also, so, i may have started a little something today

Sam advanced warily as the flaps fell shut behind him. He had a pistol in his belt, not that he thought he could shoot the bloody Governor if this went pear-shaped, and he clasped his hands behind his back, feeling as if he was back at school with the particularly irascible Latin master. “Ah – Your Excellency? I’m Samuel Jones. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” James Oglethorpe was a trim mid-forties aristocrat in a currently rather damp and flyaway wig, which he seemed to have made some effort to tame. He was sitting behind a camp desk heaped with piles of papers and parchments: requisition orders, army reports, maps of the region, dispatches from the scouts and spies, and doubtless a hundred and one bellyaching letters from Commodore Pearce about the needs of the fleet. A few candles were wedged precariously onto the edge, along with some fugitive inkwells and penknives and a half-finished tin plate of dinner. “At your ease, soldier.”

The last thing Sam felt was at ease, but he snapped a salute, clicked his heels, then adopted a slightly more casual posture, taking the camp chair across from Oglethorpe when the governor nodded to it. He tried not to fiddle with the loose thread on his cuff. “Sir?” he prompted, when Oglethorpe kept writing. Likely shouldn’t, keep your mouth shut until the commanding officer spoke to you, so on and so forth, but holding his tongue (or his temper) had never been one of his particular virtues. “Did you – ”

Oglethorpe gave him a dry look, as if to say that he would find out if he just shut up for a moment, and removed the gadroon from the candle, dropping melted wax onto the letter and sealing it with a stamp of his ring. Then he said, “You are Samuel Jones of Savannah, Georgia?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is your father Killian Jones, formerly first lieutenant of HMS Imperator in the Royal Navy?”

A slight chill went down Sam’s back, as this was never a well-boding line of questioning. Still, he kept his expression neutral. “Yes, sir.”

“And your mother, I believe – ” Oglethorpe checked one of his papers. “Emma Jones, née Swan, who was at one point in operation of a vessel, the Blackbird, that – pursued business opportunities outside of the usual parameters of enterprise?”

“If you’re asking if my mother was a pirate,” Sam said bluntly, “I think you know the answer.”

Both of Oglethorpe’s eyebrows raised at that, but he forbore to rebuke this impertinency. He set aside his papers and regarded Sam, fingers steepled. “Both your parents, weren’t they? Your father’s notorious alias was Hook, later in his career?”

Sam winced. So much for that being innocuous. “My parents have been upright citizens for almost three decades. And considering that Georgia was founded to provide a refuge for those who might have landed themselves on the wrong side of England’s laws – you should recall, sir, as you did the founding – surely you can’t be registering a moral objection now?”

“There is,” Oglethorpe said, “rather some difference between the honest poor abused in workhouses, those escaping the unjust vicissitudes of religious oppression, and other such deserving refugees, than there are between notorious and unrepentant high seas pirates. On that note, I believe your grandfather was also a pirate? James McGraw, known as Captain Flint – reported dead some years ago, by hanging?”

Sam kept his face straight. The number of ersatz “Flints” captured by the authorities and inevitably executed had in fact become something of a running joke with his family – “hanged you again last week, Grandpa” – but this meant that Oglethorpe had been doing quite a bit of digging. Not merely to boast about it, either. “Aye,” he said, since there wasn’t much use in denying it outright. “But my grandfather is, as you say, dead.”

“Mm. And you are most likely named for the late Captain Samuel Bellamy, a former close associate of your parents, and also a pirate?”

“Yes,” Sam said resignedly, deciding not to mention that this man was additionally his godfather, as he had a feeling that would be making Oglethorpe’s point for him. “Also a pirate.”

i remember around 2008 when i was really excited about the idea of obama being the next president and my parents knew this and gave me a big figurine of him as a present and i thought it was a really cool idea but unfortunately i’m hard to buy for and they had one success so the next few birthdays/christmases i got so much obama merch that i had to tell them to stop. i think things got too far when they went to italy and brought back a figurine of obama taking a shit


by Paulo Coelho 

1] The path begins with a crossroads. There you can stop and think what direction to follow. But don’t spend too much time thinking or you’ll never leave the spot. Once you have taken the first step, forget the crossroads forever or you will always torture yourself with the useless question: “did I take the right path?”
2] The path doesn’t last for ever. It is a blessing to travel the path for some time, but one day it will come to an end, so always be prepared to leave it at any moment. Don’t get too used to anything. Neither to the hours of euphoria, nor to the endless days when everything seems so difficult and progress is so slow. Don’t forget that sooner or later an angel will appear and your journey will reach an end.
3] Honor your path. It was your choice, your decision, and just as you respect the ground you step on, that ground will respect your feet. Always do what is best to conserve and keep your path and it will do the same for you.
4] Be well equipped. Carry a small rake, a spade, a penknife. Understand that penknives are no use for dry leaves, and rakes are useless for herbs that are deep-rooted. Know also what tool to use at each moment.
5] The path goes forward and backward. At times you have to go back because something was lost, or else a message to be delivered was forgotten in your pocket. A well tended path enables you to go back without any great problems.
6] Take care of the path before you take care of what is around you. Don’t be distracted by the dry leaves at the edges or by the way that others are looking after their paths. Use your energy to tend and conserve the ground that accepts your steps.
7] Be patient. Sometimes the same tasks have to be repeated, like tearing up weeds or closing holes that appear after unexpected rain. Don’t let that annoy you – that is part of the journey.
8] Paths cross. People can tell what the weather is like. Listen to advice, and make your own decisions. You alone are responsible for the path that was entrusted to you.
9] Nature follows its own rules. In this way, you have to be prepared for sudden changes in the fall, slippery ice in winter, the temptations of flowers in spring, thirst and showers in the summer. Make the most of each of these seasons, and don’t complain about their characteristics.
10] Make your path a mirror of yourself. By no means let yourself be influenced by the way that others care for their paths. You have your soul to listen to, and the birds to tell what your soul is saying. Let your stories be beautiful and pleasant to everything around you. Above all, let the stories that your soul tells during the journey be echoed at each and every second of the path.
11] Love your path. And may the Lord guide you and help you every single day in 2016!

anonymous asked:

Hello Earl! Firstly, I must say you are quite adorable. Secondly, I'm quite curious about your younger scouting days. Do you have any interesting stories from back when you were a newly chosen Boy Scout?

Oh, I love reminiscing about my early scouting days! Let me have a think, back to the very start…

Well, I was so excited- I had finally gotten to join the other children who I had been watching with such jealousy. We gave them our secondary bloodstones, and in exchange we got our own Bloodstone Penknives and miniature figure of the globe in case we got lost in another dimension and had to be guided home. It was excellent, it was amazing, it was…it was…

I remember something. I-I don’t know how I had forgotten it… We were on our first trip on the great Sand Wastes, and everything was going fine until some kids decided we should separate, to ‘explore’, and I went because I was excited to prove myself. But we’d forgotten the most sacred of rules; before leaving the safety of the Scout Master, you need to perform the Scout Salute. I had done it, because I was a fresh recruit and very nervous…but the others…

See no evil, speak no evil- you know, to let the desert know you are respectful. Many people don’t know this, but the desert watches. The desert knows.

So, that was our first mistake, and then,

The lights in the sky turned off.

I don’t know how, but there was just the void, looming and omniscient, pressing down upon us all- it was too much, far, far too much, and we closed our eyes, stumbling blindly and when I opened them…

They were gone. 

“Things I like: ivory, sweaters, architectural drawings, urinating, pizza (the Roman bread), staying in hotels, paper clips, the color blue, leather belts, making lists, wagon-lits, paying bills, caves, watching ice-skating, asking questions, taking taxis, Benin art, green apples, office furniture, Jews, eucalyptus trees, penknives, aphorisms, hands.”

Happy birthday Susan Sontag. The world misses your voice.

At Hogwarts, they write with quills. They make several references to this over the course of the books, and they’re in the school supply lists.

I’ve written with quills. It’s a skill in itself, which the children raised in muggle society probably don’t have when they arrive. Then there’s the question of penknives. When quills were the norm for writing, no one thought twice about school children carrying small knives for sharpening their quills. In the Hogwarts universe, do they just let children have knives because they assume if they were going to hurt someone or something, they’d use magic to do it?

What if they quills are sharpened by magic, and if so how early is that spell learned? Do first-years have to take dull quills to an older student to sharpen them, or is their a device enchanted to get the nibs the right shape? Then again, they could be using metal nibs on normal feathers, so they only need to trim the end off to fit in the nib. They could probably be done with a charm or even scissors, if you catch the knack.

That said, children raised in muggle families probably don’t have the skill to write clearly with quills when they arrive. I bet Hermione read her supply list and immediately got a quill and started practicing her penmanship. It seems like something she would do; copying out passages from her textbooks until she had had a fine, clear hand.

Submitted by Olaf Berner

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My edc update for my new, upcoming Essential Pack by Tasmanian Tiger. The 5.11 Rucksack is to much heavy for edc, so I change my backpack. Forgotten EDC item: My Samsung Galaxy S3