiant by Lesley Livingston. February 14, 2017. Razorbill, 384 p. ISBN: 97804484893787.  Int Lvl: YA; Rdg Lvl: YA. Princess. Captive. Gladiator. Fallon is the daughter of a proud Celtic king, the sister of the legendary warrior Sorcha, and the sworn enemy of Julius Caesar. When Fallon was a child, Caesar’s armies invaded her homeland, and her beloved sister was killed in battle. Now, on the…

[euphememoon]

"¿Me estás diciendo que realmente no tienes ningún lugar mejor en el que estar hoy?"

"¿Por... qué...?" La muchacha rápidamente entró en un estado de nerviosismo... o al menos, se puso más nerviosa de lo que ya estaba de por sí. "Hoy tenía el día libre, creo... ¡No! Estoy segura. ¡Sí! Me lo apunto siempre... en esta libreta...", añadió, sacando dicho objeto para revisar bien sus cálculos. Efectivamente, hoy no tenía que ir a trabajar. Pero seguía sin entender las palabras ajenas. "¿Ha pasado algo en las celdas? ¿Han escapado los troles? ¿¡Sabes algo?!" ( ༄ para dolores / @chestofwonders )

[euphememoon]

"Este es... el stand de cuidado de trolls," comenzó a decir, con visible estrés. Colocó un mechón de pelo detrás de una oreja, para volver a dejarlo en su posición inicial instantes después. "Aquí puedes encontrar cuidado de trolls, propiamente dicho, también trabajos enfocados a su entrenamiento...", recitó de memoria, "donde yo trabajo... así que si quieres más información no dudes en preguntarme..." Se dio cuenta, quizás demasiado tarde, de que no estaba respondiendo a la pregunta inicial. Como siempre, hablaba de más. "¡Ah! Pero querías saber donde está el stand de los sanadores, ¿verdad? Sí, sí..." Giró la cabeza hacia la izquierda y como no vio lo que buscaba, repitió el acto, esta vez mirando hacia la derecha. "Creo haberlo pasado antes... cuando venía hacía aquí...", declaró, "el problema es que no recuerdo por dónde he venido..."

* feria de empleo.

"disculpa." se acerca por la espalda a la primera persona con la que hace contacto visual. "¿sabes en dónde está el stand de sanadores?" aún no renunciaba a la cafetería, pero la idea de dar un paso más hacía un empleo distinto seguía rindando su mente y quería explorar sus opciones.

[euphememoon]

“Ooh! I like this pumpkin pattern. I’m getting it.”

"¡Oh! ¡Está bien!", la escocesa trató de seguir la conversación de una manera que fuera considerada normal, aunque pronto empezó a vociferar todo lo que quería decir, incapaz de aguantar el repertorio de pensamientos: "Aunque he visto este mismo en otro puesto... y con un precio mucho más bajo, claro... sino no lo mencionaría, evidentemente... no querría hacerte perder el tiempo, claro... aunque bueno, puede que ir a comprar a otro puesto sea perder el tiempo, ¿no?" Soltó una carcajada incómoda, sin saber cómo proseguir. (༄ para daisy @meetmeafftcrdark )

[euphememoon]

"Let’s go get lost in a corn maze. It’ll be fun!"

La propuesta consiguió llenar de ansiedad y nerviosismo a la joven. Aunque bueno, todo la llenaba de ansiedad y nerviosismo. "¿Quieres ir al laberinto?" Preguntó, a pesar de haber escuchado sus palabras a la perfección. Quería asegurarse de ello antes de expresar todas sus preocupaciones... que eran muchas. "¿Y si nos perdemos y nunca nos encuentran? ¿Y si nos atacan y nunca encuentran nuestros cuerpos provocando que nuestros fantasmas permanezcan en el laberinto para siempre? ¿Y si los niños que han entrado antes han puesto trampas?" Hizo una pausa, para tomar aire. "O peor, ¿y si soy alérgica al maíz y nunca me había dado cuenta?" ( ༄ para xenophilius @orchidcovs )

[euphememoon]

༄ ; "maybe we should take a break."

"Tienes razón, sí, sí. Estoy segura de que tienes razón," y a pesar de todo, no podía parar. Sorcha seguía limpiando con su varita las celdas de los trolls a los que entrenaba, parando de vez en cuando para ajustarse las gafas y apartarse el pelo de la cara, dos de sus hábitos nerviosos más comunes. "Supongo que podrías parar, sí, pero yo debo... tengo que seguir. Da igual el dolor de espalda o que no sientas las suelas de los pies... o que tengo agua en los calcetines...," como era normal en ella, la joven soltaba demasiada información en un breve periodo de tiempo. "Aunque no lo parezca, a los trolls no les gusta mucho el agua. O bueno, quizás sí lo parezca, porque son muy antihigiénicos." El caso es que había llovido demasiado el día anterior y por culpa de unas goteras, ahora las celdas donde residían los trolles estaban llenas de agua. Y como era demasiado trabajo para poder acabarlo en unas solas horas (incluso con magia), la escocesa había pedido ayuda. "Te advertí de que no sería muy divertido," añadió. / ༄ : para milton (@fancymagicjellyfish)