#all of this said with the assumption that brennan will give them some way to work to repair whatever thing they broke

[princessdarth-vader]

genuinely forgive me for spiralling abt this thing i just made up but the concept of rolling on the relationship track potentially giving people a stress token is making me want to see riz snap all the more. i think it would be so appropriate to the whole like "the moment he slows down he will break" thing for him to finish these huge challenges and successfully pass all of his classes for the year with flying colours and have a chance to take a breath and use that to try and, for the first time in months, reach out to his mother.

and then it just all comes crashing down and he takes a rage token and fights with sklonda and logically he knows that this rage isn't helping but he's so angry at this system that forces him to work himself to death and sklonda is just. there in the moment; a face for him to yell at. and even if it's not fair he can't control his anger. in the moment he suddenly feels much closer to kipperlilly than he ever has. who sees what she considers an unfair system, and is pissed at the people who enforce it and benefit from it.

idk obviously there are larger plans for the rage tokens as a whole (tying into ankarna, probably pushing them closer to like, being this corrupted being) but it would make so much sense for riz, after everything else has fizzled down, to just crash into a wall and break.

[the-knight-of-destiny]

Okay, so long long ramble under the cut about the nature of Ratgrinder Discourse™, I'll preface by saying that I don't want any of this to get hostile with anyone, because I think that's frankly silly to do over a webshow. That said I am also open to critical discussion so if anything I say doesn't make sense, or doesn't track I'm open to critique on it! Obviously spoilers up to Episode 19 of Fantasy High Junior Year underneath. Also it is a VERY long post, several pages, so don't click read more if that'll be overwhelming/too much at once. I just had to get my thoughts into words.

So, this will be long but I'll try to break it up. For clarity I want to establish my main point and give a quick TL;DR here, so here's the short version, long version even further below. My main points are as follows: 1: It is okay to not be happy with how a narrative is going in a show/story you enjoy. Critique is not hate, if anything it's a form of praise in a way. People wouldn't be having such long and frequent discourse about D20 and it's current season if they didn't feel strongly. 2: Similarly, we as an audience have a very different perspective of the entire story unfolding compared to the Intrepid Heroes/Cast. I think a lot of people jump to assumptions about the cast's thought process when that really isn't something we can gauge beyond what they say in episode and on Adventuring Party. 3: For me at least, even if I am left unsatisfied by an ending it doesn't ruin the fun I had in a work. Now if you just wanted my bullet point thoughts without elaboration, there they are! The rest of this is going to be an insanely long ramble (seriously, exit now if you aren't up for that, it's pages long) that I don't expect anyone to read, but I like to get my thoughts outta my brain. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, in regards to the Ratgrinders dying in the fashion they have, there's been a lot of discussion on literally every place there is to discuss Dimension 20, Twitter, Tumblr, Reddit, I'm sure other places as well. Really it all comes back to one thing, Dungeons and Dragons is a game, but Dimension 20 is a show. We as viewers have some level of narrative expectation, now for everyone that's different. Some folks have specific hopes for plot and character arcs. Others just want a general vibe, but the cast are players. Sure they are performers, but they are players in a game in equal measure. I've alluded to this before but a lot of the sincere vitriol to antagonists thus far (and especially the Ratgrinders) comes from the fact that the players have been fully immersed in a world and as characters where the Ratgrinders have been a constant thorn in their side for tens of hours of play time. Obviously one can still not like how they've engaged with them (I'm still not sure how exactly I feel about it,) but a lot of it is coming from that distinct perspective. When Fig took Ruben out, she specifically was frustrated because she 'wasted her season' on him. There's a meta level of Fig being angry with Ruben as a character who shares a world with him, versus Emily being frustrated as a player that a lot of her in-game actions did not hash out. That's actually totally natural, by the way. The interesting way that DnD serves both as a narrative of the characters in the setting, but also of the players rolling dice is part of what makes actual play like Dimension 20 so interesting. It's why I think SOME of the disappointment with Brennan and the Intrepid Heroes comes from a strange place, we literally cannot experience the story the same way the cast have. We get a week between chunks of story, they film the episodes in batches. We can think for as long as we want about our critical thoughts, they have to improv on the fly. We get to watch the Ratgrinders as antagonists in a story, the IH are actively hindered in their gameplay by the Ratgrinders as enemies.

That said I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried about some aspects of Protagonist Centric Morality™ in this. Oisin having a mildly flirty conversation with Adaine once when he had ulterior motives is a deeply awful manipulation, but Fig catfishing Ruben the better part of an entire year is her trying to reach out and understand him (?). Kipperlilly threatening to desecrate Eugenia's grave is deeply fucked up, but Riz openly advocating mutilating Oisin's body for tactical reasons, and Fabian loudly declaring he intends to do the same to Ivy for literally just his own self-satisfaction are 'fun unhinged moments'.

Before I go on, obviously the Ratgrinders are the bad guys. They're taking part in an evil plan, they've done villainous things throughout the season, especially very recently, etc. This isn't some argument that the Bad Kids are secretly the real monsters or something, obviously not. I just think it's odd that people read into the Bad Kids' actions in the best possible light at all times and the inverse for the Ratgrinders. This protagonist centric morality also comes down to the true reason behind any and all of Fantasy High's villain redemption. Ragh gets redeemed because the player characters think he's possibly useful and/or endearing. Aelwyn gets redeemed because she personally helps Adaine. The only one that Brennan really pushed forward on his own was Zayn, who they barely engaged with. People compare the Ratgrinders to Penelope and Dayne a lot, and understandably so. However I think this is sort of the complication and in my opinion, the silver bullet to understanding what's actually happening with the Ratgrinder's narrative place, Dayne more specifically. He does very little evil on screen. I mean, he injures Fabian and is most likely the one who killed Zayn, but comparatively to Aelwyn, he does almost nothing. He gets killed without so much as a thought, and in a fun (?) parallel to current Ratgrinder discourse, does actually have his body desecrated after death by Fabian. Because he hurt Fabian personally. Aelwyn gets forgiven of doing a lot of terrible shit (and this isn't Aelwyn hate, she's like my favorite NPC.) because it didn't directly affect any of the Bad Kids besides Adaine, and even the bad stuff that did affect Adaine can be sort of off-loaded onto their parents. So it's why I say this discourse is tough, people inevitably say "Well, the Ratgrinders are villains, of course they'll get killed." And this isn't inherently a wrong statement, they look at the bad things the group is doing and understand they must be stopped, why are people upset clearly bad guys get beat and/or killed in DnD games? Because they aren't actually getting killed in such brutal ways because they're bad guys, it's because they personally annoyed or hurt the Bad Kids. This is also why Ratgrinder fans often feel both frustrated and vindicated at once (I speculate, but I feel it's a safe assumption,) because on a meta level Kipperlilly is literally right. Her friends and likely herself are getting ripped to shreds because they crossed the special protagonists, because they started to really frustrate the Intrepid Heroes. The Bad Kids have forgiven atrocities before, but the Intrepid Heroes are really quick to dismiss and kill people they find annoying.

The ultimate example I feel of this, is Mary Ann. Ruben gets blasted into hell because his actions personally annoyed the players, Ivy gets stabbed to death while being repeatedly insulted and threatened with mutilation because her actions personally annoyed the players.

But Mary Ann is the one they all think they can redeem or save, because her personality is more cute and endearing to the players. That kind of says it all better than I ever could.

[miasswier]

miasswier’s ultimate glee ranking: no 24

24: I Do

Written by: Ian Brennan Directed by: Brad Falchuk

Overall Thoughts: This one is a tough one to rank, mostly because the parts that I love I love so goddamn much, but the parts that annoy me annoy me so goddamn much. It’s pretty high up on the list because, objectively, it’s a really strong episode. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the strongest set of episodes in season four (lasting from “Sadie Hawkins” to “Guilty Pleasures”), and has really good entertainment value, while also showing a fantastic portrayal of the difficulties of living with mental illness. I originally had it higher on the list than I do now, but I re-watched it again and ugh, seriously, the parts of this episode I dislike drag it down so goddamn much. Still, it’s really strong, and it has some of my favourite moments in all of Glee history.

What I Like:

Finn telling Rachel that not everything is about her. What I like most about this moment is that it’s true. It’s not just Finn telling Rachel that to ~conceal his true feelings or whatever. Him kissing Emma legitimately had nothing to do with Rachel.

Okay, this whole storyline annoys the fuck out of me, but the scene before Jake and Marley sing their duet is pretty funny. It’s too bad they didn’t give Ryder more of a chance to be funny, because Blake Jenner has fantastic comedic timing.

Kurt and Blaine making out in the backseat of that car. Obviously.

“This is just bros helping bros.” “I love it when you talk fratty.” These two are the biggest fucking dorks.

“Tell me that’s not Tina again!”

Becky as the angry flower girl, throwing her petals with so much fucking force.

Jake calling Ryder out on his racist assumption that Jake would steal, or that Marley would assume Jake was stealing. As far as I remember there’s been no indication that Jake has ever actually committed a crime? He’s just lippy with teachers and sleeps with tons of girls and thinks that makes him a badass, but he isn’t a thief.

Jake and Marley not having sex. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: nobody can convince me that Marley wasn’t asexual. Still, I remember hearing the spoilers that five couples would go into hotel rooms and that four of those would be having sex and instantly hoping that Jake and Marley would be the ones that didn’t. I mean, Jake talks a big game about “taking it slow” but they’ve only been dating for four episodes, so that’s, what, a month? Maybe two? I’m glad that Marley didn’t let herself be pressured by the romantic gestures and such.

Santana raising her arms above her head while she follows Quinn into the hotel room. She’s so excited for the sex she’s about to have.

Honestly, Santana and Quinn in general in this episode. Everything about it is perfect, other than Quinn instantly shooting down the possibility of bisexuality, but my absolute favourite exchange is when Quinn tells Santana that the only non-gross guys are Will (ew) and Al Roker and Santana goes “Al Roker is disgusting, by the way.”

Seriously, though. Santana and Quinn had sex. Twice. That is a canonical thing that happened. I think about it every day tbh. God bless Glee.

Brittany taking pictures of Sue as she walks down the aisle and whispering “you look so good.”

“Oh, look, it’s the glee kids.”

Kurt very obviously hiding his boner behind his jacket as he gets out of the car, and Blaine’s adorable “oh my god.”

“You do realize how trashy blasphemous this is, right?” “Oh, come on Mercedes, everybody hooks up at weddings.”

Kurt pulling Blaine into the hotel room by the fucking tie.

I really enjoy the entire montage of couples post-sex (or post-not-sex, in the case of Jake and Marley). Obviously the Klaine scene is my favourite, but even the Artie/Betty scene is pretty cute. Also, Finn and Rachel’s scene is really heartbreaking in hindsight, since that’s the last time we see them on-screen together (in the same location, at least), and it’s the last kiss Rachel ever gives Finn.

Honestly, although it does annoy me in the context of the episode and in the context of when it aired, in hindsight the whole “we are endgame” speech is pretty sad. Hearing Finn talk about how he and Rachel are going to end up together, no matter what, is like a knife to the heart. Like, wow. There’s so much stuff on this show that in hindsight is just gutting.

That being said, it’s hilarious when Finn gives that whole pseudo-deep metaphor about seeds and Rachel just responds with “are you telling me you want to be a gardener?”

“Will Schuester is a weepy man-child whose greatest joy in life is singing with children. And his best friend? Nineteen.”

“Well, don't say that to Will Schuester. He'll have you singing a stripped down acoustic version of I Will Survive in a choir room full of teenagers with meaningful looks on their faces.”

Rachel telling Finn the honest truth that Emma running off has literally nothing to do with him. I’m glad that we’re at the point in the show where Finn making every woman in his life’s drama about himself is getting nipped in the bud.

Blaine and Kurt flanking Tina in red and white. They look like the angel and devil on her shoulders. Also, they’re totally going to make out during Showgirls.

The portrayal of Emma’s downward spiral over this episode and the previous one is so fantastic. Because it’s real. Here is a woman getting ready for what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, and she’s just dreading it. Her anxiety gets worse and worse, and that just makes her OCD flare up even more-so than usual, and the result we get in the scene leading into “I’m (Not) Getting Married Today” is so wonderfully acted by Jayma Mays. I can think of very few TV shows who accurately dealt with this downside of mental illness: not even being able to enjoy the things that are supposed to bring you joy. Emma wants more than anything to marry Will, but she just can’t do it. It’s so raw, and emotional, and I’m so glad that we got to watch her perspective and not just Will and Finn’s. It’s just… god, I love that whole scene and that whole story. It’s just so goddamn real.

What I Don’t Like:

Mercedes calling Kurt and Blaine her “arm gays”. No thanks.

Okay, yeah, in hindsight the Finchel stuff is really sad, and I did tear up at a few of their scenes, but for fuck’s sake. It’s season four and we’re still dealing with this bullshit? They don’t have that much screen time, but it feels like every one of their scenes is never ending. And just exhausting. Plus, one of those scenes takes place while Kurt and Blaine are singing and I’ll never forgive Glee for that. Never.

In a similar vein, Artie and Betty have way too much screen time considering she was a one-episode character, and they also have a scene during Klaine’s song. It’s almost worse than the Finchel scene because it involves Artie literally annoying a girl into dancing with him via insulting her. She said no, bud. Leave her alone.

Jake/Marley/Ryder is SO ANNOYING OH MY GOD. Of all the annoying heterosexual bullshit I’m forced to put up with in this episode, theirs annoys me the most. First of all, we’re supposed to be rooting for Jake and Marley, but Glee is clearly showing us that Jake is the worst. But then Ryder kisses Marley, who is dating his best friend, so guess who just got added to the list of “the worst”? Seriously , why were these two the only two options given for Marley? She would have been way better off dating Unique.

I know this is a stupid, nitpicky thing, but I hate when Ryder says “she’s just a sophomore” about Marley, because I’m 98% sure that he and Jake are also sophomores, but this makes it sound like they’re both these mature adults or at least seniors, which just ends up making it seem creepy that these two guys are trying to get with this girl who they both clearly see as innocent and inexperienced, and seem to like all the more because of those qualities.

Again, one of the few episodes where I could accept Will having a lot of scenes, and he’s barely in it. Why does Glee always shove Will down my throat when I don’t want him, but hold back on him when he should actually be there? This is his goddamn wedding and he just got stood up. At least show him going to the honeymoon sweet in the hotel alone or something.

Another nitpicky thing but Mercedes isn’t at the reception and that makes me sad >:(

Songs:

You’re All I Need to Get By: I like the scene that comes before this, but the actual performance is boring, mostly because I do not give a rats ass about Jake and Marley. Also, it’s weird that Marley has solo lines in this. I would understand her singing along to some of it, but why is she singing parts by herself? She didn’t know this performance was happening!! HOW DID THEY CO-ORDINATE!!!

Getting Married Today: An awesome performance and amazing vocals by Jayma Mays. I love all of this except for the weird, floating Will Schuester head that is horribly green-screened to hove over Emma running away.

Just Can’t Get Enough: I really, really like this song. The performance, however, frustrates me. You barely see Kurt and Blaine! There are two scenes interjected in the song of straight couples talking, and almost all of the shots during the song are of straight people dancing. WE GET IT FOX! You didn’t want too much gay on your TV, and this episode already had two boys making out, and the implication of them having sex, as well as two girls having sex. Can’t let the boys actually be seen singing together after all that. (Seriously, though, the cover itself is fantastic).

We’ve Got Tonite: Despite my frustration with Finchel in this episode (and always), I really adore this song. It’s the last time they sing together, but even before it was that I still loved it. It’s slow, but sweet, and has fantastic emotion behind it. Plus, we haven’t had Finchel duets shoved down our throat for quite a while now, so I can appreciate how nice they sound together all the more-so. I also love the sneak-attack group song approach they took. Having everyone sing one line and then Finn and Rachel close it off was really clever and makes for a cool song and a great performance.

Anything Could Happen: This is a fun, upbeat song, and it’s a fun, upbeat scene, but honestly, it feels out of place. We aren’t at a fun, upbeat place when this episode ends. Rachel thinks she’s pregnant. Will can’t find Emma. Finn still feels guilty even though Rachel told him explicitly that it wasn’t his fault. Marley feels weird about Ryder kissing her (even though it wasn’t her fault!). The only storyline that really had a happy ending was the Klaine/Tina one (technically Artie/Betty too, but since we literally never see her again…), so I don’t know why this is suddenly all upbeat and happy. It feels like a really odd note to end such an emotional episode on.

Final Thoughts: I’ve always held this episode close to my heart. There is so much that happens in this episode that is so important to me (mostly Quinntana sexy times, but a lot of it is the Emma stuff too). Yeah, some of it annoys me, and the stuff that annoys me really annoys me, but it doesn’t outweigh all the awesome parts of this episode. Just, overall really strong and well-crafted. A+ Glee!

[downeystarkjr]

ALREADY GONE - CAPTAIN SWAN AU - CHAPTER 10

Emma Swan was never one to believe in ghosts or in any superstitions of the kind. However, her beliefs are soon to be tested when she moves into the beautiful yet mysterious Jewel Cottage. The manor known to be the home haunted by Captain Killian Jones. 

The story can also be read on AO3 here

(This is one of the two stories I was working on for the Captain Swan Big Bang 2017 - it’s still a WIP but I have quite a few chapters complete that I really wanted to share)

(PS. Thank you to @ab-normality for your priceless help in being my beta for this story so far!)

Other chapters found here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter 10

When Emma first arrived in Storybrooke, she had never expected she would find herself writing a ghost’s memoirs to help bring him justice. Life was quite different from America, it was far more peaceful in the seaside town, quieter with more beautiful views of the countryside. The American also loved Jewel Cottage, especially now that it had been furnished with a combination of Killian’s furniture and Emma’s.  

There she was by the fire in the living room that evening, curled up on the couch with her notebook in hand to take notes on what Killian was telling her. The ghost opted to sit in his usual dark red arm chair near the fireplace, watching Emma with nothing but fondness in his eyes while Buckley sat down on the carpet in the middle of the room.

“So that’s the facts of your childhood finished, like where you were born, who your parents were and how you had a brother called Liam. Why don’t we include some things about what it was like for you as a child? Like some memories to allow the readers to relate to you and-…”

“Make me seem more human?” Killian asked, finishing Emma’s sentence by making an assumption regarding what she was about to suggest.

“I just think that the purpose behind your memoirs could make more of an impact if we ensure that the readers care about who you are and the man you were while you were still alive?” Emma expressed, giving a small shrug. She knew Killian wanted to out those who wronged him to help with his unfinished business. However, Emma was still oblivious to the identity of those who Killian sought revenge against but figured that the apparition she had befriended  would open up to her more about his past as they worked more on his memoirs.

“You are the author after all, Swan,” the ghost shrugged in agreement to Emma’s suggestion. He was rather enjoying Emma’s company and found himself able to trust her with learning about his past. Hence why Killian chose Emma, the new inhabitant to his home, to write his memoirs. It did come as an advantage that the American blonde was already an established writer. “You could talk about how my mother was an unpublished writer who used to tell us stories while my brother would snuggle up to her at night with the fire burning in the fireplace,” Killian smiled fondly, reminiscing on the past. His happy childhood with his darling mother. “My brother Liam and I were always closer with our mother but at the same time we knew our father loved us even if he didn’t know how to express it towards us  often,” he explained, glancing at the very fireplace he had been talking about which was  providing heat to the room.

Emma wrote down her notes with a kind smile on her face as Killian continued to talk about some of the memories he had of his mother and brother. It was clear he adored his family growing up just by the way he was retelling the events of his past. She chuckled hearing the ghost tell her of a Jones family picnic to the beach for Liam’s birthday  and felt her heart warm at the image of Killian’s mother tucking him into bed and tending to him during an illness as a child in the winter months. Killian made sure to tell Emma of his education, first with his governess and how upset he had been to start his education in public school.

“It must have been difficult to adjust to, having spent your childhood at home,” Emma said with sympathy, speaking of when Killian was sent to study at Eton. As had his brother a couple of years prior.

“Aye…Homesickness is blasted thing to be inflicted with,” Killian explained, recalling how much of a challenge it had been to get used to living in school boarding rooms which was quite a stark contrast to dwelling among the comfort of his mother’s love. “I was always quite studious and wanted to make my parents proud, but quite early on I became closed off,” he sighed with an uncomfortable frown. The poor child had spent nights crying for his mother which the other boys inevitably noticed and didn’t hesitate to bully him for.

“I can imagine,” Emma nodded and offered her acquaintance a smile. She could tell the story of his initial year in Eton wasn’t something he looked back on with great enthusiasm. “Wasn’t there anyone who you could confide in for help? Maybe your housemaster?

“Alas, Swan, my housemaster wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of souls,” the ghost noted after clearing his throat, “he would excuse the boys’ actions as being methods of toughening me up when my father and mother questioned my weight loss and bruises when he arrived to collect me for the winter holidays,” Killian continued and turned his gaze from the fire to Emma. “I couldn’t have been more relieved to be back home. My family were substantially wealthy as you can imagine with my father, Lord Brennan Jones, as a judge. My  brother and I were fortunate to have toys, train sets and extensive collection of books to entertain ourselves with” he smile, remembering the games he and Liam would invent as children. Some of the toys, including Killian’s favourite childhood train set, were still preserved in the attic of Jewel Cottage.

“It was due to my family being in the higher ranks of the social class that allowed me the pleasure of meeting my most cherished friend James, whom you know as JM Barrie.” Killian went on to talk of his and James’ reluctance to adhere to the rules of the society in which they found themselves. They found nothing wrong with mingling with or befriending  those who were from lower ranks. Killian credited his mother for being the one to embed such morals into his heart.  

Emma had seen enough films and read several books to know that Victorian schools weren’t always the most pleasant of places  for the young boys they provided education for. Especially those boys who showed even the slightest hint of weakness.

“Going back to your time at school, didn’t your parents do something to help you?” The author asked. From the way Killian spoke of his parents, Emma could tell he had been lucky to have a strong bond with them and that he had been raised in a loving household. “Surely their position could have impacted your school life? Making a more positive change for you?”

“Aye, they did, but it wasn’t as straightforward as that love,” Killian sighed with a sad smile gracing his features. He never liked boarding school and to this day he still had qualms against it. “I had to endure months of punishment before my parents realised there was something wrong with  their second son,” he explained.

“Oh Killian...” Emma spoke out in a whisper. It broke her heart to try and imagine how life must have been for Killian and the other boys of his time who went through a similar ordeal.

“Aye, but don’t feel sorry for me Swan, I was fortunate to experience much happiness once I departed from Eton at the age of sixteen,” Killian replied, waving his hook in an assuring gesture. He chuckled a little, rather amused, at the look of confusion Emma gave towards him at the revelation of the age he left school.

“So you only went to Eton for five years? You didn’t stay on for college studies?” she asked with a tilt of her head, her blonde locks tied in ponytail like they always were while Emma worked on a writing project.

“Alas no, but let me explain,” Killian began and stood up to casually pace around the room as he told his tale. He always thought he was destined to live his life as a ghost alone trying to fend off anyone who dared set foot in his home. That was until he met Emma. It surprised the Captain how her very presence made him feel less alone than he was with just Buckley and his previous animal companions he looked after. He only realised the craving in his heart for the company of another person with whom he could spend time and share experiences and conversations with after kindling a friendship with Emma. She made Killian happy to be around her.

“The teachers and my housemaster mistook my symptoms of homesickness as me being a recalcitrant student, and deserving of the birch,” the ghost explained, placing his one hand on the  sofa Emma was sitting on as he stopped behind it.  “Don’t mistake it as a birch rod, it was rather like a cluster of birch branches that were bound together that resembled the head of a besom.”

“Ouch..” Emma took a sharp breath, imagining how painful it would have been to be hit with such a cruel piece of equipment. It still baffled the blonde as to how schools in the past used such extreme measures to instil discipline into their students. “Killian that’s awful, how schools could deliver punishments like that is just shocking. It’s a relief it doesn’t happen in this day and age but you did nothing to deserve that sort of treatment.”

“That’s true, children need help and support rather than being beaten if they are struggling, and you’re right, it’s a good thing that the school system has changed drastically since my childhood,” Killian nodded, sitting down on the couch as Emma moved her feet to give him space to sit down. “But I was lucky Swan, after seeing the school had not improved with their treatment and that my hands and back were scarred and bruised with the birch instead of providing me with the help I needed, my parents moved to London during the Easter holidays and my father used his position to his advantage by persuading the school to allow me to live with them but still remain a student. For my own sanity.”

Emma nodded slowly, gradually starting to understand, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the apparition. Biting her lip, she hesitantly reached out a hand to Killian and was surprised to actually feel his hand in hers. It wasn’t like holding another human’s hand, one of the biggest differences was how cold he felt to touch, not so much as cold as ice but like a cool breeze. Even for Emma, the sensation was complicated for her to describe with accuracy.

“Hey it’s alright, I know I wouldn’t have been able to cope as an eleven year old, torn apart from my home to live without my parents in a boarding school,” Emma offered as a way of her giving Killian comfort. It couldn’t be easy reliving the particularly painful memories Killian had experienced. “But what about college? Why didn’t you stay at Eton past the age of sixteen ?” she asked in a kind tone, looking up to Killian’s ocean blue eyes.

Killian was stunned by Emma’s actions but didn’t pull his one hand away. He felt the kindness of her touch and was reluctant to be apart from it as he gently held onto her hand in return. It shouldn’t have surprised him since he was able to pet Buckley, but this was the first time Killian had encountered human contact since becoming a ghost. “Oh Swan…” he whispered beneath his breath. The apparition couldn’t deny it any longer, the blonde American in his home filled his heart with a warm feeling Killian had been a stranger to for so long. Why else was he able to trust her with his house and the secrets of his past? However, Killian knew that he couldn’t express these new feelings to Emma.

Emma had made it clear she was not interested in starting a new relationship with a living man. He couldn’t expect her to harbour feelings for a ghost. Although, at the same time, Killian was confused by the emotions in his heart. Was it just fondness he had for her? Or his heart playing tricks on him and trying to fool him into thinking he was slowly developing feelings for the first human he had welcomed into his life since his death?

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Killian cleared his throat and smiled to try and hide that he was bothered by his thoughts. “When I turned sixteen, I was still living with my parents, and my mother missed living here in Storybrooke, and I was more than willing to move back here with my parents,” he explained, seeing Emma was still holding his hand. “Instead of attending college, my father hired a governess,” the ghost clarified with a fond expression in his eyes. “Moving back to Storybrooke was one of the happiest times in my life, for when I returned that summer at the end of my final year at Eton, I fell in love with my Milah, my childhood sweetheart.”

“Oh that’s adorable, so you were with your wife since you were teenagers to when she passed?” Emma asked in admiration for how faithful Killian was to his wife. If only she could have found a love like that. However, Neal was more interested in cheating on her than trying to make their relationship work. “Out of curiosity… when did you realise you had fallen for Milah? How did you know for sure she was the one?” Emma asked and closed her notebook. This wasn’t for the memoirs but a personal question Emma had. Clearly Killian was the one with more success in finding love, something Emma convinced herself she lost faith in. She couldn’t be hurt that way again, not by someone she loved and cared about. Being betrayed by Neal was enough.

“I knew quite early on that Milah was special, which was why I made sure to court her and impress her parents before anyone else could have the chance,” Killian chuckled and went on to explain to Emma of the measures he took to court his future bride, by taking her dancing, horse riding and sailing. He also mentioned of his correspondence with Milah during their courtship via written letters and of the day her father finally accepted for his only daughter to be intended for Killian once the two reached the age of nineteen. “We understood each other and wanted the same things, which only made our love grow stronger. I still recall how heart breaking it was for me to leave my Milah when I was deployed by the navy,” the ghost added, glancing over to see the time on the antique dark pine grandfather clock.

“I was actually going to ask you about that, your military career I mean,” Emma tilted her head curiously with her book open again. She didn’t care that it was getting late, she was far more interested in Killian’s tale than in sleeping at the moment. “With the medals I found in the attic, you must have been a celebrated Captain,” she smiled, wanting Killian to know she was impressed by what she had found. When she discovered the medals, Emma was keen to do her research what the different medals were. For an apparition who always seemed quite proud, Emma was surprised by how humble Killian was about his time in the Royal Navy. She had never heard him talk of his time as a Captain and it was a time of his life that Emma was quite interested about.

“There’s quite a lot I could say about my time in the Navy, but I’m afraid it will need more than a night to mention everything, and we’ve already discussed quite a lot about my past,” Killian explained, seeing Emma trying to stifle a few yawns. “Besides you need you rest,” he offered, not wanting the blonde to be too exhausted especially in her condition.

“Alright, we can pick this up again another time,” Emma reluctantly agreed, not bothering to hide her yawns anymore. With how tired she was, she was glad when Killian helped to put a blanket over her as she snuggled up on the sofa, laughing when Buckley jumped onto the sofa to join her for the night. “Goodnight Killian, and again, I promise we will bring those who’ve wronged you to justice,” she said tiredly, resting her head on the pillow.

“I have no doubt about that Swan, but for now you need to sleep,” Killian insisted kindly and crouched down by the couch. “Goodnight, love,” he smiled, resting a hand on Emma’s cheek as she fell asleep. “Sleep well darling,” the ghost whispered and kissed the back of her hand before making sure Emma was comfortable in her sleep and left the room, heading to his private library for the night.

Tagging a few users who might like the story. I’d love to know what you think! @yayimallamaagain @phiralovesloki @lenfaz @flipperbrain @cocohook38@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @fairytalesandtimetravel @aye-captn  @captainswanbookclub @captainswanbigbang @goldengirlschildhood @themilahskillybear @the-corsair-and-her-quill @clockadile @wellhellotragic @killian-whump

[ollyarchive]

Olly Alexander Just Wants to Be Straight with You

BY

BRENNAN CARLEY

PHOTOGRAPHS BY

ALEX RESIDE

The Years & Years frontman is back with a new single, a new hair color, and a new outlook on straight men.

Olly Alexander walks into GQ's photo studio and removes his hat, revealing a shock of brightly dyed red hair. Whether that means something to you or not depends on how familiar you are with and fanatic about the British singer's incredibly popular band, Years & Years. The trio's already put out one incredible album (2015's Communion), picked up fans like Katy Perry, and are now gearing up for their sophomore project, coming this summer and anchored by the just-released "Sanctify", which chronicles Alexander's experience sleeping with and falling for a straight man. It's an effortless synth-pop song with vivid religious imagery, a sticky chorus, and cheeky lyrics like "You don't have to be straight with me / I see what's underneath your mask," which is sort of Years & Years' sweet spot: Just when you think you have them figured out, they take you to a deeper place than you thought pop music could go.

Alexander, who's 27, is also known both for his acting work (you may have seen him on Skins) and for his outspokenness as a member of the gay community (his 2017 BBC documentary, Growing Up Gay, is a phenomenal watch). Boyish in appearance but confident in presentation, Alexander lounges in a windowless green room in lower Manhattan, fielding our questions about self-care, new music, and—yes—straight men.

GQ: When did you start working on the album? Olly Alexander: It was September 2016. We had finished up the majority of our touring. We were gonna take a break, and I...didn't take a break. I just started working on the second album. I did take like three weeks where I just deliberately did nothing and read books and stuff at home. But I also went to Taiwan and Bali by myself. It was a really good trip. It was fun.

I love being alone. [A solo vacation's] not for everybody, but I just like how you can do your own thing at your own time. You don't have to give a shit about anyone else's preferences, what they want to do. And you make friends and stuff.

Have you always liked being alone? Solitude is very restorative for me, especially because I spend so much time around other people and performing to people. And when you're on tour, you're sharing a bus with 20 people.

How did you handle needing solitude on the road? It's tough because you're constantly traveling, and you're in this whirlwind with no stability. I definitely got better at creating my own personal alone time within the company of lots of other people. It would be like, "Don't talk to me. I'm reading my book. I'm inside my bunk on my tour bus, and it's like literally a coffin." No one can come in, and I can just close the curtain and be here and be alone. And then, also, I would do things. It's fun touring. In America, the drives are so long, and then you make a stop over in El Paso or Cleveland. In Cleveland, I remember we had a day off, and I just Googled "things to do in Cleveland," and number three was "the cemetery." So, I went! And it was a good cemetery. Spend more time in cemeteries.

Why'd you jump right back into writing after the first album cycle wrapped? In my mind, I was like, "I'll just get loads of songs out of the way because I know how this process works. It's gonna take a really, really long time to find anything good, and I just want to get a good chunk in right now. And then I'll take the rest of the year off and start again in the New Year."

Once I started doing it, I was like, "Oh, I actually really like writing music." When you're touring and promoting an album, I wasn't writing any music or necessarily being super creative at all, and I forgot how much that's very important to me. It was encouraging because there's always a part of you that thinks, "Maybe I just can't. I won't be able to do it again. I won't be able to write another song."

Where did "Sanctify" come in the process? It came pretty early. I've been having a lot of encounters with straight guys that were not being straight with me and were struggling, to put it lightly, with their sexuality. I was very fascinated by that dynamic because for starters, it's a very common experience, I think, for gay men to fall for a straight guy.

I mean, I've done it. I think for a lot of gay guys, you're at school and fall in love with your straight friends. That happened to me, and I think that's really super common. But also, now that I'm an out gay man—very out—I've noticed how some straight guys gravitate...it's weird because I've almost found myself having these encounters with straight guys and find myself playing this saint and sinner role, or like this angel and devil, because I'm leading them down the path of "sinful gayness," but also I'm helping them satisfy the sexual desire that they feel they can't get anywhere else. It's strange to have that dichotomy, and so I was like, "I'm gonna write a song about it!"

Most of my straight crushes happened when I was younger, where it's like, "Oh, I feel like I can lust after this person because it's likely never going to amount to anything because they're straight, so it's not gonna hurt me in the end." I relate to that 100 percent. That's something that I felt when I was younger. But then it happened to me recently where I was like, "Am I having feelings for this straight guy? What is that about?"

It's like you said: Putting away your emotions and investing in someone that ostensibly is never gonna give you that back. It's kind of heartbreaking. Why would anybody put themselves in that position? I think when you're a gay guy, navigating the dating world and romance, it's hard enough. If you're just stepping outside of all of that bullshit and just putting it on a straight guy, you're right: "Oh, that will never happen. My feelings aren't gonna get hurt." Even though they always kind of do. You're lying to yourself.

Have you felt from straight men—or men that present as straight, I suppose—that they've projected those angel and devil roles back on you? Yes. It's funny because it's like you feel the sense of responsibility to not fuck up this guy that's clearly struggling with his sexuality, but then resenting the fact that I had to tread on eggshells.

Is it especially hard for you to date because you're you? Yeah. It's funny because I downloaded Grindr. I was newly single toward the end of 2016, and I've been in relationships all throughout my 20s, and I was like, "I really want to be single, and I need to be alone." I think it's the right decision, but I'm literally like...I haven't seen Call Me by Your Name, and now I just cannot watch it because I'm just like, "Why would I watch depictions of two men being in love when I know I'll die alone?" I just can't handle that right now.

Anyway, when I was newly single, I downloaded Grindr because I'd been in relationships or I'd been in the band. I couldn't have Grindr, but then I was like, "Wait, but why the fuck can't I have Grindr? I want to have this experience." You know? So I downloaded it and I was on it, and then it was just weird because people would think I was catfishing myself, which was kind of a head fuck.

Grindr has some great things about it, but it also has a lot of negatives, and it's just very hard to trust anybody. It just feels like this meat market of dick pics and sex positions. "Are you a top or bottom?" It does kind of depress me a bit, even though I love to hook up as much as the next guy. It's good for that, but people would think I was catfishing myself, or they'd be like, "Oh, I'm such a big fan," and that's kind of a turnoff, so it didn't go super well for me.

You know how some people have dreams of moving to Florence or living in Seoul? You can still do all of those things, but I always think for queer people, "Well, I kind of need to live somewhere where I'm not gonna face abuse." A queer-friendly place. I think a lot of straight people forget that sometimes. They're surprised when I say that to them.

I think the assumption with straight people is that it's 2018 and even though things are better for gay people, it's not entirely true. I went to a wedding in San Antonio with my partner a couple of weeks ago, and I remember thinking, "Oh! This is the first time in a long time that I have not felt comfortable!" Yeah, I totally agree with you. Back when I had a boyfriend, if we were getting a cab together, I would a be a little uncomfortable kissing in the back of a cab. A lot of that has to do with my own issues around internalized homophobia that I grew up with, but at the same time, I do live in a really gay-friendly city. But if you leave London, half an hour away, you feel like it's a completely different landscape, and, you know, it does feel very threatening to just hold your boyfriend's hand or be yourself.

That is the reality for most queer people. I think we have made amazing strides in so many ways and we can be super happy about that, but it would be delusional to think that everything's fine. It's also because the LGBT community is so diverse, so intersectional, and I think people outside of the community forget that. But people within the community forget it, too. We don't actually reach equality unless everybody has equality, but if you're used to privilege, true equality feels like oppression. Unfortunately, we're white gay dudes, and we are a minority, and we have our own systems of oppression, but we're also at the top of the privilege tree. I think there's a lot of imbalance there.

I'm always gonna support my siblings in the community, but it does make me really sad to see how much racism, sexism, and transphobia that exists from within, and I think there are lots and lots of reasons for that, but we just can't really lose sight of the fact that we're all fighting similar battles.

You use the word "queer." A lot of people are still uncomfortable with that. Yes.

Have you had a moment where you've said to yourself, "I am comfortable using this and here's the reason why"? Yeah. Whenever I have these kind of conversations, I try and say I personally like "queer," but I understand that it's really painful for many people, and I've had a few people get offended with my use of the word, which I do completely understand. I'd like to think I have enough humility to be able to engage with that person that has the problem with that word, and I would listen and I would try and learn something from that experience.

I suppose for me, I like it because it feels very inclusive. "LGBT" is also good, and both feel separate but also similar. I don't know. I would be interested to hear what you think about the word and the use of the word.

I feel the same way. I think it's a generation who grew up knowing that word as an insult and a slur, that's hesitant to let a younger generation reclaim it. I think in 20 years, the gay twentysomethings at that time will be using "fag" as slang, but I was called it when I was younger, and I'm not comfortable yet letting that word be reclaimed. Yeah, I feel the same way about that [word], too.

It might say more about me than it says about them. Maybe I should be thrilled that they're so comfortable to take that word, especially when we're having the conversation about "queer." I'm comfortable using "queer," but it's also because the kids who were bullying me when I was 12 and 13 weren't using that as an insult. Exactly, yeah. I have not grown up with being victimized by that word. That is a super important distinction. But some gay guys feel like it diminishes a gay identity, and I love being a gay man. I identify as a gay man all the time, but I also like to identify as queer. I suppose it feels like it encompasses my gay identity, but it also encompasses some other stuff—a more fluid approach to my gender. And I feel like when I spend time with my friends who identify as genderqueer or non-binary, queer feels like the best word for us all as group. Language is so multifaceted, and these are words that we can employ in different situations, and they don't have to be fixed. If we're just carrying on these conversations, then I think we're fine.

You talked about the people that you have surrounded yourself with. Have you built up a support system within the community? Oh yeah, 100 percent. I moved away from home when I was 18 to London, and what I did was just try to find my family and people that I felt could understand the experience that I was going through. I've met amazing people. I've also lost amazing people along the way, and unfortunately that's normal.

I'm not saying that being straight is easy, but when you're gay, you don't really have a familial network or support system. You have to find that. Also, I think there's a whole erasure of queer people who are in their 60s, 70s, 80s, and so there's this collective anxiety about aging and who's gonna love us and who's gonna take care of us and what if we don't have kids because we don't have any rulebooks for that or any guidebooks for that. It feels completely terrifying, and I know that I'm not alone in thinking that.

Do you worry at all about getting older? For sure. Now I feel a little bit more comfortable with it and I think, "Oh my God, I'm so happy that I'm not gonna have to worry." I don't want to have kids, and that's just a personal choice. It's nothing to do with being gay or not, but I used to worry that "Oh, I'm gay, and that means I can't have a longterm relationship or get married or have kids." That was just the thing that you were supposed to have, that everybody was supposed to have. Now, of course, we do live in a world where it's totally normal for gay guys to get married and have kids.

Now I kind of feel like, "Oh well, I feel like I can just be empowered enough to make the choice to not have those things. I don't want them," and still live a full, happy life and get old and be a mad gay guy living by the sea like Grace and Frankie. That's literally all I'm aiming toward, is living like Grace and Frankie.

You just mentioned how we're meant to assume that we won't have long relationships. I've been in a relationship for almost four years, but the way that straight people talk about the length of their relationship, as if it's like...you know how when you have a dog, and it's like, "Well, he's 8 in dog years, but he's 64 in human years." People seem shocked that we're able to carry out longterm monogamy. I know. On the one hand, I think one of the great things about being gay, I find, is it's not a given that you're gonna immediately enter a monogamous relationship with somebody that just has to last as long as possible, and it fails when it ends. It's like one rule, and it's not to cheat. I love that it feels like there are more possibilities. For myself as a gay guy, I feel like, "Oh, maybe I could have a different kind of relationship," which is great but...

The rulebook is different. Exactly. But at the same time, it does show the double standard that gay people are viewed as less likely to be able to commit. I think there are lots of reasons for that, and I don't want to jump to, like, "Oh, well, straight people just think that gay guys are deviant and promiscuous," you know? There's a seed of truth to that, still, that it is kind of a surprise to see a longterm relationship.

It's crazy how we have one relationship model. I think even five years ago, people weren't super aware of what polyamory meant or being in a throuple. And I was like, "Maybe I wanna be in a throuple?" And I was like, "Actually, that seems like the best relationship ever." I just wanna be the unicorn in the throuple, and I can live in the next house to the couple. Wait, this sounds so fun. How can I arrange this?

I'm sure you can arrange that. I know. In my mind, I'm working toward the Grace and Frankie throuple situation. I'm just gonna get high by the beach all day. Maybe see my husbands or whoever they are a couple times a week.

Styling by Nick Royal

[fightingforfreedomblr]

Free Speech (2)

Free Speech is protected by not only U.S Constitution but also California Constitution. However, my fundamental right is infringed by some hatred and bigotry American politicians from the top to bottom.

For example, now my right to tweet is blocked by who? Twitter or computer hackers? It is from both with 99% possibility. Why? Formally, I must sign up to use Twitter every time because my password was stolen and I could not recover from my cellphone. Now I can’t and Twitter asks me to use either phone or email; Ok, I did and it said, “Both are used already.” Then I keyed in my phone or email to search, it said, “No.” Moreover, on 6/22/2021, I wanted to post “Basic needs (2)” with picture on Tumblr, but it was blocked too, especially, picture. Why? Because one picture means more than thousand words.

Well, I slam American 7 junk leaders-OBAMA Donald Trump Joe Biden Jerry Brown Gavin Newsom Kevin Johnson Darrell Steinberg and their evil allies-Stephen Harper and Justin Trudeau, K.Y Lee and Lee Hsien Loong, Hu Jintao and Xi Jinping with overwhelming facts for better world, including better America and better tomorrow. If those International junk leaders disagree and think my opinions are slander, they can file libel lawsuit to prove “False, reckless disregard and actual malice”.

Well, I advise them to learn from Singapore government first because Singapore government has the best skill to file libel lawsuit on earth. However, I also advise them to read U.S Supreme Court Justice William Brennan’s opinion Sullivan v. The New York Times too.

Why? Fear is the answer.

See, brilliant Jail plan, beautiful homeless plan, ridiculous Genital war, debasing themselves, trivializing Constitutions, trashing Law Justice and Reputation, even abusing God, all those do not work well. Then American governments’ final strategy is 破罐子破摔 against me for their bloody wrongs. Congratulation on Americans, you have such presidents, governors and mayors!

Well, Joe Biden Gavin Newsom and Darrell Steinberg can make ridiculous assumptions (The same ridiculous assumptions from Canadian doctors and America doctors that “All people over 40 are easily to get diabetes,” “All men over 50 are easily to get prostate cancer and colon cancer”) that “People of International Community and I do not have heads and do not know how to think.”

Now I quote from Matthew 23:23: Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law; justices and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others. More quotes from John 3:20: For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to light, lest his works should be exposed.

John 3:21: But whoever does what is true comes to light, so that it may be clearly carried out in God.

Inside note: 1. Maybe one day my FB posting(s) is/are blocked too. Are you happy, Joe Biden Gavin Newsom and Darrell Steinberg? You defend Constitutions or trivialize Constitutions?

2. Donald Trump’s Twitter account has been suspended officially maybe definitely with reason of “insurrection”. However, mine is suspended in despicable way without reason. How? Twitter or computer hackers? It is from both with 99% possibility. However, I want to give two facts here. I tweeted “U.S government is ineffective, unpleasant and unpopular” after 34 days shutdown of U.S government. Why? Because I knew “how hard it is for no money”, especially those governmental employees who count on paycheck. Next why? Because I have zero dollar on my wallet for so long. Then U.S government was open after 35 days. Was not my tweet good? One more example, AT&T borrowed my tweet (Singapore government and U.S government worth 99 cents only!) as its exhibit for my lawsuit against AT&T. Was my tweet not good, why AT&T borrowed it?

3. U.S government has a notorious “Enhanced torture techniques” against Guantanamo Bay detainees. See, how innovative and despicable government has applied those techniques against me with help of local governments: food poison, sleep deprivation, constant harassment, annoyance and assault by local goons, molest, rape, plus, psychological violence, medical violence and legal violence and recently bug bites because I have “no proof.”

Really no proof? Well, I just talk about food poison one more time. The world knows that “Russia has ‘nerve agent’ as a way of food poison” from Internet. However, International Community tells me that “America has ‘nerve agent’ too” even I have “no proof”.

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

The Other Prince + A CS Modern Royalty AU [Chapter 8]

Modern Royalty AU: HRH Prince Killian has grown up in the shadow of the crown while enduring tragedy and the burdens of being the spare to the heir. With a desire to escape his past, he agrees to play host to the visiting general’s daughter in exchange for an eventual life outside royal bounds. Moving on is never that easy though and he quickly learns that being the ‘other’ prince is even more difficult when you find yourself falling for the girl everyone wants your brother to marry.

Catch Up On Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven Also on FF.net and AO3.

Word Count: 9,063

This totally spiraled out of control and that’s my only excuse for taking forever to finish it haha. Thank you to @optomisticgirl for being a lovely beta and for listening to me whine and second guess everything constantly :] you’re a gem, my friend. There’s more to come (including some stuff with Liam, Brennan, and others) in the next one! Enjoy! XOXO

The street was busy as Emma stomped along the sidewalk, her black rain boots slightly damp and her mind in a fixed state of stubbornness. The weather had been shifting back and forth all day, the sky calm one moment but the sharp wind blowing the next. It wasn’t a huge surprise that a light rain had finally started to sprinkle and it was easy to be thankful for the warmth of the light, mesh-lined gray jacket she had zipped tight around her frame. As she took a moment to glance back down the winding road she’d just traveled by foot, Emma realized the durable material keeping the storm off her skin was currently the only thing she could muster any gratitude for.

It was likely she was acting a bit dramatic and definitely a little selfish, but she also firmly believed she had grounds to be both. The not so casual conversation she’d been blindsided with just before dinner hadn’t been a true betrayal or a major deceit, but it had certainly been unexpected and frustrating in a way she wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone. The news her father had announced a few hours earlier was an annoying reminder of just why surprises were not high on her list of favorite things.

No, Emma liked plans. Well, except the new one her family now had - the one that included staying in London for the next two weeks.

The splashing of car tires through the puddles was a rhythmic distraction and her feet continued to carry her down the shop lined road as she pulled her hood up over her head. She wasn’t really sure how long she’d been walking - it wasn’t like she had left the palace with much of a goal in mind. Glancing up at the dreary sky, she merely hoped that maybe the walk would help her ignore the echo of her father’s words in her head.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of metropolitan London, Em, but I have to be here - at least for now. The countryside has been kind to our family and I’ll miss it too, but it was never meant to be permanent. This job is a big change for all of us, but I have to give it a chance and I need you and your mom with me on this.”

She knew he was right - now that he’d approached what might qualify as total recovery, there wasn’t much left for any of them in the quiet confines of the Yorkshire property. Sure, the move there had required a lot from her, but it wasn’t as if she had a whole lot - or anything, really - to go back to now. She let out an exasperated sigh as the drops of precipitation grew larger, her steps slowing as she reached a street corner. He’d looked so honest when he made the hopeful request for her support and as irritated as she’d been, denying him the opportunity to save his career wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Can you just….try, Emma? Just for a few weeks while we sort out a schedule?”

Watching her breath hang briefly in the cool air, Emma recalled the nod and weak hug she’d given him. Sacrifice was the name of this recently recurring game and for now, she had to keep playing it.

Looking quickly to the left, she caught the appearance of a small establishment crafted in gray bricks trimmed with deep red paint. The door was solid mahogany, hanging on black hinges that had definitely been well tested. The rounded windows alight with a warm glow seemed to call to her and while the overhead posted name of The Round Table didn’t immediately tell her what the building’s purpose was, the handful of tipsy patrons stumbling out onto the sidewalk certainly did. A place like the one she’d paused in front of was probably well known for its gin or assortments of well crafted lager, but her addled mind immediately went the one indisputable option.

Alcohol - and she honestly didn’t care what kind.

Reaching forward to prop open the heavy door, Emma ducked inside the apparent pub without a second thought. As she looked around the instantly easy space and noted the surroundings - a weathered bar counter, occupied pool table, a soccer match blaring on a distant flat screen, and amusingly accented population - she knew this was the perfect place to toss back a beverage or two. Few people seemed to give her much notice and nobody appeared to realize just how out of place she definitely was.

Thank god, she thought as she approached the row of stools just below the wood bar top.

“Evening, m'lady,” a dark haired bartender greeted, his smile framed by a thick beard. “Braving the storm, eh?”

“Oh, umm - yeah I guess,” she said in return, hoping she didn’t look too nervous about venturing into unknown territory. “It’s not too bad out there yet, actually.”

“Well, tumultuous enough that you’re seeking-” he returned, reaching for a glass and narrowing his eyes pensively. “-a little whiskey, I’m guessing.”

“Wow,” Emma laughed. “Am I really that obvious?”

“I’ve been at this a long time is all,” he grinned. “On the rocks or neat?”

“Not picky,” she shrugged. “I don’t need anything fancy.”

“Nonsense, lass,” he disputed with a wave of his hand. “After all, you’re only in London….well, not often, right?”

“Ah, very transparent I guess,” Emma sighed, accepting the glass tumbler he set down in front of her. “I should probably work on my local dialect.”

“Nah, I say you own it. It’s not often we get Americans in here.”

Emma smirked at his little reassurance, taking a sip from her drink and feeling the whiskey burn in the best way as it slid down her throat. She decided not to refute his assumption that she’d come from the states since she sort of did courtesy of her college experience. She hadn’t expected to find any sort of company when she’d left the palace - after all, the intended endgame had been to avoid pretty much everyone. It was relaxing to be in this environment though and the lumberjack type of guy making conversation seemed easy enough to talk to.

“I have to admit I haven’t been to an actual bar in a while. This seems like a place for regulars.”

“Well, some of them far too regular, but I guess anyone who’s been pouring drinks for nearly ten years at the same pub would say that,” he explained. “Kind of a hazard of ownership I suppose.”

“Wait, you're….”

“Arthur Pendragon - proprietor and long standing pun,” he smiled. “Hence the, uh….the name.”

It took Emma a moment to piece together what he meant, but once it clicked, her face lit up with realization he’d likely witnessed many times. The subtle shake of his head and barely embarrassed eye roll told her he’d ceased to see the endearing charm in Camelot cliches long ago.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever been served whiskey by the once and future king,” she replied cleverly. “I take it the name wasn’t your doing?”

“Definitely not,” he confirmed, tossing a coaster on the bar as a resting place for the glass she’d yet to put down. “My wife’s actually.”

“My compliments to her wit then.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that next time I talk to her,” he said with a hint of melancholy. “She's….not been around for a bit.”

“Oh, I'm….sorry,” Emma returned, her cheeks rosy with regret for bringing it up. “I just assumed-”

“Not your fault, lass,” he told her kindly. “It’s okay. I suppose most relationships are tested in one way or another at some point. Sometimes it just takes a bit to sort itself out.”

“Yeah, I-” Emma said with familiar understanding. “-I know what you mean.”

“But, enough about my sob story. I’m the one who should be offering an ear - part of the job description after all,” he deflected, a bit of his happier demeanor returning. “What brings you to Victoria Street this evening, Miss America?”

“It’s Emma actually,” she said in amusement, tapping the sides of her glass. “I guess I just….needed to take a beat.”

Truly, she didn’t have a real purpose for why she’d all but stormed out of the palace earlier that night - well, not a fair one, anyway. The quarters at Her Majesty’s abode were beautiful and vast enough that she’s managed to find plenty of personal space while also avoiding running into a certain prince. Emma knew he didn’t actually reside at the building currently accommodating her and her family, a detail that had been learned from a late night internet search instead of a recently bought book she'd already misplaced. Still, she couldn’t stop wondering when she might stumble into another awkward encounter with him - or who’d be doing the literal stumbling this time.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to chance finding out and that had been a decent reason to slip away for a bit - or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“Well, when the world’s got you down, a drink never hurts,” Arthur continued. “Sometimes a chat with a stranger is helpful too. That is, of course, if you’d like to talk?”

Emma exhaled, biting her lip as she tried to decide just how honest she should be. She didn’t know this guy - or anyone else in the area, for that matter - and perhaps it was best to keep it that way. Getting used to being in London seemed wrong, especially since she was still hoping her stay wasn’t permanent. The whole idea of her being at the bar was suddenly a bit surreal. Though she’d wandered into this hole-in-the-wall tavern on a whim, she had felt more relaxed in the past twenty minutes than she had in days. It was likely a beginning side effect of the alcohol, but it was also the fact that this place was different - simpler and secluded to a degree she was truly appreciating.

Still, she needed to stay beneath the radar for now and being too candid with the hospitable bar owner currently pouring her another glass of Irish whiskey wasn’t going to help her quest for anonymity.

“I guess I just needed to avoid responsibility for a few hours,” Emma offered, her voice vague as he tilted his head in amusement. “Is that awful?”

“There are worse reasons to imbibe-” he countered with a nod toward one of the rowdier corner tables. “-and I hardly doubt your venture here will be as unacceptable as the display that group of sodding fools tends to put on.”

Peeking over her shoulder in the direction he’d just gestured, Emma caught a glimpse of the pack of rather obnoxious men he had just mentioned. They’d clearly been indulging in a high bar tab long before she arrived and their frustration over the display of athleticism on the screen in the corner was plenty loud and quite profane.

“They certainly don’t like whatever team is winning,” Emma commented. “Are they always like this?”

“More or less - but usually more,” he grumbled, tossing a bar rag off to the side. “I’m rather sure they don’t realize that this was actually televised almost a week ago or that it’s a preseason game, but it’s likely they won’t be pleased to find out. That said, I ought to make the rounds. You’ll be okay for a moment?”

“Oh - yeah, I’m fine,” she assured him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the drink.”

“On the house, lass,” he said in return with a good humored salute. “Stay as long as you like.”

Emma felt her shoulders relax at the welcoming reception she had managed to find. She knew as she held the glass firmly and glanced around the dim space that she could get used to the solitude of a place like this - at least while she had to remain in the confines and close vicinity of royal world. She realized this bar could be her sanctuary of sorts - and so it was only fitting she tried it out again the following night as well.

Arthur had been glad to see her return the following evening, her escape from the palace aided by a very helpful Marco just after she said goodnight to her parents. Neal had returned to school earlier that day, a fact that made sneaking out a bit easier. She’d been somewhat sad to see him head back into one of the many buildings at Eton, but he’d given her a huge hug and a small stack of rather suspicious documents before doing so. She stuffed them into her jacket when he’d offered her that one line of explanation followed by a wink.

“Just in case you’ve yet to truly make up your mind about the next step, Em.”

She hadn’t dared decipher what he meant by that until she arrived back in the secluded bedroom she’d been set up in at Buckingham, but as she dug the stapled papers out of her zippered pocket, it was clear what he was trying to do. There were a variety of the unexpected documents, their professionally bold headers and traditional logos making it immediately clear that they were brochures for higher education. She smirked to herself while flipping through them, noting that Neal had done his best to cover all the bases when he’d likely swiped them from one of the offices at Eton. There was information on a few universities - Oxford and Cambridge, both of which she was positive she'd never be admitted to - and also a couple of others that gave details about institutes like King’s College and Imperial. She’d skimmed the text in acknowledgement of her little brother’s thoughtfulness, but eventually stowed them away in the concealed pouch of her lightweight parka. The pamphlets remained there, hidden alongside her accepted reality that completing her degree wasn’t in the cards any longer while she downed a quick glass of top shelf bourbon at that same pub.

She told herself she could deal with the brochures, Neal, and everything else later - a decision that perhaps sparked her current and third trip to the cozy bar a few blocks away.

“Anything good on tap?”

“Well, there’s a frustrated face if I’ve ever seen one.”

Though the voice was equally happy to welcome her, it didn’t belong to Arthur. This one was full of the clever kindness she’d learned was all Ruby - the girl who was a few years her junior and one of the regular weeknight bartenders. They’d met on the first night Emma had ventured into the building when Arthur had stepped out to take a phone call from the estranged wife who still seemed to have a hold on him, a fact that Ruby had explained while pouring them each a shot of something she definitely hadn’t requested.

That had become somewhat of a theme in Emma’s life recently - accepting things she hadn’t asked for. If she was going to have to keep doing so, she decided that it was probably okay to use a little alcohol to help it all go down easier.

Taking a sip of the offered liquor hadn’t been too difficult - a brand of vodka bottled in France, she eventually learned - as she kept perched on the stool just across the bar top from the long haired brunette with the fiery personality. They’d chatted sporadically for a couple of hours, sharing small details of their lives and laughing over battle stories they’d encountered through years of travel and relocation.

Ruby was from the Great Lakes part of the states and had grown up in a small town surrounded by the tall trees of some very remote woods. She’d been in the care of a single mother until she hit junior high, but had then moved to live across the Atlantic with a very traditional grandmother in the European countryside. Ruby claimed the loving elderly woman had saved her from herself after some rather promiscuous years and had entertained her endlessly with tall tales about sorcery and werewolves. She’d left the old cabin a few years earlier when her grandmother passed, bouncing between a few nearby countries before landing in England. Ruby had quite the colorful past and while Emma thought the girl’s adventures were far more interesting than her own, she couldn’t help but be glad they’d met and bonded - even if it all might be only temporary.

“So,” Ruby started, grabbing a glass from beneath the counter and raising her eyebrows. “What’s got you down, Goldilocks?”

“Really? What’s with the nickname?”

“Hey, I call it like I see it and right now-” Ruby responded as she searched the top shelf for a bottle. “-I see a disgruntled blonde who has come to this Camelot inspired oasis to soothe what troubles her.”

“Very poetic,” Emma acknowledged, setting her jacket aside. “But perhaps we better stick with ‘the pissed off traveler who just learned her plans have gone to hell’.”

“Ah, I like mine better,” Ruby laughed, tapping her chin. “But you know, I think there’s a specific drink for the type of person you’re describing.”

Emma made herself comfortable, something she regretted the moment her new friend plopped a bottle of cinnamon whiskey down between them. Ruby’s red lipstick outlined mouth curved up into a deviant smile that immediately had Emma shaking her head.

“Not happening, barkeep.”

“Oh, come on,” Ruby coaxed. “We don’t get a new shipment in until tomorrow so most of the decent brands are running low anyway. That is, unless you’d rather forego the hard stuff and I can crack open a bottle of that shitty home brewed beer Arthur has been trying to get everyone to buy.”

“I think I’ll pass on the Crimson Crown Ale, thanks,” Emma replied. “But I’m pretty sure shots of that firewater aren’t the best alternative-”

“No, no - no shots, but an exclusive cocktail mixed by yours truly,” the girl told her as she grabbed a few other labels of booze. “You’ve gotta live a little, Emma.”

“Or die of alcohol poisoning,” she countered, her eyes warily regarding Ruby. “What’s in this drink anyway?”

“That’s yet to be totally decided,” Ruby grinned as she grabbed a jar of cherries from below the counter. “I do have a few name options workshopped already though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m thinking maybe like 'Big Bad Something’ or 'Sweet Little Sleeping Curse’,” she carried on, illustrating the ideas with finger quotes and snatching a nearby shot glass. “I vaguely remember learning how to make this drink called a 'Red Riding Hood’, but it’s got a certain vodka base and Arthur prefers to hoard that stuff in the back. I’m pretty sure it’s fuel for drowning his sorrows after last call.”

“Cute, but I have no idea why you’d go with such a whimsical theme,” Emma replied. “I don’t remember the hangover from that stuff being anything remotely like a fairytale.”

“Yeah, I gotta say I don’t either,” Ruby said, a small laugh escaping her as she shoved the random ingredients aside and looked toward the fast opening main entrance. “But, if this was one of those classic storybook tales, we’d now have the role of evil villains filled.”

Her nod toward the door was brief as she grumbled some below the breath remark. It was a shift in the girl’s demeanor that made Emma wonder and she couldn’t help but peer over her shoulder in curiosity. It didn’t take long to pinpoint just who had suddenly put her new friend in an irritated mood - the raucous and rather ignorant group of men she’d been warned about the first time she’d sat upon her current stool. She tried not to stare despite their loud attempt to gain the room’s attention, a disruption that made Ruby sigh loudly as she downed a bit of the spicy alcohol they’d been debating.

“Why don’t you guys kick ever them out?”

“Well, despite their generally asshole behavior, they’re good for business,” Ruby explained. “Sure, they can be annoying, but their bar tab climbs much higher than any other band of idiots who wander in regularly.”

“So this happens a lot?”

“Just a few times a week so it’s manageable for the most part,” she continued while counting napkins. “I’m going to grab that last case of cheap beer from the back really fast - lord knows they’ll probably be over to order some any minute now. Hang out for a bit?”

“Yeah, of course,” Emma smiled. “Planning on it.”

Ruby returned her grin, tying her hair back as she headed for the hall that must have led to the back storage room. Glancing around, Emma soon found her attention falling back on the rowdy men now chatting over a pool table between their rants regarding the game still playing on the television. She was so busy trying to decipher just what made guys like them tick that she failed to notice one of them slink up to the bar at her side.

“You-” he started, his almost predatory stare zeroing in on her as he tapped his fingers on the bar. “-aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Ah….good call,” she replied casually, silently praying that he’d leave her be. “Just stopping in for a quick drink before I hit the road.”

“Hmmm,” he smirked. “Where might a fine woman like you be going on a night like this?”

Emma felt herself shift away ever so slightly from the smell of fading alcohol hanging on his flirtatious breath. She was really in no mood to spell it out for him, but as he held her involuntary gaze, it became apparent that he wasn’t about to take a hint.

“Back to where my family’s staying - I’m on a trip with them,” she tried, biting her lip as she made an obvious glance toward the clock. “In fact, I really should get going-”

“Oh, come on, beautiful - it’s still early,” he replied as he inched closer. “Have a drink with me.”

“Ummm, thanks….for the offer, I mean, but I-”

“No excuses,” he cut in, his words wrapped in an unsettling whisper. “Have a drink with me.”

Emma felt her shoulders straighten as she fixed her eyes on him, cataloguing his appearance like she’d need to describe it accurately to the police later on. She wasn’t sure if it would be because he’d crossed a line with her or because she’d beat him senseless as a result, but she was extremely certain that everything from his suspicious eyes to his thick black coat made her very uncomfortable. Cowering when confronted was never a road Emma liked to travel though and despite the way he was making her skin crawl, she couldn’t back down from his proposition without a hell of a retort.

“I’m not sure if that’s a request or a demand,” she returned firmly. “But I can promise you that I'm not interested.”

“You really can’t say that yet though,” he chuckled. “You still haven’t heard my offer.”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t given you any indication that I’d like to.”

“Just one drink, beautiful….or two, and then I assure you that I-” he drawled as he reached for her glass. “-can make you forget all about your family.”

“Okay, pal, I know we just met and all, but I’m going to need you to back the hell off.”

“Hmmm,” he persisted as he traced her arm. “You’ve got a little fire in you, don’t ya? I have to admit I kinda like that.”

“I said-”

“I believe the lady said no,” another strangely familiar voice cut in. “Step down, mate.”

Emma realized quickly that it wasn’t Arthur and her head swirled with confusion - why did she recognize this voice? Her boundary crossing opponent turned briefly, letting out a hearty chuckle before slamming his half empty beer bottle down on the bar. Emma chanced a look at the other man and though she was somewhat irritated at the 'white knight’ status he apparently wanted to earn, her guard dropped rapidly the moment she learned just who was attempting her rescue.

No way, she thought as her mouth parted. What the hell was he doing there?

She zoned out for a minute, her eyes hooked on just who had an interest in defending her honor. The few words exchanged between him and the persistent jerk at her side were ones she didn’t fully catch as she tried instead to sort out why of all the pubs - or perhaps even gin joints - in the world, he had to walk into this one. It was a thought similar to one once vocalized by a handsome actor in some black and white film her mother loved and she was attempting to recall which one when two fateful words from the protective man a few feet away cut through the haze.

“Try me.”

The chaos that followed was rapid and it took Emma a few moments to realize that a fight was breaking out, but as she watched the guy who’d been hitting on her take a hard punch to the jaw, it became quite clear that she was about to witness exactly what drunk and disorderly truly looked like. She froze for an instant, her view moving back and forth between the fists being thrown as she gasped at the scene. She hated merely standing by in disbelief, but getting dragged into diffusing a situation she didn’t totally understand wasn’t wise.

It was obvious that getting out of there would probably be the safest choice, but as Ruby’s pleading eyes found hers, Emma stepped forward to do….well, something. She just didn’t know what.

“Get the hell out of here, Gideon,” Arthur growled as he managed to shove the instigating man back out the way he’d come in. “Take your crew with you.”

The onlookers were almost too quiet as they watched and Arthur took a deep breath before turning on his heel, announcing there’d be a free round courtesy of himself. The distraction gave Ruby enough time to pull the unsuspecting opponent of the bar brawl into a secluded hallway, but not before waving toward Emma in a last ditch request for assistance. Her feet moved automatically, navigating her through the throes of people elbowing their way up to the bar. The dark haired girl Emma had come to know as an ally was huffing for air by the time they met in the back door corridor.

“Hey, can you….take him to the back? Arthur is about to pour out a handful of apology shots and he’s gonna need help,” Ruby asked, trying to keep him upright. “I just need like fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah - of course,” Emma agreed as she moved closer. “Whatever you need.”

Ruby nodded gratefully and bolted, leaving Emma to observe the aftermath quickly over her shoulder before glancing back toward the disheveled haired prince - a choice that soon caused her flabbergasted reaction. His eyes were a wild blue and wrought with anguish as he steadied himself against the wall. The cut just below his brow was already swelling and had started to bleed in a way that mirrored his injured left hand. His fingers were deep red with knuckles that would likely bruise and he heaved for air with jagged, deep breaths. The way he briefly looked at her was riddled with embarrassment as he appeared to realize who she was as well.

“Hi.”

Her voice was timid upon offering the out of place greeting, but she had no clue what else to say to this man - the one she’d been avoiding who was now cloaked in muffled anger and a spirit that was much less than that of most royalty.

“Hi,” he breathed, his mouth trying on a weak smile before he ripped his sight away again. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He lifted weak fingers to his face, touching his cheek and realizing there was blood making a path down his cheek. He sighed with frustration before glancing back toward her and Emma fought to find some….any reply.

“The surprise is mutual,” she managed. “Are you okay, Your High…uh…”

“Killian,” he responded, defeat heavy in his reminder. “Just Killian, lass.”

Dammit, Emma thought as her mind clouded. This was sure as hell not how she’d hoped her night would go.

Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite this exhausted by his birthright. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the total truth. He’d felt similarly tired the morning Liam had confronted him about his behavior at the bar, but somehow, even that head splitting scolding hadn’t stopped him from returning now to that very same place a few hours after sundown. It had been days since the bar scuffle the greedy tabloids had still managed to pick up on and as soon as he had managed to escape the presence of his observant brother, Killian had felt the familiar urge he’d been prodded with several times over his adult years - the need to feel normal. He’d wondered silently as he snuck down the several shortcut alleyways toward The Round Table if the solitude of a quiet establishment and a stiff drink might offer just that, but he hoped even more so that he might still be welcome at such a place.

His Converse sneakers plodded the pavement as he recognized the fact that he’d likely never be totally banned from the tavern he was headed for. After all, if anybody could knock him off his royal pedestal with a glass of rum and a few honest words, it was definitely Arthur - the man who was his reluctantly understanding confidante and older cousin by about three years.

They were related through the belated princess with Arthur’s father being his own mother’s oldest sibling. The restrictions placed on the royal family had been tested many times by Katherine’s insistence that her young sons maintain a solid bond with her side, especially the several cousins they had through her bloodline. Killian had always been grateful for that. Arthur seemed to comprehend the struggle both he and Liam faced when it came to the crown, even though he’d never know an obligation like that himself. It was a relationship unmatched by many others and despite the fact that Killian hadn’t always made their pact of family all that easy, Arthur had never shut him out - though he had every right to on several occasions.

It wouldn’t have been the first relative to lose faith in the spare to the heir, but fortunately, things had never turned out that way with the bartending man he somewhat resembled and truly loved. Killian knew that as difficult as it might be, he once again needed to make things right while he could.

Liam had been busy when he decided to slip away from Buckingham Palace, his regal and slightly inconvenient home away from home. He understood why his older brother felt it necessary to keep temporary quarters at the grand building while the admiral’s family was visiting, but Killian’s own reasons for staying in one of the lavish guest rooms was something not even he could totally explain. Perhaps it was for some unknown desire to not be the only prince lingering on the Kensington grounds or maybe it was a need to stay in the know about whatever military changes might be underway, but deep down, he knew his hope that he might run into a certain blonde was definitely part of it.

For the record, he hadn’t seen her - and it was driving him crazy.

Sure, the royal property his grandmother lived upon was huge, but not so much that he shouldn’t have caught a glimpse of the green eyed girl over the few days since the afternoon at Eton. He’d speculated that she might be avoiding him and while he wasn’t totally sure why, he had to admit that he’d been a little nervous to locate her - and that had everything to do with the book he had concealed beneath a pillow on the four post bed he’d been using for some constant tossing and turning.

He blinked rapidly as he paused outside of the door, tugging a beat up flask from his pocket and taking a quick swig. He’d never been great at dropping his pride to offer an apology, but he knew this was important - and he could only pray that his quick dose of rum would allow him to remember that once he entered the building

“About time you showed up.”

Killian had barely stepped inside the dimly lit space and entered the back room office when he was greeted with chiding words from the owner himself. He deserved the taunt he supposed, but it didn’t keep him from tossing Arthur an automatic eye roll. The man was busy penciling something on an order form, but the task didn’t prevent him from holding the upper hand in their bantering exchange.

“I suppose I ought to be a bit more welcoming as the owner of a small business and all, but-” his cousin offered distractedly, finally peering toward him with a raised brow. “-I’ve only recently had that glass out front repaired.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed with a slump against the doorway after he set an envelope next to the paper. “I’m hoping this might cover that - and if not, that you’ll let me know.”

Arthur almost instantly slid the folded paper pouch back across his trademark desk in the direction it had come from. Killian lifted an eyebrow before returning a steadfast stare, but it was soon apparent that his relative wasn’t about to accept the gesture of a few higher end bills. It truly was a pathetic way to attempt making amends and one that definitely shouldn’t be necessary. The healing battle wounds that were finally fading from his own guilty face were proof that he owed Arthur at least that much - even if he’d known from the start that the proud bar owner wouldn’t take it.

“You know that royal salary of yours has never been worth much around here,” his older relative told him. “I’m merely stating the hope that we won’t have to have this endearing conversation again for a while. I mean, the chairs around the tables opposite that new window do need replacing, but I’d rather-”

“Got it, mate,” Killian nodded, pressing his lips together. “For the record, I’m sorry-”

“I know you are-” Arthur smiled. “-and that’s the only thing that makes it okay.”

He still wasn’t totally sure why this man tolerated him, but as Arthur flipped his pencil toward the doorway in salute, Killian reminded himself to stop taking that for granted.

“Now,” the man sighed as he found his feet. “How about some rum and ranting? Sounds like we both need it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “You have no idea, mate.”

“Well, I’m excited to learn then,” he returned, slapping the envelope of cash against Killian’s chest before heading for the hallway. “You’re buying - oh, and grab that bin of clean glasses on your way up.”

Killian smirked to himself as he lifted the box, his feet trailing after the owner. He’d entertained the idea of a life like this many times before - how it would be to swap out kegs and care for a humble business like the one his cousin had built from nearly nothing. He had always appreciated the way Arthur could assimilate him with a simple comment or a thoughtless instruction. Sure, most royals wouldn’t stand for a world centered around menial tasks, but Killian thrived on the idea of being ordinary.

It was an odd envy he held for people like Arthur, but it was also a desire that was very disrespectful to the crown - which is exactly why he chose not to mention it to anyone.

“So, how’s your brother? Still constantly worrying about you?”

“Among other things,” Killian shrugged as his cousin took the rattling crate of fragile glass. “You know Liam - saving the free world one weary soul at a time.”

“Aye,” Arthur laughed as he turned toward the shelf housing a few bottles. “I suppose it’s a hazard of such an authoritarian job. What else is new with you?”

Killian halted with a sigh, his eyes scanning the bar instead of conjuring up an answer that wouldn’t raise suspicion with the man who’d just asked him a casual question. Arthur knew all about the upcoming royal events courtesy of his bond with Liam and he wasn’t one to often seek out small talk. He knew his cousin was attempting to learn what had taken him so long to wander back by the corner pub and while he wasn’t sure that lying was the best route, he knew one thing for sure - he couldn’t tell Arthur about Emma and the way her presence as well as absence seemed to be consuming him.

There wasn’t much to tell anyway, he thought quietly. She was just visiting and she’d be gone eventually so divulging what little information he had seemed futile. Bottling it all up for now was the best plan - and lord knows he’d gotten good at that over the years.

“Just trying to fill a few roles for Gran,” he offered vaguely. “Mostly little stuff - taking over her rugby patronage and attending a charity thing later this week.”

“Good for you,” Arthur nodded, pouring them both a glass of the bar’s best rum. “Liam mentioned you have some palace visitors currently?”

The color drained slightly from Killian’s face as he cleared his throat before taking a swallow from the fresh drink. He wasn’t sure how much his annoyingly honest older brother had said, but he instantly wished Liam had for once kept his mouth shut. His sight drifted toward the opposite end of the room, finding Ruby soon enough and wondering if he might use needing to catch up with her as an excuse to avoid this conversation. It took only seconds of watching to realize the dark haired girl was busy tending to another patron, one he almost recognized. Long blonde hair, nervous posture, a laugh he could barely hear….

“Anyone you know?”

Killian had been so briefly entranced by who he imagined the girl sitting at a fair distance could be that he almost thought that’s who Arthur was referring to. Of course he wasn’t though - he was inquiring about Admiral Nolan’s family. Killian straightened his shoulders as he tried to focus on the discussion at hand.

“No, it’s, ummm, just a….family from up north,” Killian answered, tearing his eyes away from what was obviously a half-assed hallucination. “They’re leaving soon I believe.”

“Oh - that's….not what I heard.”

He was about to ask Arthur what the hell that meant when he caught the sound of a voice he was truly in no frame of mind to deal with. He was relieved that the tone wasn’t directed at him, but slightly unsettled that its usual venom laced accent had been replaced by a pathetically sultry one. Such seduction was often aimed toward Ruby - who was perfectly capable of putting the man who caused frequent commotion right back in his place - but this time, the heavy flirtation was aimed toward the girl Ruby had been chatting with. His eyes narrowed as he watched for a moment and his blood seemed to simmer without explanation. Sure, it was beyond annoying to see Gideon strutting around like he owned the place - though Arthur had told him many times that wasn’t the case - but for some reason, this particular display was even more infuriating.

“Shit,” Arthur said as he pieced together what was happening. “I didn’t think he’d be in tonight.”

“It’s fine,” Killian assured him, biting his lip as he tried to convince himself of that as well. “Who’s Ruby talking to over there?”

“Ah, you mean the blonde? Lass from across the pond somewhere,” his cousin answered. “She’s been in a few nights this week.”

“Has she just recently become the object of Gideon’s affection?”

“Hey,” Arthur said quickly, shaking his head. “Not worth it, Killian.”

“What?”

“You know what,” he stared, lifting his brow. “We established long ago that Gideon is an idiot and though his intentions likely aren’t the best, I’m quite positive that girl can take care of herself.”

Killian glanced the girl’s way once more, trying to find the belief that the man behind the bar was correct. He wasn’t about to jump in and fight a battle that might not be necessary, especially given how his last scuffle went, but he knew standing idly by while Gideon acted like an arrogant casanova wasn’t something he could manage. There were really only two plans of action and since the first one hadn’t panned out so well in the past, he opted to take the second as he finished his rum.

“I should head out,” he told Arthur, dropping the envelope on the counter and rising to his feet with a smirk. “For your trouble - or perhaps the kind I caused you.”

“Smart ass,” Arthur grumbled with a shake of his head. “Be safe, mate.”

Killian nodded once before turning toward the door in brief contemplation. He could easily leave through the back, sneaking out the hidden exit as stealthily as he’d entered. It would probably even be for the best since any attention he and Gideon might pay each other probably wouldn’t be the positive sort. He tried to remind himself of all of this as his feet carried him toward the main door, a path he regretted the second he noticed just how close the other man had moved to the girl he felt he needed to guard.

Maybe it was the way she appeared to be so uncomfortable in the close confines his nemesis had trapped her in or maybe it was the blatant refusal he heard her offer as he passed by. Maybe it was even simply Gideon’s failure to yield as she continued to push him away. Whatever the cause was, Killian felt his grip pause from reaching for the door handle and his body abruptly turn back around.

“I believe the lady said no,” Killian stated in a low tone, his glare full of warning as his rival looked up. “Step down, mate.”

Surprise filled Gideon’s face as a cunning grin took over his mouth, a sure sign that this wouldn’t be civil in the least. Bloody hell, Killian thought as his skin prickled. He didn’t need this tonight.

“Well, look what the palace spit out,” Gideon sneered. “Back for more, are ya?”

Killian felt his breath hitch as he clenched his fists, trying to quell the anger that was tempting him to end their exchange of words with a swift right hook. The feeling was a well known one - he’d never gotten along with the man who was trying his hardest to pick a fight. Gideon Gold was an abolitionist with a penchant for drinking, gambling, and taking cheap shots in rugby matches. Their dislike for one another had been ongoing for years, but the feud they’d once endured had only just come back into play with the recent fight. Killian had tried to hold back that night, but when Gideon had decided to drag the royal family’s name through the mud, he’d snapped.

He couldn’t let that happen this time though. He had to walk away - pride be damned.

“No,” Killian replied, clipped and firm as he refused to break the man’s stare. “I’m not here to fight you, Gideon, but you best not give me a reason to think twice about that.”

“Well luckily, you won’t need to, your highness. When we’re through here, you won’t be doing much thinking about anything.”

The challenge was there, thrown between them with the threatening curve of the man’s smirk. Killian felt his temper spike as his defenses rose, his lips pressed together as he tried to brace for whatever came next. He hadn’t come here to start a war, but he also hadn’t expected to see the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about stuck in the line of fire. He couldn’t let Gideon win this one - and it was that conclusion that pulled two very bold words from his mouth.

“Try me.”

It all happened shockingly fast - the sound of glasses breaking and a gruff yell of Ruby’s name that sounded urgent. The dark haired girl dropped the box of beer bottles instantly and bolted to where Arthur had suddenly appeared, his cousin’s arms fighting to shove him back toward the hallway. He’d barely gotten in a solid hit when he realized he’d taken one as well, his feet carrying him backward weakly as his thoughts blurred. Killian realized then that he’d lost sight of the girl during the commotion, a detail that wasn’t helpful even though the vague observation of Arthur pushing his rival out the door was. He managed to hobble back toward the office courtesy of Ruby and his back hit the exposed brick wall with a thud while he tried to right himself. He was attempting to do that much when he was joined by Ruby and another girl - well, the girl.

Emma, he thought as his heart pounded violently.

He didn’t hear much as the dark haired lass usually manning the bar spoke to the blonde he truly didn’t want seeing him like this, but when Ruby sped back down the hallway and left the pair of them alone, Killian realized he didn’t have much of a choice. She peered up at him with questioning eyes, taking a few steps forward with caution.

“Hi.”

Her gentle greeting was shy, her teeth pressing against her bottom lip as she waited to gauge his response. He felt truly miserable, but it wasn’t fair to act like an ass when she had opted to stick around for this.

“Hi….didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The surprise is mutual,” she answered after a moment. “Are you okay, Your High…uh…”

“Killian,” he assisted, not feeling the least bit worthy of a royal title - not that he’d ever want her to address him as such anyway. “Just Killian, lass.”

“Right,” she started in a nervous tone, clearing her throat. “So….the back?”

“Over-” he barely nodded, his head gesturing toward a dark room. “-there.”

She took his arm gently, her touch a light brush of fingers that created a loose grip around his bicep. Trying not to lean into her, Killian took the several stumbles that would land them in a storage area he’d only seen a couple of times before. The overhead lights flickered on, forcing him to squint as he took in the new environment. It was mostly boxes stacked high alongside a wine cabinet his cousin kept well stocked. The letters on the labels came into focus after a moment and he tried to read a few, his efforts eventually halting when she ushered him toward a lone chair by a sink in the corner.

“Sit down,” she told him with a tilt of her head. “Your hand is cut-”

“It's….fine-”

“No, it’s not,” she argued, her voice direct but caring. “Now, sit. Let me….just let me help you.”

He gave up rather fast, closing his eyes to avoid the glare of the fluorescent bulbs burning far too brightly before the sound of running water forced his exhausted stare back to her. She’d pulled a light blue towel from some box behind him and had started to wet the material, obviously intending to assist him in cleaning the blood and shame off his face. She’d probably be good at the former, her insistence in doing so making him think she might be even more stubborn than he typically was. It was the second part that she likely wouldn’t be able to help him with.

“Here,” she offered, lifting the cloth toward his eye. “Chin up.”

He did as requested, inhaling sharply at the feel of a damp towel on his fresh wound. She seemed to find his reaction a bit entertaining and it poked at his crumbling pride just enough for him to respond.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

He realized almost instantly how misstated his words were. The quiet scoff she offered told him so too as she rinsed the rag quickly before returning her attention to the large cut. He truly had no right to set boundaries on whatever she chose to do within or outside palace walls and he was reminded of that as she swiped the cloth along his red stained cheek a little harder than was needed.

“Well, if my conclusions are the tiniest bit correct then-” she retorted, pausing when he hissed a low sound of discomfort. “-neither are you.”

“Conclusions?”

“I’m observant enough to know that wasn’t your first fight with whoever that was,” she clarified, her sights now studying his hand. “In fact, I think I remember seeing a recent photo of you that proves that.”

“Ah, I must say I didn’t think you’d be a tabloid reader,” he replied. “You know that’s the same old publication that would have you believe the Queen is a frivolous drunk.”

“Yeah, while using the gossip column as a news outlet can be very interesting,” she laughed, scouting out a cotton bandage roll from the first aid kit below the sink and setting it aside. “I’m also just….good at reading people.”

She wasn’t lying - he could tell that much as he watched her eyes decipher the current situation. It scared him on some level to think that she might understand him more than she was letting on, but the soothing movement of her touch as she tended to his hand made his insecurity a little easier to ignore - at least for now.

“There,” she said softly as she looked up for a sign of validation. “Better?”

“Thank you,” he nodded as he regained some sense, his eyes falling carefully on the way her fingers and the bandage curled gently around his hand. “But you know you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “After all, this is kind of indirectly my fault.”

“It wasn’t,” he disagreed. “I just didn't….well, you shouldn’t have to deal with Gideon Gold - and I guess the idea of being a gentleman lead me to being a bit rash.”

“Oh, so now you’re a gentleman,” she smiled, looking down at his wrapped knuckles. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

“I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned in return. “But I guess I haven’t proved that much in the past.”

Killian bit his lip as her smile shifted to a smirk, the feel of his teeth on the minor wound reminding him that his choice was a bad one. The past, he thought briefly - did they even have one of those? Their interactions up to this point hadn’t been totally honest or all that coordinated, but it was still something.

He wondered quietly if she felt that way too.

“It’s okay,” she said after a moment. “But for future reference, I can take care of myself you know.”

“I suppose I should have recognized that.”

“Well, in your defense, we don’t exactly know each other,” she replied, shaking her head immediately. “I mean, we don’t really-”

“Aye,” he cut in with a smirk. “I should apologize for that too.”

“For the balcony or for bumping into me?”

“Both,” he shrugged. “Not my finest moments.”

“Or….mine, I guess,” she told him. “But maybe, we should just….start over?”

“Hmmm,” he sighed, lowering his hand. “How’s that?”

He was having a hell of a time not staring at her. Her hair hung loosely in waves that shifted on her shoulders each time she moved and the constantly changing expression on her face kept him guessing despite the throbbing in his rattled skull. This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how beautiful she was, but the close proximity they’d now found themselves in seemed to magnify this attraction he had to her. Starting over was probably the best offer he could hope for given their rather odd beginning and he waited to hear just how she planned on initiating that, his gaze analyzing the curve of her lips in the meantime.

“Emma Nolan,” she said with a rather adorable half smile. “Nice to meet you, Your Highness.”

He grinned slowly, the slight stretch of his lower lip testing the scar that was likely forming there from the last battle with Gideon. There was something so casually innocent and sweet about her actually offering a real introduction that he couldn’t help but play right into it.

“Aye, a pleasure, lass-” he countered, slightly raising his eyebrow. “-and Killian will do.”

“Okay then-” she finally conceded. “-Killian.”

Her eyes were even more green than he’d originally concluded, the deep emerald hue of them paired with a hint of forgiveness he truly hadn’t earned. The pain brought on by his recent conflict in the bar seemed to fade ever so slightly as he held her gaze with a fascination he didn’t understand. There was something about her - something so guarded and beautifully hidden in her eyes - and he let a goal of unmasking it form in his weary mind. The fact that she’d be gone soon prodded him and he felt his shoulders shrink with the cruelty of that knowledge.

Why had he wasted so much time? Why had he been avoiding this? Why in the bloody hell did she captivate him in such a vexing way?

“God, there you are,” Arthur gasped, his sudden presence causing their staring contest to lapse. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah….yes - fine,” Killian answered, trying to pick the right words. “Look, I didn’t know he would….I’m sor-”

“It’s alright, Killian - that wasn’t you,” Arthur assured him, looking toward Emma curiously before resuming his breathless speech. “Glad you’re fixed up. Can you stand?”

“Aye-”

“Okay, good….and I hate to add insult to literal injury, but while that wasn’t pretty, things are about to get a lot worse,” Arthur warned, his eyes anxious and filled with concern. “Your brother is on his way. We need to get you out of here.”

Tagging some friends: @xpumpkindumplingx, @jennifer-morrison, @spartanguard, @laschatzi, @kat2609, @eala-captian, @allietumbles, @andiirivera, @kmomof4, @galadriel26, @timeless-love-story, @msres, @harryandthecambridges, @thesschesthair, @its-like-a-story-of-love, @lovelycssefan, @hooksheroicheart, @cat-sophia, @gonzothegreat90, @rebelcxptain, @prairiepirate, @yesplskillianjones, @jennjenn615, @heomomka, @fckyesroyals, @lenfazreads, @cherrywolf713, @lucasxdorothy, @lifeinahole27, @hollyethecurious, @fairytalesandtimetravel, @pirateherokillian, @shipsxahoy, @onceuponarelm, @winterbaby89, @captain-k-jones, @weall-l00k-the-same-inthe-dark, @shady-swan-jones, @captainswanparrilla, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @princesseslikepirates, @sherifffjones, @deathbycaptainswan

[opedguy]

Cruz Grabs Headlines Slamming Trump

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), Oct. 14, 2019.--Slamming 73-year-old President Donald Trump for suggesting that 76-year-old former vice President Joe Biden and his 50-year-old son Hunter should be investigated by China, 48-year-old Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Tx.) grabbed headlines in the anti-Trump press.  With the House busy with its impeachment inquiry into Trump’s July 25 phone call with 40-year-old Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky, Cruz gave the press some red meat.  Asked Oct. 13 by Margaret Brennan on CBS’s “Face The Nation” whether it’s appropriate for Trump to ask China to investigate the Bidens, Cruz said “of course not.”  “Election in the U.S. should be decided by Americans and it’s not the business of foreign countries—any foreign countries—to be interfering in our elections,” Cruz said.  Cruz didn’t give Trump the benefit of the doubt that he was not interfering with a U.S. Election, he was investigating corruption by the former VP and his son.

            Cruz and other key Republicans don’t see how the press uses them to attack Trump, confirming their theory that Trump committed high crimes and misdemeanors when he spoke with Zelensky July 25.  But Trump has said emphatically that he only inquired about corruption, nothing to do with a presidential election. Concerned more about Hunter getting $50,000 a month on Ukraine’s Burisma Holding board, a natural gas company, Trump was only obliquely concerned about Joe, because he bragged at the Council on Foreign Relations in 2016 about getting Ukraine’s chief prosecutor Viktor Shokin fired when he wanted to investigate Burisma Holdings.  Cruz had no information to implicate Trump into “interfering” in a U.S. election, especially because Joe is not his Party’s nominee.  Cruz gave “Face The Nation” exactly what they were looking for:  Dirt on Trump.

            Since Trump beat former Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton Nov. 4, 2016, Democrats have looked to impeach him or de-legitimize the election.  Democrats have been open about wanting to get rid of Trump from Day 1.  They put all their hopes into Special Council Robert Mueller’s 22-month, $30 million investigation.  When Mueller delivered his findings in his Final Report March 23 essentially clearing Trump of Russian collusion, Democrats were apoplectic. Democrats led by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.), House Judiciary Committee Chairman Jerold Nadler (D-N.Y.) and House Intelligence Committee Chairman Adam Schiff (D-Calif.), cherry-picked the Mueller Report to charge Trump with “obstruction of justice.” When that didn’t fly they found a “whstleblower” who claims second hand Trump tried to extort Zelensky for dirt on Biden and his son, Hunter.

            Brennan pressed Cruz to hazard his opinion on whether it was appropriate for Trump to ask Ukraine to get involved with internal U.S. matters.  “Do you thin that, say, the president’s personal attorney, Rudy Giuliani, who’s been talking about Chian, who’s been talking about Ukraine, do you want him to testify about this sort of shadow foreign policy?” Brennan asked Cruz. “Listen, foreign countries should stay our of American elections,” Cruz said, knowing that Trump said the issue was about corruption.  Biden’s not the Democrat Party’s nominee, only a presidential candidate.  Brennan did her best to get Cruz to agree with House Democrats proceeding with an impeachment inquiry.  Cruz should have asked Brennan whether or not spying on the president by an intel or State Department employee is appropriate. Calling it a “whistleblower” complain stretches the whistleblower statute to the breaking point.

            When you consider that Intelligence Community Inspector General [IG] Michael Atkinson said Sept. 30 that the so-called “whistleblower” was probably partisan, it makes you question the entire complaint. Intel Chief Adam Schiff told Joe Scarborough Sept. 17 that he had no contact with the whistleblower.  Schiff told Brennan yesterday that his office did have contact with the whistleblower before he-or-she filed a complaint Sept. 19   “I should have been much more clear about the whistleblower contact . . . the minute it was brought to my attention,” Schff told Brennan Oct. 13 on “Face The Nation.”  Schiff inconsistency raises real credibility issues about the whistleblower’s complain, no appearing it was orchestrated, maybe concocted, by Schiff’s office.  Calling snitching or spying a “whitleblower” complaint stretches the statute to the breaking point, raiding real doubts about its credibility.

            Cruz not once questioned the “whistleblowr” complaint, knowing that Schiff lied about whether he had contact with the whistleblower before he-or-she went public with the complaint.  Cruz did nothing to defend President Trump, accepting Brennan’s assumption that Trump tried to interfere with the 2020 election:  The exact Democrat talking points.  “Listen foreign countries should stay out of American elections,” Cruz told Brennan.  “That’s true for Russia, that’s true for Ukraine, that’s true for China—that’s true for all of them.  It should be the American people deciding elections.”  No one disputes that but Trump said he was looking into corruption, not interfering with a U.S. election.  If Cruz were really disinterested, he would have asked Brennan about Schiff lying about his prior contact with the whistleblower.  Cruz should have reminded Brennan that Trump should be presumed innocent:  It’s the American way.

About the Author 

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma

.  

[rebaobsessivelywrites]

The Profiler in the Therapist (ch 10)

You can find this entire fic here on AO3.

Fandom: Bones (TV) and Criminal Minds (TV)

Entire Fic Description:

Dr. Lance Sweets is no longer the innocent eager psychologist he was a little over a year and a half ago. His time as a prodigy profiler at the BAU was a blessing. His time in a serial killer's basement was not.

Now, scarred but healed, Sweets is 'retired' to calmer job in the FBI as a therapist. As he helps others, he helps himself. But... is it enough? What will he do when one of his most fascinating (unwilling) patients asks for help on a case? How will his new team take his past as his secrets slowly start to come out?

Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, past torture, panic attacks, PTSD, serial killers

Chapter word count:  4,089

Chapter warnings: panic attack, flashback, referenced past torture

Summary: Lance finds new friends and writes a book. Penelope has something important to say...

Please read the fic! First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

The following week, bright and early on Monday, Sweets was dragging himself into the conference room on Agent Booth’s floor of the Hoover Building. Even from halfway across the quiet bullpen, Sweets could already see the group in the conference room—it was everyone from the Jeffersonian, save Brennan, with the addition of Caroline Julian. Booth was nowhere in sight. For some reason this fact left him slightly unsettled; he may not be close to Booth or Brennan, but he knew them a lot more than these scientists. He had only met the group a few times, and only in reference to the Gormogon murders.

And so, it was with a slight sense of trepidation that the therapist entered the room and greeted the group. He needn’t have worried, however; as soon as he greeted the room at large, Jack Hodgins gave him a friendly smile and offered his hand, “Hey, it’s Sweets, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the therapist returned the smile and the handshake, “It’s good to see you again, Dr. Hodgins.”

“Oh!” Angela Montenegro exclaimed from beside the entomologist, “You’re the therapist Brennan was always complaining about.” Lance shifted and nodded slightly awkwardly, confirming her assumptions.

Camille Saroyan materialized at the artist’s side, giving her a slightly reproachful look and interjecting purposefully, “You’ve also been helping with the Gormogon case.” She turned her attention to him and smiled, “Glad you could make it, Dr. Sweets.”

“Thank you, Dr. Saroyan,” Lance smiled back, “I hope I’m able to help with the case.”

“You sure will, chér,” Ms. Julian announced in a way that made it halfway between a reassurance and a threat, an amused look plastered across her face as she leant with both hands against the chair at the head of the table.

Sweets maintained that she was absolutely terrifying.

“Ah,” Sweets moved around the table to take a chair, “Where’s Agent Booth?”

“He got caught in a traffic jam,” Dr. Saroyan answered as she settled into a seat beside him, “He’s on his way.”

After a beat of slightly awkward silence, Zack Addy shifted in his seat—which he hadn’t left earlier, “Dr. Sweets, if you don’t mind me asking, what are your degrees?”

“Oh, uh,” Sweets blinked once, adjusting to the sudden question, “Well, I received my undergraduate pysch degree from the University of Toronto, my master’s degree in abnormal psychology from Temple University, my doctorate in clinical psychology from the University of Pennsylvania, and my doctorate in behavioral analysis from Columbia University.”

“Wow,” Angela was staring at him a little, “How old are you again?”

Sweets opened his mouth to respond, but Ms. Julian beat him to it, “Dr. Sweets was 21 when he graduated with his last degree and entered the FBI Academy.” She smirked across the table at him, “Isn’t that right, chérie?”

As all the Jeffersonian employees turned stunned expressions on him, Sweets couldn’t do much more than blush.

“Nice,” Hodgins grinned at him. The sentiment was quickly echoed.

As Angela and Dr. Saroyan commented on his hidden accomplishments, Sweets caught sight of Agent Booth through the window of the conference room. He stepped through the door just as Zack jumped in, “It is rather impressive, although I am still not convinced of the validity or usefulness of behavioral science.”

Skirting the end of the table, Booth chuckled, “You sound just like Bones there, Zack.”

Zack looked over his shoulder at the agent, “In my experience Dr. Brennan is usually correct.”

“I’m afraid that in this case she isn’t, Dr. Addy,” Lance couldn’t resist jumping in; he may not be able to convince Brennan, but he may be able to convince Zack, “There are numerous cases that are solved every year with the help of profiling. For example, the team with the highest close rate in the FBI right now is the primary BAU team, with the two secondary teams coming in third and fourth respectively.” The profiler turned therapist was pleased to observe the thoughtful look on the young doctor’s face (although he was older that Sweets himself).

“Who comes in second?” Camille turned to give him a curious look.

Sweets gave her a smile, “The Jeffersonian-FBI Investigative Taskforce; you.”

Proud smiles flitted across each of their faces. It was always good to hear you were making a difference; it had been one of Sweets’ favorite parts of working at the BAU.

“So, Sweets,” Booth clapped his hands together, “You think you’re ready for your first trial?”

For a split second, Sweets blinked in confusion at him. “Oh, no,” he chuckled a little, “Sorry, this isn’t my first trial.”

Booth’s eyebrows shot up, “Really?”

Lance just shrugged, “It is my first trial as the only expert phycological witness, but I’ve testified many times in the past.”

Booth gave him a piercing look that reminded the therapist of the look he had given him over Jack’s head just a few days earlier. A second later, he shook whatever he had been thinking away and moved to lean against the wall behind the empty seat beside Sweets.

“Speaking of first trials,” Ms. Julian shook her finger a little at him, as she settled into her chair “Make sure you stick to fully grown up words, alright chér? I’m not afraid to tattle to darling Aaron.”

Lance took a moment to examine the prosecutor’s face, taking note of the poorly concealed amusement behind the threat. Really, she was a lot like Aaron in that respect—she was hard to read, but wasn’t nearly as serious as she looked. With that in mind, he responded as though it was Hotch who had just threatened him, “Now that’s just mean.”

Caroline gave him a delighted little smile and pseudo-leer, surprising several individuals, before sobering and getting down to business, “Enough of that. We’ve got a case to prepare for. Now, I’m going to say to you what I always say to you before a trial, because this one is no different than any other trial.”

“You’ve never said that before,” Zack pointed out.

“What?” the prosecutor gave the forensic anthropologist an unimpressed look.

“You’ve never told us that a trial is no different from any other trial,” Hodgins agreed.

Zack nodded, finishing the idea, “Which suggests this one is different.”

Sweets found himself relaxing amongst the group as the banter was thrown back and forth and orders were given to each member of the prosecution team. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He already had a team who was like a family to him and… the more he spent around this team, the more he could see himself finding something similar here as well.

Following the meeting, Lance was in a good mood all day; not even Angela refusing to testify put a damper on his happiness. And honestly… he sort of agreed with her.

If the trial was going to be anything, it would be interesting. That’s for sure.

--

It was the middle of the second day of the trial, and everything was going splendidly. While Booth was still, well, Booth and could be found with Brennan more often than not (even though they weren’t supposed to be socializing), the rest of the prosecution team seemed to have adopted Sweets. He had interacted with each of them sporadically on the Gormogon case, but his primary source of contact had always been Booth. Now, though, it was usually the four of them—Camille, Zack, Hodgins, and himself—spending time together during recesses, eating lunch together, talking, joking, laughing… It was giving him vivid flashbacks to his first few cases at the BAU, when the members of the team banded together despite having just lost Gideon and welcomed him into the group.

On top of the wonderful bonding he was enjoying with the other doctors, he was in a court room again. It wasn’t the most enjoyable place to be, but Lance had always been fascinated by law and truly enjoyed stretching his profiling muscles by testifying. And on top of that, he had made a decision. It was a big decision with the potential to bite him in the ass, but he was excited none the less.

He had just gotten off the phone with Rossi, who had given him a proverbial kick in the ass, and parted ways with the prosecution trio; he was now outside the courthouse searching for a particular pair. They hadn’t been anywhere he looked inside, so he was guessing they were visiting the coffee cart outside on the street. Sure enough, he found Brennan and Booth siting side by side sipping coffee on a bench. He immediately made a beeline for them, barely coming to a stop before launching into his spiel, “I’m writing a book, taking a clinical approach to efficacy and focused outcomes. You shouldn’t work well together but you do; I’d like to study it further.”

Sweets paused, giving them a chance to react while sitting on the edge of his metaphorical seat. He wished he knew how it was going to go— how they were going to react —but the truth was the pair was just a tad too unpredictable at times.

After that split second of staring in surprise at Sweets, Booth blinked and turned to Brennan, “I don’t get it.”

“He wants to study us,” the anthropologist translated succinctly, brows furrowed against the sun. At least, he was fairly certain it was against the sun and not in annoyance or anger—although that was a distinct possibility.

“A session once a week, just like before I cleared your partnership,” Lance jumped in. That wasn’t all he was planning on offering, but he knew the pair well enough to hold his cards close to his chest in the beginning.

A smile that was vaguely mischievous crossed Booth’s face. “Now why would we want to do that?” he turned to his partner once again, completely ignoring Sweets.

“I can’t think of a good reason,” Brennan smiled back, similarly ignoring the therapist.

“Ok, see,” Sweets jumped in again, pointing between them for emphasis, “that thing that you do when you talk to each other while excluding the third party, in this case me? It’s an adaptive mechanism for disparate entities to bond together, however temporarily, while simultaneously isolating and exposing the subject of the conversation.” It was a technique that the pair used frequently, both in interrogations and day-to-day life. It was a symptom of their improbable yet powerful partnership.

“Isolating and exposing, huh?” Booth broke script to grin up at the profiler.

Sweets let out an exasperated huff and felt his cheeks heat slightly, “You know what I meant.”

Still grinning at the therapist, the agent lent towards Brennan, “What d’ya think, Bones?”

“Well,” she frowned slightly, “the idea is quite ludicrous in several respects, but anthropologically speaking—”

“About the offer, Bones,” Booth turned to look at her more directly, “Not the mumbo-jumbo.”

“Agent Booth!” Lance gave him an affronted look. There was no way psychology was mumbo-jumbo! “I can assure you that profiling is a—”

“Aha!” he exclaimed, pointing up at the startled therapist, “You are a profiler.”

Lance blinked in surprise at him and attempted to formulate a response, but before he could Brennan took the words out of his mouth. “Yes, Booth,” she said almost patiently, eyebrows furrowed, “He’s said so since our very first session with him. That’s why you brought him that time capsule case all those months ago.”

“That’s not what I mean,” the agent was still grinning, “I mean he was a profiler before he was a therapist.” He looked up at Sweets again, “You worked for the BAU, didn’t you?”

Lance found himself rendered speechless. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he had worked for the BAU—quite a few people knew his history and experience—but everyone who did know also knew why he left and respected the dangers that could arise from broadcasting his past. Besides that, well, he just didn’t like talking about it. So… how the hell had Booth figured it out?

Something must have shown on his face because Booth chuckled a little and explained, “I figured it out on Monday, after the prosecution met. I didn’t hear all of it, but I’m pretty sure Caroline said something about you joining the Academy—which non-agents don’t need to do—and you sounded awfully proud when you were talking about the BAU’s close rate. It took me a little, but I started to piece it together.”

Lance probably would have continued to stare, but Brennan, who had been giving him a piercing look since Booth mentioned the BAU, broke through his growing stupor. “You’re an agent?”

He blinked at her for a split second before shrugging, “Not an active one.” He gave the pair a nervous smile, “You could say I’ve been chained to a desk early.” This really had not been his plan when he came seeking them out.

“Why?” Brennan asked in that horribly innocent and unintentionally insensitive way.

“It’s a long story,” Lance settled for shrugging and deflecting.

“We do have time right now,” she pointed out. He floundered for a second that felt like an eternity before Booth jumped in, making him almost sigh in relief.

“Whoa there, Bones,” the agent stalled her, “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Brennan turned her curious gaze to her partner, so he continued, “Tell you what, why don’t we make a deal with him where we allow him to study us and in return he gives us phycological profiling on demand.” Brennan started to protest, so Booth continued, “It’ll give us more time to quiz him.”

Brennan made a considering noise, as though weighing her options, “I don’t know if that’s worth it; you like that sort of thing, but it’s just,” she mimicked Booth from earlier, “mumbo-jumbo.”

“Still not mumbo-jumbo,” Sweets grumbled to himself.

The agent let out a vaguely frustrated sound, “C’mon, Bones! He’s from the BAU!”

“I was unaware you were so fond of a unit that concentrates all its efforts on the pursuit of circumstantial evidence,” she raised her eyebrows at him.

“It’s not circumstantial,” Sweets protested a little louder this time.

Booth sighed, but his frustrated expression was quickly wiped away under the same mischievous smile he had held at the beginning of the conversation, “Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit he likes us.”

Brennan paused as she opened her mouth, no doubt expecting to continue the argument, but her partner’s comment caught her off guard. A vaguely delighted smile crossed her face as she turned her gaze back to Sweets, “Do you like us?”

Oh, for crying out loud! Sweets let out a disbelieving huff. They’re impossible, he thought, though he quickly revised it as the two adults started chanting in sing-song voices, No, they’re just like children. Why did he want to put up with these two once a week again?

“Ok, you know what?” he threw his hand in the air, “I regret I ever made the offer. I take it back; forget it.” Still in a huff, he stormed off. Even as he did so, he began to regret it. Yes, they were impossible and infuriating and made him want to slam his head against the wall half of the time, but they were extraordinary and fascinating for the same reasons. He really did want to study them more, and help with their cases, and, honestly… he did like them— he wanted to get to know them better.

But, as he continued back into the courthouse, he realized me may have done the best thing he could to get what he wanted with the agent-anthropologist pair; they’d need to talk to each other without an audience before they could agree on a response. Direct confrontation never seemed to work that well with them.

He’d hold out hope and focus on the trial for now. At the very least, he’d avoid talking to Rossi until he knew for sure what was going on. Dave could be scary.

--

The evening of the trial’s final day, Sweets was walking on sunshine—metaphorically, of course; the sun was almost completely gone by this point. The red and orange hues cast cross the Reflecting Pool made it look as though it was made of liquid fire. But, anyway… Sweets was having a great day.

The prosecution had lost the trial, yes, but it had gone the way he had secretly hoped. He was thrilled Dr. Brennan would be able to get to know her father, to spend time with him doing normal things rather than always visiting him behind bars. Sweets didn’t feel too bad Max Keenan had gotten off scotch-free; he wouldn’t be a danger to the public, just so long as his children stayed safe.

After the trial, Booth had cornered him to tell him he and Brennan were willing to be studied in exchange for profiling. As that was the exchange Sweets had been planning on offering from the beginning, it was a win-win in his mind. Rossi had been both pleased and smug when Lance had shared the news. He reportedly also welcomed the distraction from the team’s latest case (a terrorist-like random killer who shared a great deal of his pathology with a serial arsonist), and promised to share the news with the others.

After the case, Jessica and Jack and surprised him and took him out for ice cream (it was all Jack’s idea and he made sure his uncle knew it). It had been a loud and sticky affair, full of laughter and good spirits. Jessica shared her good news as well; her latest book had gotten published.

Once they had finished, they had taken the subway to the National Mall. When Jack had been engrossed in watching a performer as they waited for the train to arrive, Jessica had leaned over to Sweets and whispered, “We need to burn all that sugar off somehow—he’ll never sleep like this!”

Jessica had been quite right. Jack was currently a hyper ball of energy racing up and down the steps of the Lincoln monument, huffing excitedly and imitating his favorite cartoon character all the way. Every time he circled back to his aunt and uncle, who were following at a much more sedate pace, he would grab Jess’s hand and haul her up a couple steps before dashing off ahead of them again.

As Jess stumbled after the most recent pull, she gave Lance a mischievous look over her shoulder. He raised his eyebrows in response, and she simply grinned wider and turned back towards the hyper blur hurling towards her. When he came within reach, Jessica scooped her nephew up and blew a giant raspberry onto his stomach. Jack let out a delighted squeal and attempted to wriggle away from his aunt. Lance felt his face nearly split open with the force of his smile as Jess took another deep breath and gave the giggling boy another.

“Uncle Lance!” Jack cried desperately after a moment, “Make her stop!!!”

Sweets just chuckled and shook his head mock-seriously at him, “And face Aunt Jessica? I’m not that brave, buddy! You’re on your own.”

“Nooooo!” he squealed, giggling madly, “Save me!”

Jessica, helpless to withstand the sight of her cackling prisoner and grinning friend, broke down laughing as she dropped down onto the steps, Jack still clutched to her chest. The boy let out a squeal of surprise before wriggling around just enough to stick his fingers into Jess’s armpits. It was her turn to squeal.

Lance was debating which side he should join in on when his phone cut through the laughter, vibrating in his pocket. After a moment of fumbling, he managed to get the device out. “Dr. Sweets,” he answered absently, still smiling at the scene before him.

“Oh, thank god,” a familiar voice exploded across the line, “Lancelot! You’re ok!”

Fully focused on the call now, Sweets frowned in confusion, “Yeah, Pen, I’m fine… What’s wrong? Is the team ok?

“We’re fine, Junior, honest. We just caught the guy,” she let out in a rush.

“What’s wrong then?” he frowned worriedly into space.

On the other end, the hacker sighed, “Lance…”

“Penelope, c’mon,” he entreated.

“The DC police department found a body— I mean, Will found a body today,” she started.

“Is he ok?” Sweets’ frowned deepened.

“He’s fine,” the hacker quickly reassured him before taking a deep breath. “But, Lance… this body has all the signs…” she trailed off again.

“Penelope,” he stressed, his frustration growing.

“It,” she started before exploding in a rush, “It’s the Ghost.”

Sweets felt as though the world had been yanked out from underneath him. His team always avoided using that name with him—they knew how it affected him—but it was the fastest way to communicate the issue. To communicate the gravity of the situation. And that gravity had his breath catching and his legs wavering. The world seemed to stop, and he was frozen in a moment of utter terror. It was silent but for the blood rushing in his ears and the echo of half-remembered screams. His throat ached, his eyes stung, and he couldn’t breathe… all he could smell was iron. Iron and blood and rust and pain.

He was vaguely aware of sitting heavily onto the steps, reaching blindly behind himself with one hand to stop from falling further. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and a concerned voice called his name, followed by another. Neither registered until a third voice broke through. “Uncle Lance? Uncle Lance, are you ok?”

“Jack!” came the more distant, distorted call through the phone.

Although he couldn’t see anything, Sweets didn’t resist as little hand relieved him of his phone. A moment later he spoke, “Auntie Pen?” There was a pause, then, “Yeah, he is. Is Daddy ok?” Another pause.

In and out, Sweets told himself, forcing himself to breathe, to focus on the voice and push the memories to the side. Not real. Not there. He’s not here.

Jack’s voice came again, “Aunt Jess is here.” Then, “Ok.”

Another voice came (Jess, the part of his mind that was fully rational whispered, That’s Jessica). It was full of panic and a touch of fear, “Penelope, what’s going on?!”

Sweets forced himself to open his stinging eyes. There, right in front of his nose was his wonderful, beautiful, brilliant nephew. Jack’s brow was furrowed in concern. Lance gave him a brief forced smile, allowing the presence of his nephew in his lap to ground him, before glancing up just in time to see all the blood seep out of Jessica’s face.

The writer blinked rapidly a few times, blond curls bouncing around her face, and swallowed hard, “I see. Is he in DC now?” Whatever Penelope said seemed to firm her resolve; she nodded once, beginning to regain her color, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Still slightly detached from reality, but with his panic attack stemmed, the therapist watched as his friend and pseudo-sister hung up. He watched as she knelt to join Jack at his side, as she leant forward and wrapped him up as a hug, Jack firmly sandwiched in the middle. He felt Jack wriggle a bit, small hands fisting in his uncle’s shirt. He felt his stinging eyes flow over.

There, wrapped in two of the people he loved most in this world, Lance cried. He wept in anguish of memories, in the fear of what may come. He wept in grief.

He had forgotten.

How had he forgotten? How could he have ever forgotten what he had survived, who had allowed him to survive? How could he have ever believed he would let him go?

Lance loved his life. He loved his job, his family, his friends. For the past month or so, he had been completely at peace. He had healed. He had moved on…. He had forgotten and now he could do nothing but remember.

The Ghost was in DC. He was here, and there was only one reason for that; he was here for Lance. He wasn’t done—he had warned him! How could he have forgotten?

And so, he grieved. In the fading light, on the steps of the Lincoln monument, he soaked Jessica’s shirt with tears and clutched Jack to his chest and grieved for what he would lose.

(Don’t forget you’re mine, boy. I’m not done with you yet.)

[blucky64]

Seymour Hersh Says Hillary Approved Sending Libya's Sarin To Syrian Rebels

by

Tyler Durden

May 1, 2016 10:00 PM3.0KSHARES

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Authored by Eric Zuesse via Strategic-Culture.org,

The great investigative journalist Seymour Hersh, in two previous articles in the London Review of Books ("Whose Sarin?" and "The Red Line and the Rat Line") has reported that the Obama Administration falsely blamed the government of Syria’s Bashar al-Assad for the sarin gas attack that Obama was trying to use as an excuse to invade Syria; and Hersh pointed to a report from British intelligence saying that the sarin that was used didn’t come from Assad’s stockpiles. Hersh also said that a secret agreement in 2012 was reached between the Obama Administration and the leaders of Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar, to set up a sarin gas attack and blame it on Assad so that the US could invade and overthrow Assad.

"By the terms of the agreement, funding came from Turkey, as well as Saudi Arabia and Qatar; the CIA, with the support of MI6, was responsible for getting arms from Gaddafi’s arsenals into Syria."

Hersh didn’t say whether these 'arms' included the precursor chemicals for making sarin which were stockpiled in Libya, but there have been multiple independent reports that Libya’s Gaddafi possessed such stockpiles, and also that the US Consulate in Benghazi Libya was operating a "rat line" for Gaddafi’s captured weapons into Syria through Turkey. So, Hersh isn’t the only reporter who has been covering this. Indeed, the investigative journalist Christoph Lehmann headlined on 7 October 2013, "Top US and Saudi Officials responsible for Chemical Weapons in Syria" and reported, on the basis of very different sources than Hersh used, that:

"Evidence leads directly to the White House, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Martin Dempsey, CIA Director John Brennan, Saudi Intelligence Chief Prince Bandar, and Saudi Arabia´s Interior Ministry."

And, as if that weren’t enough, even the definitive analysis of the evidence that was performed by two leading US analysts, the Lloyd-Postal report, concluded that:

"The US Government’s Interpretation of the Technical Intelligence It Gathered Prior to and After the August 21 Attack CANNOT POSSIBLY BE CORRECT."

Obama has clearly been lying.

However, now, for the first time, Hersh has implicated Hillary Clinton directly in this 'rat line'. In an interview with Alternet.org, Hersh was asked about the then-US-Secretary-of-State’s role in the Benghazi Libya US consulate’s operation to collect weapons from Libyan stockpiles and send them through Turkey into Syria for a set-up sarin-gas attack, to be blamed on Assad in order to ‘justify’ the US invading Syria, as the US had invaded Libya to eliminate Gaddafi. Hersh said:

"That ambassador who was killed, he was known as a guy, from what I understand, as somebody, who would not get in the way of the CIA. As I wrote, on the day of the mission he was meeting with the CIA base chief and the shipping company. He was certainly involved, aware and witting of everything that was going on. And there’s no way somebody in that sensitive of a position is not talking to the boss, by some channel".

This was, in fact, the Syrian part of the State Department’s Libyan operation, Obama’s operation to set up an excuse for the US doing in Syria what they had already done in Libya.

The interviewer then asked:

"In the book [Hersh’s The Killing of Osama bin Laden, just out] you quote a former intelligence official as saying that the White House rejected 35 target sets [for the planned US invasion of Syria] provided by the Joint Chiefs as being insufficiently painful to the Assad regime. (You note that the original targets included military sites only – nothing by way of civilian infrastructure.) Later the White House proposed a target list that included civilian infrastructure. What would the toll to civilians have been if the White House’s proposed strike had been carried out?"

Hersh responded by saying that the US tradition in that regard has long been to ignore civilian casualties; i.e., collateral damage of US attacks is okay or even desired (so as to terrorize the population into surrender) – not an ‘issue’, except, perhaps, for the PR people.

The interviewer asked why Obama is so obsessed to replace Assad in Syria, since "The power vacuum that would ensue would open Syria up to all kinds of jihadi groups"; and Hersh replied that not only he, but the Joint Chiefs of Staff, "nobody could figure out why". He said, "Our policy has always been against him [Assad]. Period". This has actually been the case not only since the Party that Assad leads, the Ba’ath Party, was the subject of a shelved CIA coup-plot in 1957 to overthrow and replace it; but, actually, the CIA’s first coup had been not just planned but was carried out in 1949 in Syria, overthrowing there a democratically elected leader, in order to enable a pipeline for the Sauds’ oil to become built through Syria into the largest oil market, Europe; and, construction of the pipeline started the following year. But, there were then a succession of Syrian coups (domestic instead of by foreign powers – 1954, 1963, 1966, and, finally, in 1970), concluding in the accession to power of Hafez al-Assad during the 1970 coup. And, the Sauds' long-planned Trans-Arabia Pipeline has still not been built. The Saudi royal family, who own the world’s largest oil company, Aramco, don’t want to wait any longer. Obama is the first US President to have seriously tried to carry out their long-desired "regime change" in Syria, so as to enable not only the Sauds’ Trans-Arabian Pipeline to be built, but also to build through Syria the Qatar-Turkey Gas Pipeline that the Thani royal family (friends of the Sauds) who own Qatar want also to be built there. The US is allied with the Saud family (and with their friends, the royal families of Qatar, Kuwait, UAE, Bahrain, and Oman). Russia is allied with the leaders of Syria – as Russia had earlier been allied with Mossadegh in Iran, Arbenz in Guatemala, Allende in Chile, Hussein in Iraq, Gaddafi in Libya, and Yanukovych in Ukraine (all of whom except Syria’s Ba’ath Party, the US has successfully overthrown).

Hersh was wrong to say that "nobody could figure out why" Obama is obsessed with overthrowing Assad and his Ba’ath Party, even if nobody that he spoke with was willing to say why. They have all been hired to do a job, which didn’t change even when the Soviet Union ended and the Warsaw Pact was disbanded; and, anyone who has been at this job for as long as those people have, can pretty well figure out what the job actually is – even if Hersh can’t.

Hersh then said that Obama wanted to fill Syria with foreign jihadists to serve as the necessary ground forces for his planned aerial bombardment there, and, "if you wanted to go there and fight there in 2011-2013, ‘Go, go, go… overthrow Bashar!’ So, they actually pushed a lot of people [jihadists] to go. I don’t think they were paying for them but they certainly gave visas".

However, it’s not actually part of America’s deal with its allies the fundamentalist-Sunni Arabic royal families and the fundamentalist Sunni Erdogan of Turkey, for the US to supply the salaries (to be "paying for them", as Hersh put it there) to those fundamentalist Sunni jihadists – that’s instead the function of the Sauds and of their friends, the other Arab royals, and their friends, to do. (Those are the people who finance the terrorists to perpetrate attacks in the US, Europe, Russia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, India, Nigeria, etc. – i.e., anywhere except in their own countries.) And, Erdogan in Turkey mainly gives their jihadists just safe passage into Syria, and he takes part of the proceeds from the jihadists’ sales of stolen Syrian and Iraqi oil. But, they all work together as a team (with the jihadists sometimes killing each other in the process – that’s even part of the plan) – though each national leader has PR problems at home in order to fool his respective public into thinking that they’re against terrorists, and that only the ‘enemy’ is to blame. (Meanwhile, the aristocrats who supply the "salaries" of the jihadists, walk off with all the money.)

This way, US oil and gas companies will refine, and pipeline into Europe, the Sauds’ oil and the Thanis’ gas, and not only will Russia’s major oil-and-gas market become squeezed away by that, but Obama’s economic sanctions against Russia, plus the yet-further isolation of Russia (as well as of China and the rest of the BRICS countries) by excluding them from Obama’s three mega-trade-deals (TTIP, TPP & TISA), will place the US aristocracy firmly in control of the world, to dominate the 21st Century, as it has dominated ever since the end of WW II.

Then, came this question from Hersh:

"Why does America do what it does? Why do we not say to the Russians, Let’s work together?"

His interviewer immediately seconded that by repeating it, "So why don’t we work closer with Russia? It seems so rational". Hersh replied simply: "I don’t know". He didn’t venture so much as a guess – not even an educated one. But, when journalists who are as knowledgeable as he, don’t present some credible explanation, to challenge the obvious lies (which make no sense that accords with the blatantly contrary evidence those journalists know of against those lies) that come from people such as Barack Obama, aren’t they thereby – though passively – participating in the fraud, instead of contradicting and challenging it? Or, is the underlying assumption, there: The general public is going to be as deeply immersed in the background information here as I am, so that they don’t need me to bring it all together for them into a coherent (and fully documented) whole, which does make sense? Is that the underlying assumption? Because: if it is, it’s false.

Hersh’s journalism is among the best (after all: he went so far as to say, of Christopher Stephens, regarding Hillary Clinton, "there’s no way somebody in that sensitive of a position is not talking to the boss, by some channel"), but it’s certainly not good enough. However, it’s too good to be published any longer in places like the New Yorker. And the reporting by Christof Lehmann was better, and it was issued even earlier than Hersh’s; and it is good enough, because it named names, and it explained motivations, in an honest and forthright way, which is why Lehmann’s piece was published only on a Montenegrin site, and only online, not in a Western print medium, such as the New Yorker. The sites that are owned by members of the Western aristocracy don’t issue reports like that – journalism that’s good enough. They won’t inform the public when a US Secretary of State, and her boss the US President, are the persons actually behind a sarin gas attack they’re blaming on a foreign leader the US aristocrats and their allied foreign aristocrats are determined to topple and replace.

Is this really a democracy?