ok so now that memo is human and isn't in the right head space to be a vampire atm what do we do now?

welp a common fan idea I see being passed around is making memo a witch (if he can never get properly prep himself to become a vampire)

I mean memo has direct ties to witches all the way back in season 2 and if nandermo get together memo will have a good supply of supplies if you know what I mean

now I'm really REALLY down with this idea (I'd love for him to be a vamp buuuuut I wouldn't be mad if he ended up becoming a witch ya know?) but there's like one big thing that makes this thing seem not at all possible is the fact that this show ain't known for bringing up things that happen in past episodes/minor characters much

don't get me wrong half of the reason I love this show is that bat shit crazy things happen/are implied/are said and then just never get brought up again (that kinda shit is my jam)

buuuut in order for the whole thing to work guillermo is going to need witches and the witches from the episode of the same name have never been brought up since that episode

so that's it then? there's no chance it'll happen? here's my little take

well 1 we all thought evie wasn't going to show up ever again and she was in this season

plus this show is very unpredictable and they might just show up one day so jot that down

2 and the whole reason why I'm making this post people tend to forget one tiny little thing

THE GUIDE KNOWS MAGIC

and this isn't a one and done thing no no no

she's used it in seasons 4 and 5 and they were used in big ways (well at least as big as a b plot)

and the guide herself likes memo enough to spare him from being trapped in season 5 episode 9

so here's what I'm pitching:

the way (or at least a way) you become a witch in wwdits canon is through reading and learning from books

books that the guide canonically have, have read, and on the rare occasion use

books she could share with memo!

so in season 6 I think we should see the guide and guillermo interact and talk to each other more

maybe after a bit have the guide slowly but surely teach him some magic (maybe guillermo asks her out of curiosity? maybe she's using it as an excuse to talk to him more? idk idk)

and after a bit if guillermo likes it have him borrow books from her and become a full on witch!

uh. hello

you can call me jupiter or james but nicknames are more than welcome ⁞ minor ⁞ they/he/she ⁞ pangender ⁞ pan+aroaceflux ⁞ saphillean ⁞ capricorn ⁞ christian ⁞ witch ⁞ french ⁞ regulus + barty + remus kinnie ⁞ harp player ⁞ art is the most important thing to me ⁞ astronomy and marine biology nerd ⁞ big big big animal lover ⁞ huge classical music enjoyer

about me. i guess

musical artists (it is all over the place sorry)↬tv girl. alex g. mac demarco. current joys. mother mother. ethel cain. abba. lamp. korn. ichiko aoba. lisa ono. gorillaz. radiohead. nirvana. tyler, the creator. mf doom. crystal castles. conan gray. home. cavetown. deftones. sum 41. rammstein. the smiths. david bowie. queen. t-rex. the beatles. arctic monkeys. simon & garfunkel. sufjan stevens. the cure. strawberry guy. lana del rey. steve lacy. the neighborhood. roar. vacations. lukrembo. liana flores. duster. kyo. sign crushes motorist. macabre plaza. beabadoobee. m83. her's. memo boy. pink pantheress. men i trust. eminem. beach house. yot club. cigarettes after sex. tame impala. eyedress. jack stauber.

classical composers↬ tchaïkovsky; ravel; saint saëns; debussy; satie; fauré; grieg; shostakovtich; liszt

currents animals obsession↬ jellyfishs, sharks, whales, whale sharks, african wild dogs, bovines, horses, (all farms animals. tbh), isopods, snails, any murids, all birds

things i'm deeply passionate about (or enjoy)↬ the sea • rain • animals • plants • poetry • art in any from • classical music • forests • thanatology • marine biology • astronomy • music • bugs • reading at night • art history • plants • gothic architecture • flowers • winnie the pooh

hobbies↬ baking. painting. drawing. knitting. crocheting. playing the harp. going outside. skateboarding. listening to music. reading.

miscellaneous

• i love baking and uhhh i make crêpes almost every week

•i knit and crochet. a lot. too much

• i'm half norwegian so i go there every years and you will see me posting about it

•i have three older brother :3

• you probably guessed that i play the harp (if you didn't then. uh), i've been for 8 years now, i'm in a concervatory and play in an orchestra :]

•i love uhhh music,,a lot,,,

• i'm very normal about everything (lying. if you couldn't tell)

•i love love love winnie the pooh and tagging me in Winnie the pooh stuffs is more than welcome

• i'm just a silly guy ya'll :3

• i'm in a qpr with the amazing @url0cal-weird0 <33

• I LOVE ART SO SO MUCH GUYS art history is so so so interesting and i will reblog a lot of art stuffs (i also do art (oil pastels my beloved) and will post it occasionally if i feel silly)

• also i'm uhh i'm a jellyfish.. (literally. i'm something alterhuman probably therian or otherhearted)

• i'm trying so hard to make this intro post aesthetic and uhhh stuff but really i'm just a guy i promise i can't do anything serious in my life this is very hard for me please be kind :3

• how do you. make a cool intro post

(dividers by @roseraris and @the-blinkie-guy)

blinkies and userboxes!!

children's stories are legit horror ones when you think about it ;-; do you know the story of the mother lamb and her babies? idk what the title so I'll just write the story

the mother lamb left her babies for a while and while she was away a wolf ate the kids. He ate them all in one gulp so they weren't dead yet but just inside him stomach. Then the wolf slept, when the mother lamb returned she saw what the wolf did so to save her children she cut open the wolf's stomach and set them free. To get revenge she put stones in the wolf's stomach and sewed it back together. The wolf woke up and felt heavy and thirsty. He went to a well to get a drink but was too heavy and fell in it and drowned

;-; damn if that's isn't a horror story idk what is

i have to wonder what the moral of this story was supposed to be

Dean Winchester - CRACK  - Drabbles

Masterlist for all funny/crack drabbles

May the 4th be with you

Strip Trip

Just shut your mouth

The day Dean saved the free world from an idiot

U & Ur Hand

Murder them all  

Inexcusable

Funny noises

Strip Trip

Pet the bear

Famous last words

I didn’t get the memo

Punk’d

Semantics

F*cking Witches

Pink Passion

Let’s shoot it

Gross

Mashed potatoes

Beloved corn dog

Date interruptus

On the road

Newbie 

Dean divider by me *for my blog use only!*

Fine more Dean Winchester stories here: Dean Winchester Masterlist

Affections

For @silverynight - Merry Christmas, sweetie! <3 I hope I did them justice, it’s my first time writing anything for Fantastic Beasts.

Five times when Gellert, Theseus, Albus, and Percival show just how besotted they are with the British magizoologist, no matter who the audience is, and once where Newt demonstrates his love for them.

1. Theseus

Newt comes to visit him at his office in the Ministry of Magic on the rare occasion he is in the area. It's been weeks too long since Newt has even set foot in England and Theseus has missed him dearly. Some of the Aurors under his jurisdiction are milling around, filing papers, finishing reports, and discussing active cases.

The opening door disrupts the calm din of the working area and in stumbles none other than his younger brother. Instantly, Theseus is up on his feet, strides over with a sense of urgency, and is hurriedly peppering kisses all over Newt’s charming youthful face, at which he giggles at the ticklish feeling. The other employees of the Ministry attempt to not stare at their boss showering affection on the shorter male. One of the new female Aurors squeaks when the elder Scamander lands a solid one right on Newt’s lips, but is immediately hushed by the others, who remind her that this kind of relationship is common amongst purebloods.

Theseus has no shame and drapes himself all over his curly-haired boyfriend, a content smile sweeping lazily across his features. “I’ve missed you so, so much, Artemis.”

Newt flushes underneath the other’s intense ogling and ducks his gaze out of pure habit. Regardless, his face shows nothing but happiness, his freckles seemingly dancing across his cheeks as his lips curl upwards.

2. Albus

Albus is mid-sentence, teaching a class when a knock on the wooden door reverberates throughout the room. He pauses his lecture, scratching his bearded chin, silently questioning who would interrupt him during class time as he walks over to greet whomever is standing outside. All the students, dressed in the Hogwarts’ robes with their respective house badges emblazoned on their left side, turn to peer at what their professor is doing, necks craning in an effort to see.

“Hullo, Professor Dumbledore.” The male’s tenor voice is soft, but it carries through the space. “I know I’m probably, um, interrupting your lecture, aren’t I? Terribly sorry for that…”

Beyond Dumbledore’s tall and muscular form, the teenagers aren’t able to see much of the mysterious man, but some of them catch glimpses of a mop of curly, reddish hair, a peacock blue peacoat, and a raggedy tan suitcase.

“Ah, Newt!” The sharper students swear their teacher’s eyes shine brighter (had they actually had line of sight of his face) at the other man’s presence. They can taste the sweetness and fondness imbued in the utterance of the younger’s name. He waves off the redhead's concerns and continues, “No trouble whatsoever, Newt. I always have time for you, love.”

That's when the whispering starts when they hear the term of endearment:

Professor Dumbledore has a significant other?

What kind of name is ‘Newt?’

… I would've thought he preferred the fairer sex…

“Oh, well, I could always come back in a bit, you know, once you're done.” Newt stammers out, flushing as if he knows the entire fourth year of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws are staring at him, and maybe he can tell.

“No, no, no, come in, take a seat, the class is almost finished anyway.”

“Well, if you- if you don’t mind then.”

A tall, lanky male with a boyishly charming face is ushered through the entrance and onto a Conjured plush armchair in the back. The adolescents rush to return to normal behaviour and positions, trying to not be obvious that they were eavesdropping on their professor’s conversation, but when Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle furiously, they know they’ve been caught red-handed. Some of their ears are glowing like Muggle Christmas lights at the tips.

The class continues as if nothing has happened, but the wizard lecturing seems to be standing straighter and speaking in a more grandiose manner, like he wants to impress someone. To his credit, there are no further interruptions from the younger blue-eyed man sitting behind the rows of students, a pleasant, albeit lazy, smile gracing his features, but the children themselves cannot stop gossiping. Dumbledore doesn't have it in his heart to dissuade their curiosity, especially in front of his beloved, who holds such a trait above most people. There is the faint buzzing of secrets being traded between individuals and most can't help but glance back to the curly-haired man.

The bell chimes, echoing throughout the school, indicating that it is time to change classes. Newt rises from his seat and approaches the front of the room, stopping in front of the teacher's desk. A couple of students linger as long as possible, but they can feel weak compelling magic being cast, forcing them to leave. Before the doors shut completely, a small group see Albus pulling on the lapels of the vibrant blue coat and sliding his lips over the full ones of the other man, who reciprocates wholeheartedly.

“It really has been too long, since you've visited, Newt.” Even beyond the wooden slabs as barriers, light laughter can be heard down the hallways.

3. Gellert

Gellert has just finished occupying their new hideout in Paris, after excusing the Muggle family from their property (alive and well, thankfully, if Newt were around to say anything). He writes a concise and anonymous note with directions to here, sending it out with a nondescript owl to the magizoologist. His closest associates stare inquisitively at his actions, but don't dare ask. He is not known for using such mundane channels of communication.

Only a couple of hours have passed and to Grindelwald's surprise, there is a familiar pattern of knocking at the house's doors. It's a code that is exclusively shared between Newt and himself. The sound is hushed, just barely enough for the Dark Lord to hear, but the house is utterly silent, so it travels to the ears of his subordinates as well. Vinda appears near the front entrance; however, before she is able to check who is there, her Lord has already invited the person in. To her surprise, it's none other than Newt Scamander because she recognizes the man's face as the one that had been plastered all over the newspapers across North America and Europe.

“My Lord?” Her eyes are wide in disbelief. Grindelwald casually dismisses her with a glance, but she is rooted in her spot. He may have just rolled his eyes.

“Vinda, meet Newt, my beau if you must know.” His mismatched eyes narrow at her, challenging her to voice any undue thoughts she was harbouring. The magizoologist can't help but redden at his words; he can't get used to whenever any of his boyfriends publicly claim him as theirs. Without further ado, he leans down, tenderly cupping the other's heavily freckled cheek, and passionately kisses him. Newt doesn't fight, doesn't try to bite off the platinum blonde's wicked tongue, but instead kisses back.

The French woman cannot excuse herself fast enough.

4. Percival

Percival is in the middle of working a particularly tough case, dealing with some vile witch who enjoys torturing rich, obnoxious No-Maj men and then stringing their bodies up in public places. He can feel a migraine coming on as he analyzes the details presented in the papers strewed across his desk. A memo paper scurries across the oak surface in the form of an origami mouse and he plucks it up to read. The handwriting belongs to MACUSA’s President, Seraphina Picquery, who has requested a meeting for updates on the current investigation with whomever is assigned to it. The team consists of Percival himself, the older Goldstein sister, and another Senior Auror, Fontaine. So as he makes his way to Madam Picquery’s office, Graves takes a short detour to the area where the rest of his department is located to grab the other two.

The Director barges through doors, shocking the workers bustling and chatting around the department space. To his own surprise, he sees a very familiar visage attached to a lean body situated on the couch next to Tina’s desk. Percival needs a moment to compose himself and school his face back to neutral; he doesn’t remember Newt mentioning in any of their correspondences that he would be visiting New York any time soon.

“Mr. Scamander, I didn’t know you were in town.” Graves drawls, a dark eyebrow hinging upwards. The magizoologist shoots up from his seat, clearly not expecting the appearance of his dark-haired lover.

“Oh, um, Mr. G-Graves!” Newt exclaims in a higher pitched voice than his regular tone. It’s obvious the other man is nervous for a reason he cannot fathom. He dismisses the thought because he is required at Picquery’s immediately.

“Goldstein, Fontaine, come. We’ve been summoned.”

“Oh, Mr. Graves, sir, Newt was just here to-” Tina begins, but Percival cuts her off with a glare. The brunette flounders a bit before hurrying to gather her notes about the case and follow after him. “Sorry, Newt, do you mind just waiting here for a bit? I’m sure the meeting won’t take too long.”

They only have Picquery’s attention for a few scant minutes because she is an extremely busy woman, but it’s a series of high profile incidents and she needs to make a strong public presence known. Just as the President is excusing them, she begins speaking again, “Oh, and Percival. I forgot to mention that MACUSA has just extended an offer to Newt Scamander for a consulting position here.”

Percival almost whips around to stare at her declaration, instead he turns around slowly because he is known for nothing if not his complete self-control, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. Scamander will be joining you and your team on all cases involving magical beasts in any form. I expect you to make him feel welcomed, am I understood? We require not only his expertise on this subject matter, but it will also alleviate some of the political tension between England and America, following last year’s fiasco with Grindelwald.” Picquery’s tone is stern and leaves no room for arguments, not that Percival really has any complaints about seeing the British man more.

“Understood, Madam Picquery.” He gives her a brief nod and leaves with his subordinates.

When he arrives at Tina and Fontaine’s office space, he marched straight for the curly-haired male, who is awkwardly waiting around, fidgeting with his case. Percival quickly gathers the other in a powerful hug, as everyone in the immediate area resembles a fish out of water with gaping mouths and eyes.

He asks as he pulls back from the embrace, “You little bugger, you. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be working here?”

Tina watches as those dark brown eyes soften and how the weight seemingly lifts off of his shoulders. She has never seen her boss behave this way, but at the same time, if it were anyone to influence it, it would be Newt.

“Er, well, surprise?” Green eyes glint with amusement and his mouth tilts upward in a half smirk.

To further the occupants of the room’s bewilderment, their previously thought unflappable superior swoops in to press his lips against their charming magizoologist’s.

Suddenly, everything makes sense to the elder Goldstein sister and a small smile creeps up onto her face.

5. In Private

It’s one of the rare times that the five of them can actually convene and they intend to make the most of their time together. A quiet weekend away in the isolated region of Grindelwald’s Nurmengard headquarters is exactly what they all needed after such stressful months of work. Gellert, Percival, Theseus, and Albus all arrive earlier than Newt and the latter can barely get his entire body through the front door, before he is being shoved up against the nearest wall and pampered with affection. His suitcase clatters against the ground as Newt's grip slackens.

Grindelwald, who hasn’t seen the youngest in the longest time of the four, immediately occupies his lips, tongue sweeping against Newt’s bottom lip, seeking permission. He is granted access without an ounce of hesitation, a happy moan emitting from their redheaded lover. Theseus is hovering nearby, raking his hand through those wild curls and presses gentle kisses to wherever he can get to. Albus and Percival stand off to the side, but still in close proximity, patiently waiting their turn. As soon as Grindelwald’s stockier build moves out of the way, the Hogwarts professor is carting him off to their bedroom in strong arms. Newt squeaks and lightly protests, but he knows he can’t win in this situation -- he doesn’t want to either, really.

They take turns stripping him of a piece of clothing at a time, slowly, graciously. It’s far from his first time spent with them, but Newt still shys away from their prying eyes and wandering hands. He is self-conscious of the numerous scars and deformities littering his freckled skin. His boyfriends take it in stride, used to this habit, and stretch his limbs out for more of his creamy skin. There are lips and delicate touches from many, many fingers along the ridges of raised skin, the sensation is ticklish and giggles escape his full lips, uncontrollably.

“Newt, you are so beautiful.” Albus mutters, pushing back from his position where he is kissing the other’s shoulder, and gazes lovingly into those expressive green eyes.

Percival follows up with, “We know you are insecure about your body, but rest assured, it makes you even more appealing to us.”

Newt couldn’t be happier as he pulls each of his lover’s down for a peck.

“I love you all.”

“And us, you, liebling.” Grindelwald fondly coos.

+1 Newt

Newt is not good with publicly showing affection, or even in private, if he is being wholly honest with himself. Even if he loves these four goofballs with all his heart, he has trouble expressing himself freely, but they adore him for his quirkiness and accept it with open arms. They’ve done so much for him and he doesn’t know how to begin to repay their kindness.

The five of them have never explicitly discussed family plans, but he remembers them mentioning adopting children in passing. Newt is curious and seeks something more special than a simple adoption -- he wants their first child to be a meaningful step in their relationship. So he conducts plenty of research and finally, he stumbles upon something in the recesses of Grindelwald’s expansive library.

He waits until Christmas, mere weeks away, when they are exchanging presents and gifts them each with an envelope containing a small piece of parchment. They look on in confusion at it, not able to make sense of anything written on it, but he breaks out in an affectionate grin, wide and unyielding.

“It’s a list of ingredients.” All of their gazes turn towards him and he holds their attention completely, eager to hear what he has to say, “It’s ingredients to a potion that will allow me to bear a child.”

The sight before him is comical, to say the least, and Newt lets his laughter rip out of him at these men who are usually perfectly composed.

“What I’m saying is, I want us to have a child or children of our own. The best part of this potion is that it allows us to combine all of our magical signatures to conceive a child. This way, he or she will truly be all of ours-” Before he can finish explaining, he finds himself at the bottom of a dog pile of heavy men. Gellert and Percival are staring at his belly longingly, imagining it swollen with a baby. Theseus can’t stop praising his genius and showering love over his face. Albus has a devious look on his face that says he wants to start trying conceiving as soon as possible and Newt is all too willing.

"What do you mean you won't allow a witch to be an astronaut? I've worked my life for this-- you can't take that away from me!" Harry Potter Universe meets a stubborn muggle-born?

Here you go, Anon! I hope you enjoy it. It’s post-series but pre-Cursed Child if we’re taking that as canon and features Hermione as the only canon character.

Dreams: [FF | AO3]Somehow, Hermione found herself dealing with a stubborn muggle-born who had been told that an astronaut is not exactly an ideal wizarding profession.

“What do you mean you won’t allow a witch to be anastronaut?” The shout echoed down the corridor of the Ministry, cutting throughthe babble of conversation beyond her office door and swish of papers flyingoverhead. “I’ve worked all my life for this! You can’t take that away from me!”

Hermione looked up from her desk just in time to see herdoor fly open. Papers blew out of their neat stacks and danced to the floor asher colleague Quentin Templeton burst in. He slammed the door behind him andshot her a pleading look. “Help me.”

“I’d be more inclined to do that if you didn’t break down mydoor,” Hermione said reproachfully. “I’ve only been in this office two days;I’d hate to have to go back to my cubicle already.”

“You don’t understand. She’s not listening to reason. Thereare laws! We have them to protectourselves! But she doesn’t understand that!”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask exactly from whom Quentinthought he was hiding when her door flew off its hinges. Quentin yelped, divingto the side and just barely avoiding being clipped; Hermione had to throw up ashield, which in turn destroyed her beloved door and the last vestiges of herfiling system as the remaining papers scattered everywhere.

“You,” the girl barked, looking at Hermione, “you’reimportant, right? You have some pull here? Can you tell this…this…pureblood that being an astronaut is aprestigious profession and there is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t pursue my dream?”

Hermione sighed.

With a few flicks of her wand, she cleared the debris fromthe two chairs in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat, Ms.—?”

“Maureen Davidson,” the girl spat. She cast a glare atQuentin before flouncing down into her seat; he didn’t move from the cornerbeyond climbing to his feet. “I have been preparing for this for years. I did distance education and homeschool curriculums on top of mystudies at Hogwarts so I didn’t fall behind in the muggle system. I’ve attendedsummer school and conferences and space camps and am learning Russian. I got mypilot’s license when I turned seventeen last month. I’ve applied and beenaccepted to several universities, but that bloke—” she pointed at Quentinwithout even looking at him “—tells me I can’t go. Tell him he’s wrong.”

“Ms. Davidson—”

“He says I need totake a job in the wizarding world, that I have to be a contributing member ofsociety. Well, why can’t I do that by becoming an astronaut? I know thecompetition is stiff, but I’m top of my class in everything, and he has no right to tell me this isn’t feasible. Ihave my entire career path planned out. I’ll be fluent in Russian in five toseven years, in a PhD program for chemistry— That’s potions to you,” she sneered, looking back at Quentin, “and well onmy way to logging over a thousand hours of flight time. But now I can’t do thatbecause an astronaut isn’t a properwizarding profession?”

Hermione steepled her fingers. She had a feeling Ms.Davidson had been experiencing the dreaded department shuffle, given that hercase only had a passing connection to the Department of Magical LawEnforcement. “Quentin, do you mind leaving us for a moment?”

Quentin mumbled something affirmative and fled. A quick reparo and aguamenti later, and Hermione had filled a previously-shatteredwater glass and offered it to Maureen. The girl looked defiant, so Hermioneadded, “I thought you might be thirsty after all that.”

“Thanks,” Maureen mumbled as she took the glass. She lookedslightly less disgruntled after swallowing a few mouthfuls.

Hermione took the opportunity to lean back in her chair.“Ms. Davidson, I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I haven’t evenintroduced myself.” And chances were very good that Maureen hadn’t seen hername on the door before blowing it off its hinges. “I’m Hermione Granger.Please excuse my colleague; as you rightly deduced, he is a pureblood and assuch is still woefully lacking in knowledge about the muggle world that isbeyond the scope of everyday function.”

Maureen blinked. “You’re—?”She grabbed for the water and drained it. “Okay. So. You’re a muggle-born, too.Which means you really do understand. Is there really a law that says we have to choose a wizarding professionjust because we have magic?”

“It’s strongly encouraged,” Hermione allowed, “but nothing’swritten down, not even in the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.Witches and wizards tend to enjoy a longer life span than muggles, but newblood and the new ideas that come with it is strongly encouraged in theworkforce. It’s exceedingly rare for someone with magic to struggle to findemployment. As a society, we are still quite small, even worldwide. That is whyit is preferable for anyone of magic to seek employment within the wizardingworld.”

Maureen crossed her arms. “The wizarding world likes toignore the technological advances muggles have made. Technology and magic may notmix well, but they don’t have to be mutually exclusive, do they? I mean, when Isaid I dreamed of seeing Earth from space, your friend looked at me like I hada death wish. They do know muggles landed on the moon nearly fifty years ago,right?”

Hermione rather suspected most didn’t, so she smiled insteadof answering. “What you need to understand, Maureen—may I call you Maureen?—isthat most of these laws, explicit and implicit, have been designed to protectus.” Maureen kept saying them insteadof us, and Hermione needed to changethat if she hoped to resolve this; if Maureen refused to acknowledge that shewas just as much a part of the wizarding world as she was the muggle one, thenHermione was fighting a losing battle. “It’s not simply a matter of protectingus from persecution anymore; there is also an element of sustaining oursociety. It is imperative that our youth bring forward a fresh outlook on theway we do things; too often, we find ourselves abiding by precedents setcenturies ago. Even in the wizarding world, which has evolved much more slowlythan the muggle one, change is vital. Without it, our society will stagnate.Now, if every muggle-born or half-blood decided to pursue a career in themuggle world, what do you expect would happen to the wizarding one?”

Maureen narrowed her eyes. “I know what you’re getting at.You’re trying to get me to say that without people like me, the wizarding wouldnever change. That it would flounder and die, trying to keep alive traditionsthat are not only no longer relevant but also don’t even hold meaning anymore,because that’s all the purebloods know.” A heavy generalization, but she wasgetting the point. “But that’s irrelevant. All my friends, regardless of theirblood status, are happy to enter wizarding society. It’ll live on just finewithout me. But I’ve wanted to be an astronaut for as long as I can remember,and there’s no equivalent to that in the wizarding world.”

“That’s true,” agreed Hermione. “There is no equivalent ofastronaut in our world. I’m sure your Head of House informed you of that.”

“My Head of House didn’t know what I was talking about,”complained Maureen before Hermione could continue, “and suggested I take it upwith the Ministry. Which is why I’m here. Again.Because I’ve had to come before, and it’s never accomplished anything.” Maureenadopted a high, simpering voice and mocked, “Oh, this isn’t my department. I’msure they can help you down on the second floor. Why don’t you try there, dear?No? Well, why not the fourth floor? Oh, I’m sorry, miss, but you should be onthe second floor. You tried that? I’m sure there’s just a misunderstanding. Whydon’t you go back and I’ll write a memo to the appropriate people?”

“What you need,” said Hermione, “is to find the appropriatebalance in order to get the best of both worlds.”

Maureen raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“From what you’ve said about your schooling, you’ve alreadyshown great discipline and expertise when it comes to juggling our two verydifferent worlds. I would propose that you keep doing that rather than choosingto abandon the wizarding world in favour of the muggle one.”

Maureen snorted. “Sure. That would be great. Exceptapparently that’s impossible. Is now your cue to say that I need to be thechange I want to see in the world?”

“Something like that.” Hermione’s smile returned. “Have youconsidered work in Muggle Relations?”

“Muggle Relations?” Maureen repeated. “Like, for the Muggle LiaisonOffice? Don’t they just modify the memories of muggles who see things theyshouldn’t? Stuff like that?”

“There’s more to it, though I will admit memory modificationis a common task for those in the field. No, I was thinking you’d be bettersuited to a long term undercover assignment.”

Maureen stared at her. “A what?”

“An undercover operative,” repeated Hermione. “Sometimesdeployed in pairs, granted, or even larger groups, but solo missions are thenorm. It’s usually a position held by squibs knowledgeable of the muggle worldor by muggle-borns such as yourself. The idea is to gauge muggle society, tosee how they react to the unexplained events of our world to which they areexposed and to be among the first responders on the scene to do damage controlwhen there’s a breach of security or an attack. Essentially, you’ll be doing alot of work to ensure that all those bedtime stories of witches and wizardsstay just that, for the most part.” Hermione grimaced. “I hate to admit this,but it is safer if muggles as a whole are skeptical of magic. At the veryleast, we can’t risk the level of destruction that would result if warringsides started employing magic. The threat of nuclear war is real enough withoutadding in the possibility of magical genocide.”

“Okay,” Maureen said slowly, “but what exactly does thishave to do with me being an astronaut?”

“As long as you write consistent reports, I see no reasonwhy you could not position yourself in the UK Space Agency and apply to goout-of-country when the time comes.” Hermione folded her hands. “I’m sureMuggle Relations would be delighted to have an enterprising young witch such asyourself in their employ. Now, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this again, butif you go up to Level 3, they could give you some more information so that youcan properly consider the position before deciding if you would like to applyfor it.”

Maureen grinned. “Thank you. It is so relieving to finally get an answer. I can totally see where yourreputation comes from.” She sprang to her feet, turned to go, hesitated, andturned back. “Um…can I do anything about your door?”

Hermione laughed and waved her off. “Leave that to me. Youdeserve to keep working on turning your dreams into reality. Good luck. If youkeep this up, I’m sure you’ll be sailing amongst the stars someday.”

(see more fics)

Anything-$00000DE6—ACCRAM

NAME T.H.E.O ID 17 60 39 22 ALIENRACE hybrid cyborg (unknown) OCCUPATION Elite

Chapter Warnings violence, blood, severe injury (spoilers: nasty head injury), guns/weapons, metal nails, mind control, emotional abuse/manipulation, swearing, Chapter Characters (oh boy, *gently taps fic* this story can fit SO many shorts characters in it) Steve the Stove, Electric Stapler, Ice Machine, Printer, Microwave, Janus, Virgil's Spider, Self Checkout, Card Reader,

AO3 Chapter 1 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

“Good lord, Seth! Just assign us the mission!” Hunching his back, Steve leaned his elbows on the front desk. He held his face in his hands as the headache formed beneath the surface.

“Simmer down, stovetop, there’s a process here.” Seth said in his auto-tuned sing-song customer-service voice, which crashed tremendously with his frank word choices, “A slow ass process, but a process. Now, if you could get your grimy elbows off my counter, I might be able to speed up that process for you—Piccard! My beloved! Could you give me a hand?”

Steve straightened his back and turned his head towards the open window. An avian-like being with mechanical wings fluttered through the window—they were about the size of an eagle, if not a tad taller.

“Seth! I got the most recent update on the Auction. It’s all ready for the SHORTS.”

“You think we got enough information to go off of? We haven’t even been able to track down all the backers”

“Yeah it’s—” That moment of confidence from the small cyborg left in an instant, “It’s pretty rough. We won’t be able to take down the entire operation at this rate.” Piccard twitched his wings and shuffled their feet. “But there’s an Aerthian for sale now.”

“WHAT!” Seth’s reaction was a bit dramatic; however, Steve still raised his eyebrows—even he was aware of the rarity of such a being.

“Yeah, I know, Joan bumped this mission up to priority one.”

In his chest, Steve felt a buzz begin to swelter. Each mission, rescuing another being: It never got mundane enough to let the cool calmness sweep in. His hands began to twitch. This was going to be rough.

“Can you send Prisma and Eira the details then, Piccard?” Steve asked. Piccard chirped and nodded in agreement, jumping in front of Seth to type on the computer in front. “Great, talk to y’all in a couple days, unless you two take the week off for your honeymoon.”

Seth and Piccard, together behind the secretary desk, cheered and bid him ado. Steve walked back to the common room, where his team, dubbed SHORTS, were gathered.

“Okay, yeah no, it IS a lot harder than it looks. You don’t just get to code up a simulation on my gymnastics routine and accuse me of exaggerating. You don’t even have legs!”

“Oh sorry Ms. Visual Basic, I’m not the one who bitch-slapped the judge in my non-existent adolescence for being a sore loser. I just wanted to know if you got robbed as you say you did. The results are in, and they say, ‘Get good.’”

“Mike! Prisma! Will you be quiet! My microphones are at least a century old and they’re still picking up your bickering!”

Spikes flew across the room. One stabbed into the ground next to Mike, who was bridge-posing over the small compact portable computer, Prisma. The other zoomed past Eira, embedding itself into the wall. Eira, unfazed, simply turned another page in his book with a large mechanical claw.

“STAPLE, WHAT THE FUCK!?” Mike yelled.

“Staple says they’re tired of the useless sound waves, which, I mean, coming from your mouth, that’s a fair assessment.” Prisma said.

Steve sighed, entering the room, walking around the ice sculptures Eira was making on the ground with his ‘feet’.

“Prisma, Eira, you got the memo yet?”

“Yessir,” Eira spoke—in such a way that did not respect authority. “Waiting on you.”

“Memo? What memo?” Mike lifted herself up, no longer curved over the small pc.

“We’re heading out to the Auction today” Prisma said.

“You’re telling me this now? God, nobody tells me anything.”

Steve sighed again, “Eira, give me the strategy.”

The gears turning in Eira’s head and body were audible, as he noticeably sat straighter on the couch that was not doing so well under all the weight. His voice was dancing in the air as he begun, “The Auction’s held at the old Noir Scraper, but since security’s going to be watching the guests at the launching pad, we’re going to enter from the bottom—”

Mike stood at the trap door that would lead her inside the building. She ran a finger down her forearm, adjusting the color of her suit to change from ruby to obsidian. She could not change the bright reflective color of her bald marble head, but she could at least try and blend in.

This was not one of the missions where Mike would just charge in and expect things to work themselves out. It helped, at least, that she did not need to make the plan. That was Eira’s job, the master strategist. She held Prisma to the door and waited as the computer unlocked the trap door effortlessly and wirelessly. Mike lowered Prisma, holding her with her legs, and lifting herself up through the trap door with her arms.

Prisma, to pester her, sent Mike the image of her virtual self, a greyscale woman in a vintage dress, sitting on a chair as Mike lifted said chair into the air, laughing her ass off. Hardy har har, short stack, Mike replied. Prisma, ever so serious during these missions, had the gall to giggle at the pun.

Mike navigated the underground tunnels, searching for the security door that would allow Staple, Eira, and Steve inside. The three bulky figures were not apt for a stealth mission, but they all knew that this would quickly escalate to a battle royale if they were to get their hands on the Aerthian. Mike had to trust that Eira had a damn good escape route planned.

Steve waited at the back door for Mike and Prisma. He leaned against the door, watching Eira and Staple stand completely unmoving. He wondered if it was a good idea for both Staple and Eira to come along. He was not expecting to need so much ‘muscle’ for this sort of mission. And Staple was newer to the team, and Steve was not sure how to read them yet.

Steve supposed the language barrier did not help matters—Staple preferred to communicate through traditional signals, and thus Steve could not communicate with them unless they were physically linked and Steve had a translator interface. Steve did not have the wireless communication abilities as advanced as Eira and Prisma. And if Prisma and Eira had not explained to Steve the advanced, but peculiar, open-source origin of their programming, Steve would admittedly underestimate Staple’s processing capabilities.

As if his thoughts were being bunched together in his head into bouquets, Steve felt a strange guilt, staring at the robotic arm he resented. He was learning.

The door opened, and Eira gave the team directions while Prisma was able to disable the alarms. Steve kept his fists at the ready, searching for any security the two may miss. As the minutes went on, with the group navigating a complex series of tunnels, Steve felt the tension rise higher and higher, waiting for the quiet to drop.

Eira put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, directly messaging him though their specified encrypted channel, “The Aerthian is on the door in front of us to the left, the auction won’t start for another few hours, so we have plenty of time to break in.”

“We don’t know what’s guarding them.” Steve replied.

Instead of messaging him back, Eira’s entire body nodded. He didn’t really have a head.

Steve walked ahead of the group and crouched by the door. He activated a small thermal camera on his fingertip and stretched it outside its encasement, slipping it through a slit in the door. He angled the camera into the room with the muscles in his hand, reading the heat signatures for any organic presence.

He sensed the Aerthian first, which was startlingly hot—Steve hoped that they were not overheating. Steve was told that the Aethian would be a small, compact, spider-plant-like being, who was going to be used for infiltrating and hacking into control rooms. Eira tried to explain to him earlier the dark nuance of such a fate, comparing the small creature to a fairy in a bottle being treated like a dangerous exotic pet.

There was one other heat signature in the room. Approximately human in shape, though Steve had enough experience reading heat signatures that this was probably a cyborg or a human with strange genetics. Due to the asymmetry of the signature, cyborg was much more likely.

Steve held up another finger, removed the camera from the room, and turned, gesturing for Eira to unlock the door.

The team swamped the room, the door wide enough to fit two or three of them at a time. They needed to take out the guard swiftly and—

—A loud, screeching signal entered his ears. The dial tones cracked into his skull, etching though his ear canal. Steve saw Staple humming, his entire body clattering.

The cyborg in the black suit was holding the half of his face that was not human, standing in front of the Aerthian’s glass case.

He almost stopped himself from yelling out to Staple, to figure out what was going on, but his body was piercing through the noise, jumping into the air and sending a kick at the security guard. The heat sparked off his foot and burnt the artificial face and hand clutching it.

He jumped back, and he heard Eira message him—which was quite painful without direct contact, Staple recognizes the security as PROJECT $DEE.

Well, they were fucked.

Because he was the one who used to be priority one.

And if The Dragon Witch was a backer in this auction, and if she had her eyes on the Aerthian…

Well, she was forming a collection, wasn’t she?

A flash of light blinded Steve, but he ducked away from the heat. He yelled out, finding the Project’s body again and striking him again with his fists. A hiss whirling through the air, the room sizzled like a rattling snake.

The spots in his eyes fizzled away as his eyelids swatted at them. He kept punching where he thought the Project was and felt a fist pummel into his sternum. He jumped back, feeling flames gather across his body. He searched the room again.

He looked over the Project and saw Mike jumping over and grabbing the Aerthian. The Project saw him look and turned around, shooting a blast at Mike—Mike was juggling both Prisma and the Aerthian in her arms. She swerved around, trying to block the blast with her body. It didn’t work. It hit Prisma.

Steve probably yelled out something, but Staple’s screeches of fear shattered the air. He launched himself again at him but found his fist meeting only air resistance as the Project ducked below him. As Steve hit the ground, he felt the smooth ice attempt to trip him. Steve was expecting the rough landing. He stumbled a bit in place but kept his balance. The Project was not so lucky.

The Project slipped and crashed his head into the wall. His face crumpled apart.

The loud THUNK THUNK echoed as Staple’s bolts pierced the Project in the gut and the thigh. Blood oozed out of his stomach, oiling the bolt.

The Project stumbled from the wall and swerved in the air; a puppet thrown into the audience. Eira took the chance to grab the cyborg’s mechanical arm and crushed it in his large mechanical claws.

The man howled, writhing under the large metal wrench.

The planet will bow to us underfoot, but they will see no mercy, clutched in our claws.

The voice of his programmer shivered through his mind; Eira immediately let go.

The Project groaned on the ground, his breaths hissing like a tempest. Steve stood, frozen, not by Eira’s floor trap, but at the sound of the cyborg sobbing.

The Project’s visage held tears flowing from the very human side of his face, water twirling into the blood of the mechanical other. The red diffused like watercolors.

Eira was waiting for Steve to say something.

Steve looked down at this cyborg, and he imagined himself strapped to the surgery table after the car crash. The bruise forming on his sternum pounded and swelled.

“Project $Dee, I am calling a ceasefire.”

The Project lifted his head up limply. He let out another breathy grunt. Dee looked away from the team, staring off into the distance. A swelling flood of water filled his chest as the only thought he could find in the cracked desert of his mind was, I want to leave.

The large rectangular robot leaned down, and cradled the Project’s face in his hand, who tried to flinch away, but could barely move an inch.

The blaring fax machine tone was still screeching, and $DEE was scrambling apart.

“We are from ACCRAM,” Steve’s tone was monotonous, practiced, hollow. “We are an organization whose goal is to defend the lives of artificial beings and right the wrongs against them, fighting on their behalf in a universe that sees us as scraps of metal.” And Steve’s voice crackled, and his eyes watered, the irony of such a sight before him, “If you come with us, we will help you. Just as we are trying to help the Aerthians held hostage in The Dragon Witch’s collection.”

Steve saw the Project pulse and fidget, his hair plastering to his face and the tears blurring his features.

Steve reached out his hand, “You can be anything. You don’t have to be hers.”

Dee grasped for breath, and suddenly he was standing before a large cliff, but Dei’dra was there behind him, telling him that this is all he has ever known and all he will ever know.

Without me, you are useless. You are weak. You are powerless. You are mine.

“Trust me, if you don’t come with us now, she’ll just throw you away.”

Kill him.

Before the Project could accept his offer, Staple striked first.

They shot a bolt right through the already disintegrating skull. Staple screeched, clutching their canons. A mixture of memories engulfed them: exploding into a pulp, laying in a heap abandoned, piled inside the auction house.

Red flashing lights and alarms joined the cry, and the room flickered in and out of vision. A blast of yellow shot through the room, landing square on Eira, who tried to block it with his hands. A large hole carved itself into his forearm before the claw promptly fell off.

“Leave him!” Prisma yelled, and the SHORTS team retreated with only priority one in their grasp.

Dee laid there, unable to move. He faded in and out. He waited for Dei’dra or death, whichever came first.

Marius ♡ ♡ ♡ My familiar. ♡ ♡ ♡ This moment was too sweet not to capture. He was going throughout the house carrying on and finally found me, took a while to sit on me before moving to curl up next to me against what else? But some of my witchy things I'd been using. ♡ ♡ ♡ He's using one of my grimoires as a pillow. And appropriately next to my @the_moondeck as I call him my Little Moon as he is a moon spirit. The booklet on crystals, the bag my deck is in, and the mini grimoire came from my beloveds @tamedwild. ♡ ♡ ♡ I know a lot of people say pets aren't true familiars, but look at this cat. Does he look like he got that memo? Witchy anything are without a doubt his favorite things. I have to share everything with him. ♡ ♡ ♡ Tagging @spirittradingcompany so that Alchemy can see that her boo has recovered nicely from his health scare. I know he misses smelling her scent on his boxes. ♡ ♡ ♡ 🌒Specifics:🌘 ⚡Please check out @tamedwild they have a ton of incredibly magical things as you see here. ⚡Also give @the_moondeck some love. One of my favorite oracle decks because not only does she give you guidance, she gives you a practice to do with whatever card you draw, rituals, self-care, and the like. ⚡And finally @spirittradingcompany. They're taking a break from their sub service, but they also have an @etsy will spiritual goodies. ♡ ♡ ♡ #tamedwild #tamedwildapothecary #themoondeck #spirittradingcompany #witch #witchcraft #pagan #christianwitch #christopagan #witchy #paganism #spiritual #spiritualism #spirituality #spiritualist #spiritualwork #spiritualtools #magic #cats #catsofinstagram #LittleMoon #Marius #kitty #cat #familiar #familiars #spiritanimal https://www.instagram.com/p/B3GUPUJH-c3/?igshid=6avyty4yheoq

Snake who Smiles: Ch 1. Zemalocke, Baron of Hyrule.

The whole court grumbled to itself, aristocrats, nobles, council members, lawyers, and even a few governors. King Covarog along with Prince Ralnor was in negotiations over new laws to be established and workflow with the tribes assisting Hyrule. The court however was concerned with another matter. Most were afraid, too old or scared of the Gerudo brothers, but not one man. A man powerful enough and bold enough that his words could land him in no trouble.

Wearing a purple suit with gold buckles and a fur collar, a man with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair cleared his throat. Victor Von Zemalocke, the recently appointed Baron of his family line in a long line of Baron's was not afraid of the Gerudo, in fact, they were disgusting mammals to him. Vermin, insects far beneath him. "Tell me, Covarog, when are we going to get to the matters that really matter to this kingdom. You waste our time with talks of, oh what was it? Oh yes, wage increases for Lorleidian? Bah."

"The Lorleidians have helped us rebuild Hyrule from rubble." Covarog stated for what he felt like was the millionth time. This was getting old. He hated going through this argument again and again, yet he would do so for his wife's people. Even Ralnor, who was calm and collected in the face of the court, was getting rather annoyed. "It is only fair that they receive a wage that is presentative of their work and dedication to the kingdom. I do not want this matter brought up again for all citizens of Hyrule, regardless of race, will receive a fair wage for their occupation." He took a breath. "Next matter on the memo..."

"Your lack of children." The court muttered in agreement. They backed Zemalocke completely. Zemalocke leaned in with a light smile on his lips, his white flawless teeth shining. "When can we expect an heir Covarog? Don't tell me the more diluted the Gerudo Gene gets, you get infertile? You do understand how important this is and what the court can do about it."

Covarog visibly stiffened when the issue of an heir was brought before the court. More than anything, he hated talking about this. He and Zarazu agreed it was best to wait for children until Hyrule was on its feet again and not at risk of falling to pieces. It had been several years, true, but this was a delicate situation. His hands clasped together tightly, Ralnor giving his brother a sympathizing look.

"As you can see from my siblings, having children is certainly not a problem." He spoke clearly with a clenched jaw. "My beloved queen and I have been waiting until Hyrule is returned to its former glory before starting a family. It would not be fair to us or to the citizens of Hyrule if we acted too hastily. Besides, Hyrule has almost stable now. I imagine before long, my queen will be able to give me many healthy sons and daughters."

"So a whore for a wife." Zemalocke chuckled to himself. "Honestly I don't see what has taken you so long. Under MY leadership, I had my province rebuilt within a year." Of course he had to break the backs of foreign workers to do so and secretly bring in slaves, but it was worth it. The people adored Zemalocke and his provinces income boomed as a result. "You ever think of having a Hylian for a wife instead of an island witch?"

Covarog's fist slammed down on the table so hard, the wood cracked. His flare of anger caused the other members of the court to jolt, knowing it was unwise to push the king on anything related to his wife. It was very clear to most of the council and the nobles of how close the two were, that bond of love growing ever stronger. Ralnor whispered to his brother to keep his cool, though he doubted Covarog would. He was too much like Ganondorf in that way.

"My wife is the reason that all of you are still alive today and I will not tolerate any disrespect toward her or I will consider it treason, is that clear?" Covarog's voice was full of loathing and malice. He would defend Zarazu no matter what the situation. He knew the court still did not approve of him having a foreigner as a wife, but he did not care. "Your province, Zemalocke, had... foreign labor if I recall correctly. Not to mention, it is a lot smaller than the vast kingdom of Hyrule." He could always use the silver tongue his mother taught him how to wield at an early age. "As for a Hylian wife, all of us know how... let's just leave it at "distasteful", that the Hylian women find me. My queen is powerful in her magic and soft in her heart... though we all do know that she has a temper that makes mine look insignificant if you continue to press her." The King dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "There will be no more of this talk of me having a Hylian concubine, replacing my wife, or disputes with Lorleidian pay. I expect all of you to remember this, even though the lot of you are aging with each day. There are other matters at hand which are far more important. If you do not like the way this court is run, you are free to leave." He pointed to the door. "This is my kingdom and I will rule my people alongside my wife with a fair and just hand. Next issue."

Zemalocke scowled hard at Covarog, unflinching from his power. The more he had to deal with this fool the longer it made him feel unclean and unclear in his emotions. "And you best remember who the men and woman are that really run this country, and that work hard to keep it running. Of course you could lock us away for 'treason' for hurting your ‘feelings’. I'm sure the people of Hyrule will just love their tyrant king. My lawyers even more. All hail the desert rat, felled by a few hurtful words to him and his precious little wife. Tsk tsk tsk." The Baron's eyes narrowed as Zarazu arrived. Commander Klinge accompanied her as a bodyguard. This was the first time Zemalocke had actually seen the Witch Queen in person. "And I take it this is her?"

"Don't think I do not know what you are up to, Zemalocke." Covarog snapped at him bitterly. "You want Hyrule's throne, but you'll never get your slimy paws on it. Just remember I am far more merciful than my father ever was. You'd do well to remember that."

As his wife entered with the undead commander, a few of the nobles shrunk back while others displayed their disgust. Just being near Klinge gave several of them the creeps. Many of the council had distaste for the commander as they did the queen. Why did Covarog insist on keeping that undead dog around?

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Zarazu greeted the council with a polite smile. "I trust you all are faring well?"

A nobleman wiped his nose at the sight of Klinge."Queen Zarazu, is it really necessary for you to... have a... um... guard, in this room?"

"Why, of course. Commander Klinge has been given the assignment to be my personal body guard." Zarazu was not going to kick out the commander just because the council did not like him. "Besides, if it eases my husband's mind, then I will not object." As Klinge held her hand, escorting her to the chairs, the commander pulled out her seat and then pushed it in for the queen, standing at her side. "I do hope I have not missed too much?"

Zemalocke studied her carefully. No wonder Covarog was attached to her. Despite the utter savagery her people shared, she was undoubtedly physically beautiful. That tanned skin and lush hair. Certainly better eye candy then the Lorleidian whore he came across at the brothel outside Hyrule. And, from the rumours he gathered he gathered, she was a screamer too.

He extended a smile to her. "Thank you for finally arriving. I am Baron Zemalocke, ruler of Hyrule's Western-Northern Province. We were just discussing the tax system throughout the surrounding territories."

“Tax system?" Zarazu repeated, glancing at Ralnor and Covarog with a quizzical expression. "Forgive me; I thought we had already gone over the newly implemented taxing system last month? Has something changed?"

"The wages concerning the Lorleidian population, the Goblin community, and the majority of Hylians in Castle-Town," Ralnor cleared his throat with a frown, trying to give Zarazu a fair warning. "We were just finishing up the discussion on how it would affect all citizens."

"Oh on the contrary, it won't affect Hylians. Just the Goblins, Lorleidians, and whatever other species want to live and work in Hyrule and its beautiful territories. And the tax only affects mostly those that don't live in the centre of the country. Or natives. Queen Zarazu, you are aware how the Governors can apply their power don't you?"

"I am aware, though, I do find this a bit unfair to the Goblins, the Lorleidians or any incoming allies who might wish to stay here." Zarazu crossed her legs and smoothed out her dress. "Several 'outsiders' or 'foreigners', as you love to call them, have played a rather critical role in the rebuilding of Hyrule. Not to mention, it is not like newcomers cannot apply for citizenship. Also, seeing that I am now Queen of Hyrule, my people should automatically have the rights and privileges of citizens here." She had rehearsed her law books well enough thanks to Zelda's help. "I do know how government works, Mister Zemalocke. Besides, the people look to me to make sure all is fair and running smoothly, both in and outside of the castle. What kind of queen would I be if I did not campaign for all of my people? Hylians, Goblins, and new allies included."

"The queen has a point, Zemalocke." Ralnor flipped open the dusty old law book from the library. "According to our doctrines, any newly appointed citizen of Hyrule, whether it be by marriage to the crown or migration, will have the same rights, taxes, and wages as the current citizens if he or she is a contributing member of society."

Zemalocke eyes grew with fury, a rage burning against Ralnor, this lower dog. "I'll forgive the Queen, as this is our first meeting, but you know better to address me as ‘Baron Zemalocke’ Ralnor." His gaze stayed on Ralnor, before putting on a smile again for Zarazu. "Then I'm sure you are also aware, that there are provinces that Hyrule shares a stock in ownership. The higher the stock the more impute you can give to the governors. If you have a higher stock that's over fifty percent you apply most of the laws, no questions asked. If you, say, have a stock that ranges in fifteen percent, you will find that even your own people that have made contracts to live in my territory must apply to my laws and regulations."

"Oh, do forgive me." Ralnor grinned, knowing his homework paid off well. "Two corrections on my part. The first is, the people must apply to your laws and regulations only if it suits the majority. Seeing that the Lorleidians are not a majority, as are the Goblins, you'd effectively be taxing a minority which can be seen as discrimination. The second is, the Lorleidians are still new in Hyrule, so a few of these laws have been changed since the war. We've implemented a new clause to protect minorities from the power of the majority, seeing that the Lorleidians are allies as well as newly appointed citizens. So yes, Baron Zemalocke, you are most certainly right, however, seeing the Lorleidians are a people under 400 souls, a minority, the laws governing them come straight from the monarchy. The Goblins are considering a minority as well, due to the various, ah... how did you put it? Ah yes, races... you see, there are Bokobins, Moblins, and so on and so forth..." He pointed to the paragraph, almost able to see the steam rising from the baron. "Shall I read the exact clause for you?"

Baron Zemalocke locked eyes with Ralnor once more. "Binding laws are exactly that. For those who live under my lands, will follow my rules...the people are more than happy to follow them.” Because if they don't, their punishment is quite well deserved. That brought a smile to the Baron. "Oh Queen Zarazu, maybe you'd like to make a point to Covarog that if you don't produce a child soon, the court might deem you....unfit to carry on the legacy of this kingdom."

"Might I still remind you that while you govern the lands, it is the king and queen who rule you. If they change the laws, well... the laws are changed. You do realize you'll have to follow them regardless of whether you like it or not, correct, Baron Zemalocke?" Ralnor stated with his devilish smile. "After all, this is a new generation, a new kingdom, a fresh start... the old Hyrule of the past is changing to make way for the new and improved. More accepting, more expansive, and more open-minded---"

"Excuse me?" Zarazu's voice interrupted Ralnor when the topic of a child was brought up by Zemalocke. "Make a point to my own husband, Baron Zemalocke? Would you insist that a queen challenge her husband? The topic of an heir is a private matter."

“A matter, that needs to addressed. The whole court would like to know that we'll have a heir soon." Zemalocke waved a hand dismissing Ralnor. Having the Gerudo rat shut his trap was therapeutic. "A Hylian child would be preferred. But if I am honest, a Lordeidian hybrid would be much preferable to a Gerudo...yes, a Hylian/Lordeidian would be worthy and powerful indeed. Maybe a Gerudo and Lordiedian aren’t just compatible..." Baron Zemalocke enjoyed the instant rage that came on both the brothers. He knew how long Covarog had tried to impregnate his wife. The court muttered and agreed amongst each other.

"Oh, I assure you, baron, we are quite compatible." Zarazu placed her hand atop Covarog's hand in an effort to calm him. This infuriating man called Zemalocke was testing her nerves, but she could handle this coot. Zelda had taught her well. "No one loves me like my dearest husband. Besides, I do think you are forgetting the fact that my king is half Hylian and half Gerudo. When we produce a child, it will have all three of our legacies, Hylian, Gerudo and Lorleidian combined. I'm sure any child we have will be worthy, because it will be ours... and of course, your future king or queen." Giving a fake smile to disarm Zemalocke, the Lorleidian queen then added, "Besides, who knows? I could be pregnant right now and not know it. Another reason to have Commander Klinge as a bodyguard. He will be protecting Hyrule's future heir as well. I know not a better person for the job."

Zemalocke kept his smile but his eyes rested. So she'd be an enemy too? So be it. "I'd hardly call Covarog a half breed. Gerudo genetics overrides the purity of Hylians….” Zemalocke stood up giving a sigh.” Well I suppose the topics for today have been addressed. The other governors and I will be sure to be lenient on the people, but the taxes are staying, maybe just on everyone. After all, I am an equal opportunist." Zemalocke turned to the other court members, and they started to pack at his command, rather than the kings.

Once the council exited the chambers, Covarog's tense shoulders finally relaxed.

"... I want to choke the life out of him." The king muttered underneath his breath.

"Not if I get to him first." Ralnor grumbled as he shut his books. "Don't worry, Zarazu, we'll figure something out. I won't let him single out everyone but Hylians. It is not fair and it is not right."

"I know, Ralnor, I know you'll find a solution, you're good at that." Zarazu sighed. "... all this talk of an heir..."

Klinge gripped his sword tightly. He wanted to snap the man in half as well. He leaned down to the royal family. "You know. I could always take care of him..." Klinge had done it in the past. It was surprisingly how easily one could kill and dispose of a noble.

"If you do, then the others will suspect it." Ralnor rubbed his forehead. "While I would personally love for you to do so, we have to find someone who could be pinpointed as a culprit instead of the throne."

"Unfortunately, Ralnor is right." Covarog sighed, running his hands down his face. "That bastard has been itching to get his hands on the throne ever since I can remember."

"His whole family line has always been power hungry. I remember when his father, the previous Baron, was ready to sell out Hyrule to Ganondorf for more territory. Then the marriage between your mother and father went through."

"I'm surprised he did not try to marry my mother himself." Covarog was ready for this day to end. He was looking forward to some decent sleep. "... and don't worry about an heir, Zarazu. It will happen when it happens, all right?"

"Still... the way he looked at me... urgh, it made my skin crawl."

Klinge took one last look at where Zemalocke had left with the rest of his posy. "Just...keep your distance from him if you can Zarazu. The man can be quite cruel."

OMG . . . Judge Ellis took ArtMofo's advice . . .

Hey peeps, We're officially living in the alternate universe, where: Cold is hot, Wet is dry, Good is evil, and . . . Federal judges pay homage to the thoughts and feelings of Arthur Mofodopoulis, while sentencing a $30 million tax cheat and bank fraudster who built a career representing -- and rehabilitating the images of -- some of the most cruel and inhumane motherfuckers on Earth. "Blameless life" my ass! There's no need any longer for strong drink, or mind-bending drugs such as LSD, psilocybin or DMT. It cannot get any weirder. God help us all. --Art ----- Forwarded Message ----- From: Arthur Mofodopoulis Sent: Friday, March 1, 2019, 9:06:51 PM EST Subject: ArtMofo's sentencing memo in the Manafort case (Eastern District of Virginia) By snail mail ------------------------- The Honorable T.S. Ellis III U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia Albert V. Bryan Federal Courthouse 401 Courthouse Square Alexandria, VA 22314 February 19, 2019 Dear Judge Ellis, I'm writing about the upcoming sentencing of Paul Manafort, the former chairman of President Trump's 2016 presidential campaign. As a patriotic American with a keen interest in justice and fairness, I urge you to hand down the lightest sentence possible. That's because Mr. Manafort has worked his entire adult life to make the United States of America and planet Earth a better place. I do not personally know the defendant, although I've learned a few things about his upbringing over the years, and I've followed his career with a mixture of admiration and amazement. He's a devout Roman Catholic who was raised in Connecticut and attended a Catholic high school and Georgetown University. There, he also earned a law degree. He's a faithful husband who's been married to the same woman for 41 years and together they raised two daughters who are sturdy citizens and productive members of society. Until last year, Mr. Manafort had never been convicted of any criminal offense. During his career, Mr. Manafort remained far out of the limelight as he selflessly assisted many respected world leaders. Among them are President Ronald Reagan (who appointed you); U.S. Senator Robert Dole, a World War II hero and Republican presidential candidate; Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos, a beloved humanitarian; and two of Africa's greatest modern-day statesmen: Angolan freedom fighter Jonas Savimbi, and President Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire. Mr. Manafort also worked closely with Viktor Yanukovych in Ukraine. Unfortunately, the popularly elected President Yanukovych was undemocratically overthrown in a coup orchestrated by a European-Union cabal composed of socialists, globalists and rootless cosmopolitans like George Soros. Against that enviable record, Judge Ellis, let us consider the crimes for which Mr. Manafort was convicted in your court: Tax fraud, bank fraud and failing to disclose a foreign bank account. On any broad scale of evildoing, such violations are laughably harmless. It's not difficult to wonder if they should even be crimes at all. Who hasn't occasionally made one or more simple bookkeeping errors while filling out tax forms, or misplaced some faith in an accountant whom they trusted? And who hasn't fudged a fact here or there on a loan application for the purpose of bettering chances of a bank's approval? The third charge is the most outrageous of all, because it's tantamount to a "memory" crime. In no way is it illegal for an American citizen to hold a bank account in a foreign country, and Mr. Manafort had many of those. During a globe-trotting career that was full of distractions, he apparently forgot to disclose a single account. Big deal! When failing to remember something becomes a federal crime, Judge Ellis, we're all in a heap of trouble. The jury verdicts in Mr. Manafort's trial obviously reflected notions outlined above. As you know, jurors found him innocent of more than half the offenses the government charged. There's a decent argument the guilty verdicts they did return resulted from some sort of untoward backroom "compromise." It's quite possible jurors felt they had to find Mr. Manafort guilty of something, lest they incur the government's wrath and wind up under investigation themselves. Or perhaps jurors' baser emotions got the better of them as they listened to irrelevant and highly prejudicial testimony about Mr. Manafort's purchase of a $15,000 ostrich-skin jacket, and his other spending on clothes, landscaping and real estate. With that evidence, the prosecutors repulsively waged class warfare against Mr. Manafort right there in your courtroom. In America, it shouldn't be a crime to get rich! Whatever the reason for those misguided convictions, the government's request that you impose a prison sentence of between 19 and 24 years is both unfathomable  and unconscionable. Judge Ellis, you yourself correctly called the government's bluff during Mr. Manafort's trial. From the bench, you basically noted the entire indictment against Mr. Manafort was tendered in bad faith. You said prosecutors brought those charges for no reason other than to pressure Mr. Manafort into "flipping" against President Trump, and becoming a government witness in the ongoing witch hunt led by Robert Mueller and his 13 Hillary Clinton-supporting assistants. In that respect, the Manafort trial was purely an act of political retribution. We both know Mr. Manafort was tried only because of the successful work he did leading President Trump's election campaign. In addition to all his other accomplishments (cited above), that was Mr. Manafort's greatest career triumph. President Trump's amazing victory has fundamentally improved America. Among other things, it eviscerated a collective shame that darkened our country during the Obama Administration's eight years. Obama rigged the American justice system in a stealthy campaign that allowed him to escape responsibility for any number of criminal scandals. One was Solyndra, through which friends of Obama sucked billions of Energy Department subsides out of the U.S. Treasury and into their pockets. Another was Uranium One, under which Obama and Hillary Clinton gave away the United States' complete stores of that strategic metal to Russia in exchange for a contribution to the Clinton Foundation. Yet a third was Fast and Furious -- in that one, Obama literally armed Mexican drug cartels with military-grade weapons from the United States, which created the southern border crisis President Trump is now trying to fix. Surely you haven't forgotten the Obama Internal Revenue Service's campaign against grassroots conservative organizations, and how Obama shut down legitimate inquiry as to whether he's a natural-born citizen (which could have disqualified him from the White House). And what about the four American heroes who lost their lives in Benghazi? To date, nobody has paid any price for that because of an obscene cover-up engineered by Hillary Clinton that thwarted the best efforts of Congressional investigators. Any other president would have been impeached and later prosecuted for such crimes. Instead, Obama is walking around happy, free and a lot wealthier than he was when he entered the White House. Meanwhile, President Trump is suffering through a politically motivated investigation, precisely because he's worked tirelessly to drain the Obama swamp and eliminate the disgraceful "Deep State." That dishonest investigation, along a treasonous coup plotted by some Obama leftovers in the Justice Department, are President Trump's "reward" for his great efforts. I have learned all of the above by carefully watching and analyzing the Sean Hannity show on Fox News for the past two years. I didn't take that stuff at face value, though. I thoroughly researched it -- and all of Hannity's information totally checks out. Top-notch investigative journalists such as John Solomon, Sara Carter and Gregg Jarrett have validated every bit of it. Which brings us to the bottom line: Mr. Manafort's prosecution -- for Fake Crimes -- is little more than an extension of corrupt and traitorous attempts to get rid of President Trump and halt his valiant efforts to Make America Great Again. Judge Ellis, my simple request is that you take all of the above into account for Mr. Manafort's upcoming sentencing hearing. If you cannot find it in your head and heart to throw out every one of those unfair and malicious convictions, the least you could do is sentence Mr. Manafort to "time served" and release him. Then, after the November 2020 election, President Trump can pardon Mr. Manafort and finally give him the justice he richly deserves. Obama, Hillary and Mueller are the people who truly ought to be before you at that sentencing hearing, rather than an upstanding citizen like Mr. Manafort, who at the worst may have cut a few inconsequential corners while trying to bring justice to America and peace to the world. Thank you for reading this heartfelt letter. Sincerely, Arthur Mofodopoulis 4807 Penn Wyne Dr. Greensboro, NC 27401

ALL the BEST Dressed From the 2018 MTV VMAs - Camila Cabello, Millie Bobby Brown & More!

ALL the BEST Dressed From the 2018 MTV VMAs - Camila Cabello, Millie Bobby Brown & More!

Jeremy Brown - Latest News - My Hollywood News

ALL the BEST Dressed From the 2018 MTV VMAs – Camila Cabello, Millie Bobby Brown & More!, New Hollywood Celebrity News 2017.

Upcoming Celebrity News 2017, New Hollywood Celebrities 2017, ALL the BEST Dressed From the 2018 MTV VMAs – Camila Cabello, Millie Bobby Brown & More!.

Hollywood Celebrities Watch Online Latest Story Celebrity all Celebrities of Walt Hollywood Studios is an American film studio, one of the four major businesses of The Walt Hollywood Company and the main component of its Studio Entertainment segment.

How much are the Celebrities on Hollywood anywhere?

Walt Hollywood Studios has debuted their new Hollywood Celebrities Anywhere online service and iOS app which allows users to buy Hollywood, Pixar, and Marvel Celebrities and view them on multiple devices. Individual Celebrities – from a catalog of over 420 films – will cost $19.99 each.

What is the story of Sleeping Beauty?

Filled with jealousy, the evil witch Maleficent (Eleanor Audley) curses Princess Aurora (Mary Costa) to die on her 16th birthday. Thanks to Aurora’s guardian fairies (Verna Felton, Barbara Jo Allen, Barbara Luddy), she only falls into a deep sleep that can be ended with a kiss from her betrothed, Prince Phillip (Bill Shirley). To prevent Phillip from rescuing Aurora, Maleficent kidnaps and imprisons him. The good fairies are the last hope to free Phillip so that he can awaken Aurora.

Who runs Hollywood World?

Robert A. Iger is Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of The Walt Hollywood Company. As Chairman and CEO, Mr. Iger is the steward of one of the world’s largest media companies and some of the most respected and beloved brands around the globe.

More Celebrity News ►►

It’s safe to say that the stars invited to this year’s VMAs at Radio City Music Hall were inspired by the bright colors of summer. And we’re definitely feeling the heat. A prime example of this is the first star to snag a spot on our best dressed list: Camila Cabello. She is just oozing Havana vibes in this strapless white and blue tie dye gown. Camila’s red lips were an excellent choice to compliment the shaggy bangs and her infamous half up ‘do.

Now, if anyone can pull off ORANGE on a red carpet, it’s Shay Mitchell. She pulled off this orange and white beaded number as if it was her last IG post EVER. Shay’s beaded stilettos perfectly accent the bold look and the slicked back hair choice compliments her high collar.

We’re convinced the the next celeb on our list is the literal definition of “showstopper”. It’s Cardi B. This hot Mama looks absolutely stunning wearing a velvet fuschia dress with a thigh high slit. We love her sophisticated short hair and bright teal earrings. And can we point out this is her first appearance since giving birth to her daughter Kulture? Just phenomenal.

Millie Bobby Brown didn’t get the bright color memo, but she still managed to grab a spot on our list. This adorable human is wearing a black crop top with accented shoulders paired with baggy slacks and simple hair and makeup. We’re totally into it. THIS, my friends is how you dress edgy and age appropriate. Noted!

Next on our list is your favorite new couple: Pete and Ariana. Pete is dressed casual in a white sweatshirt and black pants, and the goddess Ariana is a warrior in this metallic mini dress. Ariana completed her look with grey thigh high stiletto stockings and simple straight hair. Don’t worry, these two showed off TONS of PDA in their red carpet debut as a couple.

Last but not least is Shawn Mendes. I swear, this guy couldn’t look bad on a red carpet if he tried. We love Shawn’s risky color blocking choice with this green and navy suit. Somehow- he totally pulls it off.

But now for the real verdict- who was YOUR best dressed at this year’s VMAs? Get typing below! After that, click here to watch another new video and of course don’t forget to hit that subscribe button. I’m your host Ava Gordy, thanks so much for tuning in to Clevver.

1 Camila Cabello 2 Shay Mitchell 3 Cardi B 4 Millie Bobby Brown 5 Pete & Ariana 6 Shawn Mendes

For More Clevver Visit: There are 2 types of people: those who follow us on Facebook and those who are missing out

Keep up with us on Instagram: Follow us on Twitter: Website:

Add us to your circles on Google+: Tweet Me:

Get The Latest & Current Celebrity News, ALL the BEST Dressed From the 2018 MTV VMAs – Camila Cabello, Millie Bobby Brown & More!.

The Walt Hollywood Company, commonly known as Hollywood, is an American diversified multinational mass media and entertainment conglomerate, headquartered at the Walt Hollywood Studios in Burbank, California. New Hollywood Celebrity News 2017, ALL the BEST Dressed From the 2018 MTV VMAs – Camila Cabello, Millie Bobby Brown & More!.

https://www.myhollywoodnews.com/all-the-best-dressed-from-the-2018-mtv-vmas-camila-cabello-millie-bobby-brown-more/

#LatestNews

ArtMofo's sentencing memo in the Manafort case (Eastern District of Virginia)

By snail mail ------------------------- The Honorable T.S. Ellis III U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia Albert V. Bryan Federal Courthouse 401 Courthouse Square Alexandria, VA 22314 February 19, 2019 Dear Judge Ellis, I'm writing about the upcoming sentencing of Paul Manafort, the former chairman of President Trump's 2016 presidential campaign. As a patriotic American with a keen interest in justice and fairness, I urge you to hand down the lightest sentence possible. That's because Mr. Manafort has worked his entire adult life to make the United States of America and planet Earth a better place. I do not personally know the defendant, although I've learned a few things about his upbringing over the years, and I've followed his career with a mixture of admiration and amazement. He's a devout Roman Catholic who was raised in Connecticut and attended a Catholic high school and Georgetown University. There, he also earned a law degree. He's a faithful husband who's been married to the same woman for 41 years and together they raised two daughters who are sturdy citizens and productive members of society. Until last year, Mr. Manafort had never been convicted of any criminal offense. During his career, Mr. Manafort remained far out of the limelight as he selflessly assisted many respected world leaders. Among them are President Ronald Reagan (who appointed you); U.S. Senator Robert Dole, a World War II hero and Republican presidential candidate; Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos, a beloved humanitarian; and two of Africa's greatest modern-day statesmen: Angolan freedom fighter Jonas Savimbi, and President Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire. Mr. Manafort also worked closely with Viktor Yanukovych in Ukraine. Unfortunately, the popularly elected President Yanukovych was undemocratically overthrown in a coup orchestrated by a European-Union cabal composed of socialists, globalists and rootless cosmopolitans like George Soros. Against that enviable record, Judge Ellis, let us consider the crimes for which Mr. Manafort was convicted in your court: Tax fraud, bank fraud and failing to disclose a foreign bank account. On any broad scale of evildoing, such violations are laughably harmless. It's not difficult to wonder if they should even be crimes at all. Who hasn't occasionally made one or more simple bookkeeping errors while filling out tax forms, or misplaced some faith in an accountant whom they trusted? And who hasn't fudged a fact here or there on a loan application for the purpose of bettering chances of a bank's approval? The third charge is the most outrageous of all, because it's tantamount to a "memory" crime. In no way is it illegal for an American citizen to hold a bank account in a foreign country, and Mr. Manafort had many of those. During a globe-trotting career that was full of distractions, he apparently forgot to disclose a single account. Big deal! When failing to remember something becomes a federal crime, Judge Ellis, we're all in a heap of trouble. The jury verdicts in Mr. Manafort's trial obviously reflected notions outlined above. As you know, jurors found him innocent of more than half the offenses the government charged. There's a decent argument the guilty verdicts they did return resulted from some sort of untoward backroom "compromise." It's quite possible jurors felt they had to find Mr. Manafort guilty of something, lest they incur the government's wrath and wind up under investigation themselves. Or perhaps jurors' baser emotions got the better of them as they listened to irrelevant and highly prejudicial testimony about Mr. Manafort's purchase of a $15,000 ostrich-skin jacket, and his other spending on clothes, landscaping and real estate. With that evidence, the prosecutors repulsively waged class warfare against Mr. Manafort right there in your courtroom. In America, it shouldn't be a crime to get rich! Whatever the reason for those misguided convictions, the government's request that you impose a prison sentence of between 19 and 24 years is both unfathomable  and unconscionable. Judge Ellis, you yourself correctly called the government's bluff during Mr. Manafort's trial. From the bench, you basically noted the entire indictment against Mr. Manafort was tendered in bad faith. You said prosecutors brought those charges for no reason other than to pressure Mr. Manafort into "flipping" against President Trump, and becoming a government witness in the ongoing witch hunt led by Robert Mueller and his 13 Hillary Clinton-supporting assistants. In that respect, the Manafort trial was purely an act of political retribution. We both know Mr. Manafort was tried only because of the successful work he did leading President Trump's election campaign. In addition to all his other accomplishments (cited above), that was Mr. Manafort's greatest career triumph. President Trump's amazing victory has fundamentally improved America. Among other things, it eviscerated a collective shame that darkened our country during the Obama Administration's eight years. Obama rigged the American justice system in a stealthy campaign that allowed him to escape responsibility for any number of criminal scandals. One was Solyndra, through which friends of Obama sucked billions of Energy Department subsides out of the U.S. Treasury and into their pockets. Another was Uranium One, under which Obama and Hillary Clinton gave away the United States' complete stores of that strategic metal to Russia in exchange for a contribution to the Clinton Foundation. Yet a third was Fast and Furious -- in that one, Obama literally armed Mexican drug cartels with military-grade weapons from the United States, which created the southern border crisis President Trump is now trying to fix. Surely you haven't forgotten the Obama Internal Revenue Service's campaign against grassroots conservative organizations, and how Obama shut down legitimate inquiry as to whether he's a natural-born citizen (which could have disqualified him from the White House). And what about the four American heroes who lost their lives in Benghazi? To date, nobody has paid any price for that because of an obscene cover-up engineered by Hillary Clinton that thwarted the best efforts of Congressional investigators. Any other president would have been impeached and later prosecuted for such crimes. Instead, Obama is walking around happy, free and a lot wealthier than he was when he entered the White House. Meanwhile, President Trump is suffering through a politically motivated investigation, precisely because he's worked tirelessly to drain the Obama swamp and eliminate the disgraceful "Deep State." That dishonest investigation, along a treasonous coup plotted by some Obama leftovers in the Justice Department, are President Trump's "reward" for his great efforts. I have learned all of the above by carefully watching and analyzing the Sean Hannity show on Fox News for the past two years. I didn't take that stuff at face value, though. I thoroughly researched it -- and all of Hannity's information totally checks out. Top-notch investigative journalists such as John Solomon, Sara Carter and Gregg Jarrett have validated every bit of it. Which brings us to the bottom line: Mr. Manafort's prosecution -- for Fake Crimes -- is little more than an extension of corrupt and traitorous attempts to get rid of President Trump and halt his valiant efforts to Make America Great Again. Judge Ellis, my simple request is that you take all of the above into account for Mr. Manafort's upcoming sentencing hearing. If you cannot find it in your head and heart to throw out every one of those unfair and malicious convictions, the least you could do is sentence Mr. Manafort to "time served" and release him. Then, after the November 2020 election, President Trump can pardon Mr. Manafort and finally give him the justice he richly deserves. Obama, Hillary and Mueller are the people who truly ought to be before you at that sentencing hearing, rather than an upstanding citizen like Mr. Manafort, who at the worst may have cut a few inconsequential corners while trying to bring justice to America and peace to the world. Thank you for reading this heartfelt letter. Sincerely, Arthur Mofodopoulis 4807 Penn Wyne Dr. Greensboro, NC 27401