#and trying to find who murdered your husband and father while pursuing possibly the first relationship since his husband

[acebabecd]

My personal headcanon is that Dorian and Orym got closer between EXU and C3 and seriously discussed having a relationship, but agreed to pause on it until the Zephra mission was over, then the universe decided to throw a bunch of other stuff at them in the meantime

[martinevev881]

The Most Common Mistakes People Make With swingers club

What Happens At A Swingers Club At A Glance

Visitors to the exclusivelysilks.co.uk website can find the opportunity to join the ‘Silk Swingers’ club. Owners stated they wished to keep the standard of the club to the ‘highest’ setting while ‘enriching’ your experience. However, he is listed on Companies House as a director of the private club. Mr McCloud had informed licensing officers that Exclusively Silks rented out part of Croydon Hall for its events.

Swinger Couples Plays Well With Others Upside Down Pineapple Premium Shirt

In the post-WWII 1950s-1970s, it was traditional to "date around" until ready to start "going steady" ; since then, non-exclusive dating around has lost favour and going directly to steady has been elevated instead. Desiring an open relationship in these days often claimed to be a phase that a person is passing through before being ready to "settle down". The logistics of an swingers101.com/7-tips-for-first-time-swingers-swinger-clubs-charlotte-nc/ open relationship may be difficult to cope with, especially if the partners reside together, split finances, own property, or parent children. Some couples see swinging as a healthy outlet and means to strengthen their relationship.

The involvement of contraception in his rituals seems to be an important detail as well. Adequate time management can contribute to the success of an open relationship. Even though having a serious commitment with one partner is common, negotiating the time spent among all partners is still important. Although the desire to give an unlimited amount of love, energy, and emotion to others is common, the limited amount of time in a day limits the actual time spent with each partner.

The Basics of What Happens At A Swingers Club As Possible Benefit From Starting Today

He and Mary-Ann still kept attending swingers' parties, even though he couldn't take part in the activities. One day, his wife became pregnant by another man, intending to try and make James happy by making him a father. This loss of control drove James to murder the man who impregnated Mary-Ann. Sometime later, being further spurred by his impotence, he started serial killing, targeting couples whose husbands were alpha males that he met previously. Some of these changes were motivated by the emergence of the AIDS epidemic.

"I feel more love for her now, knowing what it is like to be with other people than I think I would have if that's the only experience I have ever had in my life." Another swinging couple, Bob and Tess, were college sweethearts. They've been married 19 years, and five years into their marriage they decided to try the lifestyle.

The Value Of What Happens At A Swingers Club

Many couples consider open relationships, but choose not to follow through with the idea. If a person attempts to approach their committed monogamous partner about transitioning to an open relationship, the monogamous partner may convince or coerce them to either stay monogamous or pursue a new partner. There may also be concern that when beginning an open relationship, a partner may become only concerned in their personal development and pay less attention to their partner.

In an attempt to survive, she plays along, even taking off her robe, only to be shot and killed as well. The following night, James attends another swingers' party. The host of the party, Leslie Sanders, lets him in, knowing him but asks why Mary-Ann isn't with him; James claims that she is on her way and is trusted. On the dance floor, he sees a dancing couple being approached by another man, which is his usual fantasy. As the trio make out on a couch, James watches them and grows increasingly frustrated until he snaps, pulls out a pair of handguns, and shoots the two men and any other man in his sight.

On July 24, agents from the Sheriff’s Office, Division of Alcoholic Beverages and Tobacco and Multi-Agency Drug Enforcement Team conducted an undercover investigation into Hot Tropics ahead of the August 1 raid. They paid $25 to enter the premise, and were offered marijuana once inside, Sheriff’s deputy David Rasnick wrote in a report. Perhaps more importantly to some, those thrice-a-week social gatherings on the 2 ½ acre-plot on Northwest 68th Avenue no longer occur.

The Most Effective Reason You Ought Not Buy What Happens At A Swingers Club

While loving and romantic relationships with more than one person are explicitly allowed in polyamory, that’s not necessarily the case in open relationships. The first says “open relationship” is an umbrella term that encapsulates all other forms of nonmonogamy, like monogam-ish, swingers, and polyamory. During the Wilson murders, James shot both of them to death when his ritual was interrupted and his fantasy destroyed by the violent retaliation of the husband. During the mass shooting at the swingers' party, he utilized an unsuppressed pair of his usual handguns and targeted only the men, ignoring any women he came across at the property. When he killed his first victim , he shot him with the same silenced 9mm handgun out of revenge. Other times, a person who identifies as monogamous may choose to date someone who is polyamorous.

A release set to hit the rafters, Nick Karsten is back on Always Alive with ‘Swinger’. One of Trance's rising talents, Nick Karsten enjoyed a stellar 2014 with releases across the board, including his 'Dunno / New Era' EP on Always Alive Recordings - now we welcome the Slovenian back to the label for his latest single release. Improve the presence of your podcasts, e.g., self-servicepodcaster interview... If you are a podcaster, the best way to manage your podcasts on Listen Notes is by claiming your Listen Notes podcast pages. It is a great, free way to engage the podcast community and increase the visibility of your podcasts.

The couples we talked with weren't concerned about catching diseases. Now that we’re halfway through the year, it’s time to check in on the 2022 Goodreads Reading Challenge, our rigorous annual initiative for book... I sat with my legs wide open, belched, and could not be caught dead in a skirt. Because I was not your typical Southern Belle, I had a hard time fitting in. I did not have a lot of friends that were girls because I was considered unladylike and a bad influence, so I hung out with the boys.

[spiritsoulandbody]

#DailyDevotion Call Upon The LORD In The Day Of Trouble

#DailyDevotion Call Upon The LORD In The Day Of Trouble Psalm 7 A complaint David sang to the Lord about Cush, a descendant of Benjamin. TO LORD, my God, You are my Shelter. Save me from all who pursue me, and rescue me, 2or like a lion they will tear me to pieces, dragging me off with no one to save me: It's possible this was written in response to Sheba's rebellion in 2 Sam. 20. We do not find a record of a Cush in the book of Samuel. But we do have Sheba who is a Benjaminite. It is possible David is referring to him. In 2 Sam. 16 there was a Shimei of the house of Saul who was cursing David and throwing rocks at him as he was escaping Absalom, his son, who rebelled against him. All these things are a result of David's sin with Bathsheba and murdering her husband to cover up his sin. David then turns to the LORD who is his shelter. David in either case, dealing with people who are seeking his life. He needs to be rescued. He has done nothing to these people. David did not give offense to Sheba but Sheba certainly took offense. It is a good thing when we are in trouble to turn to the LORD. To do so is to keep the second commandment, “Don't misuse the name of the LORD your God.” Our catechism explains this, “but call upon it in every trouble, pray, praise, and give thanks.” Do you call upon the LORD in the day of trouble? Do you try to fix everything first and then after all your efforts fail do you call upon the name of the LORD? Before you do anything, turn to God your Father in the name of Jesus first and ask His divine help. Nothing is too big or too small. Commend yourself to the LORD and let Him guide your thinking and your plans before you make things worse by wicked thinking. You're not bothering God. He wants to hear from you. He wants to help you. 3O LORD my God, if I did this: if there's wrong in my hands, 4if I paid back my friend with evil, or plundered anyone who opposed me without a reason, 5then may an enemy chase me and catch me, trample my life into the ground, and lay my honor in the dust. David now pleads his innocence before the LORD. He doesn't see anything he has done that directly leads to his current situation. While indeed, it was part of his temporal punishment to have trials and tribulations because of his previous sin, he has done nothing directly to any of those people who are seeking to do him harm. He is willing to suffer wrong at their hands if indeed he has harmed them. Can we adopt this faithful attitude? Many times we may have troubles and have no idea where they come from. Yet here we are, suffering at the hands of our enemies. It is good to remember at these times our LORD Jesus Christ who is the only innocent man to be born of a woman. Remember the kangaroo court he endured for our sake. Remember how he was falsely accused, how he was insulted, mocked, beaten, whipped and crucified. Jesus calls us to join him in his suffering and promises if we put our trust in him, the sufferings from his cross will overflow into our lives (2 Cor. 1). We also have the comfort from the same. His comfort will also overflow into our lives. We may indeed suffer for a moment in time, but eternal blessings he gives from his hand to us who put our trust in him. Heavenly Father, give us faith to turn to you in times of trials and troubles, that we may be led by your Holy Spirit in all we think and do. Give us your comfort from the nail pierced hand of your Son Jesus Christ so we may endure. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen. Read the full article

[adlbeay]

I wanted to talk about the themes in the Walk in the Dust event. The story of Arknights has always had a high level of thematic consistency, but it’s especially prominent in this event. I feel like a lot of the discussion of the story in certain places comes down to “lore” and surface-level plot details, so I wanted to get this out there somewhere.

The two big ideas that are covered in Walk in the Dust are that of revenge and the homeland. Let's talk about revenge first. Long post and story spoilers under the cut.

In the beginning, we are introduced to Elliot, aka Passenger, who by the time we meet him, is an aimless husk of a man. He is utterly empty inside despite being the most powerful figure in the Reefsteep black  market, with vast wealth and political influence under his thumb. Having completed his decades-long quest to slay everyone who was involved in betraying his teacher, he has no more goals for his life. After killing  the Lord Ameer of Ibut, the last of his targets, he realizes that the revenge he had been pursuing was ultimately empty, that the weapons he built and the schemes he engineered to that end no longer moved him. Even the death of the Lord Ameer didn't matter one bit in the political landscape of Sargon.

As for the Sargon army... We live in different times now. The ruling  Padishahs simply care not about what is happening here in this barren  wasteland. My guess is that it matters not to them whether it's the  father or the son that's in charge. Actually, to tell the truth, it  hardly matters to me either.

Ultimately, no one cared if the Lord Ameer was murdered or simply  died in an accident, not even Elliot himself. Sargon continues to be exploited by the Columbian military and the ruling Lords. Professor Thorne remains dead. His research, once entrusted to Elliot to prevent  it from becoming a weapon of war, has nonetheless been used by Elliot  himself to bring even more death. Now, 22 years later, Passenger sees  finding Kal'tsit as his only path to salvation, so that she can once  again give him a purpose like she did when she rescued him the first time.

Folinic's mom, Lillia, also shares the same kind of story. Her husband was killed in Chernobog when the count decided to purge the researchers working on the sarcophagus device. Among the children of the families broken up by this incident are Lyudmila (later Crownslayer), Alex and Misha (later Skullshatterer), and Luisa (later Folinic). Lillia finds Kal'tsit after months of searching, intending to take revenge on  Grand Duke Vanya not just for her husband, but also for Luisa, who never got to know her father because of it. Kal'tsit tries to talk her out of  it, even during the final phases of the plan, but Lillia's mind is set.  She entrusts Kal'tsit with taking care of both Luisa and Lyudmila, as  she knows she won't be able to come back to live a normal life after  this. And... she succeeds. Although it is Kal'tsit who ultimately administered the poison, their plan works flawlessly and Duke Vanya is finally dead.

Except it still ended up being completely meaningless. The Grand Duke was in a glorified nursing home already near the end of his life, and if Kal'tsit didn't kill him then some other conspirator from the Ursus  political backstage would have done it anyway. He was already crippled and blind, and as we find out during the confrontation with the Emperor's Blade, even Kal'tsit only agreed to Lillia's plan because it  defused the conspiracies of other powerful figures who would have used  the Duke's death to spark another rebellion. The only thing that Lillia ended up accomplishing was making sure that Louisa would grow up without both a mother and a father, and Lyudmila would never get the answers she really wanted about her family's death. And, although she ended up not doing it, she was even also planning to go back to Chernobog to kill  Sergei, Alex and Misha's father, for his betrayal.

And this carries on through the future outside the event. Crownslayer ends up joining Reunion because she thinks it will give her the answers  she wants and avenge her father. Folinic almost lets her anger at Atro's death get her into a confrontation with Wolumonde. In the end, Crownslayer is stopped by Kal'tsit and Folinic is calmed down by  Suzuran, but we might be able to imagine what would have happened if  they managed to carry out their vengeance.

The theme of homeland is one that's intrinsically tied to Kal'tsit and has at least a bit of relation to the broader story outside of the event. It's harder to talk about since it's not clearly  split into individual stories like previously, but there's at least one character that exemplifies this theme the most: Old Isin.

Old Isin is appropriately to his name, old as rocks. He remembers being a servant to some lord of a long-lost city that very few even know once existed, and spends his time telling fortunes while trying to seek out people who, like him, also share that past. According to Kal'tsit, the city's people were scattered when it was destroyed, and now only Isin even remembers the origin of the name "Reefsteep". Even then, Isin only has vague memories, and believes it to be his unforgivable sin that  he has forgotten so much about the city.

Old Isin originally helps Kal'tsit and Elliot because he hopes that  she can help him remember about the lost city, and thus absolve his  "unforgivable sin". And Kal'tsit indeed does help him. Isin begins to recall the conquests of armies a thousand years ago, something even with  his age he should not have been a part of, much less remembered.  Kal'tsit dispels the illusions clouding his memory, and reveals that  what Isin remembers is only the stories that the padishah recounted to  him, that the glory of his old city was only a memory of another memory. In truth, the city in Old Isin's memory was merely a stepping stone for the padishah's ambition to conquer the uncharted deserts, and was abandoned just as easily when that campaign failed. His homeland's glory was just an illusion created in his mind by the padishah's charisma.

Which brings us to the Emperor's Blade. Wherever he stands is the dominion of the Empire of Ursus. Whatever he does carries out the Ursus Emperor's will. Or at least, that's how the Royal Guards imagine themselves, single-handedly carrying out their homeland's legacy. Kal'tsit lays it out clearly:

Kal'tsit: Tell me, what does the current Ursus Emperor think of the Pine Valley affair? Or do you mean to tell me the seeds of that uprising, the origins of the crisis were all the will of the Emperor? Feel free to keep deceiving yourself, but the truth is the young emperor is unaware of the events that transpired there. You believe he has no  need to know. You... all of you seek a bygone era. You are just caught up in the former emperor's grand vision!

As does Patriot in Chapter 8:

Patriot: I fought with your fathers. Your strength and tactical acumen are no less impressive than theirs. But you look at the Ursus of those times with rose-colored glasses. What you see is nothing more than your wild fantasies.

The Royal Guards are described in not too unclear words as soldiers  who probably believed too much of their own grandiose affect. They are unparalleled fighters, to be sure, but it isn't hard to infer that those words about executing Ursus's will and each Royal Guard being his own nation are words intended to strike fear into their enemies rather than  statements of any real truth. Indeed, if you know anything about the internal politics of Ursus, the idea of "Ursus's own will" can be seen as more of a nostalgia at a bygone era when Ursus was, or at least seemed, united in conquest under the previous Emperor. The perceived glory of their homeland is what motivates the Emperor's Blade, but like with Old Isin, the truth behind it is shaky at best.

We also have the contrast between the retired veteran at Pine Valley  and Grand Duke Vanya. While talking to Witte, the veteran cuts off one of his own fingers, claiming that the scars he has suffered in Ursus's wars, once considered symbols of his glory and honor, were ultimately meaningless, and he wants this self-inflicted wound to be his only legacy to Ursus. At the same time, the Grand Duke is postulating about how the seeds he had sown in the winter would give birth to beautiful flowers. Even though his actions and the crimes he committed never bore fruition, he is convinced even in death that Ursus's soil will bloom.

The issue of a real or imagined homeland, and its loss, is also  shared by the Sarkaz as a whole not only in this story but in the main story and many other events. It's even arguable that Rhodes Island's mission to help the Infected was originally inherited from Babel's goal of establishing a stable homeland for the Sarkaz. After all, as pointed  out in many places, the Infected and Sarkaz share much of the same discrimination.

Sarkaz Mercenary: Home...? How could us devils... us Infected possibly have one... Kal'tsit: The Sarkaz have tried to rebuild 'Kazdel', their home for centuries, though they have never succeeded. Everyone has a different idea as to what the term 'homeland' means, but as it stands right now,  Kazdel is perhaps as close as you can get to the term's original meaning.

And in Twilight of Wolumonde:

Armed Infected: We’re going home? To what home?

Mudrock: Kazdel. There may be no place for Sarkaz outside of Kazdel.  But in Kazdel, there is a place for you. Not because of tolerance. But because there is... nothing there. Kazdel... is where the homeless go. A land of rootless people.

So what does all this have to do with Kal'tsit?

In the ending cutscene, Passenger asks Kal'tsit whether this "Rhodes  Island" is yet another passing persona to be used to accomplish a goal and discarded when it's complete. Like the persona of the Trusted  Advisor, or the Servant, or the Laterano Cleric, will she abandon Rhodes  Island as well? Kal'tsit initially puts up a front saying he has no  right to ask, then bluffs about having thousands of answers, but is pushed by Passenger saying he'll even accept a lie. In one of the only times we get to see Kal'tsit faltering, she actually has no answer to this.

Unlike the other characters we see throughout the story, Kal'tsit has no homeland. No matter how fake or illusory it is, Old Isin and the Royal Guard have something to believe about a place where they can belong. The nobles in Victoria, as incompetent as they appear from the outside, are dedicated to defending the peace of their home despite having no ruler. Even the ostracized Sarkaz can ultimately go back to Kazdel, as unpleasant as that might be. But while Kal'tsit wanders the earth to keep the homelands of others from falling into chaos, she has no homeland of her own to go back to.

In one of the trailers for Chapter 9, we hear a recording from Theresa, addressed to Kal'tsit: "I hope this Rhodes Island can be a place to call home, a place you can always return to."

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hi! If you're doing promts, how about one where gender expectations where inversed: the laws of heritage still follow the male line, but the social expectation is that the sect is under the wife control, and with a strong expectation that there must be a wife - single heirs whose parent die are pushed very strongly for mariage.

“The elders have started talking,” Nie Mingjue said as Lan Xichen poured tea for him. His hands were folded in front of him, fingers tight and knuckles white even though he was in the safety of the Cloud Recesses – Lan Xichen wasn’t sure he’d seen him at anything less than tense since his father was murdered.

It was a good reason to be tense.

“What about?” he asked, since his uncle seemed to already understand and was nodding gravely.

“My marriage,” Nie Mingjue explained. He didn’t drink the tea, which was rude but, again, understandable. “You know my father ruled as sect leader after the death of my mother, and Nie Huaisang’s as well – the wife rules the home, everyone knows that. But all my father’s wives died, and in the end they let him run the sect himself for a while so as to let us grow up untroubled.”

“Unusual, but not unheard of,” Lan Qiren interjected. “I understand he had finally resigned himself to searching for another wife now that you were old enough.”

“He was. And now I’m bereaved of a father, and my heir is my brother – I have the three years of mourning for a father’s death, but then I’ll need to get married.”

Lan Xichen had always thought it was a bit of a strange rule: the idea of growing up in a sect, learning all about it, and then having to hand over control to some stranger from another place, seemed truly absurd. But it had been established as a measure of safety, to prevent war, and it had mostly done it – no one wanted to risk a fight with someone who might in the next generation rule their sect for them – so he supposed his ancestors knew what they were on about.

“Okay,” he said, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of it. Nie Mingjue was only three years older than he was, and while fifteen had once seemed ages away, he knew he wouldn’t be ready for marriage in so short a time. At least Nie Mingjue had three more years before he had to actually do it. “Congratulations?”

Lan Qiren lifted his eyes to the ceiling while Nie Mingjue snorted in pained amusement. “The elders want to set up the engagement now, even if the marriage won’t be finalized until then. And I’m not marrying one of Wen Ruohan’s sons!”

“Certainly not,” Lan Qiren agreed. “It would be inappropriate, given your questions about your father’s death.”

It wasn’t questions, it was outright accusations, but the Lan sect had to keep their neutrality.

Lan Xichen looked between the two of them, the discomfort growing stronger as he realized that Nie Mingjue had come all this way to try to find – to find an alternative. Wen Xu was married already to some distant branch cousin (no one approved, but Wen Ruohan didn’t care), but Wen Chao was the only one who was Lan Xichen’s age, and other than Jiang Yanli, who was already engaged herself, he couldn’t think of any other options that were old enough. 

But…while he liked Nie Mingjue very much, they were good friends, Lan Xichen definitely didn’t want to marry him.

Nie Mingjue must have noticed his expression because he shook his head. “You’re the heir,” he reminded Lan Xichen. “You have to stay here to prepare your sect for your wife.”

“Right,” Lan Xichen said, relief flooding him. And then he realized – “Wait. You mean –”

“Wangji is too young to marry now,” Lan Qiren said simply. “But not in three years.”

“I want to ask him first,” Nie Mingjue said before Lan Xichen could say any more. “If he doesn’t agree, I’ll think of something else. But the Lan sect’s support would be very useful right now, so I had to try.”

Lan Xichen thought of the stars in his brother’s eyes every time he looked at Nie Mingjue whenever he came to visit, that old crush of his from childhood not having fully faded away.

“I think,” he said dryly, “that we’ll be able to work something out.”

-

“You’ll need to marry, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, releasing Lan Xichen from his embrace.

Lan Xichen was still clinging onto Lan Wangji, unbelievably happy in retrospect that his brother had married out before the Wen sect had attacked – he didn’t want to think about what stubborn Lan Wangji would have done, whether he would have insisted on staying and fighting…what they might have done to him.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Marriage,” Nie Mingjue said. “The word we’ve gotten from Gusu is that your father is in a coma, not dead, but the doctors don’t see much hope, and that means you’ll be sect leader next. With the Lan sect weakened by the Wen attack, it is critical for you to establish an alliance with another sect to help bolster you.”

“In addition to the support you will have from us,” Lan Wangji added, and Nie Mingjue nodded in agreement. They were a good match, it turned out – Lan Wangji’s steadiness was a good balance to Nie Mingjue’s hot temper, they were both highly principled and zealous in their pursuit of justice and righteousness, and it turned out that they were both…passionate.

Very passionate.

Lan Xichen hadn’t needed to know that about his brother.

“Right,” he said, and exhaled. He hadn’t even had time to rest, but there wasn’t time to rest – not with the Wen sect acting the way it was. “So not Nie Huaisang, then.”

He’d toyed with the idea a little – Nie Huaisang had at least something of the right sort of views. The values of the Lan sect were careful contemplation and kindness, and if Nie Huaisang was lacking in the former then he was rich in the latter; someone more martially inclined than him would be miserable in the Cloud Recesses. Besides, that way, Lan Xichen’s children would be cousins to the Nie sect twice over.

But his brother and best friend were right: what he needed now was an alliance.

More than that: he needed to signal to the world that the Lan sect would not be trampled underneath the Wen sect – that it would continue, that it would persist in pursuing its values without hesitation, that it wouldn’t discard its ancestral ways all in favor of something more aggressive.

Marrying a Nie, however mild-tempered, would be the wrong gesture.

“I have an idea, actually,” Nie Huaiang interjected. “Not quite as good as me, of course, but possibly more to your taste.”

Lan Xichen was already running through names in his head, but no one was coming to mind – he would need to do as Nie Mingjue did and ally with a Great Sect rather than a small one, the circumstances required it, but…“Who?”

“The young mistress of the Jiang sect, Jiang Yanli,” Nie Huaisang said promptly.

“But she’s…” Lan Xichen’s voice trailed off.

“Exactly,” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled. “Her engagement was called off, and that means she’s free.”

“She’d be a good fit for you,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “I’ve met her a few times at the Discussion Conferences in Yunmeng: she’s kind and caring, thoughtful, but also insistent when she needs to be.”

“Would the Jiang sect agree? Madame Yu had always intended for her to marry into Lanling Jin, and she was most displeased when the engagement was broken –”

“She gave her husband authority to negotiate in her place, and he used it,” Lan Wangji pointed out. Do not gossip about other people’s families, he meant, and Lan Xichen nodded in acknowledgment of the well-placed chastisement. “She sees the situation as well as we: Qishan Wen against the world, Qinghe Nie against Qishan Wen, and Lanling Jin trying to play both sides...it is not a good look for them. I do not think she will refuse your suit at this time.”

Jiang Yanli, Lan Xichen thought, rolling the thought around in his mouth to savor it. She wasn’t the most beautiful, but he never cared much about that. No, more importantly, she was kind and caring, with a sweet sense of humor – and an excellent cook. All things that would fit very well in at the Cloud Recesses.

“All right,” he said. “How do we do it, given the circumstances?”

“I’ll go to Yunmeng myself,” Nie Mingjue volunteered, and glanced over to Lan Wangji for approval – Lan Wangji nodded. “I would need to anyway, to discuss the state of politics. I’ll bring your suit with me, and if Madame Yu approves, she - and the Jiang sect - will be committed to helping you regain your home.”

“Wouldn’t do to send a bride to a place without one,” Nie Huaisang chimed in, and Lan Wangji nodded again, this time to Lan Xichen.

“Okay,” Lan Xichen said, and smiled. “Let’s ask.”

-

“Honestly, I think it’ll work out very well,” Lan Xichen told Nie Mingjue, who was pacing again. “Everyone supports it - no one wants the tension between the Jin sect and Nie sect to continue.”

Jiang Yanli chuckled. She was sitting next to him – he had his arm tucked around her shoulders, which they both liked – and she leaned her head against his shoulders. “A-Chen, I think he’s more concerned about his brother’s happiness.”

“Of course he is,” Lan Xichen said. “I was just saying. And anyway, it’ll work out well in that way, too – there’s nothing Nie Huaisang likes more than spending money, and, as the heir to the Jin sect, Jin Zixuan has plenty of that.”

That even got Nie Mingjue to laugh.

“He does like that, I’ll grant you,” he said, settling down next to Lan Wangji. “And underneath his façade of uselessness, he’s actually quite bright – in a contest of scheming wits, I would bet on him over every single one of those treacherous dogs in Lanling.”

“Probably better than me,” Jiang Yanli agreed, looking a bit rueful at the thought of her past engagement. “I would have let them step all over me if I thought it meant we could have some peace.”

Peace was something the Cloud Recesses – now in the process of rebuilding – had in no short supply, and Lan Xichen was pleased that he could offer his beautiful wife exactly what she most desired.

Well, except for the matter of ensuring the safety of Wei Wuxian after he had established himself as Yiling Patriarch, but Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji’s unexpected offer to have him join their sect as a concubine – an offer that Wei Wuxian had been, reportedly, thrilled to receive – had taken care of that lingering concern.

“Now there’s only A-Cheng left,” she added. “I’m amazed he didn’t get engaged ages ago.”

“Yunmeng Jiang was hurt too badly,” Lan Wangji said, and Nie Mingjue nodded.

“Who would have married him then? The Jiang sect needed to preserve its independence long enough to show that it could even properly host a wife,” he agreed. “It wasn’t like the Cloud Recesses, where the sect was intact, if scattered – he had to rebuild it almost entirely.”

“But who can he marry?” Lan Xichen asked. “If he doesn’t marry one of the Great Sects, he’s at a disadvantage to the rest of us.”

“And there are no children left,” Jiang Yanli said, frowning a little.

“That’s not quite true,” Nie Mingjue said, and shared a glance with Lan Wangji. “We sent him a suggestion a little while ago – a way for him to build ties with the Nie and Jin sects.”

“Nie and Jin?”

“I had a deputy by the name of Meng Yao,” he said. “Now going by Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Xichen brightened. “A-Yao? What a wonderful idea! Do you think he’ll agree?”

“I think Meng Yao would love to be in charge of a sect,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “He doesn’t have the training for it, of course, since he wasn’t raised inside the sect, but that’s something that can be remedied with a small expansion of the household.”

“Having a concubine must suit you very well, da-ge,” Lan Xichen teased. “Since you’re already recommending it to the rest of us.”

“Not us,” Jiang Yanli said primly, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek in confirmation. “Who were you thinking?”

“Wen Qionglin – one of Dafan Wen, the branch that defected during the war,” Lan Wangji said. “Wei Ying said he helped rescue Jiang Wanyin from the Lotus Pier, so they have a connection already.”

“He has the training, but he’s toothless,” Nie Mingjue opined. “Meng Yao won’t feel threatened by him, and Jiang Wanyin…could probably stand to have two calm people by his side.”

“He could,” Jiang Yanli agreed, a little ruefully.

“It would be good for A-Yao, too,” Lan Xichen said. “I sometimes find he’s a bit better at mimicking gentleness than actually recognizing it, and having someone sweet by his side would make him feel needed…doesn’t Wen Qionglin have an older sister, though? What about her?”

“After marrying Wen Xu, she deserves to have a wife, not be one,” Nie Mingjue opined. “She’s courting a very nice girl from the Jin sect – what’s her name again?”

“Luo Qingyang,” Lan Wangji said, and he looked unusually smug about it. “Also called Mianmian.”

Wait, that Mianmian? The one Lan Wangji had been so irrationally annoyed at for flirting with Wei Wuxian all those years ago?

So much was explained.

“That’ll be good,” he said instead of commenting. “That way we’ll all be one family. Won’t that be wonderful?”

“Until the family reunions, anyway,” Nie Mingjue grumbled.

“Don’t you mean Discussion Conferences?” Jiang Yanli said, lips twitching.

“Oh no…”

[ibijau]

Burn it down AU // on AO3 // extras on AO3

Extra: Nie Huaisang looked at the possibilities before him, and made a different choice

warning for implied suicide

There had been a setback with the corpse-finding spell, Nie Huaisang had written. One that had ruined over a year of hard work and would force him to start everything again from scratch.

The letter had been sent to Lan Xichen, but specified that it was for Lan Wangji's eyes only, that it was the only way he had thought of to write in a way that would not fall into A-Yuan's hands. Lan Xichen had still read it, not noticing in time that it wasn't meant for him, and the contents had alarmed him enough that he had interrupted Lan Wangji's reading of the rules to the junior to share it.

The letter was short, and spoke of little aside from the spell's failure. But the manner was oddly emotional, the calligraphy uncertain, and it contained Nie Huaisang's confession that he simply did not know if he would be strong enough to avenge his brother and protect his family, not with his low cultivation.

“This isn't like him,” Lan Xichen said. “He has never been one to give up.”

“Hm.”

There was at least one thing on which Nie Huaisang had given up, as Lan Xichen would know better than anyone else. It would have been cruel of Lan Wangji to bring that up when his brother was so worried though, and in truth, he was worried as well. Nie Huaisang lacked strength in the traditional sense, but he more than made up for it in sheer obstinacy and dedication. This letter, combined with the state he had been in the last few times that Lan Wangji had seen him, brought a foreboding feeling that something was deeply wrong.

“We will visit him,” Lan Wangji offered, and instantly his brother relaxed.

“Thank you. I would go myself, but... I think A-Yuan and you can bring him more comfort than I would.”

That A-Yuan had a more soothing effect on Nie Huaisang than anyone else certainly was true. As for the rest... Lan Wangji still half resented his brother sometimes for refusing to explain to Nie Huaisang what had happened years before, and he remained convinced that a few words from Lan Xichen would have gone very far in lifting some of the darkness that so often clouded his husband's heart. He had once told himself that it would need to wait until their quest for justice was settled, but seeing how Nie Huaisang kept getting worse and pushed away any attempt to help him... perhaps Lan Wangji would need to meddle with this sooner than planned.

It would all depend on how bad Nie Huaisang would be during this visit.

--

There was an air of agitation around the Unclean Realm when Lan Wangji and A-Yuan arrived there. Of course, Qinghe Nie always tended to lack the calm that characterised Gusu Lan, but instantly Lan Wangji felt this wasn't just the usual difference between the two sects. This was confirmed when Nie Huaisang's first disciple ran to him as soon as he was informed that his sect leader's husband had arrived.

“He's locked himself in his office for two days,” he explained. “He won't say why, just that he is waiting for your visit. He also asked that only his husband should see him at first,” the man added, glancing at A-Yuan. “If Master Lan allow, we can take care of the young master until the matter is settled.”

Lan Wangji's eyes widened at the request. In all their time of engagement and then marriage, Nie Huaisang had never once refused to see A-Yuan. Even when busy, he would at least see the child and explain it to him, because it mattered to him that A-Yuan never felt neglected. This was wrong.

And yet, considering Nie Huaisang's state this past year, it should not have been so surprising.

He allowed A-Yuan to be taken to meet with the Qinghe Nie juniors, and followed the sect's first disciple to Nie Huaisang's office.

“He's been odd for a while,” the man confessed. “But it suddenly got worse recently. We could hardly get him to eat or sleep, and quite frankly, some of us were thinking of writing to you, Master Lan. He's always more reasonable when you're here. But then last month he left for a while and when he came back he was... very odd. He started putting all the sect's affairs in order, made sure the finances were right, that all the bills were paid. We were very worried, but he said you'd be coming to visit soon and he just wanted to make sure he'd have time to play with his son. It sounded like something he would do, right?”

“Hm.”

It was normal for Nie Huaisang to free as much time as he could in preparation for a visit. But Lan Wangji hadn't had time to warn that they were coming, he had left the morning after receiving that unsettling letter. Of course Nie Huaisang was smart enough to have guessed that his husband might be concerned, but there was still something off about the situation.

When they arrived in front of Nie Huaisang's office, his first disciple sighed.

“Two days ago, he just got in there and said he wasn't coming out until you were here. Said it had to be you only, that A-Yuan should not see him. This is really... please, Master Lan, in the name of our entire sect, I beg you to deal with this. It has been hard to see our Sect Leader struggle so much since his brother's passing, we just want him to be better.”

“I will do my best,” Lan Wangji promised, trying to ignore the ever growing uneasiness he felt. Even by Nie Huaisang's standards, even counting his paranoia against his own sect, this behaviour was simply too odd.

The door to Nie Huaisang's office was kept close not by a lock, but by a talisman, the power of which only dissipated when Lan Wangji touched the door. This, too, struck him as unusual. Nie Huaisang was not one to use spiritual techniques when there was another way, and he had little taste for talismans in particular. Still he opened the door and went inside.

“Close it!” came the immediate order.

Lan Wangji obeyed, sliding the door behind him, then turned his attention to his husband. Nie Huaisang was sitting at his desk, a mess of papers before him. It would have felt almost normal, if not for the stunned expression on his face.

“Lan Zhan!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, springing from his seat. “So you really came!”

Lan Wangji froze, and stared at his husband. In five years, Nie Huaisang had never once used his personal name, just as Lan Wangji had never used his. It simply did not feel right, Nie Huaisang had explained once, not when he knew there had only ever been one person before bold enough to use that name.

“You were unwell,” Lan Wangji stated. “We came. Why refuse to see A-Yuan?”

Nie Huaisang flinched, his legs swaying under him and forcing him to sit again.

“So he's here?” he whispered. “A-Yuan is here?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji retorted, wondering if he should call a healer. There was something unspeakably off with Nie Huaisang, from the tone of his voice to his posture. “He missed you. Should I call for him?”

“No! No. Not yet. Lan Zhan, this is... he said I should tell you the truth, that I should trust you. Lan Zhan... Nie-xiong did something very, very stupid. He... he left a letter for me, and one for you. I think... he'll probably explain it better than I could.”

For a moment Lan Wangji's lungs, his very heart perhaps stopped working as his brain tried to reject what he was hearing. His eyes then fell on the letter than Nie Huaisang was holding out for him, his fingers trembling. In an instant Lan Wangji crossed the distance between them and snatched that letter, opening it so fast he nearly ripped it in two.

'Honoured husband,' it said

'I hope you will forgive me for not saying goodbye to you and to A-Yuan, but I knew you would try to stop me if you knew what I had in mind. You are too soft-hearted for your own good, but I hope in time, you will see that this was the best solution to all our problems. You will get the husband you always wanted, while my brother will have the revenge he deserves, now that there is someone capable of truly dealing with what was done to him.'

'My only regrets are the fact that I will not be here to see Jin Guangyao die like the dog he is, and that this might be a little difficult for A-Yuan. It might be best not to tell him the truth. Pretend I had a Qi deviation and it changed me, it will be less hurtful to him. In the end, I know he will recover from this. He is a good, strong boy, and finally he will have both of his fathers again to guide him and help him grow. I know the three of you will be happy together, and at such a small cost.

I hope you will not resent me too much for acting without consulting you.'

'Nie Huaisang'

'PS: I have one more selfish request to make, as if it weren't enough to make you pursue the revenge I cannot obtain on my own. If you can, do not tell your brother what I did. Just like A-Yuan, it would be better if he thought I suffered a strong Qi deviation that left me altered. Let him think that you and I found our own happiness. I never managed to decide if he ever held any affection for me, but I know he would feel guilty if he knew what happened. Keep this secret for me, Wangji. Your brother has lost enough, I do not wish to add to it.'

Lan Wangji dropped the letter and stared at the man wearing Nie Huaisang's face, only to find him looking back with concern.

“I'd have refused if I could have,” the man who wasn't his husband said. “Lan Zhan, I wouldn't have... we weren't so close him and me, but I would never have wanted him dead. But that ritual is very powerful and he says he was running out of options. He says he was worried about being discovered and not being able to protect you and A-Yuan. It's one of his requests to me, to make sure you two are safe. That and murdering Jin Guangyao, but I think he counted it as part of keeping you safe, anyway. He... hey, Lan Zhan, say something? Ahah, you're starting to freak me out a bit here.”

“Wei Ying?”

The man who had stopped being Nie Huaisang grinned uncomfortably but nodded anyway, looking worried.

“Sorry. Your husband was replaced by... me. Listen, the ritual he used forces me to comply to his demands, but once that's done I won't bother you, we can find a way to...”

Rather than to let him finished, Lan Wangji pulled Wei Wuxian from his chair and into his arms, half hoping that the shock of such an unusual behaviour might make Nie Huaisang break into laughter and apologise for the cruel joke.

Instead the body in his arms stiffened, one hand came up to awkwardly pat his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Lan Zhan. I know it can't be what you wanted, being stuck with me.”

It was, in fact, everything that Lan Wangji had wanted. Being married to Wei Wuxian, having a chance to raise A-Yuan together... Nie Huaisang had been right about this.

He had also been wrong: the cost at which this would come was much higher than what Lan Wangji would have been willing to pay, had he been given a choice.

[randomthingsthatilike1]

You know, sometimes the things I see on this website about Lena just make me go ???????? (and here is going to be some constructive criticism. Key word here! This is not bashing or hate but genuinely thoughtful and sincere critique about a character I love and often seen wobified by fandom)

Because Lena isn’t her family and she’s not responsible for their actions, but at the same time Lena is a billionaire. With a B. I am reminded a bit about what I’ve seen people say why they don’t like the modern day royal family, the Queen especially—sure they didn’t quite play a role in some of the atrocities their family committed and are innocent of those acts, but because of those acts they are still benefiting—and Lena is still benefitting from plenty of pretty damning things that her family did.

It would be one thing if like. Lillian and Lex and Lionel were just straight up murderers and she was suffering by guilty by association, and therefore didn’t actually derive anything from that, but she benefits from the profits made by their anti-alien technology—she’s not a self-made person suffering from mere stigma. She wants to be better than her family, and I genuinely do think she is better! But this is about how she can grow!

Lena is a billionaire and that has implications, but I think I’ve only ever read one fic that really explored that? Because if she is a billionaire, and knows that the former head of security is a xenophobic murderer, and she has in her possession several devices that can be used as weapons against humans and aliens alike, as we see with the anti-xray glass, with Kryptonite, with the device she made at the gala, with the Lexo suit, and god possibly the most dangerous and most innocuous looking one of all, the alien detection device (a device that outs you to any business or place of employment or residence or friend that requires you to take it, while also selling something meant to conceal your identity as an alien as well? Not great moral optics there). The actions of her family are not her fault, but the subsequent actions she takes are her responsibility.  

Now, someone was going to take over LuthorCorp, and I do agree that it is better Lena, who does genuinely care about being a good person, than one of Lillian or Lex’s cronies. Bad shit could have happened. You can’t just get rid of a multibillion corporation overnight either without very bad consequences—jobs lost, stock market in tatters, etc etc. But, Lena’s still a billionaire. Funding this out of her own pocket if she absolutely had to—and she probably wouldn’t, since bad security looks really bad to the public and clients and the board would not want to have inventions and prototypes stolen.

Lena’s a billionaire. Let’s explore that.

This is a corporation. A corporation is, despite Citizens United (fuck that ruling), not a person. The first security breach wouldn’t be her fault, or even maybe the second, but consider that Metallo was able to steal Kryptonite, Lillian’s goons were able to throw her off the balcony in their attempts to get the information they wanted, and now this with Mercy—a pattern is being established.

Yeah, Lena, you may not use it against Supergirl but that is irrelevant if your security is so bad that the xenophobic people who would use it against Supergirl can easily enough break in and steal weapons. If it can’t be kept safe from the people who would use them to cause egregious harm, then it shouldn’t exist!

(this is one of the main arguments for gun control. If you can’t keep a gun securely in your house where other irresponsible people can find it and use it accidentally or on purpose that shouldn’t, then it should not be in your house.) Sure, that may seem unrealistic, and you may be then bringing up examples in your head of people and companies and organizations that don’t do this, but then ask yourself—are they good people? And if your argument is why Lena as the CEO of LCorp can’t do this without risking profits, then again, this ties back into Lena being a billionaire has interesting moral ramifications and they should be explored.

And yes, I am including the DEO in this answer. So many times I see oh what Lena does vs what the DEO does, especially regarding Kryptonite but they can both be wrong.

Sure, you may be saying she can’t guarantee that—well if that’s the case then do not make any life ending weapons. Lena is not a starving scientist type with a gun to her head; Lena Luthor has billions of dollars. She can completely afford to redo her security, and as long as others will be harmed if she does not then she has an obligation to do so.

The DEO is also her employer and a government agency who’s also tortured her aunt—they don’t have any obligation to listen to Kara, and she probably thinks she’ll be ignored. Lena is her friend, who’s life she’s saved several times—persuading your friend vs. persuading the US government? Yeah, I would go with trying to change the mind of the friend.

The DEO is a black ops government program started about 14 years ago originally headed by a very xenophobic man who hunted down not just Fort Rozz aliens but also J’onn and probably countless other innocents and is the reason why Alex grew up without a father. The only reason why J’onn took over is because he had to, and even still had to play the part of Hank Henshaw, a known xenophobe. Also, for a government organization, 14 years isn’t all that long to be working there—there are definitely people who have been a part of the DEO since the beginning still working for that organization, especially since it is nationwide, possibly even worldwide considering Alex in the first ep was on her way to Geneva. Shit happened at the DEO. (To quote James from season 1, the DEO is “a secret Guantanamo, and it’s not just for aliens anymore.” They torture aliens, hold them without parole, without trial, without a lawyer, definitely not complying with Geneva standards for holding and for bringing them in. What part of the DEO is not Guantanamo?)

And these are the people who recruited Kara’s sister and shot her out of the sky and are trained to take her down and tortured her aunt in front of her as Kara begged them for mercy. I wonder why she didn’t protest too much oh yeah IT’S BECAUSE KARA HAS VERY LITTLE INFLUENCE WITH ACTUAL DEO POLICY BEYOND WHAT SHE CAN CONVINCE J’ONN AND ALEX OF. AND GENERAL LANE CAN AND HAS TAKEN OVER WHEN HE WANTS.

The DEO has always been bad. It’s just been less bad with J’onn and Alex at the helm. But anyway. Back to the main point

Do you know how many times I’ve seen on this website “eat the rich”—and I am not at all saying you can’t like Lena because she is a billionaire. This is a fictional show. It is not real life. But it should be talked about.

With CatCo, they had one security breach, and it turned out to be an internal one. The consequences of that were on the shoulders of Cat Grant alone, and she was fully willing to pay the consequences herself and the only reason why she didn’t step down from CatCo is the last-minute save from Kara and friends. CatCo is a media empire built from the ground up by Cat herself, who’s talked about the consequences of her actions shaping her future direction—she thinks about the actress with the abusive husband every day, knowing that it wasn’t her fault but it was her responsibility as a reporter to say what she saw—and she didn’t. Inaction in itself has consequences.

They’re both willing to face the consequences of their actions–but Cat is the one who is a well known Democrat, who left her multi million dollar company to pursue public service, the whole: “ that’s why we do what we do. That’s why we’re driven to tell the truth. Not only because we want to be good journalists, but because we also want to be good people” and yes with Kara’s help, trying to elevate the conversation, valuing loyalty and integrity beyond just what it could potentially bring to CatCo (that video of Supergirl letting that Fort Rozz escapee go could have brought so much traffic to CatCo, but that wasn’t the point. Compare with the alien IDer. And. Well. We’re getting to the pretty damn grey area).

Cat is willing to do things that are for the benefit of National City and potentially the world at the expense of her company. That isn’t the case with Lena. Lena wants to be a good person! She does! But her motivations for being a good scientist haven’t, even as a kid, been “I am doing this directly because I want to be a good person”—we have seen time and time again that Lena’s main priority is LCorp, and doing what is in the best interest of her company. I am not going to stop harping on the alien identification device because it is horrific and this is something Lena, not her family but Lena, has done in an attempt to increase LCorp’s bottom line.

I am not at all saying Cat is perfect and without flaws and Lena is not, since I just finished detailing one of Cat’s past mistakes (and I’m not going on to detail Cat’s flaws and mistakes, which I have done in the past, because this is about Lena and I’ve counted this now--it’s a total of 2.1k and I’m tired) but when shit happens at CatCo it’s usually something that only affects Cat and her employees, or something unexpected—like really, having one of your employees spontaneously develop superpowers? Unexpected. You really can’t get security for that shit—and there are very few cyber security breaches (Winn is brilliant, but he’s also just one person. There are plenty of people L Corp could hire to deal with cyber security issue, and they have one if they were able to be hacked from the Cloud—and that hacking was human, predictable, and preventable.

I really did appreciate the single Lena/Kara scene past episode, because I keep seeing as well “oh but the DEO has Kryptonite and that’s fine”—clearly, as we saw this past episode, it is very much not fine that the DEO had Kryptonite since Kara almost d i e d. Lena very well have been asking herself this question—and we see this episode that for Kara it is equally bad. This is not a witch hunt because her last name is Luthor but as we see this episode there are very bad things that can happen when people can steal Kryptonite. Kara is the only one who suffers. Katie’s acting choices were great—she was genuinely shaken and concerned as she sees the scenario that Supergirl was most afraid of happening concerning Kryptonite happen—and happen only to her. Everyone else was fine—but Kara lay seizing in the hospital bed from the device that she created (although let me be clear—this one is completely on the DEO. They were the ones who were supposed to be guarding the device, they were the ones with the stolen Kryptonite that was entered into the atmosphere, it was their agent and their security breach that caused this, they were the ones who took responsibility for the device—and dropped the ball).

Lena sees Supergirl on a hospital bed, and hell if she didn’t realize Supergirl was Kara before Lena almost definitely did, staring as she watched the person she loved more than anyone else in the world fade away before her eyes and this is what she was talking about before. This is what she was worried about—it’s an understandable fear. They took the Kryptonite from the DEO, but if they didn’t get a mole, would they have turned to L Corp? Would they try to break in, and succeed?

Would this be because of her? She wouldn’t have deployed the weapon the used herself but she would have created everything they used to do it. Kryptonite isn’t used for anything except as a weapon. This isn’t about Lena “going evil,” or becoming like her family. This is about how just because Lena is willing to be the one who pays the price for her actions and the risks that she takes doesn’t mean that someone else wont.

Tl;dr the 2.1k word monstrosity: Lena is not her family and she isnt evil but oh my god shes the CEO of a multibillion dollar company that makes weapons and still benefits from the actions of her family, and who's main priority has always been her company. Shes not just a perfect ideal who can do no wrong or cant improve--shes done a lot of good but just look at the alien detection device--shes done a lot of wrong too.

[westallenfun]

Before the Hood - 2/6

For @jade4813 from @backtothestart02

…

Chapter 2 -

Slowing his horse’s gallop to a trot, Julian brought the animal to a stop in front of its stall in the stables and swung one leg over the side to drop down onto the ground, while his stable hand held his grand horse steady.

“Thank you, Felix.”

The boy nodded and guided the horse into its stall.

Julian moved almost immediately after that, heading straight into his residence. His tutor would be in the library, no doubt to teach him more Latin. He abhorred Latin. It had no purpose, given few people could read and only the friar and other clergymen could understand and speak it in turn. Julian had no interest in spending long hours inside the house of God, dedicating his life to that of blind servitude and sacrifice and celibacy. Despite the fact that his knighthood had been forced upon him by his father, one of the highest-ranking guards of the King, he enjoyed the respect it granted him. And training in the art of jousting and archery and sword fighting certainly beat any other job he could’ve been pushed into.

Women fawned over him. Men looked to him as a promising lad for the future. He would go to the Crusades soon, and when he returned, he would obtain everything he wished. Separation from his father, a marriage to the woman Barry Allen loved, and all the gold and jewels he desired.

Maid Iris was a pretty little thing. Her dark hair and skin accentuated by her light-colored dresses, pinks and purples and yellows, all that were of a satin material ever since she’d become Sheriff DeVoe’s charge. Julian went to visit her often, trying to make a good impression. She appeared to be uninterested. But he’d impressed Sheriff DeVoe with his knighthood and manners and shared knowledge of Latin – ironically. Julian knew before he left Collin Woods for the battlefield, he could convince the man to sign a contract in Iris’ place, so they would be wed immediately on his return.

Julian wasn’t blind to Iris’ lack of affection towards him. He knew she’d been closed-minded from the start, unwilling to even consider him an option, because her heart still lie with the foolish boy who’d swept her off her feet before her father and brother had abandoned her in their departure from Collin Woods. As pretty as she was, and as admirably stubborn, Julian had no problem admitting that he wanted her for himself solely so Barry Allen couldn’t have her.

The odds were already against Barry with the scandal of his father taking on a female pupil in the practice of medicine – and not only a girl, but a peasant. Her only place should be that of cooking and cleaning and to marry another peasant at her own level. The fact that another knight, Sir Ronald, had promised himself to her baffled Julian. But he supposed it was not his place. He was even more uninterested in Caitlin Snow than Maid Iris on her own merit. All he cared about was hurting Barry Allen, who had more to live for than he could have dreamed. And he deserved none of it. He took all of it for granted.

Barry not only was able to get by without a real job that would add to the income of his household, but he spent most afternoons shooting off arrows in the middle of the forest. Reckless! If you asked him. Especially since he knew for a fact the arrogant boy had no intention of ever fighting in the great war of their time, alongside their King, who he claimed to miss dearly with the idiotic Prince John in his place.

Henry Allen might’ve preferred his son practice medicine, but he did not disown him when he refused to do so. If Julian had refused knighthood his father would have done exactly that. Thrown him to the streets, because how dare he not want something that came with so much honor, so much nobility, that promised him victory in his life and all that he desired. Despite Julian warming to the idea, he would always be bitter and hold resentment against his father for the pressure he’d put him under. When Julian had announced he was pursuing Iris, his father had just barely approved, and only because her station had been lifted up in Joseph and Wallace West’s departure. He supposed he should be grateful for that. But he couldn’t. It was only another instance in which Sir David Albert reigned supreme.

His father had never mourned his wife or his daughter’s passing. He beat Julian when he caught him in tears over their deaths. Women were not meant to grow attached to, he would say. They were meant for cooking and cleaning and bearing children. In his wife’s absence, Sir David Albert had hired a maid, Louise. Only five at the time, Julian had spent the next eight years being raised by her until he was forced into knighthood by his father. He’d thought it would bring them closer, but it only made him all too aware of what a villain his father could be. It benefitted him that he and Sheriff DeVoe were of the same nature, but Julian swore he would never be like him. He would obtain Iris for himself, but he would never lay a harmful finger on her – something that could not be said of his father’s actions towards his mother.

 If Iris did not wish to clean and cook and sew, Julian would find a maid who would do those things. And he would make her fall in love with him so that she would never want to leave, never cry in the dark when she thought he was unaware. He would overcome his father in that way and also leave Barry Allen a destroyed mess without the woman he loved. Would he come to hate his father? Would he turn on his mother for never trying to stop Henry Allen from tutoring a peasant girl? It didn’t matter. The key would be in seducing Maid Iris.

That was the most difficult task. If he couldn’t do it before they were wed, he would be sure to do it afterwards. Either by turning her against Barry or by making him disappear. The idea of killing or hiring someone to kill the young Allen appealed to him for only a moment before he realized that would be still worse than what his father had done. He would not become worse. He would be better.

But Barry still needed to be poison in Iris’ eyes or he needed to leave. Julian just didn’t know how to go about choosing the latter.

“You’re lost in thought,” his tutor said as he walked into the large, quiet room.

Julian came to a halt and nodded once.

“I am ready for my lesson,” he said.

His tutor gestured to a comfortable chair in front of him, beside which sat a table and piles of books for him to learn from.

“Something troubles you,” his tutor said, looking at him contemplatively.

“When does it not?” Julian asked rhetorically on a sigh, selecting a book and flipping through it to find where they’d last left off.

“Let’s talk about it.”

Julian paused and looked up at the inquisitive, wise, older man, and wondered how best to get out of this particular conversation.

“I won’t tell your father,” he said, setting aside his own book. “Your welfare is my top priority.”

Reluctantly, Julian closed his.

“That’s not what we pay you for.”

“Consider it charity then.”

“I don’t need your charity,” he spat, harsher than he’d meant to.

“But do you need someone to listen? To really hear you, Sir Julian?”

His lips thinned.

“Is it Bartholomew Allen?” he questioned. “Do you want what he has?”

“I am not envious of him if that is what you are asking. I have almost everything I desire, and soon I will have the final piece.”

“The affections of Maid Iris.”

“Her promise to marry.”

“She is willing?” his tutor asked, surprised.

Julian’s brows narrowed. “In time.”

His tutor analyzed him most uncomfortably, until Julian nearly stood to his feet and walked out of there.

“You want something else.” His eyes widened. “To destroy young Bartholomew and all he has.” He paused. “To kill?”

Julian was unnerved by how his tutor could appear to know so much about what he was thinking. There had been rumors of him being a wizard in another land long before he arrived in Collin Woods. Julian had not believed it. But at times like this he wondered.

“You presume too much. You should keep to your studies, and to teaching me mine.”

“Perhaps.”

Julian shook his head and opened his book again.

“Let us get on with the lesson. I will forget this talk, and you should too.”

“As you wish.”

When the two had found their place in the accurate book, Julian met his tutor’s eyes to wait for his direction.

“Tell me what is on your mind, my pupil.”

Julian licked his lips, hardly daring to ask. Once it was out, it was out. If his tutor had truly once been a wizard, it was possible he could grant his request.

“Something…other than murder, something…equally devastating.”

“Betrayal, you think,” his tutor said, then thought again when Julian looked to interrupt him. “The appearance of betrayal.”

“A farce.”

“Within the Allen family. A façade that destroys.”

“Mmm.” Julian nodded. “Yes.”

His tutor’s eyes locked on his, Julian felt for the first time not unnerved, but powerful.

Will you do it?

“Twelve lines down at the beginning,” he directed, and Julian lowered his eyes to the book.

He began to read the Latin words, aware all the time of his tutor’s eyes on him. An agreement had been made. He felt it in every fiber of his bones. Something dangerous was about to happen, and he was responsible for what would unravel, all by the workings of his presumably loyal yet mysterious tutor, Eobard Thawne.

…

Snuggled close to her love, his jacket spread over her shoulders to keep her warm, Iris relished the feeling of contentment that came with being in the presence of and so near to her darling Barry Allen. He was everything to her. He was security and love and happiness and everything she could have ever dreamed. Growing up she resented the fact that women were forced into servitude of their husbands, but as she fell deeper in love with Barry Allen, she knew she wouldn’t mind that one bit. She would make him new jackets and hats. She would cook him tasty soup and roast a nice, hot chicken. She would kiss his worries away and bear him many children. She would do everything and anything expected of her as a woman without complaint if it could be solely directed at her love, Barry Allen.

What’s more she knew if she did decide to toe outside the line and do something for herself, that her Barry would let her. Even more so, he would encourage it. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and both his parents were warm and welcoming and loyal to any cause they took up. After all, Henry Allen had taken on a peasant girl as his pupil. Not to spite his son, but because he saw a yearning in Caitlin Snow to learn the knowledge he had to give. He did not see what society bestowed on her but what she wanted for herself. Barry was every bit like his father, though he undoubtedly had a soft spot for his mother. Even if they were the poorest of the poor, Iris would want for nothing as long as she lived with Barry by her side.

But she knew the possibility of their happily ever after was a far and distant dream. She was kept under lock and key in the DeVoe household. Clifford was a resentful, greedy, arrogant man she detested. He did not beat her, nor his wife that Iris was aware of, but he spoke harshly and had an assuming air about him. In fact the only visitor that he allowed into the house as long as she’d been there was Sir Julian Albert.

Julian’s detest of Barry and vice versa was more than enough of a reason for Iris to dislike him, but his eagerness to impress her in a clear effort to win her affections disgusted her. He knew she loved Barry, and maybe that was why he had developed a sudden desire to see her. She knew it could only possibly be to win her hand and steal her away from Barry. But she would not be stolen away so easily, or at all. Even if she and Barry could never be together, her heart would never belong to another. Especially since Julian appeared to get on so well with Sheriff DeVoe. Never in her life would she consent to marrying him. He would have to take her by force, and she would not go quietly.

But she preferred to push those awful circumstances to the wayside when she was with Barry. When she was with him it was only them. She could pretend they were really together for everyone to see, that they weren’t worrying about who might catch them, that everyone was happy for their union and they were soon to be married.

But as light started to trickle across the sky in shades of purple, pink, red, and orange, Iris was forced back into the reality they lived in. And that reality was that they’d stayed out far too long. And if they were caught, the results would be devastating.

“Barry!” she whispered in a gasp, his jacket falling off of her as she sat up abruptly. “Barry! Wake up!” She shook him fiercely and finally his eyes opened.

“What…What’s going on, Iris?” He rubbed his eyes. “Why are you so-”

“It’s dawn!” she said, stumbling to her feet. “It’s not night anymore. It’s daybreak. If I don’t get back before the DeVoe’s wake up, I may never be able to see you again!”

The gravity of the situation made Barry spring up and take her hand. They ran through the forest, near the sounds of the birds so their running feet could be stifled by other morning noises. When they reached the fortress Iris was meant to be locked up in, Barry started to lift her up so she could find her footing and climb over the other side.

“Barry, wait.” She gripped his arms.

“Iris, we don’t have time. I can’t- I’m not going to be the reason I never see you again.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to be the reason either,” she said, clutching his shirt tighter.

“Then don’t be,” he whispered, cupping her face to reassure her. “Climb over that wall, go to your bed, and sleep a few hours more. Pretend you’ve been there the whole night, as you always do, and tomorrow night we will meet at the lake again.”

“Even if it’s cloudy?” she asked on bated breath.

“Even if the earth is shaking and the heavens pour forth water from a thousand seas and everyone is watching, I will meet you at our place, and I will wait as long as it takes for you to come to me.”

“Oh, Barry.”

He kissed her. There in the wakening day, he kissed her hard, pulling her flush up against him, willing this to not be the last moment they shared. When they broke apart, he locked his eyes on hers, begging her to listen to him and follow through with what he asked.

“Go,” he said.

Iris swallowed and nodded, letting him help her up the stone wall. When her legs swung over to the other side, she looked down at him and he smiled up at her – a little one, to congratulate her on her little victory.

‘I love you’ on the tip of her tongue, she decided against it, choosing to believe they would see each other again. She used the vines and protruding stones to climb her way down until her feet touched the grass again. Then she turned around, quietly crossed the yard until she was inside. But when she opened the door to her room, she was stopped dead in her tracks. For there in the chair beside her window sat Marlise DeVoe.

“Good morning, Iris,” she said.

Iris didn’t move a muscle.

“I thought we should talk,” she continued, gesturing to a wooden chair across from hers.

“And if I don’t want to?” she said, indignant in a way she couldn’t be with Clifford.

Marlise smiled sardonically at her young charge.

“I really think you do.”

…

Barry’s heart was racing the whole way back to his house. The sound was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t even hear his own feet on the ground, which he no longer tried to conceal from any early morning risers.

They’d never got that close to being caught. Never.

They’d always been so careful. Meet up at the lake, spend some time getting lost in each other eyes and telling each other how in love they were, and then get back to their homes before anyone suspected a thing.

But this time, he couldn’t recall whose decision it was, but they had ended up lying on the grass in the warm summer air, and before either of them knew it, they had fallen asleep. It was probably the best sleep Barry had in a while if he was being honest. Even the sun stretching across the sky wouldn’t have been enough to wake him up with Iris cuddled in his arms.

So, in truth, they’d been lucky that Iris was a little more likely to startle herself awake when danger was imminent.

And it had been imminent. Barry just hoped it was a close call only and not the last time he’d see her. He didn’t want something terrible to happen to her in that house if she’d been caught. He never asked her about her experience there, not in the six months she’d been living there, but she didn’t volunteer information either, so he figured it either wasn’t that bad or it was bad enough that she didn’t want to talk about it.

He’d let it pass from his mind without a second thought before, but now he worried for her. He’d be going out of his mind with worry until nightfall when they would meet up again. If she met him at their spot, he could ask her what had happened, and hopefully she could soothe his worries. But if she didn’t…

Well, he didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Maybe he’d pester Cisco later in the day. He’d reassure him, right? It wasn’t as if he could go to anyone else. Cisco was the only one who knew about his late-night meetings with Iris, and he preferred it to stay that way.

Finally approaching his home and grateful to see his bedroom window still cracked open, he moved toward it, hoping to get inside unnoticed and a few more hours of sleep before he went in town to distract himself with repairs and babysitting.

The window squeaked a little, but his slim frame allowed him to slip inside and shut the window without alerting his parents who he assumed were still asleep in their bed. Kicking his shoes off quietly, he walked over to his bed and pulled back the covers, intending to will himself to sleep despite the sound of birds and the adrenaline from his taking Iris back to her residence energizing his mind.

But after he slipped into his bed and pulled the covers over him, yanking the drapes shut so he’d be able to shut out some of the light from outdoors, Barry realized he couldn’t hear the gentle snoring typical of his parents when they slept. Instead he heard murmuring from a nearby conversation. He held his breath, his first thought being if his parents knew too. What a thing it would be for both him and Iris to get caught because they’d foolishly fallen asleep in each other’s arms. He certainly wouldn’t be in physical danger from his parents. They’d likely just be worried for him and Iris. Still, it was something he’d been hoping to avoid.

Instead, when he went to his bedroom door and opened it a crack, Barry saw his parents in the living room talking. They were clearly tense, and he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he leaned out a little into the hall – lucky to still be in the shadows – and focused his listening on the whispers coming from the distant room.

“Henry, are you sure?” Nora asked, wrapping a shawl around herself as she moved to shut the open front window.

“Yes,” he said, then nodded. “I know why you’re hesitant, why you worry. But I think we have enough saved up to keep us going.”

“For a while maybe, but-”

“These people need our care,” he persisted when she turned back to him. “And they can’t afford it. Those damn taxes are raised higher and higher every day.” One of his hands curled into a fist. “And that good-for-nothing sheriff of ours collects twice a week now.”

“I know,” Nora said on a soft sigh, placing her hand on her husband’s and slowly uncurling the tight fist, making him relax.

“Just a couple weeks,” he said, leaning his forehead against his wife’s. “With that much money still in their pocket, I can go back to charging a little so we can stay afloat.”

Nora swallowed hard. “And if not? What if the sheriff raises the taxes so the money they would’ve paid you still ends up in his pocket?”

Henry sighed. “Then Barry will have to get a job.” Nora opened her mouth to object, but he continued. “A real job, Nora. Not…babysitting and nailing some broken panels back on.”

“Henry.” She frowned, her brows narrowed in her son’s defense. “He does more than that, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he does!” Henry’s voice rose, and Nora placed her fingers across his lips, making a deliberate nod towards the hall.

“Your boy is still asleep,” she said in a hushed whisper.

Barry was grateful his mother hadn’t actually looked down the hall and therefore hadn’t noticed him. Or if she had, she hadn’t let on to his deep gratitude.

“He needs to get paid, Nora. Helping out the townspeople is all well and good, but he’s taking for granted the fact that I can support us and isn’t pulling his weight. He needs an income to contribute to the household. He doesn’t have one. There’s no back-up plan until he does. I won’t turn my patients away.”

Nora nodded, the end of the conversation in sight.

“P’rhaps it’s good he didn’t want to go into medicine then,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “If you were both in the clinic giving free services, there’d be no back-up plan at all.”

Henry sighed.

“He just needs your approval,” she said softly, rubbing his back. “Tell him you love him and that you’re proud of him, and he’ll find a job that pays a wage.”

Henry groaned. “He’s too good, Nora.” He lifted his head to press a kiss to her lips. “Just like you.”

She smiled slowly. “You don’t think he’ll take a fair wage?”

“I think he has a heart of gold that loves to make people happy. And what makes people happier than free labor?”

Nora chuckled and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“Just have a talk with him, my love. He may be more willing than you think.”

Barry’s mind spinning, he stepped back into his room and shut the door. He should’ve known this might happen, what with the raising of taxes and his father’s gentle heart, his unwillingness to turn people away who truly needed him. In a way he was doing the same thing with the townfolk who needed assistance with their daily tasks. But his father was right in that they both couldn’t be servicing people for free. A doctor’s income was higher than most, but what they’d saved up wouldn’t sustain them for long if the taxes kept rising.

Barry would have to find a job – a real one – as much as he despised the idea. And he knew people wouldn’t be a fan of him asking for a wage when he’d gone around offering his services for free. But maybe they would understand. Everyone except the corrupt sheriff and prince, as well as the Ramon’s, appeared to have a decent opinion of him. Perhaps someone could offer him work with pay.

At any rate, it would be best to go around asking before his father broached the subject with him. Things would start harmonizing a lot quicker between the two of them if he was one step ahead of his worried father.

[backtothestart02]

25 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 21 - Before the Hood [2/6]

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Synopsis: AU - Before he donned the name Robin Hood, his name was Barry Allen, and all he wanted was to be with his love, Iris West.

...

Chapter 2 -

Slowing his horse’s gallop to a trot, Julian brought the animal to a stop in front of its stall in the stables and swung one leg over the side to drop down onto the ground, while his stable hand held his grand horse steady.

“Thank you, Felix.”

The boy nodded and guided the horse into its stall.

Julian moved almost immediately after that, heading straight into his residence. His tutor would be in the library, no doubt ready to teach him more Latin. He abhorred Latin. It had no purpose, given few people could read and only the friar and other clergymen could understand and speak it in turn. Julian had no interest in spending long hours inside the house of God, dedicating his life to blind servitude, sacrifice and celibacy. While his knighthood had been forced upon him by his father, one of the highest-ranking guards of the King, he enjoyed the respect it granted him. And training in the arts of jousting, archery and sword fighting certainly beat any other job he could’ve been pushed into.

Women fawned over him. Men looked to him as a promise for the future. He would go to the Crusades soon, and when he returned, he would obtain everything he wished for. Separation from his father, a marriage to the woman Barry Allen loved, and all the gold and jewels he desired.

Maid Iris was a pretty little thing. Her dark hair and skin were always accentuated by her light-colored dresses, pinks and purples and yellows, all made from satin ever since she’d become Sheriff DeVoe’s charge. Julian went to visit her often, trying to make a good impression. She appeared to be uninterested. But he’d impressed Sheriff DeVoe with his knighthood and manners and shared knowledge of Latin – ironically. Julian knew before he left Collin Woods for the battlefield, he could convince the man to sign a contract in Iris’ place, so they would be wed immediately on his return.

Julian wasn’t blind to Iris’ lack of affection towards him. He knew she’d been closed-minded from the start, unwilling to even consider him an option, because her heart still lay with the foolish boy who’d swept her off her feet before her father and brother had abandoned her. As pretty as she was, and as admirably stubborn, Julian had no problem admitting that he wanted her for himself solely so Barry Allen couldn’t have her.

The odds were already against Barry, with the scandal of his father taking on a peasant girl as his pupil in the practice of medicine. Her only place should be that of cooking and cleaning before marrying another peasant at her own level. The fact that another knight, Sir Ronald, had promised himself to her baffled Julian. But he supposed it was not his place. He was even more uninterested in Caitlin Snow than Maid Iris on her own merit. All he cared about was hurting Barry Allen, who had more to live for than he could have dreamed. And he deserved none of it. He took all of it for granted.

Barry not only was able to get by without a real job that would add to the income of his household, but he spent most afternoons shooting off arrows in the middle of the forest. Reckless, if you asked Julian. Especially since he knew for a fact the arrogant boy had no intention of ever fighting in the great war of their time, alongside their King, who he claimed to miss dearly given that the idiotic Prince John was in his place.

Henry Allen might’ve preferred his son practice medicine, but he did not disown him when he refused to do so. If Julian had refused knighthood, his father would have done exactly that. Thrown him to the streets, because how dare he not want something that came with so much honor, so much nobility, that promised him victory in his life and all that he desired. Despite Julian warming to the idea, he would always be bitter and hold resentment against his father for the pressure he’d put him under. When Julian had announced he was pursuing Iris, his father had just barely approved, and only because her station had been lifted after Joseph and Wallace West’s departure. He supposed he should be grateful for that. But he wasn’t. It was only another instance in which Sir David Albert reigned supreme.

His father had never mourned his wife or his daughter’s passing. He beat Julian when he caught him in tears over their deaths. Women were not meant for one to grow attached to, he would say. They were meant for cooking and cleaning and bearing children. In his wife’s absence, Sir David Albert had hired a maid, Louise. Only five at the time, Julian had spent the next eight years being raised by her until he was forced into knighthood by his father. He’d thought it would bring them closer, but it only made him all too aware of what a villain his father could be. It benefitted him that he and Sheriff DeVoe were of the same nature, but Julian swore he would never be like him. He would obtain Iris for himself, but he would never lay a harmful finger on her – something that could not be said of his father’s actions towards his mother.

 If Iris did not wish to clean and cook and sew, Julian would find a maid who would do those things. And he would make her fall in love with him so that she would never want to leave, never cry in the dark when she thought he was unaware. He would overcome his father in that way and also leave Barry Allen a destroyed mess without the woman he loved. Would he come to hate his father? Would he turn on his mother for never trying to stop Henry Allen from tutoring a peasant girl? Whatever happened, the key would be in seducing Maid Iris.

That was the most difficult task. If he couldn’t do it before they were wed, he would be sure to do it afterwards. Either by turning her against Barry or by making him disappear. The idea of killing the young Allen, or hiring someone to do it, appealed to him for only a moment before he realized that would be worse than what his father had done. He would not become worse. He would be better.

But Barry still needed to be poison in Iris’ eyes or he needed to leave. Julian just didn’t know how to go about choosing.

“You’re lost in thought,” his tutor said as he walked into the large, quiet room.

Julian came to a halt and nodded once.

“I am ready for my lesson,” he said.

His tutor gestured to a comfortable chair in front of him, beside which sat a table and piles of books for him to learn from.

“Something troubles you,” his tutor said, looking at him contemplatively.

“When does it not?” Julian asked rhetorically on a sigh, selecting a book and flipping through it to find where they’d last left off.

“Let’s talk about it.”

Julian paused and looked up at the inquisitive, wise older man and wondered how best to get out of this particular conversation.

“I won’t tell your father,” he said, setting aside his own book. “Your welfare is my top priority.”

Reluctantly, Julian closed his.

“That’s not what we pay you for.”

“Consider it charity then.”

“I don’t need your charity,” he spat, harsher than he’d meant to.

“But do you need someone to listen? To really hear you, Sir Julian?”

His lips thinned.

“Is it Bartholomew Allen?” he questioned. “Do you want what he has?”

“I am not envious of him if that is what you are asking. I have almost everything I desire, and soon I will have the final piece.”

“The affections of Maid Iris.”

“Her promise to marry.”

“She is willing?” his tutor asked, surprised.

Julian’s brows narrowed. “In time.”

His tutor analyzed him most uncomfortably, until Julian nearly stood to his feet and walked out of there.

“You want something else.” His eyes widened. “To destroy young Bartholomew and all he has.” He paused. “To kill?”

Julian was unnerved by how his tutor could appear to know so much about what he was thinking. There had been rumors of him being a wizard in another land long before he arrived in Collin Woods. Julian had not believed it. But at times like this he wondered.

“You presume too much. You should keep to your studies, and to teaching me mine.”

“Perhaps.”

Julian shook his head and opened his book again.

“Let us get on with the lesson. I will forget this talk, and you should too.”

“As you wish.”

When the two had found their place in the accurate book, Julian met his tutor’s eyes to wait for his direction.

“Tell me what is on your mind, my pupil.”

Julian licked his lips, hardly daring to ask. Once it was out, it was out. If his tutor had truly once been a wizard, it was possible he could grant his request.

“Something…other than murder, something…equally devastating.”

“Betrayal, you think,” his tutor said, then thought again when Julian looked to interrupt him. “The appearance of betrayal.”

“A farce.”

“Within the Allen family. A façade that destroys.”

“Mmm.” Julian nodded. “Yes.”

His tutor’s eyes locked on his, Julian felt for the first time not unnerved, but powerful.

Will you do it?

“Twelve lines down at the beginning,” he directed, and Julian lowered his eyes to the book.

He began to read the Latin words, aware all the time of his tutor’s eyes on him. An agreement had been made. He felt it in every fiber of his bones. Something dangerous was about to happen, and he was responsible for what would unravel, all by the workings of his presumably loyal yet mysterious tutor, Eobard Thawne.

…

Snuggled close to her love, his jacket spread over her shoulders to keep her warm, Iris relished the feeling of contentment that came with being in the presence of and so near to her darling Barry Allen. He was everything to her. He was security and love and happiness and everything she could have ever dreamed. Growing up, she resented the fact that women were forced into the servitude of their husbands, but as she fell deeper in love with Barry Allen, she knew she wouldn’t mind that one bit. She would make him new jackets and hats. She would cook him tasty soup and roast a nice, hot chicken. She would kiss his worries away and bear him many children. She would do everything and anything expected of her as a woman without complaint if it could be solely directed at her love, Barry Allen.

What’s more she knew if she did decide to toe outside the line and do something for herself, that her Barry would let her. Even more so, he would encourage it. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and both his parents were warm and welcoming and loyal to any cause they took up. After all, Henry Allen had taken on a peasant girl as his pupil. Not to spite his son, but because he saw a yearning in Caitlin Snow to learn the knowledge he had to give. He did not see what society bestowed on her but what she wanted for herself. Barry was every bit like his father, though he undoubtedly had a soft spot for his mother. Even if they were the poorest of the poor, Iris would want for nothing as long as she lived with Barry by her side.

But she knew the possibility of their happily ever after was a far and distant dream. She was kept under lock and key in the DeVoe household. Clifford was a resentful, greedy, arrogant man she detested. He did not beat her, nor his wife that Iris was aware of, but he spoke harshly and had an assuming air about him. In fact the only visitor that he allowed into the house as long as she’d been there was Sir Julian Albert.

Julian’s disdain of Barry and vice versa was more than enough of a reason for Iris to dislike him, but his eagerness to impress her in a clear effort to win her affections disgusted her. He knew she loved Barry, and maybe that was why he had developed a sudden desire to see her. She knew it could only possibly be to win her hand and steal her away from Barry. But she would not be stolen away so easily, or at all. Even if she and Barry could never be together, her heart would never belong to another. Especially since Julian appeared to get on so well with Sheriff DeVoe. Never in her life would she consent to marrying him. He would have to take her by force, and she would not go quietly.

But she preferred to push those awful circumstances to the wayside when she was with Barry. When she was with him it was only them. She could pretend they were really together for everyone to see, that they weren’t worrying about who might catch them, that everyone was happy for their union and they were soon to be married.

But as light started to trickle across the sky in shades of purple, pink, red, and orange, Iris was forced back into the reality they lived in. And that reality was that they’d stayed out far too long. And if they were caught, the results would be devastating.

“Barry!” she whispered in a gasp, his jacket falling off of her as she sat up abruptly. “Barry! Wake up!” She shook him fiercely and finally his eyes opened.

“What…What’s going on, Iris?” He rubbed his eyes. “Why are you so-”

“It’s dawn!” she said, stumbling to her feet. “It’s not night anymore. It’s daybreak. If I don’t get back before the DeVoes wake up, I may never be able to see you again!”

The gravity of the situation made Barry spring up and take her hand. They ran through the forest, near the sounds of the birds so their running feet could be stifled by other morning noises. When they reached the fortress Iris was meant to be locked up in, Barry started to lift her up so she could find her footing and climb over the other side.

“Barry, wait.” She gripped his arms.

“Iris, we don’t have time. I can’t- I’m not going to be the reason I never see you again.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t want to be the reason either,” she said, clutching his shirt tighter.

“Then don’t be,” he whispered, cupping her face to reassure her. “Climb over that wall, go to your bed, and sleep a few hours more. Pretend you’ve been there the whole night, as you always do, and tomorrow night we will meet at the lake again.”

“Even if it’s cloudy?” she asked on bated breath.

“Even if the earth is shaking and the heavens pour forth water from a thousand seas and everyone is watching, I will meet you at our place, and I will wait as long as it takes for you to come to me.”

“Oh, Barry.”

He kissed her. There in the wakening day, he kissed her hard, pulling her flush up against him, willing this to not be the last moment they shared. When they broke apart, he locked his eyes on hers, begging her to listen to him and follow through with what he asked.

“Go,” he said.

Iris swallowed and nodded, letting him help her up the stone wall. When her legs swung over to the other side, she looked down at him and he smiled up at her – a little one, to congratulate her on her little victory.

‘I love you’ on the tip of her tongue, she decided against it, choosing to believe they would see each other again. She used the vines and protruding stones to climb her way down until her feet touched the grass again. Then she turned around, quietly crossed the yard until she was inside. But when she opened the door to her room, she was stopped dead in her tracks. For there in the chair beside her window sat Marlize DeVoe.

“Good morning, Iris,” she said.

Iris didn’t move a muscle.

“I thought we should talk,” she continued, gesturing to a wooden chair across from hers.

“And if I don’t want to?” she said, indignant in a way she couldn’t be with Clifford.

Marlize smiled sardonically at her young charge.

“I really think you do.”

…

Barry’s heart was racing the whole way back to his house. The sound was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t even hear his own feet on the ground, which he no longer tried to conceal from any early morning risers.

They’d never gotten that close to being caught. Never.

They’d always been so careful. Meet up at the lake, spend some time getting lost in each other eyes and telling each other how in love they were, and then get back to their homes before anyone suspected a thing.

But this time, he couldn’t recall whose decision it was, but they had ended up lying on the grass in the warm summer air, and before either of them knew it, they had fallen asleep. It was probably the best sleep Barry had in a while if he was being honest. Even the sun stretching across the sky wouldn’t have been enough to wake him up with Iris cuddled in his arms.

So, in truth, they’d been lucky that Iris was a little more likely to startle herself awake when danger was imminent.

And it had been imminent. Barry just hoped it was a close call only and not the last time he’d see her. He didn’t want something terrible to happen to her in that house if she’d been caught. He never asked her about her experience there, not in the six months she’d been living there, but she didn’t volunteer information either, so he figured it either wasn’t that bad or it was bad enough that she didn’t want to talk about it.

He’d let it pass from his mind without a second thought before, but now he worried for her. He’d be going out of his mind with worry until nightfall when they would meet up again. If she met him at their spot, he could ask her what had happened, and hopefully she could soothe his worries. But if she didn’t…

Well, he didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Maybe he’d pester Cisco later in the day. He’d reassure him, right? It wasn’t as if he could go to anyone else. Cisco was the only one who knew about his late-night meetings with Iris, and he preferred it to stay that way.

Finally approaching his home and grateful to see his bedroom window still cracked open, he moved toward it, hoping to get inside unnoticed and a few more hours of sleep before he went in town to distract himself with repairs and babysitting.

The window squeaked a little, but his slim frame allowed him to slip inside and shut the window without alerting his parents who he assumed were still asleep in their bed. Kicking his shoes off quietly, he walked over to his bed and pulled back the covers, intending to will himself to sleep despite the sound of birds and the adrenaline from his taking Iris back to her residence energizing his mind.

But after he slipped into his bed and pulled the covers over him, yanking the drapes shut so he’d be able to shut out some of the light from outdoors, Barry realized he couldn’t hear the gentle snoring typical of his parents when they slept. Instead he heard murmuring from a nearby conversation. He held his breath, his first thought being if his parents knew too. What a thing it would be for both him and Iris to get caught because they’d foolishly fallen asleep in each other’s arms. He certainly wouldn’t be in physical danger from his parents. They’d likely just be worried for him and Iris. Still, it was something he’d been hoping to avoid.

Instead, when he went to his bedroom door and opened it a crack, Barry saw his parents in the living room talking. They were clearly tense, and he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he leaned out a little into the hall – lucky to still be in the shadows – and focused his listening on the whispers coming from the distant room.

“Henry, are you sure?” Nora asked, wrapping a shawl around herself as she moved to shut the open front window.

“Yes,” he said, then nodded. “I know why you’re hesitant, why you worry. But I think we have enough saved up to keep us going.”

“For a while maybe, but-”

“These people need our care,” he persisted when she turned back to him. “And they can’t afford it. Those damn taxes are raised higher and higher every day.” One of his hands curled into a fist. “And that good-for-nothing sheriff of ours collects twice a week now.”

“I know,” Nora said on a soft sigh, placing her hand on her husband’s and slowly uncurling the tight fist, making him relax.

“Just a couple weeks,” he said, leaning his forehead against his wife’s. “With that much money still in their pocket, I can go back to charging a little so we can stay afloat.”

Nora swallowed hard. “And if not? What if the sheriff raises the taxes so the money they would’ve paid you still ends up in his pocket?”

Henry sighed. “Then Barry will have to get a job.” Nora opened her mouth to object, but he continued. “A real job, Nora. Not…babysitting and nailing some broken panels back on.”

“Henry.” She frowned, her brows narrowed in her son’s defense. “He does more than that, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he does!” Henry’s voice rose, and Nora placed her fingers across his lips, making a deliberate nod towards the hall.

“The boy is still asleep,” she said in a hushed whisper.

Barry was grateful his mother hadn’t actually looked down the hall and therefore hadn’t noticed him. Or if she had, she hadn’t let on, much to his deep gratitude.

“He needs to get paid, Nora. Helping out the townspeople is all well and good, but he’s taking for granted the fact that I can support us and isn’t pulling his weight. He needs an income to contribute to the household. He doesn’t have one. There’s no back-up plan until he does. I won’t turn my patients away.”

Nora nodded, the end of the conversation in sight.

“Perhaps it’s good he didn’t want to go into medicine then,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “If you were both in the clinic giving free services, there’d be no back-up plan at all.”

Henry sighed.

“He just needs your approval,” she said softly, rubbing his back. “Tell him you love him and that you’re proud of him, and he’ll find a job that pays a wage.”

Henry groaned. “He’s too good, Nora.” He lifted his head to press a kiss to her lips. “Just like you.”

She smiled slowly. “You don’t think he’ll take a fair wage?”

“I think he has a heart of gold that loves to make people happy. And what makes people happier than free labor?”

Nora chuckled and leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“Just have a talk with him, my love. He may be more willing than you think.”

Barry’s mind spinning, he stepped back into his room and shut the door. He should’ve known this might happen, what with the raising of taxes and his father’s gentle heart, his unwillingness to turn people away who truly needed him. In a way he was doing the same thing with the townsfolk who needed assistance with their daily tasks. But his father was right in that they both couldn’t be servicing people for free. A doctor’s income was higher than most, but what they’d saved up wouldn’t sustain them for long if the taxes kept rising.

Barry would have to find a job – a real one – as much as he despised the idea. And he knew people wouldn’t be a fan of him asking for a wage when he’d gone around offering his services for free. But maybe they would understand. Everyone except the corrupt sheriff and prince, as well as the Ramons, appeared to have a decent opinion of him. Perhaps someone could offer him work with pay.

At any rate, it would be best to go around asking before his father broached the subject with him. Things would start harmonizing a lot quicker between the two of them if he was one step ahead of his worried father.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Part 3/3 of my Masterlist, a compilation of Supernatural AU stories - with special mentions of “Witches/Familiars” and “Fantasy”!!

Also watch out for the other two parts:

Canon!verse/Canon Divergence

Alternate Universe

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: SUPERNATURAL ELEMENTS

Broadway Musical by Griftings

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

(Words: 12k)

A Brief Glimpse by cloudyjenn

Castiel is utterly convinced he can't love anyone, but Sam, so when a strange occurrence at a carnival shows him otherwise, he doesn't know what to do.

(Words: 12k)

Earth is a Tourist Trap by Annie D (scaramouche)

When Castiel's offered a senior position in the Heavenly Host, he decides that before he commits himself he'd better take that holiday on Earth he's always wanted. So he does, and he meets Dean.

(Words: 15k)

Worth the Fall by Desirae

The angel Castiel was stationed on Earth to observe, not interact. When he takes it upon himself to intervene in an accident that would have claimed the life of Kindergarten teacher, Dean Winchester, there were consequences.

Stripped of most of his powers, Castiel is forced to live as a mortal for one year. But after getting to know the man who led to his fall from grace, the angel soon discovers that he has a choice to make. Return to his post when his punishment is over and never see Dean again, or give up his near immortality to take a chance at a life on Earth with the human he has come to love.

(Words: 25k)

Like Lightning Under Your Skin by A_Diamond

Desperate for a way to save his brother from a demon’s clutches, hunter Dean does the unthinkable and seeks out a supernatural creature for help: a powerful lightning elemental, the kind he and his family should be killing. When his attempt to bind the elemental goes awry, he finds himself psychically connected to it instead. The creature’s emotions bleed into his; its pain echoes into him.

Rather than finding the solution to saving Sam, Dean’s given himself a new and even more time-sensitive problem. He has to find a way to master the bond before the rest of the hunters decide he’s too far gone and put him down. The trouble is that the more time he spends connected to the elemental’s thoughts, the more he starts to wonder if they don’t have it all wrong. Maybe the creature, which calls itself Castiel, doesn’t deserve to be slaughtered; maybe the rest of its kind hadn’t deserved that, either.

Or maybe that’s just Castiel’s voice in his head.

(Words: 25k)

Purgatory's Angel by Ltleflrt

In an act of heroism Castiel sacrifices one of his wings to save lives. But he isn’t sure he wants to live tethered to the ground, never to dance in the sky again. Two stubborn Winchester brothers have faith that his future isn’t quite so grim, and that flight may be possible someday. Castiel thinks they’re full of shit, but in the face of Dean’s cheerful optimism it’s hard not to believe.

(Words: 27k)

Catch a Fallen Star by the__magpie

Dean Winchester would do anything to convince Lisa Braeden to marry him, even if it means venturing beyond the wall near his village to bring her a star that they watched fall from the sky. What he does not expect, though, is to end up dragging a grumpy, uncooperative star named Castiel through a strange land of faeries, magic, and flying pirates. Pursued by an ancient witch and two nobles vying for the throne, Dean and Castiel find themselves caught up in an adventure beyond what they could have ever imagined.

(Words: 31k)

Trade All My Tomorrows by 3988Akasha, ElDiablito_SF

Dean Winchester had a human family once, but he doesn't ever remember not being a demon. Not particularly aligned to either Hell or Humanity, he drifts through the world, mostly at his own pleasure. Until, that is, he's caught in the middle of a turf war between Abaddon and Crowley, which forces him to choose sides - and leads him to a Man of Letters named Castiel Novak.

(Words: 32k)

The Request by cloudyjenn

When Sam Winchester prays for his brother, Castiel is finally sent on his very first assignment. But what should be a simple love match turns into much more and Castiel finds himself risking everything to ensure the happiness of his extremely frustrating charge.

(Words: 37k)

Good One's Gonna Be by remmyme

Castiel Novak receives a rather alarming text message from an unknown number, and what started as a simple misdial quickly turns into the greatest friendship Castiel has ever known. But Dean has many secrets, dangerous truths about the life he lives, and would like to tell Castiel exactly none of them.

(Words: 37k)

Convenient Husbands by Annie D (scaramouche)

"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?"

(Words: 39k)

Fortune Cookies by destieldrabblesdaily

Dean and his best friend Jo own a bakery together. When a salesman named Crowley visits Dean to make a deal, Dean has no idea of the consequences, and his world turns upside down when an actual angel literally crashes into his life. For the first time in his thirty-year-existence, Dean is overwhelmed by real companionship, wings, and most of all... love.

(Words: 44k)

It's a Small World (aka the Worst Ride at Disneyland) by ireadhpinenochian

Dean's life didn't start out great. With his mom dying and his father taking him and Sam on wild goose chase after wilder goose chase to track down her killer until Sam couldn't take it anymore and ran off, it pretty much sucked. But now he has Cas. And Cas is great--perfect, even--definitely the best thing that's ever happened to him, even if he isn't quite human. He's been living so long in domestic bliss that he completely forgot to be worried about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which is, of course, when his giant of a brother strolls back into his life sending Dean into a panic that he and Cas will have to uproot their perfect apple pie life if Sam finds out Cas' big secret.

(Words: 45k)

Closer to Fine by sheron

As an empath, Castiel has always been different. Whether he liked it or not, since childhood he has felt the emotions of people around him. There is only one exception to the rule, a man whom his powers don't affect at all: Dean Winchester. With Dean seemingly just a regular guy, with a tough past, what makes him special? Can Castiel stop himself from falling for him regardless? And why has his brother Gabriel suddenly returned, wanting to rebuild their broken relationship...

(Words: 45k)

Just Your Heart, In Exchange For Mine by noxsoulmate

Dean owns a bakery and Castiel loves his pie. This could be such a cute little bakery love story – if it weren’t for the fact that one was a retired hunter and the other one a powerful witch. There’s also the matter of the black little cat Dean finds in front of his bakery one cold and rainy night. Not to forget the crazy witch on the loose, ripping out other witches’ hearts.

(Words: 47k)

Kiss You When It's Dangerous by zoemathemata

When his partner Uriel, betrays him, Federal Agent Castiel Novak is saved from becoming a ritual sacrifice by brothers Dean and Sam Winchester. Discovering the world of the supernatural and learning about werewolves, wendigoes, vampires and things that go bump in the night also leads to learning more about Dean and the strange life he and his brother lead. The more he learns, the more Castiel finds himself drawn into Dean’s world and toward Dean himself.

Until Uriel wants to complete the ritual he started.

(Words: 58k)

Whitechapel Monster: The True Story of Jack the Ripper by Andromytta, Deancebra, nealinor

1888. A madman is murdering prostitutes in the poor neighborhood of Whitechapel in London. Scotland Yard has assigned the case to their finest detective team: Castiel Novak and Charles Bradbury. The two launch into the investigation which is interrupted by one Dean Winchester, who seems to turn up each time a murder occurs. Is this man the Ripper or does he know something that the Detectives don’t?

Dean Winchester is following in his father’s footsteps and has become a hunter of monsters. He is drawn to London following the trail of unnatural murders. While the detectives look for a man, the hunter is looking for something far more supernatural. Assisted by his brother Sam, he tries to investigate the crimes himself; however, the lead Detective, Novak, is dead set on keeping him away.

Will the two men find a middle ground to face an enemy that has more than murder on his mind?

(Words: 60k)

Man in the Wilderness by OneHundredSuns

Dean Winchester is fresh out of Purgatory along with every other Tom, Dick and Wendigo that called the cesspool home. As the monsters lay waste to the Earth and eat anything they can get their hands on, Dean sets out to find his only remaining family so that they can hunker down and fight the assholes head on. He doesn’t mean to stumble upon Castiel Novak and his adorable twins in the middle of the apocalypse and he sure as hell doesn’t mean to offer them a ride to wherever they are trying to get to. But the world is a dangerous place now and he’s always been a sucker for blue eyes and cute kids. So he’ll help them out and just hope it doesn’t get him or them killed in the process.

(Words: 69k)

Let the Altars Shine by tiptoe39

For the sake of his family, Dean agrees to marry an angel he's never seen. He's not expecting true love, nor to uncover the mystery behind why the angels are taking husbands in the first place. But sometimes in marriage, the unexpected happens.

(Words: 70k)

The Mensch by Aerlalaith

Sam and Dean are (maybe) Men of Letters. Castiel is something else entirely.

(Words: 73k)

A Beginner's Guide to Communing with the Dead by suspiciousflashlight

Maybe it's the little girl whose disappearance turned into a murder, and whose murder turned into a cold case, and who has now apparently decided to move in with him. Maybe it's the unacceptable hole left in his life when his dumb best friend and partner in (the prevention of) crime decided to go and get himself killed. Maybe it's his brother, whose high-profile career and fantastic girlfriend and first-child-on-the-way are steadily leaving Dean in the dust. Pick one. Pick all of them. The why doesn't matter so much as the what, and the what is this: Dean is pretty sure he's going completely, certifiably insane. Sure, he hasn't started wearing all his clothes inside out, and he still showers on a regular basis (anyways, that's not crazy, just a little eccentric); but there's no getting around the fact that he just threw away his life, his career, and his reputation by dragging out his mom's old necromancy book and summoning a Class A Forbidden Entity to his attic. A cranky one, too. With horrendous bed-head.

(Words: 77k)

Passing Ships by quiettewandering

When Castiel commits a crime unforgivable, he is demoted from distinguished guardian angel to the role of cupid. His assignment: to pair Dean Winchester and Lisa Braeden together as soulmates. Adamantly against the idea, Dean proves to be a challenging assignment for Castiel - especially when he falls in love with him.

(Words: 78k)

The Ghosts of Blackthorn Hall by linoresearch

In 1843 Castiel Milton leaves his life of quiet faith and duty to take up employment as tutor to the young ward of one Mr Dean Winchester, at Blackthorn Hall. Set deep among the Yorkshire moors, Blackthorn is a place of mysteries – a wild place, where pale faces appear at the windows, and mad women laugh in the night. Castiel is drawn to the enigmatic Master of Blackthorn and they form an attachment neither of them expected. But there are secrets hidden behind Blackthorn’s stone walls, truths that threaten to destroy their fragile happiness, as they are forced to confront the ghosts of their past.

(Words: 95k)

Saved by Slanguage

The only thing Castiel Novak ever knew was how to hunt monsters—ghosts and werewolves and demons and everything that goes bump in the night. With the help of the man he secretly loves, Dean Winchester, and Dean’s little brother, Sam, the three of them had been a force to be reckoned with. But, in a last-ditch effort to save Sam’s life, Castiel sold his soul to Hell, and the hellhounds dragged him down to the Rack when his year was up. Now Castiel is being tortured—physically by the fiendish Alastair, and mentally by the memories of what he had.

Until one day a young woman with red hair appeared in the middle of Hell, and she asked him if he wanted to be saved. And, without realizing the consequences, Castiel said yes.

(Words: 110k)

Cursed Or Not by Ltleflrt

While experimenting with magic when he was a kid, Sam accidentally cursed Dean. Now, Dean is forced to wear a spelled amulet constantly, or he'll turn into a random animal. For a little over a decade, he's learned to live with the curse, and has even found it useful in some cases, but he sure would be happier without it.

When he meets a witch named Castiel, he's offered a deal. Instead of assuming all witches are bad, Dean can spend a season getting to know him. If at the end of the season, Dean still thinks he's evil Castiel will send him away with his memory wiped of the whole experience. But if he learns that Castiel is not the monster Dean assumes he is, he'll lift Dean's curse.

It's an offer Dean can't bring himself to pass up.

(Words: 115k)

Hunting for Faith by perunamuusa, riseofthefallenone

It starts a few days earlier.

Castiel first notices it in the middle of the night when the dreams of fire and screams have kept him awake. He’s kneeling before the altar, praying, when the glass in the windows start to shake, the very air vibrating around him. Castiel is on his feet and reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants as the shutters over the windows start to rattle.

(Words: 271k)

Not Part of the Plan by Annie D (scaramouche)

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations.

Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

(Words: 318k)

Angel's Wild by LimonadeGaby, riseofthefallenone

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

(Words: 389k)

*  *  *  *

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: WITCHES/FAMILIARS

Pumpkin Spice

Dean’s new neighbor is a blue-eyed nature witch with forget-me-nots in his hair.

(Words: 3k)

Memory Lane by K_K_TiBal

Dean’s best friend Castiel is a genuine, bonafide witch with potions and magic spells to prove it.

You’d think he’d have learned by now to be more careful around Castiel’s things. 

(Words: 4k)

Enchanted Tea Emporium by mazedoodle, violue

As an experienced witch, Castiel has seen many captivating sights in his life. However, nothing he's seen has ever had him quite as entranced as the sight of the man in the flower shop across the road, unloading items from the back of a truck.

(Words: 10k)

You Found Me by through_shadows_falling

Dean is a Witch without a Familiar because, unlike everyone else, he’s never experienced the Call that brings Witches and Familiars together. But that’s fine, really. He doesn’t mind not being able to use his magic, and he definitely isn’t jealous of other Bonded pairs. Nope, not him. Which makes it all the more incredible when an Unbonded Familiar—a crow named Cas—smashes down on his windshield with a broken wing. Dean’s mother is able to heal Cas’s wing, but they’ve got a bigger problem: Cas’s Grace has been stolen, which prevented him from ever initiating a Call. He believes Dean is his Witch, so they embark on a journey to get his Grace back with the hopes that they can officially Bond as a true Witch/Familiar pair.

(Words: 16k)

These Roses Sing by K_K_TiBal, whelvenwings

Dean and Castiel have absolutely no reason to meet.

Castiel is the stepson of the mayor, the second son of the most important family in the city. Dean, meanwhile, has just started learning about mechanics from his father. They belong to different worlds - but when chance brings Castiel into Dean's father's workshop, they meet, with incredible consequences. All it takes is a single flower - a rose - to awaken a power within them that they don't know how to understand or control: they can cast spells on anyone, absolutely anyone, with the gift of a flower.

But can they learn how to be brave, how to take the gift that's within them and use it well - and can they find their way back to each other?

(Words: 25k)

Unfamiliar by riseofthefallenone

“We all know that Familiars will be the closest to you. Your bond with a Familiar will transcend family, friends, and even your future husband or wife. A Familiar becomes a part of you, and you a part of them.” Mr. Adler’s dull tone rolls across the auditorium and it’s clear to everyone that he doesn’t care about the topic. It makes Castiel feel bad for his Familiar. “Now, can anyone tell me why Witches need Familiars and why they need us?”

(Words: 29k)

Willowsbend by miss_grey

In the town of Willowsbend, the Supernatural police unit went by the name of Dean Winchester. Unfortunately for Dean, the Supernatural population of Willowsbend was zero. So Dean spent the majority of his time calming paranoid housewives when their pipes rattled and chasing off wildlife that over-zealous citizens were sure must be shifters. It’s a tiring job, full of false-starts and hysterical old ladies. It’s a rare day that Dean has to deal with anything truly Supernatural. That’s about to change, and it all begins with the arrival of one Castiel Novak.

(Words: 51k)

Hedge Witch by EthneDragon, palominopup

Castiel moved to the woods of Wyoming to practice his white magick without his family's interference. He lived a simple life with his cat and a gray wolf as his only companions. The people of the small town across the river know what he is and are protective of him.

Dean Winchester is a hunter. He is deep in the wilderness searching for a wendingo when he falls through the ice. Before he loses consciousness, he sees a huge gray wolf-like creature.

Castiel brings the near frozen man into his home and nurses him. Will the distrust Dean has of all witches stop him from falling for the man who saved his life?

(Words: 75k)

Unbound by through_shadows_falling

In a world where Witches and Familiars depend on each other to survive, Dean Winchester remains Unbound, and his magic—and life—is dwindling. Dean has accepted his fate, even if his family hasn't. After all, what can he do about it?

But then a man stumbles into his life who just might be Dean's Witch, but for some mysterious reason, refuses to Bond. On top of that, there's trouble brewing on the horizon, and it seems that Dean's caught right in the thick of it.

Can Dean convince the stranger that they need each other, before it's too late for the both of them—and their world?

(Words: 85k)

*  *  *  *

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: FANTASY

The Prince and the Pauper - but not really by Niitza

It's the classic fairytale: Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, there lived a beautiful Princess, beloved by her people. Unfortunately her Evil Stepmother, who desired the throne for herself, had her kidnapped on a moonless night and locked in the highest room of the highest tower of a lost castle. From then on the Princess' only hope rested in the coming of her Prince Charming to the rescue…

Except for the fact that the beautiful Princess is actually a Prince who has better things to do than wait in that tower, the Evil Stepmother a bunch of Evil Conspirators who really haven't thought things through, and the Prince Charming nothing but a Commoner hoping to make some money from grateful parents and ending up with something else entirely.

(Words: 9k)

Happily Ever After by darkforetold

Prince Dean lives in a world where princes can only marry princesses and live happily ever after. The problem is, he's in love with Prince Castiel, his awkward (ridiculously handsome) best friend. Dean thinks it's his destiny to settle down with a princess, but when Dean goes after the famed Sleeping Beauty, things change. Instead of facing off with villains, Prince Dean decides to fight social expectations and go after his one true love: Prince Castiel.

(Words: 12k)

Walking Through Fire by the__magpie

Castiel’s life as a prince isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly preferable to being kidnapped by robbers. All he wants is to go back home safely and forget about all of this, but his brother is refusing to pay the ransom and the leader of the robbers, Dean Winchester, is annoyingly good at making Castiel trust him.

(Words: 24k)

His Shining Glory, James Castiel Emmanuel Novak, Sixth Prince of Celestine by A_Diamond

When a mysterious blight devastates the kingdom of Celestine's farms, it allies with its neighbor through a trade treaty: Americana will send food north, and Celestine will send its youngest prince Castiel south to wed the American heir, Dean. It's not love at first sight, but that turns out to be the least of their worries. From culture shock and misunderstandings to conspiracies and assassination attempts, the two princes have a lot to overcome before they can try for a happily ever after.

(Words: 34k)

a world above water by museaway

Castiel’s hope for freedom is threatened by a chance encounter with the Crowned Prince of Lawrence, who is trying to avoid an arranged marriage.

(Words: 35k)

See the Sunrise by Carver Edlund (goshcas), Zerda

He didn't know what he expected. Maybe piles and piles of gold and treasure, closely guarded by a massive scaly beast, red or blue or black and breathing fire. Maybe with wings, maybe not. Maybe it would have red eyes and maybe it would attack as soon as it saw Dean. He was expecting—well, he was expecting a dragon.

Not... this.

"This" being a young man with dark hair, too blue eyes, and a tilt to his head. He didn't... look like a dragon. He just looked confused.

(Dean/Castiel fairy tale AU in which Dean is a prince who goes to slay a dragon, and Castiel is cursed to turn into a dragon every night.)

(Words: 37k)

Castiel Enchanted by ANobleCompanion

When Castiel was a baby, the angel Naomi blessed him with the gift of obedience. Despite the curse, Castiel grows up with a strong mind and heart. To keep people from discovering his secret, Castiel spends most of his childhood without a close friend - until he meets Dean, Prince of Fell. Together, they will learn about friendship, love and what it takes to find your own free will.

(Words: 53k)

True as It Can Be by whelvenwings

Growing up in a small town in Kansas, Dean learned from a young age that there was only one rule that couldn’t be broken, one place he couldn’t go - through the forest, to the long-abandoned Angel’s Hollow. But when Sam disappears, Dean’s left with no choice but to follow his brother's tracks through the dangers of the wood; little does he know that the most dangerous creature of all lurks not among the trees, but in the Hollow itself. Dean sets Sam free, at the cost of his own liberty - and, bound by magic, resigns himself to living out the rest of his days in the Hollow, at the mercy of the being within. The angel of Angel’s Hollow, however, has a story - is a prisoner, too, as much as Dean is. Only one thing can free them both - but it is impossible. For, after all: who could ever learn to love a beast?

(Words: 72k)

The Watcher and the Warrior by superhoney

The kingdom of Esporia has been at peace for many years, under the protection of five powerful enchanters known as the Watchers. From his tower in the east of the kingdom, Castiel, the Weather Watcher, controls the winds and the rains, and never expects to be needed for anything more.

In the capital city, Dean Winchester, long-serving member of the Royal Guard, is due to be elevated to the rank of Captain, rewarded for his dedication and leadership these many years.

But as dark forces begin to move against the kingdom, a chance meeting will bring these two men together, and their destinies will collide in ways neither of them could ever have predicted.

(Words: 108k)

[time-2-vent]

So. This is a master post about my grandma. Some of this has already been talked about here but I posted this on my private fb and wanted to keep it here too.

.

Okay.. so. This is gonna be a long and detailed one.

Ive never had a space where I could vent about my grandma to more than just people close to me without being blamed or her finding out. The only family I have on here is my mom and im hiding this post from her for various reasons. I understand if many of you can't read all the way through this because its gonna be a lot. I just want the people around me to have a better grasp on exactly why im so depressed.

Before I start im gonna add a trigger list because there is a LOT and im probably going to be very emotional typing this. A lot of it ive never spoken about publicly.

So for a list of TW:

Emotional, physical, sexual, and animal abuse, r*pe, p*dophelia, racism, su*cide, hospitals, ableism, be******ty mention, fatshaming, weight mention, f slur.

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Okay. Im going to start at when I moved in with her. She tricked my mother into signing over custody of me when I was 10. When I was 9 years old I was forced into a mental hospital after being heavily overdosed on medications meant for adults to the point I was "sitting upside down in my chairs unresponsive and talking about tranquilizers" which i have no memory of. The hospital was probably the worst experience in my entire life and I was almost murdered by one of the older kids. After getting out of there I moved in with my grandma.

Throughout my life shes said and done so many horrible things to me. She would always yell and scream about the smallest mistakes. She used to pick me up by my hair. She was just fucking horrible to me.

Around the age of 10-11 when I started going through puberty she would always make fun of the way my genitals looked. She would ask me to stretch my labia out and move it around. Specifically she would ask me to "show me your bat wings". It was fucking disgusting but as a child I thought it was just haha funny joke.

For a while I thought I just imagined that until my mom brought it up to me and how she CAUGHT HER saying that to me multiple times. So I had confirmation that I wasn't just imagining it. I once confronted her about it and she immediately started crying (ive only seen her cry 3 times in my entire life) and told me if I ever said that again she would tell everyone in my family that I was a "prostitute" and would make everyone in my family hate me, and that it was my mother who did that to me.

My mom lived with me and my grandma for a few years but eventually moved out on her own because she couldn't handle my grandmas abuse.

My grandma dated my moms r*pist, which was my moms uncle, and told my mom she never got r*ped, and said my mom only fucked him for "attention and cigarettes". My mom was 12 at the time.

My grandma told me at 15 that the "only reason you think you're trans is because you got diddled as a kid"

My grandma called me a whore when I started becoming sexually active despite her having her first child at 16.

She once told me I was "just like my father" who is a sex offender and abused me as a child. I was also forced to give my at-the-time step brothers head when I was 3-5 and was taught that it was okay.

My grandma has called me every possible name in the book. Anytime she does something wrong its automatically my fault. She told me she would believe that im trans when I showed her my dick (at 16).

Shes incredibly rude and racist, says she hates how she can't understand Asian people. She's said the n word. She's made so many "jokes" about how "aggressive" Black people are. When my cousin found out he had Black in him she said, and I quote, "I always knew he had a n***r ass" which fucking disgusted me. Shes scoffed at my mother for limping. She scoffs at anyone disabled. Always says "you wouldn't catch me looking like that in public." She would tell my mom she was faking her pain. And coincidentally of all 4 of her kids, one was born with physical deformities. she says thats not the reason why, but she gave her up for adoption. She yells at anyone standing in her way who isn't aware. She is incredibly rude when she speaks to people to the point its embarrassing.

When I hung myself earlier this year and a friend came to pick me up she was yelling at me like "Oh so you went and tattled on me didnt you? Did you say oh boo hoo shes so abusiveeee!!" As I had literally just laid passed out in the snow from hanging myself.

When she found out I hung myself she bitched about how I had her snow boots and how she would have had to climb up the hill to find my fucking body as if it were a chore. She asked me if I wanted to be cremated out of nowhere and when I said no she replied "good I didn't want to have to pick your piercings out of your dead body" when I told her she made me want to kill myself she laughed at me and said "well then you'll never survive" my first suicide attempt was at 12 years old. A few weeks ago I started carving at my throat in front of her because im so desperate for her to LISTEN to me for 5 FUCKING SECONDS. I have legitimately cried on my knees and begged her to treat me like a person time and time again. She laughs at me and turns it around to my issues. She guilt trips me and makes me think everything is my fault. She calls me disgusting for having 1 or 2 shirts on the floor. She told me to MY FACE she will never see me as trans. Misgenders me, misgenders my friends. I jokingly told her one of my cis friends was trans, and when she left she asked me "does he really have a penis?" ABOUT A WHOLE ASS CIS WOMAN. She told me she ran over and killed a dog with a broken leg to "put it out of its misery" she would always use glue traps and I told her not to tell me about it so she waits until were in public and says "yknow whenever I catch a live mouse on one of the traps I throw it into a plastic bag and then go do the litter box to suffocate it". Shes threatened to make me pay the hospital bill when I called 911 because she was unconscious. She says horrible things to me EVERY FUCKIJG DAY. She's always making everying my fault all the time and sits and smiles while I'm sobbing and pouring my heart out because im tired of the abuse. Im so fucking tired. It goes on and on and on every day of my life. I literally slit my throat in front of her and she only stopped being mean for about a week. Im so depressed and mentally ill and this is beating on me every moment of my fucking life.

In not done but im shaking and need to stop typing for now

Edit: some other notable things, when my grandpa disowned me and stopped speaking to me for over a year she told me it was probably because of how disgusting I was. And "nobody wants to be around that".

She will ask me specific random questions about specific friends and if I dont know the answer or I forgot, she goes on a tangent about how terrible of a friend I am.

When I was cutting her hair she kept telling me I was doing it wrong, so I did it her way and she hated it and told me she's glad I didn't pursue hair because im terrible at it.

When my cat was dying she originally refused to take him to the vet because he was "just gonna die anyways so I might as well let him", then gave up her cat to the vet because she was peeing but didn't wanna take responsibility for that so she lied to them and said she showed up at her door and didn't tell them her age or even her name and that was so fucking cruel.

When she starts laughing at me sometimes she'll talk to me in a whiny "baby voice" and be like awwww, waaa im so abusedddd *mocks me crying*.

And she always talks in a tone that sounds pissed off and seems confused when I feel like I'm being scolded.

She gets in my face and puts her finger in my face and backs me into corners sometimes and then when I smack her hand out of my face she says she'll put me in jail for abuse.

Oh yea and simetimes when she gets mad at me she'll be like "ok GIRL" in the middle of me talking. Like its annoying and uncalled for.

I cant believe I forgot this holy shit. Years ago (was a minor here as well) I was attacked by my neighbors dog and it knocked me down and when I got home my grandma was accusing me of be******ty and said she was "watching it fuck me" and I was so fucking disgusted and hurt.. I try to block that from my memory because it was my third dog attack and I was traumatized.

She also regularly calls her brother a F@ggot. He is the only lgbt family member (he's gay) that i have.

She regularly fatshames people while only a few feet from them. And will whisper to me about how disgusting they look.

She asks for all of my friends deadnames and gets mad when I dont answer.

"I can't be abusive because I give you a home. I could have let social services take you."

"I cant be racist because my ex husband is Black"

"You must be living in a fantasy world where you make up shit that ive done."

"Id be depressed if I stayed in bed all day too."

"I need to learn to have lower expectations for you."

"I'm starting to resent you. So ill be taking 200$ a month for rent." (She has stopped this thankfully)(edit #2, she started taking it again im gonna be here forever lmao)

When I was underweight she would say things like "you look like an aids patient." And "Are you trying to look like your mother?"

"You're a hoarder"

[polarwandersea]

juanita broaddrick

This text-post is going to be about Juanita Broadrdrcik’s claims against Bill. I want to start by saying that I am not a rape denier. At the time that I first heard of this I was doing research because I was apprehensive about liking the Clintons so I wasn’t looking to serve a bias and I took Juanita and the others at their word. If you haven’t read my other posts I highly suggest you do because then it’ll put into context the broader picture and what has been said and disproven about Bill and women. 

1.post: Gennifer Flowers

2nd post: Mega Post: Bill’s accusers. 

I’m apprehensive about doing this post but it has to be done. Again, I do not think women should be silenced but I agree with Hillary: Hillary Clinton was asked what she would say to Broaddrick, Kathleen Willey, and Paula Jones, she said, “Well, I would say that everyone should be believed at first until they are disbelieved based on evidence.”

claim: Juanita Broaddrick claims that Bill Clinton raped her in 1978 when he was attorney general of Arkansas. 

analysis: false. No evidence. 

facts that disapprove this claim:

In 1997, Broaddrick filed an affidavit with Paula Jones' lawyers saying Clinton did not assault her. In 1998, Broaddrick told Kenneth Starr's FBI investigators that she was raped. Eventually, Broaddrick described the rape for several major news organizations.

Some people try to play devil’s advocate and say that she was scared to come forward at first. That would make sense, except Paula Jones had already stepped forward and put a spotlight on then President Clinton. If what Juanita claimed was true, then would have been the time to say something, especially if what had happened to her was true since the issue already had national attention and lawyers would be able to protect her. 

Five people say Broaddrick told them about the rape immediately after it occurred. (These people only stepped forward when Juanita did in 1998/1999)

what’s wrong with this: The friends' testimony isn't trustworthy. Jean and her sister have a grudge against Clinton because, as governor, he commuted the life sentence of the man who murdered their father. Broaddrick's current husband might lie on her behalf.

The National Enquirer paid a lie-detector expert to analyze the videotape and he concluded that she's lying.

why this is important: The National Enquirer has often been biased against the Clintons. They would have no reason to protect Bill. If anything they were trying to uncover dirt to prove her claim was true and found that it wasn’t. Larry Nichols has good relations with the National Enquirer at this time. Trust me if it were true, he would have ran with it.

There is no physical evidence. There are no medical records. No telephone records. No scheduling records. No hotel records. No police records. 

Broaddrick says she can remember every detail of the rape, except the month and day it occurred. If it scarred her for life, wouldn't she remember the date? Or at least the month?

Broaddrick says she told her husband, David, what happened. But, at the time, David was not her husband. He was her boyfriend, with whom she was cheating on her first husband. Question: What if Clinton and Broaddrick had consensual sex? If you're cheating on your husband, and then cheat on your boyfriend, do you tell your boyfriend the truth?

Within one year of the alleged rape, Broaddrick attended a fund-raiser for Clinton and accepted appointment by him to a state advisory board. Why did she still want to support a man who raped her?

To me this seems like the biggest red flag. Why be that near to someone who supposedly raped you? Why associate with him at all?

Broaddrick claims Clinton kissed her so hard he left her lip visibly black and blue, and she covered up by telling people she'd had an accident. But her first husband, Gary Hickey, says he remembers no such injury when she returned from Little Rock, nor such a story.

One year later, Broaddrick filed divorce papers against Hickey, claiming he struck her on the mouth. Was that the only time?

It sounds terrible to say but Broaddrick could have been trying to cover up her first husband’s assault by making up a story about Bill. If she had any sort of bruise she could tell friends that it had been Bill Clinton.

In 1997, Broaddrick signed an affidavit and gave a deposition in the Jones case, denying twice under oath that Clinton raped her. "These allegations are untrue and there is no truth to these rumors." If Clinton did rape her, 20 years later, why would she still not tell the truth?

Starr's investigators talked to Broaddrick and listened to her story--and decided not to pursue it. That, in itself, casts huge doubts on Broaddrick's credibility. If Starr would impeach Clinton for oral sex, he would certainly indict or impeach him for rape, if he could prove it. Which nobody can.

Broaddrick says that after his ejaculation, Clinton told her not to worry about becoming pregnant for he had the mumps when he was a child and that he was sterile.

Bill isn’t sterile we’ve been over this. This has echoes of Larry Nichols who also liked to claim Bill was sterile while also claiming that Danney William’s is Bill’s son. (p.s., he isn’t check it out here)

her affidavit where she denied the rape rumors:  I met President Clinton more than twenty years ago through family friends. Our introduction was not arranged or facilitated, in any way, by the Arkansas State Police. I have never been an Arkansas state employee or a federal employee. I have never discussed with Mr. Clinton the possibility of state or federal employment nor has he offered me any such position. I have had no further relations with him for the past (15) years.

During the 1992 Presidential campaign there were unfounded rumors and stories circulated that Mr. Clinton had made unwelcome sexual advances toward me in the late seventies. Newspaper and tabloid reporters hounded me and my family, seeking corroboration of these tales. I repeatedly denied the allegations and requested that my family’s privacy be respected. These allegations are untrue and I had hoped that they would no longer haunt me, or cause further disruption to my family.

In their 2000 book The Hunting of the President, Joe Conason and Gene Lyons note that the FBI investigated the allegation for Starr's independent counsel office and found the evidence "inconclusive." 

In his memoir The Clinton Wars, White House aide Sidney Blumenthal notes that when Paula Jones's lawyers first approached Broaddrick, she refused to cooperate, and upon being subpoenaed signed an affidavit saying, "I do not have any information to offer regarding a nonconsensual or unwelcome sexual advance by Mr. Clinton." Only after that did she file another affidavit insisting the assault did occur, at which point, Blumenthal argues, she "had no standing as a reliable witness."

Some Clinton allies have implied that Clinton may have had consensual sex with Broaddrick but that she alleged rape because she didn't want her then-boyfriend David Broaddrick to know she was cheating on him (and on her husband). In his book Blinded by the Right, David Brock hypothesizes, "Dave Broaddrick had suspected Juanita of having consensual sex with Clinton and that Juanita came up with the rape claim later to get herself out of trouble with her boyfriend." In his book Uncovering Clinton, Michael Isikoff — who helped break the Monica Lewinsky story as a reporter at Newsweek — writes, "Privately, Clinton's lawyers have conceded that Clinton may have had consensual sex with Broaddrick but insist that he would have never forced himself upon an unwilling participant."

what would be her motive to lie: Juanita had connections to Sheffield Nelson. Nelson didn’t like Bill. Sheffield Nelson had been an ally of Bill Clinton's. In 1984, the governor had appointed him to head the Arkansas Industrial Development Commission, the state agency once used by Winthrop Rockefeller as a steppingstone to the governor's mansion. But by 1990, Nelson had grown impatient waiting in the shadows for Clinton to move on. He believed Clinton had reneged on a deal they had made in 1986, when Nelson first considered running for governor but didn't in return for Clinton's promise to step aside four years later. He had expected the governor either to make a presidential move in 1988 or to run for the U.S. Senate in 1990. Clinton's decision to run for reelection instead apparently triggered Nelson's abrupt switch to the Republican Party. After this, Nelson became one of Bill Clinton’s enemies and actively sought to take him down. He ran against Bill for Governor in 1990. On November 7, the incumbent governor defeated the Republican challenger in a landslide with 59 percent of the vote. Sheffield Nelson had entered the 1990 gubernatorial race angry at Bill Clinton.  What does this have to do with Juanita? In 1992 Nelson went to find Juanita to follow up on a rumor he had heard along with a businessman named Phillip Yoakum, a fellow partisan republican. “ Had many people in Van Buren known outside Juanita’s immediate circle known about her contacts with Yoakum and Nelson, it might have struck them rather odd.The governor had made a well-publicized campaign stop at Brownwood Manor ( Juanita’s nursing home),  during his hard-fought 1990 campaign against Nelson. 

Bill’s problems were not with the owners of the nursing home. His difficulty were with Norma Rogers and Jean Darden, two sisters (the same ones I mentioned earlier)  who managed Brownwood for the Broddricks. Their father’s murder had been spared the electric chair by Bill Clinton and their family had a very public grunge against him ever since.

Nelson and Yoakum’s attempts to publicize the allegations got nowhere the closest they got was to The Los Angles Times, but they turned it down. Reporter Bill Rempel said there were several things wrong with the story:, its partisan origins with Arkansas republicans, the unwillingness of Juanita to talk (at this point she still wasn’t talking and said there was no rape,) and the timing was in late October.  “We got the tip in October,” Rempel explained. “It was the consensus of reporters and editors that even if the facts were well documented..there was no way we could fairly report such a sensational report of the eve of an election. We had no way of assessing the validity of the story.”

Author David Brock recalled that when he attempted  to research the story in 1995 he was offput by Yoakum’s request to cut in on a book deal. (This hardly seem like the type of person that would be concerned with a woman who was raped. Here he is asking for money and a book deal.) 

David Brock had the chance to speak with Nelson and he came to the conclusion that even Nelson, Bill’s old enemy questioned the validity of the story. 

The only witnesses Juanita was ever able to evoke and actually claim her word to be true was her husband David and the two Norma and Jean, the women who had a grudge against Bill.

RESTATING FOR EMPHASIS: FBI agents working for the Office of Independent Counsel deemed the evidence coming from Juanita’s accusation to be inconclusive. 

FBI agents have investigated this. It’s been looked into. No evidence has been deemed as credible. 

what most likely happened: I think Juanita was cheating on her boyfriend and made up a lie in the spurr of the moment. She probably wasn’t even cheating with Bill but saw him as an opportunity to get out of whatever relationship problem she was in at the time. There are of course other possibilities such as her two friends with the grudge against Bill convinced her to lie just to damage his local credibility and then the lie blew up and she found herself trying to backtrack. Rather than admit she was lying she chose to go with the story. 

it is important to note that even Juanita herself said that the rumors began in the 1992 President campaign. Here is some background on how Bill’s political enemies circulated and actively looked for rumors that weren’t there:

“We are going to take Tommy Robinson ( a man republicans wanted and helped support to run against Bill for governor) and use him to throw everything we can think of at Clinton-drugs, women, whatever works. We may not win but we’ll bust him up so bad he won’t be able to run again for years.” - Lee Atwater (chairman of the Republican National committee.)

Sheffield Nelson ran in the same circles as Lee Atwater and Larry Nichols.They launched sexual attack adds with rumors based on Bill. Here is what an aide said:

“The Idea was to make people think ‘I wonder about all those rumors I have heard.” 

Basically, they just wanted to play a game of connect the dots. Except that every picture had to show Bill Clinton’s face. 

sources:

http://www.cnn.com/2016/10/11/politics/hillary-clinton-donald-trump-bill-clinton-accusers/index.html

http://articles.latimes.com/1999/feb/26/local/me-11829

https://www.amazon.com/Hunting-President-Ten-Year-Campaign-Destroy/dp/0312273193

[mxlfoydraco]

Queer Book Recs

Are you as frustrated with fandoms as i am? I got you! Here are some queer books i’ve read recently, and more under my book recs tag. This list is too long already, so i’ll put in summaries instead of my own comments.

Broken by Nikola Haken When Theodore Davenport decides to switch his mundane job for a career, he walks into Holden House Publishing with enthusiasm and determination to succeed. As he settles into his new role, makes new friends, and dreams of making it to the top, everything is going to plan. Until he meets James Holden, CEO of Holden House. James Holden hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his encounter with the timid man he met in a club bathroom last week, and when he discovers the one haunting his dreams is an employee, he can’t seem to stop himself from pursuing him. Just a little fun - that’s what James tells himself. He can’t afford to care for someone who can never reciprocate, not once they find out who he really is. James believes nobody deserves the burden of being attached to him. He’s a complicated man. Damaged. Difficult. Demanding. Broken. Is Theodore strong enough to confront James’ demons? More importantly, is James? Please note:This book contains scenes of self harm, mental illness and suicidal ideation which may be uncomfortable for some readers.

The Rules by Jamie Fessenden When Hans Bauer, a college student in New Hampshire, accepts a job as a housekeeper for an older gay couple, he soon learns the reason they've hired someone with no experience is that professional agencies won't work there. Thomas is a successful businessman whose biggest goal in life appears to be giving his husband anything he wants. Boris is a writer who immigrated to this country from Russia, and suffers from depression and PTSD because of the things he endured in his native country. He also refuses to wear clothes—ever. While Hans is working alone in the house with Naked Boris all day, things start getting a little weird. Boris gets flirtatious and Hans backs away, not wanting to come between him and his husband. So Boris calls Thomas at work and asks permission. At that moment, The Rules are born—rules about touching and kissing and pet names that the three men use to keep jealousies at bay, as they explore the possibilities in a new type of relationship.... WARNING: This story deals with themes of sexual assault and past abuse. The Law of Attraction by Jay Northcote When a professional relationship turns personal, it’s impossible to resist the law of attraction. Alec Rowland is a high-flying lawyer in a London firm whose career is his life. He doesn’t have time for relationships and his sexuality is a closely guarded secret. After picking up a cute guy on a Friday night, Alec’s world is rocked to its foundations when his one night stand shows up in the office on Monday morning—as the new temp on his team. Ed Piper is desperate to prove himself in his new job. The last thing he needs is to be distracted by a crush on his boss. It’s hard to ignore the attraction he feels, even though Alec’s a difficult bastard to work for. Both men strive to maintain a professional relationship, but tempers fray, passions ignite, and soon they’re both falling hard and fast. If they’re ever going to find a way to be together, Alec needs to be honest about who he really is because Ed won’t go back in the closet for anyone.

The Half Wolf by Jay Northcote Mate, family, pack, home… can Quinn and Kellan have it all? Quinn grew up feeling out of place in the small town he calls home. Yearning for something he can’t name, he’s always felt different but never known why. Kellan is part of a nomadic shifter pack. When they set up camp in the woods near Quinn’s town, the humans are unwelcoming and suspicious of the newcomers. The moment Kellan catches sight—and scent—of Quinn, he knows Quinn is special. But for the first time in his life, Kellan can’t trust his instincts. Quinn is human, and Kellan is a wolf shifter, so how can they ever be mates? Their bond is instant and exhilarating. It breaks Quinn’s heart to know their relationship can only be temporary. Love isn’t enough when pack law forbids shifters to mate with humans. Tension explodes between pack and humans, and when Quinn discovers a shocking truth about himself that changes everything, he fears he’ll have to choose between the only life he’s ever known and the man he loves. 

Step by Step by K.C. Wells Jamie’s life is one big financial mess, and it really isn’t his fault. However, the last thing he expected to find in the library was a Good Samaritan. He might have been suspicious of Guy’s motives at first, but it soon becomes apparent that his savior is a good man who has been lucky in life and is looking to pay it forward. Guy being gay is not a problem. Jamie’s not interested… or so he thinks. Guy is happy to help Jamie, and the two men get along fine. But when Jamie’s curiosity leads him from one thing to another, Guy finds himself looking at the young man with new eyes. What started out as a hand up is now something completely different…. His Convenient Husband by Robin Covington  NFL football player Isaiah Blackwell lost his husband three years ago and is raising their teen son alone. He lives his life as quietly as his job allows, playing ball to support his family but trying not to draw unwanted attention. His quiet life is shaken up when a mutual friend introduces him to Victor, a visiting principal ballet dancer who is everything Isaiah is not. Brash and loud, Victor Aleksandrov has applied for political asylum to avoid returning to Russia, where gay men are targeted and persecuted. He’s been outspoken about gay rights in his home country, and if he doesn’t get asylum, going back to Russia is a death sentence. Their one-night stand turns into a tentative friendship, a relationship they both agree is temporary... until Victor’s denied asylum. Isaiah can’t offer Victor a happily ever after, but he can propose something that’ll keep Victor in the US and safe... marriage He just doesn’t expect his new husband to dance away with his heart. Finding Home by Garrett Leigh How do you find a home when your heart is in ashes? With their mum dead and their father on remand for her murder, Leo Hendry and his little sister, Lila, have nothing in the world but each other. Broken and burned, they’re thrust into the foster care system. Leo shields Lila from the fake families and forced affection, until the Poulton household is the only place left to go. Charlie de Sousa is used to other kids passing through the Poulton home, but there’s never been anyone like his new foster brother. Leo’s physical injuries are plain to see, but it’s the pain in his eyes that draws Charlie in the most. Day by day, they grow closer, but the darkness inside Leo consumes him. He rejects his foster parents, and when Charlie gets into trouble, Leo’s attempt to protect him turns violent. When Leo loses control, no one can reach him—except Charlie. He desperately needs a family—a home—and only Charlie can show him the way. Long Macchiatos and Monsters by Allison Evans Jalen, lover of B-grade sci-fi movies, meets the far-too-handsome P in a cafe while deciding whether or not to skip uni again. When P invites them along to a double feature of Robot Monster and Cat Women of the Moon, Jalen can hardly believe that hot boys like bad sci-fi, too. But as their relationship progresses, Jalen realizes P leaves him wondering if they're on the same page about what dating means, and if that's what they're doing. [NB protag!] Dirty Mind by Roe Horvat Alexander Popescu is a university lecturer in a quiet German town. He’s a respectable man in his thirties who stays fit, has a decent career and travels alone—his only vice is an occasional greasy meal. And beer. And violent computer games. Nobody has to know about the other Alex—the acclaimed porn writer. His ingenious erotic fantasies earn him good money and keep his capricious mind harmlessly entertained. When his young friend and protégé Christian transfers to Freiburg for medical school, Alex is overjoyed…and terrified that Christian will find out about Alex’s indecent alter ego. The time they spend together, as lovely as it is, could overturn Alex’s carefully balanced life. Suddenly, the writing is not good enough, his hair seems to be thinning, his careful hookups leave him unfulfilled, and his dreams are haunted by the innocent young man he’s vowed to protect. However, Christian is not a boy anymore. He’s a grown man of twenty-one, clever and deadly attractive. And he’s hiding some secrets of his own.

[deepbluexsea]

An Unraveling

Rating: Mature. Relationships: Jonathan/Gabriel (M/M). Hints of Gabriel/Jillynn (M/F). Recurring Characters: Johnny, Gabe. (Possibly Judge Hamilton.) Trigger Warning: Fatal child abuse; injuries described in detail. Notes: 1) This is my interpretation of Gabriel. His writer is much better at portraying him than I am. 2) Drabble inspired by The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez.

FOUR YEARS AGO

“Objection – compound question!” Johnny yelled, standing from his seat on the state’s side of the courtroom. His voice rang out in the large space even though he’d been talking so much it was cracking from overuse. He’d been standing more than he’d been sitting for the last three hours they’d been in session. 

“I’ll allow it,” the judge muttered, looking back at the defense attorney who was up by the stand with Johnny’s witness.

“But sir, counsel is borderline testifying,” the D.A. continued to argue, throwing an accusatory hand up at the other lawyer.

“Counselor, are you going to let this trial proceed sometime in the near future or are you going to object to whatever comes out of Mr. Latham’s mouth next?”

Johnny slowly lowered himself down to his seat.

The defense attorney rounded back on the witness: a social worker assigned to a child who had since been killed. The senior social worker that didn’t do her job correctly, but whom the defense wanted to prove had justified cause to not pursue the CPS case that was opened a week before the child was murdered in his own home. “Ms. Abbott, would you say that the Johnsons’ house appeared clean and orderly?” 

“Objection – inflammatory!” Johnny yelled again, shooting upward.

“Sustained,” Judge Hamilton ruled begrudgingly, but immediately halted the trial proceedings afterward. “Let’s take a recess,” he grumbled, smacking his gavel down on the desk. “Thirty minutes. And stay put, D.A. Michaels.”

Everyone else in the place filed out until it was deserted save for Johnny, the wooden benches, and the judge. The lawyer could feel the sweat seeping through his undershirt, his blood pressure skyrocketing. His hands trembled as he tried to straighten the documents in front of him.

“You may approach the bench,” Judge Hamilton spoke.

Johnny swallowed hard, his heart in his throat. Gabriel’s case had been the last one he was torn up over like this – and while that one had been slightly worse than this one, it was also six whole years ago. He’d since made it a strict practice not to let his emotions get involved in his work, but this trial was getting under his skin so badly that he hadn’t slept in two days. If Briel hadn’t made dinner last night he also wouldn’t have been eating, running solely on alternating coffee and scotch.

“D.A. Michaels, do you need to appoint someone to take over this case? I am asking you now because it will be your last chance to do so.”

Shaking his head furiously, Johnny couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. “No. No. I’m fine.”

The judge squinted at him but eventually exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “I’m dismissing for the afternoon. Go get some sleep, counselor,” he muttered, and it wasn’t a request. It was an order. “We will reconvene tomorrow at 8:00 AM.”

By the look in Judge Hamilton’s eyes, Johnny knew not to protest lest he be held in contempt of court.

–xxx–

It was a group effort back at the office to get him to go home. The fact that his employees seemed to have had a conversation about his downward spiral over this case only served to piss Johnny off more. None of them were coddling or pitying or patronizing – the opposite, in fact. They seemed to be understanding more than anything. Still, if one more attorney asked if they could help him out on the trial he thought he was going to fucking lose his cool (or what little was left of it).

As he walked home, likely the earliest he’d done so in over a year, Johnny went back over the details of the case in his head. 

First, there was the hard evidence: 1) Brandon Johnson, eight years old and in the third grade, told a kid at school he liked other little boys and was confronted by the school counselor a year ago. 2) He was murdered three months later as confirmed by a depressed skull fracture, spinal subdural hematoma with compression to the cord, cigarette burns to the skin, genital mutilation, and two other broken bones. Cause of death: hemorrhage. The medical examiner confirmed it took at least six hours for the child to bleed out. 3) Some of Brandon’s burn scars measured to be present for at least ten months on his skin. 4) Brandon’s stepfather and biological mother only had custody for the last two years due to previous drug charges. His mother earned custody back by completing drug court. Before then Brandon had been raised by his uncles, two married gay men with good jobs who maintained no relationship with Brandon’s mother. 5) A social worker visited Brandon and his family eight days prior to Brandon’s death and reported no evidence of abuse or neglect. 

Then there were the elements Johnny was trying to prove: 1) The social worker falsified state documents the day after Brandon’s death. She also never completed a follow-up visit to her initial investigation. 2) The social worker was homophobic as evidenced by witness testimony and Facebook posts. 3) Brandon’s stepfather divorced his mother so she could win back custody of her child, but illegally remained living in the home. 4) Brandon’s parents were also homophobic as evidenced by witness testimony and Facebook posts. 5) Brandon’s stepfather was abused by his own father after finding him swimming naked with another boy when he was twelve years old. 6) Brandon’s parents murdered Brandon in his sleep while high on heroin.

Johnny walked up the stairs into his home in a daze. He was on information overload and his body screamed at him to take care of himself now. But every time he closed his eyes since he started this case all he saw were the autopsy photos of Brandon Johnson.

He couldn’t rest until he got justice for this little boy – but with every day of the trial, he felt like he was up against a giant in the form of a gridlocked government department protecting its own: Child Protective Services.

“Johnny? Helloooo?”

“Sorry,” the lawyer answered, blinking several times to bring himself back to the present. His husband stood in front of him with a concerned look on his features and a spatula in his hand (which he’d been waving in front of Johnny’s face). 

“I said: what are you doing here already? It’s only 3:30.”

“Three… thirty,” Johnny repeated after a moment, turning around and abruptly leaving the room. “The times! The times don’t.. match…” he started rambling, heading to his desk which held stacks upon stacks of folders regarding the Johnson case. He was shoulders-deep in a pile of paperwork when Briel entered the office.

The other man stood silently behind him for so long that Johnny forgot he was there, so when he eventually spoke up the lawyer nearly jumped out of his skin. “Johnny, Jesus! That’s it. What the hell is up with you?”

“Briel, I’m losing this case,” Johnny spoke before laughing without a hint of humor, leaning back in his chair and pulling at his hair. It had grown a bit shaggy over the last couple of months, something atypical of Jonathan Michaels. “I’m going to lose this case. This kid… he was killed. For… for what we get to be everyday. Every fucking day!” he was yelling now, standing up and motioning with his hands wildly.

Gabriel stared at him cautiously but left his face expressionless, not saying a single word. Johnny didn’t even notice. “And I… am going… to fail him.” He felt the tears welling up in his eyes. It was the first time he’d admitted out loud that he didn’t think he was going to win this thing. It was bad enough that he was going to lose; Johnny never did well with that. But for whatever reason, to lose this case in particular felt earth-shattering. It was so stupid – and right now, in this moment, he knew it. He knew he was acting insane. He knew part of this was about how he’d been suspecting Gabriel of being attracted to this woman he was working with, and that had made him throw himself into his work, and the case he chose was just hitting too close to home. He was exhausted but hyped, starving but nauseous, but mostly he was just devastated. He was so damn devastated. And every bit of it sucker punched him all at once.

Sinking into his chair, he laid his head down in his arms on the desk and let himself cry. After a few minutes, he felt Gabriel’s hands reluctantly alight on his shoulders and then squeeze them. “Johnny… listen to me,” he requested gently. “I need you… to please go lay down and sleep. Sleep and then shower and eat the dinner I’m making, and then sleep even more. Please.”

The tears slowly stopped flowing the longer his husband talked. Suddenly, Johnny was angry. He was angry at Briel, at Briel’s new female ‘partner’ for his art, at CPS, at Brandon’s parents, at the whole damn world. Johnny rose back up from where he sat, turned around, and fixed Briel with an icy stare. “I don’t have time. What don’t understand about that?”

Gabriel just shook his head. “I’m not doing this with you tonight,” he muttered. “You don’t want help. You refuse to help yourself. You won’t talk about it…” “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it because you might run off and tell your…” Johnny stopped, realizing what he was about to say. He had no impulse control in the state he was in – and he wouldn’t have meant what he said. Girlfriend, new muse, whatever was about to come out of his mouth wasn’t going to be nice – let alone true. It was his insecurity starting to bleed through where his walls had cracked.

Briel crossed his arms over his chest. “You going to finish?”

Johnny’s chest rose and fell rapidly with his breathing. “You going to go to the coffee shop tonight?” 

The look on his husband’s face was one that Johnny had never seen before – and ten years of memorizing someone’s face in all of their mood states, of watching them sleep, of gently kissing their lips and forehead and cheeks and temples and nose, was a very long time to still have not seen a particular expression. It looked like… Disappointment. Surprise. Confusion. Anger. Fear. All of it rolled into one. 

“Yeah,” Briel finally answered. Shit, now it was like they were trying to hurt each other.

Johnny nodded, bitter. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered and moved past the other man, going to their bedroom and locking himself inside. 

Even with Gabriel knocking every now and then, talking at him through the door, he still passed out cold on the floor (unable to make it to the bed). Nightmares about autopsies, conversion camp, and straight men with burnt coffee haunted him as he slept.

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter XXII

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XXI

HMS Griffin was – it could not be denied – a fine example of her kind. Rather too fine, in fact: a fifth-rater, upward of forty guns, and still light enough to make good speed. She was not one of the slower, lumbering ships of the line, which were floating fortresses intended to blast the enemy to kingdom come with their superior firepower, but a sleek vessel ideally suited to pursue and capture smaller craft, crisp-lined and freshly painted, sails snapping in the morning wind as they were untethered. It was clear that Matthew Rogers took great pride in his command, and if that speed could help them catch up to Sam in time, Emma would not say another word against it. Still, it had given her a frisson of instinctive revulsion to step aboard a Royal Navy ship, and Flint, Killian, and Liam practically had to be dragged. This was their one choice, possibly their only one, but nobody had any illusions about how quickly it could go wrong.

Once aboard, Matthew instructed Lieutenant Warwick, his second-in-command, to find them suitable quarters, while he himself offered his arm to Charlotte. “May I show you the ship, madam?”

“Ooh,” Charlotte said, fluttering her eyelashes. “Is it very big?”

As they moved off, Emma raised an eyebrow. “Do you think we should warn him? Rogers, I mean? He’s going to get himself into trouble.”

“No,” Flint and Killian said in unison. “Let him.”

“We have to keep sight of what we’re doing here,” Emma said quietly. “I know none of us like him very much, but he’s still the captain, and our best chance of catching up to Sam and Gold – and for that matter, her husband. So, tempting as it may be, we can’t just let Charlotte – ”

“Charlotte is…” Killian seemed to be deciding what to say. “If Rogers wants to think there’s possibility there – and Charlotte wants him to think that – why not? He might tell her things that he wouldn’t let slip to us. Reminds you a bit of his parents, doesn’t it? Woodes Rogers, always cool and in command of every situation, until he met Eleanor Guthrie, who was just as intent on using him for his position and to save her neck, and yet he fell for her anyway. It’s not quite the same, but – ”

“Eleanor sold out her former friends for Rogers’ sake,” Flint pointed out, with considerable and undimmed asperity, as he himself had been one of those friends, Eleanor’s mentor and frequent partner-in-crime. “We best hope Charlotte doesn’t.”

“We settled this in Philadelphia,” Emma reminded him. “She’s on our side.”

“Aye,” Flint allowed. “And I think she knows what she intends by the dalliance, far more than he does. Besides, Matthew is the bloody image of his father, he looks just like him, acts just like him. And I doubt he inherited anything pleasant from Eleanor. I agree he’s our best chance for now, but when this is through – ”

“We can’t kill him,” Emma insisted, keeping her voice down, as this was the exact sort of conversation that, if overheard, would get them all murdered belowdecks one night. “This Rogers isn’t that one. This isn’t the war we fought against his father. If we killed everyone in the world who might ever mean us harm, we’d never stop. And we did. We stopped.”

Flint took this in with an expression as if he had just bitten into a juicy apple and found it infested with worms. He stole a glance at Miranda and Regina, who were standing by the rail and making lively conversation with some of the sailors – Regina’s knack as an old brothel madam used to making men talk, and Miranda’s ever-polished diplomatic courtesies, were as much an asset to the information cause as Charlotte’s clear intention to play Rogers like a fiddle. It was also a reminder that none of them could do anything too reckless, with wives and spouses to be caught in the crossfire if Flint felt too much like pursuing old grudges. Emma herself was willing to overlook a great deal of past bad blood if it got them closer to Sam. She had been feeling more and more anxious about him over the past several days, and had no idea why.

They stood on deck, thrown occasional suspicious glances by the crewmen, but nobody daring to outright question Matthew’s determination to take these elderly vagabonds along, as the anchor was winched up and they began to get underway. Due to the prevailing clockwise circular of the trades, they could not just sail directly back up along the Leewards, retracing the route they had taken down – it was comparatively easy to sail south and west in the Caribbean, but a considerable battle to go north and east, as all of them were well aware. To get back to the Bahamas and Skeleton Island, as they thought the Titania was most likely to be headed, they had to swing out considerably into open waters north of the Spanish Main, navigate the Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola, and head up past the Turks from there.

It was a considerably risky journey for a British Navy ship to make in wartime, deep into Spanish waters and near Havana itself, and the heavy square-rigged Griffin, fast as she was for her kind, was still slower than the light, junk-rigged Nautilus. They would be quite a bit more time getting back than they had going out, and Emma struggled with the frustration that they had not at least asked Nemo to stay until they were certain of the situation on Barbados. He was not their personal courier, and his business freeing slaves was much more important, but still. They were behind and falling further so, stuck on a ship with the son of one of their most dangerous old enemies, and her son was out there, with an individual whom Liam had warned her was vicious, unhinged, and capable of unnatural powers and abilities. Not even to mention, Gold.

Emma tried not to pace too much as the Griffin picked up speed, navigating out of Bridgetown harbor while the bo’sun shouted at the crew to set the sails for their westerly course. The man certainly did do a lot of shouting; she overheard him call one of the hands “Shitbag,” and doubted he was known for his tender and gentle leadership style, as the Navy rarely was. Nobody felt like shutting themselves up for what would be the first day of several, and she kept an eye on Flint and Killian, who had retreated to the quarterdeck and were talking low-voiced, heads together. Liam had wandered off to inspect the general workings of the ship, and Miranda and Regina were still entertaining gentlemen, so Emma found herself, for the moment, almost alone. She tried to take a deep breath, trying to shake the claws of the beast that had clutched hard into her heart. Sam was fine, he was fine, he was a resourceful lad, he –

“Mrs. Jones?”                                                                                                  

She turned with a start to see Matthew, who had apparently managed to divert himself from Charlotte’s charms for the moment. He politely inclined his head. “Your pardons. I was only going to suggest that you needn’t remain out here in the sun and wind. You may go below.”

“I know.” Emma considered him. “You know I was a pirate, though – you know we all were – so why do you expect me to scruple at it?”

“Indeed. You are now a gentlewoman of some years, however, so protocol dictates that the offer should be made. Unless you and the rest of your family suspect that if any of you should take your eyes off me for a moment, I shall treacherously alter course and deliver you up to the hangman at Port Royal?”

“The thought…” Emma paused. “The thought had crossed our minds. Some of them.”

“I am a man of honor, Mrs. Jones. Though I am aware you will consider my word counterfeit, even as I still wonder the same of yours.” Matthew’s pale blue eyes were reserved and intent. “But there is no reason for us not to conduct this enterprise productively and in mutual interest, like civilized people. Unless you fear that your husband’s old prejudices – and more pertinently, I suspect, your father’s – may well interfere?”

“My husband and my father both have good reasons for their, as you call them, prejudices,” Emma said, politely but coolly. “But I do not think they will interfere, no. As long as you can offer us the same guarantee of safety from your crew.”

“None of them are old enough to have fought the pirates themselves,” Matthew said. “And I do not tolerate insubordination on any front. Anyone flouting my word will pay for it.”

Emma felt a slight chill go down her back. Knowing it was something of a personal question, but unable to restrain, she asked, “How old are you, Captain Rogers?”

“I will be twenty-four in January, madam. I received my commission at the age of nineteen. This is my first dispatch to the Indies, but I assure you, I have learned quickly.”

“So you have.” Emma couldn’t help but being impressed by him, and also to catch strange, then-and-gone, oddly poignant glimpses of Eleanor Guthrie. After a pause, she said, “I knew your mother. Long ago.”

Matthew’s lips went thin, as he doubtless did not care to be reminded from whence this association stemmed, but he answered courteously. “I am sure you did, Mrs. Jones. My mother is a… complicated woman. She raised me mostly by herself after my father went to prison, then was released to lingering debt and personal scandal, then finally was offered an opportunity to atone by – of all the ironies – accepting a second term as governor of Nassau, the place that had ruined him in the first instance. From which, you will be aware, he did not return. I was fifteen when he died, and had never seen him for more than a few weeks at a time.”

“Do you… remember your father?” Emma asked tentatively. “Perhaps you’ve been told, but you are very much like him.”

Matthew shot a slightly startled look at her. She could see him debating whether to answer, as he was obviously conversing with someone who had known Woodes Rogers as a mortal enemy, but it also seemed the case that he’d never had someone to speak with this about. After a moment he said, “I have scattered memories. When he was home, he and Mother were usually rowing about money. His hair had turned grey in prison, it made him look more like my grandsire than my father. His first wife and their children occasionally sent solicitors’ notices demanding their share of the settlement, and he and Mother were not received in Bristol society because of the irregularity of his remarriage to a pirate Jezebel and the disgrace of his downfall. We moved to Cheshire when I was five, to another of his properties. They often slept in separate bedrooms, on the occasion he was there at all. So if it pleases you and your family to know that Eleanor Guthrie received no happy ending from what she did, there is that.”

Emma couldn’t help feeling a brief pang of sympathy for Matthew, the child caught up in this war like the rest of them, living it at home long after it had ended for the adults, who had at least had the choice of participating in it. Awkwardly she said, “I’m sorry.”

Matthew shrugged, clearly attempting to brush it off. “My father was a great man,” he said, as if he had not quite meant to, but couldn’t help himself. “He was given an impossible task, and he achieved it, no matter that it ruined his entire life to do it, the same as the voyage around the world that made him famous. He was thanked with debtors’ prison, with ingratitude from the Admiralty, with hatred from his neighbors, with scorn even from his wife, with a return to Nassau – he must have been no more eager to see it again than any of you – and a death there alone, unmourned, for men to spit at the mention of his name. I know he opposed you and your cause, and dealt stringently in doing it, but tell me. Did he deserve that?”

“I… couldn’t say,” Emma answered at last, carefully. “He was a dangerous and subtle enemy, but a most formidable and competent one. We respected him, as much as we hated him.”

Matthew looked at her as if he was oddly gratified to hear this, from someone who had at least known his father personally and could testify to his worthiness, damaged or otherwise. When he did not answer at once, Emma said, “So is that what you set out to do? Clear his name, prove the Rogers family to be worthy of all the recognition it had lacked, and that England was a fool to ever take it so callously for granted?”

“Something like that, yes.” If Matthew was startled at how accurately she had diagnosed his motives, he was good at masking it. “Lord Robert Gold has been most… helpful on that accord.”

“I imagine he has,” Emma agreed, with an edge she did not quite succeed in disguising. “But surely you must know that if you are attempting to wash out a stain of dishonor, adding his treason will only deepen it.”

“You are going to speak to me of what constitutes treason?” Matthew raised a consummately skeptical eyebrow. “But yes, your son did have something to say on that accord as well. He is an… opinionated lad.”

Emma could imagine that her blazingly forthright, adventurous, innocent, feckless, up-for-anything Sam had mixed like oil and water with this reserved, cool, upright, strictly rules-abiding, more than slightly dangerous young captain. “How much did you and Sam have to do with each other, exactly?”

Matthew hesitated. “Not much. I was suspicious of his origins, but I thought – mistakenly, as it turned out – that his companion was Captain Hook’s son. He seemed the sort. I was more interested in transporting them to Lord Robert for his verification and examination.”

Emma’s old sense as to whether or not someone was being entirely truthful took exception to this, but not clearly. She herself had warned against antagonizing Matthew, but it suddenly made her more willing to encourage Charlotte to continue her little play-act, to see what the captain might let slip. After a moment she said, “So you became captain at nineteen? That is certainly quite prodigious. Have you worked with Gold all that time?”

Matthew gave her a rather arch look, as if to say he recognized that she was trying to dig for information, but would humor her nonetheless. “As I said in Bridgetown, he has been generous with his sponsorship. But my first assignment was to sail to the Barbary coast of Africa and attack the corsairs, who have grown uncommonly audacious in their capturing of European ships and impressment of the crew and passengers into Ottoman slavery. Perhaps he felt it best from the outset that I learn how to deal with pirates. That voyage taught me a number of unpleasant lessons, and the hard necessities of command. I lost half my crew to smallpox on the return to England. We were so shorthanded upon arrival that they took us for a ghost ship, and we were kept in quarantine for six weeks to be sure the pox would not spread.”

“Oh?” Emma frowned. “Did you – ”

“Did I have it? No, madam, I was fortunate. If you are concerned about lingering contagion, I can assure you the ship was stripped and scrubbed from stem to stern.”

“No, actually, we can’t get it. Killian and I, that is.”

“Is that so?” Matthew, despite himself, was listening. Smallpox was the feared scourge of crammed tenements and close quarters, whether on land or sea, and he examined her closely. “You survived it, you mean?”

“No, not exactly. In 1721, HMS Seahorse arrived in Boston – from Barbados, incidentally – and brought the pox with her. We lived there at the time, and it spread quickly. The African slaves in the city suggested a treatment called inoculation, customary in their homeland, that involved deliberately introducing a bit of the infection into the body. A small replication of the disease, thus to provide the same protection against it once recovered. The newspapers and one Dr. William Douglass fulminated against it extensively, claiming that it was a scurrilous plot by the black devils to trick the white man into killing himself. Killian and myself, however, took their advice, and had the procedure done on ourselves and our children. It was not a pleasant several days in our household as a result, but we never caught the pox, even though the epidemic did not fully subside until the next year.”

Matthew looked equal parts horrified and intrigued. “So you trusted Negro slaves, rather than eminent medical doctors? That was a fortunate wager.”

“We’ve learned certain things about the relations of white and black men in this world,” Emma said, even more coolly, “to make us confident in our choice. Perhaps you will not be aware, but in the pirates’ republic, the two often lived together as equals.”

Matthew’s expression at that was somewhat incredulous, but not necessarily opposed – not that he felt it was innately impossible, but that he had simply never encountered such an idea being put successfully into practice. Then he said, “How is inoculation performed, precisely?”

“You take a penknife,” Emma said, “well washed in lye or some other caustic soap, and wipe the upper arm with alcohol. Then you make a small incision. You place some of the pus from a smallpox variole into that incision – the physician who performed ours used the hollow point of a quill. The wound is stitched and bandaged. Within a day or so, you will have some flushing and fever, a lump in the arm, and a slight rash. It subsides usually within the week, and after that, you are as unable to catch it as one who has already survived it.”

“You deliberately made your own children sick,” Matthew said, “in an attempt to ensure their future health? That seems paradoxical, but I suppose I am not a parent.”

“I had misgivings,” Emma admitted. “At least Henry and Geneva were old enough to understand what it was, and to bear the pain in the name of not being deathly ill, but Sam was just one, and he had no idea. Killian and I sat up with him, despite being sick ourselves, all day and all night for most of the week. We wondered if we’d made a terrible mistake. He cried and cried. It’s a unbearable thing to hear from your child when you cannot stop it, when you know you are the cause of it, and yet it is the best of bad options. If there was anything else I could have done to make his suffering go away, I would have. Anything.”

Matthew glanced away. “As any mother would, I suppose,” he said, after a slightly long moment. “So inoculation cannot be performed unless the pox is already present. Do you know anyone else who attempted this daring maneuver successfully?”

“We convinced a few of our neighbors. None of them got it either, though one of the girls had a bad… a bad reaction.” Emma winced at the memory. “You will know that the suffering the pox brings is singular. There were whole streets in the city cordoned off.”

“I buried more men at sea on that voyage than I care to ever repeat,” Matthew said. “Your method sounds quite sorcerous and strange, Mrs. Jones, as no doubt you know. But if we should be so unfortunate as to have it aboard again, I will keep your recommendation in mind.”

Surprised and somewhat gratified, Emma nodded. “Here,” she said, pulling up her sleeve to show him the small white weal on her upper arm. “That’s where they did it.”

Matthew bent briefly to examine it, then straightened up. Just then, a shout from one of his men turned his head, and he nodded crisply to her in return. “Thank you for the conversation, madam. I found it illuminating on several fronts. Good day.”

With that, he strode off, as Emma glanced out at the distant, glittering horizon, the blue waves that surrounded them to all sides as Barbados vanished astern. She remained lost in a reverie for some moments, until another shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Flint, who had joined her at the railing. “So,” he remarked. “Instructive interchange, that?”

“In some ways, yes.” Emma didn’t feel that Flint needed to know all of it, but remained aware that cordial palaver or not, Matthew was still capable of being just as dangerous as his father. They were, after all, on board his ship, heading into Spanish waters, and they needed to keep their wits about them. “For what it’s worth, I think his motives are sincere in working with us, but he’s hiding something. I think it’s about Sam. Something that happened when he and Jack were aboard, after he picked them up near Nevis.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Flint remarked, shooting a cold look at Matthew’s back. “He’ll be brimful of notions about wanting to polish up his father’s tarnished halo, no doubt? If he has Rogers’ cunning and Eleanor’s self-interest, that will be quite the bloody devil’s brew instead. I still don’t like this.”

“I don’t particularly like it either,” Emma said, somewhat shortly. Much as she loved Flint, he did have that regrettable tendency to assume that his feelings or perspectives were the only important ones in any given situation, and was shocked to discover that anyone else might have thought through the problem in any depth, much less venture to offer an informed opinion. “I know it isn’t easy for you or Killian to be back here – I don’t know about Liam, but I don’t think it’s comfortable for him either. But no matter what, you can’t provoke them.”

“I will behave,” Flint promised. “So long as they do.”

This was somewhat less than a ringing guarantee of peace, but Emma supposed it would have to do. She nodded to him as well, and took her leave.

They managed to get through the first night without being jumped or ambushed, though Emma had to confess to opening an eye every time a board creaked too loudly. Then again, that might just have been the discomfort of sleeping in a hammock at the age of almost fifty-four; at this rate, they would also mark her birthday, the twenty-second of October, away from home. They had been assigned a semi-private spot forward of the bulkhead, likely to prevent any unfortunate encounters between them and the crew, but the accommodation was no different from the usual, and Miranda in particular was clearly in pain the next morning. “You know,” she said, as they sat on the deck to eat their breakfast, “it might be easier to clap me in a trunk and shut me in the hold for the rest of this, if that’s what I have to endure nightly.”

Flint scowled. “If Rogers junior had any decent notions, he’d give you his cabin. Then again, that might detract from his aims of getting Charlotte to share it with him.”

Charlotte herself, who was sitting just a few feet away, looked blandly back at Flint. “And I thought you were the one eager for me to give him a few nudges?”

“I was,” Flint said. “And still am. But Miranda shouldn’t have to suffer in whatever cut-rate arrangement his flunkey sees fit to foist off on us. They should at least offer up the lieutenants’ quarters, those have proper bunks. Unless, heaven forfend, Warwick be deprived of his beauty sleep. Or that other one, what’s his name, who looks like the wrong end of a troll.”

“If he looks like the wrong end of a troll, all the beauty sleep in the world isn’t going to help,” Killian put in, with a tone that made a joke of it but was trying to rein in Flint’s anger before it sparked any further. “But if Matthew does consider himself gentlemanly, he has to at least listen to the request. Charlotte, would you be willing – ?”

“I’ll do it, yes,” Charlotte said, after another look at Miranda. “Though what I see fit in that regard, and anything else, is my own concern. I think we can all agree that it would be best to keep some influence over our friend the captain, so don’t go asking too much about Jack or your son or anything else to overturn it. Whatever happened on the voyage with them before, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care, and neither should you.”

Even as much as she had said essentially the same thing, at least in regard to literally not rocking the boat, Emma frowned. “You really don’t care what could have happened to your husband while he was with these – ”

“Of course I care,” Charlotte said, somewhat impatiently. “Of course I hope it was nothing bad. But Jack and Sam are alive, aren’t they? Rogers didn’t kill them, and while I doubt they had a pleasure cruise, it wasn’t any irreparable damage. Either way, we’re not here to avenge any of their mistreatments, imagined or otherwise. There are bigger things at stake.”

“Aye, lass,” Killian agreed. “But for you to give us that warning at all – have you had some inkling of whatever Matthew’s keeping back? Emma thinks it’s something.”

“No,” Charlotte said. “And frankly, if I did, I’m not sure the lot of you could be trusted to hear it objectively. Of course you love your son, and I my husband, but my concern is that you would use your long-rooted hatred of the Navy to fan a petty insult into something much larger, and curse this voyage’s already precarious chances of success past the point of no return. Which seems quite a bit less beneficial than shutting our mouths and getting to them in time, but I could be mistaken. I have no reason to love the Navy either, by the way, and Jack bloody well doesn’t. I’m not asking you anything that I’m not also asking of myself.” She shrugged, then put down her bowl. “In fact, Matthew has invited me to breakfast, and I’d rather eat whatever he’s offering than this slop. I’ll ask about new arrangements for Miranda. I’ll see you later.”

With that, she got up and walked off, confident in her stride despite the roll of the deck; the sky was overcast and the sea was somewhat rougher than it had been yesterday, nothing to concern the old salts, but Charlotte could not have spent much time aboard a ship in open waters. Flint watched her go with a mixture of admiration and irritation. “She’s not going to tell us even if she does find anything out,” he concluded. “I’ll have to make my own enquiries.”

“She’s… a bit blunt in how she puts it, but she still has a point.” Emma laid a hand on his arm. “Remember, we can’t – ”

“Yes, I remember. I’m not that old yet. We can’t provoke Matthew fucking Rogers, even if he provokes us.” Flint shook her off. “Sit there and take it like good loyal subjects, since any hint of dissension confirms us as the pirates they’ll still hang us for if they get the first chance. Jesus. I’d hope I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to gulp that down with this admittedly shit gruel, but likewise, I too could be mistaken. Good morning.”

As he in turn strode off, a small dark stormcloud almost visible over his head, Emma discovered that she had lost her appetite for reasons only incidental to the quality of the cooking. She looked anxiously at Killian. “Do you… do you think we agreed too quickly to this? There could have been other options. We could have waited for Nemo to come back, or tried to book passage on another ship. If this does go wrong, and it’s my fault…”

“It’s not your fault, love.” Killian took her hand, chafing her cold fingers with his own. “It’s not easy, I’ll say that much, to have all the most uncomfortable parts of our past thrown in our faces like this. Every time one of those Navy pups looks at me with a sneer, or I hear muttering about cripples and traitors behind my back – I remind myself what’s at stake, and that reacting angrily would just prove what they think we are. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Even if, for nothing else, to shut them up. But I trust you, and I trust what you’ve decided to do about it, and I already went through this once with the Lost Boys. I’m not terribly eager for a repeat. It might half-kill me, I won’t lie, but I’ll keep my temper.”

“Thank you.” Emma leaned to kiss him quickly on the cheek, then glanced at Liam, Regina, and Miranda. “Do you think we shouldn’t try to find out? Whatever Matthew’s hiding about Sam?”

“I am opposed to anything that causes unnecessary friction,” Miranda said, after a moment. “As indeed are you. But if we should discover a point on which necessary friction presents itself… well. If Matthew Rogers’s is the unlikely vessel on which we reach Sam, that is the great vicissitude of fate. Yet even in so doing, we cannot allow him to think that he has unlimited right to dictate the terms, or that he can push us forever without reprisal.”

Emma looked at her mother in surprise and some disquiet, as she had been expecting a more unambiguously conciliatory response. All of them were used to Miranda’s customary role as family peacemaker, mediator, and voice of reason to Flint, and she had played it so well for so many years that they relied on it deeply in all aspects of their life. But just then, it had to be remembered that Miranda’s present physical frailty was largely due to the legacy of her ordeal and near-death in Charlestown, when she had raged against Peter Ashe’s betrayal as ferociously as Flint, and paid a terrible price. Miranda’s fire was banked, long-burning and slow as if in underground peat, but it was not by any means extinguished, and could still roar back to life. And while Miranda might be willing to forgive far more than most folk, she had never forgotten.

“Flint needs to take care what questions he asks,” Liam said. “We can’t fight an entire ship if it turns on us. Perhaps the both of you, Miranda and Regina, had best keep your ears to the ground among the men, if indeed Mrs. Bell does not feel inclined to share everything with us.” He considered, then got to his feet with a muffled wince. “I’m not terribly fond of those bloody hammocks either, so let’s hope the wind cooperates.”

“I could find you a better bed,” Regina said. “If you’d just – ”

Liam shook his head. “No, I’ll live. Good morning, all.” He nodded correctly to the women, bent quickly to kiss his wife, and departed in turn.

This was likewise something less than totally reassuring, but at least the tenuous peace held for the rest of the day. Matthew even agreed to move Miranda to one of the forward berths, where she decided to lie down for a while. This apparent show of good faith on his part might have been expected to conciliate Flint somewhat, but instead it seemed to make him even more suspicious, staring evilly at Matthew whenever he was on deck and looking close to barging below whenever he wasn’t. He then disappeared for several hours, which it was rather too much to hope was spent in profitable occupation or peaceable reminisce. As the Griffin sailed steadily into the sunset that evening, the red western horizon was streaked by darker clouds, shot like veins of ore through the cracked porcelain sky, and the sea remained unsettled. Emma did not have to be a superstitious old sailor to feel that this was less than good-omened.

They ate supper above, despite the chill edge in the wind, rather than go below and mingle with the rest of the crew. Flint had still not reappeared, and Emma’s imagination began to conjure morbid fantasies of him jumped and attacked in the hold – whether as payment for snooping around or in revenge for old slights, it did not matter. He had, after all, suffered the same fate already in Philadelphia, and his reflexes would be off. Nervously, she set her hardtack aside, and not only due to the likely presence of weevils. “I should go look for him.”

Killian looked as if he had been wondering the same thing, and rose to his feet. “Well, you can’t go alone, love. It’s not that large of a ship, we should be able to – ”

At that moment, however, they were interrupted by the timely entrance of their quarry – which, it became apparent in the next, was far from an unqualified blessing. Flint was half-marching, half-dragging a beefy individual who Emma thought dimly might be the gunner’s mate, a man with tree-trunk arms and a healing, if nasty-looking, bruise on his throat. He looked inclined to fight this current mistreatment as well, but Flint drove an elbow savagely into his kidneys, dropping him to his knees before the rest of the family. “There,” Flint announced, with considerable and vindictive self-satisfaction. “John Sherwood, gunner’s mate. Why don’t you tell them what I heard you boasting about, you son of a bitch?”

“James!” Aghast, Emma turned on him. “It doesn’t matter, leave it, it won’t – ”

“Since he’s not going to,” Flint went on ruthlessly, “allow me. Said that the lieutenants – Warwick and Johnstone – the gunner, and the purser had helped the captain beat the truth out of a pair of molly boys, and he only regretted that he couldn’t have helped. Due to that, apparently.” He gestured sharply at the bruise. “Seems our friend Jack Bell punched him, to stop Sam from a flogging, but the rest of them got it back later.”

“I – what?” Emma stared at Mr. Sherwood, who stared back at her just as defiantly. “What – why would the officers beat a pair of – what?”

“Your lad and the other one, who was buggerin’ him.” Sherwood wiped his mouth and spoke at last. “Molly filth. Would have properly lashed the little sodomite for failing to trim the sheet right, as the bo’sun ordered, but the other one – ”

Flint dealt him a cuff that sent him sprawling onto the boards. “One more, I kill you.”

“James, no.” Emma gripped his arm, looking around frantically for any signs of the crew returning from supper. “I don’t know what exactly happened here, I don’t – stop. You’re going to get all of us killed. Stop.”

“They had four men beat Sam.” Flint’s arm remained tense under her grip, and she knew he was referring to more than just the mistreatment of his grandson – also to that grandson’s namesake, and the suffering he had likewise endured at the hands of the Navy. How Flint had managed to save him on Antigua, by killing his abuser Captain Josiah Hume, but couldn’t save his life, and the weight of the guilt he had lived with ever since. “Seems Jack intervened to put a stop to it before it got too far out of hand – but never mind. So what, you’re going to look at this scum and tell him not to worry, that you’ll just overlook it? Are you?”

“What?” Killian frowned. “They had four men beat Sam? A skinny nineteen-year-old boy? Why?”

“Cap’n thought the older one was your spawn, Hook.” Sherwood grinned tauntingly. “Oh aye, I know who the lot o’ you are, for all he’s being closed-mouthed about it. So he had the pathetic one beat a bit until Bell lied, said he was your son. As I said, wouldn’t have done if they weren’t a pair of filthy – ”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, looking considerably intrigued by this information, but in either case, Sherwood did not get the chance to finish his sentence. He was punched hard across the face, having just managed to recover from the earlier blow and thus sent tumbling again – not by Flint this time, but by Killian. He stared at his hand as if it did not quite belong to him, as if he had taken himself aback by the violence of that response, but he did not apologize. Sherwood remained down, holding a hand to his jaw; something small and white had skittered across the boards, clearly a tooth. Even he thought better of another provocative remark after that, as Killian blew on his knuckles. “I will join my father-in-law,” he said, politely but with a terrifyingly cold edge, “in asking you to choose your words more carefully when it comes to my son. And you’re lucky I didn’t hit you with what I used to wear on my left arm. It would have torn your bloody head clean off.”

“Both of you.” Emma gripped Flint’s arm with one hand, and Killian’s with the other – as much as to stop from hitting Sherwood herself as to restrain them. “We – we can’t, we just can’t – ”

“Is there some difficulty here?”

Everyone swiveled around to behold Matthew, with his instinctive nose for trouble, emerging from his cabin. At the sight of the gunner’s mate on his knees, his eyes narrowed. “Mr. Flint, Mr. Jones. Surely this situation is nothing to do with you?”

Well past the point of backing down, Flint turned on the younger man. “When were you planning to tell us what you did to Sam, exactly?”

Matthew blinked. “I do not recall that I did anything to your son.”

“That scum there tells a different story.”

“Well then, he is either considerably exaggerating, or inventing outright. I have in fact not laid a hand on him. Mr. Sherwood, I catch you telling tales again, it’s a flogging yourself. Get below, I seem to recall you’re still on shift until the next bell.”

It was Sherwood’s turn to blink, then splutter. “Captain, if you’re going to say you never – ”

“Now,” Matthew repeated. He had not yet raised his voice, but Emma saw the gunner’s mate – several inches taller, several dozen pounds heavier, and five or six years older than Matthew – visibly shrink as if a cold wind had passed over him. “Was that unclear?”

“No, Captain. It was not.”

“Good. You’re dismissed. Good evening.”

As Sherwood made for the deck hatch with something that could only be called a scuttle, Matthew watched him go, waited until the latch clicked, then turned back to the family. “I advise you neither to gossip with the crew, nor to place excess credence in whatever they may tell you. Sailors are prone to rumor and invention, you know that. Besides, one might conceivably view it as a deliberate and unwise thwarting of the arrangement which I have generously offered you. I have already ordered my crew that they are under no circumstances to physically engage with you or to take the initiative in any misbegotten vigilante attempts – which means that you, sir, must have engaged first.” Matthew looked straight at Flint. “That was foolish.”

“What did you do to Sam?”

“I have already informed you. Nothing. Or you may repeat that question, and call me a liar. You had better hope that Mr. Sherwood does not return to spread lurid tales to his mates. I have protected you once. You would be unwise to think I would do so again.”

“Look, you – ” Flint took a furious step. “We all know you’re twisting the truth every which way, just like your fucking father, and I’m not going to stand for – ”

Without moving quickly, but nonetheless in cool, swift decisiveness, Matthew pulled a pistol out of seemingly nowhere and aimed it directly at Flint. “Do not think that I will not, in fact, shoot you right here,” he advised. “There is, after all, a vast fund in the Admiralty payable upon verified capture and execution of the pirate James Flint. But if all I wanted was money, or to toady upon fools and bureaucrats, you would have been dead long before you set foot on the Griffin. Do not make me regret my decision.”

Flint’s eyes burned green fire. Emma clutched Killian’s hand, while Charlotte had made a move as if to go for her own pistol, but hadn’t drawn it fully. Liam and Regina had decided to eat with Miranda, so it was only the four of them and Matthew on deck, facing each other down. The tension was nauseous. Then Flint shifted his weight halfway, raised a hand, and nodded jerkily. “Fine, Rogers,” he said. “After all, I can’t prove anything. We’ll speak again when I can.”

“I await that day with bated breath,” Matthew said, with cold, precise sarcasm. He eased his grip on the gun in turn, tucked it away, and nodded to the women. “Miss Bell, Mrs. Jones. My very best to you. Good evening.”

With that, he turned and strode back into the captain’s cabin, shutting the door with not-quite-a-bang, as Emma sucked in a ragged breath as if surfacing from a deep and freezing dive. She could sense how close the situation had come to disaster, and did not in the least think that the danger of it had passed. “James,” she said, reaching for him. “We have to – ”

Flint pulled back from her touch without a word, the lines of his face set in cold, furious relief like marble. Without looking at her, he walked away.

That night was even more interminable than the first, as every creak or squeak seemed to herald a mob of angry crewmen coming to murder them, and Emma finally fell into an uneasy doze just before dawn. Her dreams were murky and unsettling, and Sam was always in them, but just out of reach, or hidden behind a high wall, or screaming voicelessly, reaching out for her as her fingers slipped through his. Then it was the day of his birth, and the midwife saying he had the cord around his throat, and the searing cold terror that had pinioned Emma flat to the bed. But this time, they couldn’t get it untangled, as they had in life. He wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t breathing. He was small and pale and lifeless in her hands, and he wasn’t breathing –

Emma woke up with a jerk, covered in cold sweat, heart racing as if she’d just been chased by the bulls of Pamplona. She lay flat (or as flat as one could in a hammock) staring up at the low, scratched ceiling. Killian was still asleep beside her in his own hammock, so clearly he hadn’t been visited by any night terrors, and as ever, she tried to reassure herself. But it echoed brittle and hollow and hopelessly in her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the threatening incursion of tears. She did not know. She did not know, she could not find him, and even if they made it through this voyage without everything coming to pieces, it might already be too late.

The weather was still holding that morning, but in what felt like a far too-on point metaphor for shipboard conditions, it was decidedly getting worse. The mercury in the glass was down at least two marks since yesterday, and the sea was iron-grey, whipped with white-frothed spume that crashed and hissed. The Griffin was large and solid enough that nobody was being pitched off their feet, but it was hard to stand upright on deck without holding onto something, and this forced everyone except the sailors on shift into the uncomfortably close quarters below. Emma, Killian, Liam, and Regina played cards with a tattered pack (Charlotte having been invited to billet in Matthew’s cabin, leading Flint to make several cynical remarks about how they would be passing the time) and Flint himself had vanished to Miranda’s berth; it was unclear if he was finding sympathy there or not. They could hear the crew talking beyond the bulkhead, and kept straining to catch any incriminating words or subjects. They were fairly sure, after all, that they were the topic of conversation, and with them all shut up here, if the men turned bored or fractious or decided to investigate Sherwood’s story –

As far as Emma could tell, fear of Matthew’s wrath was possibly the only thing keeping the crew from breaching the fragile truce, and if this lot – clearly no shrinking violets – were shirking from it, that was a signal that they should do likewise. Finally, however, she asked something else that had been on her mind since last night. “Why would Jack claim to Rogers that he was Hook’s son, apparently in order to protect Sam? Sherwood seemed to be under the impression that they had been… well. Intimate.”

“Sam?” Killian raised an eyebrow. “Manage to successfully talk to a lass or a lad he might like, much less anything else? Seems unlikely.”

Emma hit him on the arm. “I don’t recall you were terribly adept when we first met.”

The tips of Killian’s ears went slightly pink, as Liam muffled a snort. Then the elder Jones brother remarked, “I don’t know your lad, Killian. But it seems that Jack and Charlotte may view their marriage vows as rather… optional, given this and the conniving she’s doing on Rogers.”

Killian opened his mouth, paused, and shut it. Then he said, “My conversation with her would incline me to agree in that direction, yes. It’s not what you think, and I did promise her I wouldn’t tell, but… Jack is her friend, not her lover. Their marriage was made for other purposes. So perhaps neither of them would see it as infidelity to entertain another suitor, but I still can’t see Sam managing that. I’d wager it was just an attempt to stop a thrashing.”

“Aye, but…” Despite herself, Emma could not shake the feeling that there was more to the story. “Who is Jack, exactly? This sounds strange, but I still keep thinking we should know him from somewhere, or that we’ve met, when I know we haven’t. And a man called Black Jack, Black Jack Bell…” She knew that it was nothing but a faint, desperate wish, but couldn’t stop herself. “Are we entirely sure that Sam’s son with Mariah Hallett died?”

Killian’s hand shook hard enough to drop his cards. “What?”

“His son, the one he received the letter about, that made him want to go back to Massachusetts and apologize to her. It said the boy only lived a few hours, but what if – what if, I don’t know, Mariah’s father wanted to discourage Sam, or make him think there was no hope, or – ”

Killian took rather too long about picking up the cards. “I know why you want to think it, love,” he said at last. “But we went back, remember? We went back to Eastham, we went to the place where the Whydah… where it…” He swallowed. “The Halletts were still there. If there was any word about a boy who could have been Sam’s son, we would have heard it. It can’t – ”

“But we didn’t find Mariah.” Emma turned to him, their hands reflexively clutching the other’s. “We tried to find her and make it right, but we couldn’t. If she did leave and take a child with her… her family could still be on Cape Cod, but if she – ”

Liam was watching them with a troubled expression, as he had only met Sam Bellamy briefly, and that not in the warmest of circumstances. But the man had saved him, Regina, and Miranda from their days adrift after escaping Jamaica, and he knew how much Emma and Killian had both loved Black Sam. Finally, Liam said gently, “It’s likely just an odd coincidence.”

“Aye,” Killian said, in a voice that meant he was trying to convince himself. “We can’t go getting mad ideas like this, not when we’ve finally reckoned on letting him…” He paused again, clearly fighting to finish the sentence, until Emma thought sadly it was no wonder they had told their children so little, when they could barely do it with each other. “Letting him go.”

“Do you think we should – ” Emma began –

“Tell Flint and Miranda?” Killian completed, reading her mind as usual. “Christ, no. Flint is barely managing to not to fly off the bloody handle at the thought of the Navy mistreating another Sam, and you know better than I do how much Miranda misses him. So what, we’d tell them we’ve taken it into our heads that somehow, some way, a dead child managed to survive for over twenty years and now cross paths with ours? That would be unspeakably bloody cruel. We’re grasping at straws, love. Liam is right. Whoever Jack is, he’s someone else.”

Emma looked down, then nodded. “I just wished,” she said after a moment, still more quietly. “I just wished there was the smallest chance he wasn’t completely gone.”

“I know.” Killian’s voice was soft and resonant with pain. “But he is. He is gone. The Sam we have now is the Sam that matters the most, and we both know that. We have to – ”

At that moment, they heard a thunk from above, and then a few seconds later, another one. It could have been cargo or cannon shifting, but something about it pricked their communal instincts. The tenor of the crew’s conversation from down the gantry had shifted as well, curious and then sharp, and footsteps pounded, dim and muffled, as they started up the ladder. Emma and Killian exchanged a look, and then they, Liam, and Regina all reached for their cloaks at once, card game forgotten. They started at a trot toward the hatch, then faster.

The wind was like a stiff-arm in the face as they emerged, knocking Emma back into Killian, who caught her and then didn’t let go, both of them sharply conscious of the presence of danger. They and the rest of the crew struggling topside were thus confronted by the sight of James Flint, jacket stripped off and sleeves rolled up over his freckled arms, preparing to take another swing at Lieutenant Warwick, who was bleeding profusely from the nose and trying to punch back. By the looks of things, Flint had surprised Warwick while he was distracted with the need to manage the vessel through the foul weather, in his capacity as on-duty deck officer, and some of the men up in the yards were shouting down, but the gale stole their voices away before they reached the others. Then the Griffin’s bow rode down heavily into the trough of a wave, which soaked everyone with a blast of frigid spray, and which seemed to awaken Flint to the realization of an audience. Instead of restraining him, however, it seemed to give him license to cut loose, which he did with another blow to send Warwick somersaulting over a coil of rope. The lieutenant struggled to rise as Flint stalked toward him, and –

“Hey, you pirate bastard!” Lieutenant Johnstone, Warwick’s compatriot and the one Flint had derided as looking like the wrong end of a troll, came rushing out of the crowd and jumped on Flint’s back, forcing him to his knees with a crash. He got his arm locked around Flint’s throat, threatening to crush his windpipe if he kept struggling. “One more twitch, and you finally get that good long look at hell!”

“Mate!” Killian bellowed. “Jesus! Don’t!”

Flint struggled to look around as much as he could in the headlock, spotted them out of the corner of his eye, and – well, it was difficult to see what exactly his reaction was, given the circumstances. He did mount an energetic effort to get to his feet, however – and then, eyes fixed beyond Killian and Emma’s shoulders, abruptly stopped. The look on his face was terrifying.

Killian and Emma themselves both spun around, just in time to see Mr. Sherwood marching Miranda toward them, her feet dragging like a broken puppet’s. “Keep fighting, pirate,” he said, “and I break your wife’s neck. Want to risk that?”

It was at this exact flammable moment that the door of the captain’s cabin opened and Matthew Rogers emerged – wearing his jacket, waistcoat, boots, and sword, but with his cravat undone and hair untidy enough to make Emma think that Charlotte had not been adverse to offering him a few bribes of a physical nature. Charlotte herself was on his heels, staggering slightly as the wind hit her, and her eyes went briefly wide as she took in the scale of the imbroglio on deck. Then they went very narrow as they fixed on Flint, and Miranda across the way with Sherwood clamped on. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she said. “I knew you were going to do this.”

“He did it,” Flint managed, jerking his head at Warwick. “Him and the other three, they were the ones who beat Sam. So if I was doling out some just desserts – ”

He cut off with a gagging noise as Johnstone tightened his grip. Every eye turned to Matthew, who was staring at the disorder aboard his vessel and the ignoring of his express orders with an ugly, ice-white look that most unpleasantly recalled his father at the depths of extremity. He did not noticeably react for a long moment, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Then he said, “Mr. Sherwood, let go of Mrs. – Hamilton immediately.”

“What?” The gunner’s mate goggled. “The old bitch will just – ”

It was-possible that Matthew would have taken him to task for once more questioning his orders in the slightest degree, but he never got the chance. Sherwood was not bothering to pay much attention to an elderly, frail lady, clearly considering her a negligible threat, and at that, Miranda stamped violently on his foot, flailed out, and snatched hold of the boat hook from where it was mounted on the mast. She spun around and swung it with both hands, hard as a quarterstaff, and it caught Sherwood on the side of the head with a sickening, split-fruit crack. His eyes rolled back, showing their whites, and he dropped like a stunned ox.

By the looks of things, Miranda was on the verge of braining him again and thoroughly, but she staggered as the ship hit another trough, and had to steady herself on the hook like a cane. Then she looked up, eyes hot and wild. “Any other man touches me,” she said, half-hysterically, “and I will kill him! The lot of you! I will kill you all, I swear to fucking Jesus!”

The Navy sailors might have laughed at such a threat coming from a small, silver-haired woman, but none of them did, and more than a few hands seemed to be reaching for pistols or sabers or anything else, in case she charged. Then Emma struck out into the middle of the circle, pierced by a hundred eyes, until she reached Miranda, put an arm around her shoulders – Miranda barely seemed to notice her, staring straight forward, blind and furious – and pulled her back toward Killian and the others. Sherwood was out cold, blood trickling from the gash on his head, and Emma in fact was not sure that he wasn’t dead. Her eyes swung to Matthew, panicking.

For his part, Matthew seemed transfixed on the edge of an impossible abyss. His lips moved briefly, as if he was saying something, or talking himself into it. Then he said, “Tie the pirate to the mast. Hands and feet. No lashes – yet. He is to be left there until he finds himself in a more cooperative frame of mind. As for the rest of you, you will come to my cabin and account for this deplorable scene immediately and full, and if I am not satisfied that this was merely some fit of temper on the part of your blood-maddened patriarch – ”

Johnstone and Warwick, still bleeding, tried to wrestle Flint to his feet, one on each arm, but he twisted violently and head-butted Warwick, making him take a few reeling steps backward. Miranda fought like an alley cat to get away from Emma, and both she and Killian had to hold her, trying to stop themselves from losing their footing on the slippery boards. It was reasonably plain that Flint would never consent to be lashed to the mast in any sense of the word, and yet since this was on the brink of open brawling or worse, they were fortunate that Rogers had not summarily shot him as he had threatened earlier, and just –

For a moment, Emma thought that some of the men had managed to get the cannons on the deck turned and pointed at the fracas, though why they would fire at their own comrades, she didn’t know. A boom and flash lit up the fog, there was a high, eerie whistling sound audible even over the wind, and then the far railing crumbled into splinters as men scrambled for cover. Lieutenant Warwick looked around angrily, as if likewise thinking that Emma and company had brought a carronade to the party, and the next shot exploded his head into pulp, blood and bone splattering onto Flint and Johnstone. Warwick’s body swayed, then – almost in slow motion – fell.

“FIRE! WE’RE UNDER FIRE!” That was Liam, his old captain’s instincts apparently picking up what nobody else had managed to put together. “AFT PORT QUARTER!”

Right on cue, they glimpsed a series of dazzling muzzle flashes from that precise direction, and Liam lunged at Killian, Emma, Regina, and Miranda, knocking them painfully flat to the deck. An instant later, the third round came shrieking in, and Flint likewise dove away barely in the nick of time. Lieutenant Johnstone, still stunned by the instant and grisly death of his comrade, was not quite as fortunate. The cannonball punched straight through his chest, gutting him like a fish, as he was blasted backwards against the broken railing as a sprawled and jerking corpse. With both tiers of second-in-command thus removed within the space of a few moments, the men appeared almost frozen. They followed orders, they didn’t give them, and this –

“Evasive action!” Liam bolted to his feet and spun on the helmsman – who wasn’t more than nineteen or twenty himself, and to judge from the petrified look on his face, the Griffin had not yet taken heavy fire since her deployment to the Indies. “EVASIVE ACTION!”

The poor sailor fumbled at the wheel, clearly unsure how to work the ship with the wind; if he pointed them too far into it, they would go into irons, slew, and come to almost a dead halt, a sitting duck. Rather than take that risk, or try to shout instructions, Liam apparently decided that it would be more profitable to cut out the middle man. He ran to the wheel and grabbed hold of it himself, hauling them around to run on broad reach as much as was humanely possible in the rising tempest. “You two!” he bellowed at Flint and Killian. “You know what to do!”

Flint and Killian stared at each other, stared at Liam, and almost inadvertently, stared at Matthew. It was true, of course, that they were trained as Navy lieutenants, and that the Griffin had just lost both her own lieutenants in spectacular fashion, but like this –

A fourth round came hailing in, as Liam just managed to steer them away from it, and that broke the spell. Flint and Killian spun off in separate directions, shouting, as Matthew seemed to decide on the instant that if any of them were getting out of this, punishment would have to wait for later. He barked at Killian to take over the gun deck, Flint to run the sweeps, and even more surprisingly, both of them wasted no time in argument. Matthew himself scrambled for the quarterdeck to take charge of the aboveboard defenses, and Regina clutched at Emma’s arm as they took another swinging yaw. “What the – what the hell is going – ”

“It’s wartime, we’re in Spanish waters, and this is a fully-flagged Royal Navy ship!” Emma instinctively shielded Regina, Miranda, and Charlotte, keeping them low, as the Griffin got off her first return volley, the broadside thundering nearly enough to deafen them at close range. She had no idea who or what they were shooting at, but it was almost surely a frigate on patrol from Havana or Spanish Hispaniola, since they would not be obliged to bother with any niceties of a warning shot; they were entitled to open fire to disable and destroy on the spot. Emma was in fact having nasty flashbacks to Henry Jennings sneaking up on her in the fog, taking her and Miranda prisoner, and sinking the Blackbird – somewhere which must be not that far from here, really, given as they had been leaving Jamaica at the time. “We’ll have to try to outrun them!”

Regina opened her mouth as if to ask what made Emma so sure, remembered that she had been a pirate in her own right (and that Regina had tried to have the Jones brothers sink her for the fact) and for once, decided not to argue. It was clear that the unknown aggressors had been able to get close to the Griffin without raising the alarm due to both the bad weather and everyone being distracted with Flint’s fiasco, and nobody felt like a repeat venture. Oh God. This was bad.

With Liam steering, Matthew commanding the topside batteries, Killian on the main gun deck below, and Flint on the long nines, the Griffin started to stretch the distance, as everyone kept their eyes strained for any telltale fireball in the murk that would mean they had scored a fatal hit on their enemy. All they had to go on for its position was to return fire in the direction that it came from, and once or twice, Emma thought she glimpsed the faintest black shape of the other ship in the swirling mist, but could not be sure. Was it the Spaniards? Had João da Souza slunk away from Nassau, tail between his legs, and rushed back to Cuba to recruit more help, brooding on payback for the insults the family had done him? Emma was sure they had not seen the last of that greasy scoundrel, alas, and Governor Güemes and the rest were not about to relinquish the hunt for their long-lost treasure so easily. It was perfectly possible that they would reach Skeleton Island, sail in, and find a Spanish man-of-war already anchored in the bay.

Still. They were distant enough that she could not be sure, but these guns sounded the wrong bore to be Spanish tercias, the long-barreled bronze twenty-four pounders. Emma paused, waited for the next break to be sure there was no chance of being gruesomely dismembered, and then crawled across the deck. Trying not to look at the blasted body of Lieutenant Johnstone, she followed the trail of smudged and splattered blood, reached the deformed ball, and checked it for a maker’s mark. Spanish cannonballs were fairly easy to identify, usually had a foundry stamp and Philip V's royal sigil, but it took only a quick check to see that this was not one. There was some other mark, but it didn’t look familiar, and it was molten and distorted too far to make it out precisely. It couldn’t be English – or so Emma thought, because why would an English ship be firing on a fellow countryman, especially the Navy? But –

Something occurred to her just then, and she jumped to her feet, pelting across the deck, awash in gun smoke, to the helm. “Liam,” she said breathlessly. “Liam, did you – did that – you said on the crossing from England, Lady Fiona’s ship attacked the Nautilus and that was when you escaped, but that’s the one we’re chasing from Barbados – so did any of that sound – ?”

Liam, still occupied with wrestling the recalcitrant fifth-rater into line, almost didn’t hear her. Then it got through to him, and he looked up with a jerk. “What? Do you mean – you think that was the Titania? Bloody hell, I thought – for just a minute, but with the wind and weather and the distance, there’s no way to be sure. It’s Spanish waters, it’s – ”

“It’s not the Spaniards.” Emma showed him the cannonball. “This isn’t Spanish ordnance. I couldn’t think why an English ship would be firing on a Royal Navy vessel, but if it’s them, of course Lady Fiona wouldn’t want Matthew trying to rescue Gold – ”

“Jesus.” Liam wiped his grey-brown curls out of his soot-smeared face with the back of his forearm. He spun around and stared back at the ominously empty and silent horizon – which five minutes ago would have been a very good thing, but it was sinking into both of them that they had very likely just been firing on the ship with Sam (and Jack) aboard as well as Gold. Without another word, Liam heaved on the helm, trying to bring them back around, but the wind shrieked and skidded against the sails, rocking them without result. Even a comparatively agile man-of-war like the Griffin did not change course on a sixpence, especially in gusts this strong. Liam cursed. “We need to reset the sails! Do you know the rig into the wind for a three-master?”

“The Blackbird was a brigantine, it’s different.” Emma’s heart was pounding in her throat. She was aware that if they altered course and captaincy on the Griffin without Matthew’s express permission, it counted as – quelle surprise – an act of piracy, and commandeering another Royal Navy vessel was stretching their luck well beyond its limits. But if that was the ship they had been chasing – if they, God forbid, had done enough damage to sink her –

She remained frozen a moment longer, then whirled off toward Matthew, who was shouting at someone to hold steady. “Captain Rogers.” She grabbed his arm, even as he jerked around with an outraged look. “Captain Rogers, I think the ship that was attacking us, it was the one with Gold and Sam aboard, the Titania. You need to give the order to pursue.”

Matthew clawed his loosened, blowing hair out of his face, as the ribbon holding it back had broken. “What?”

“The ship!” Emma’s chest felt as if a huge fist had closed around it, squeezing and squeezing. “It wasn’t the Spaniards, it was – I think it was Lady Fiona’s. Bring her around. Bring her around!”

Matthew’s nostrils flared. Without further ado, he pulled his spyglass from his jacket, untwisted it, and scanned the endless grey banks of fog back and forth, searching for some sight of the enemy, anything to give them a hint as where to set out. Emma squinted as hard as she could, praying for any break in the turmoil of clouds, the distant grey shadow of rain pounding the foaming sea. Oh God. Oh God. Where are you? Where are you?

Matthew looked back and forth for a long moment more. Then he cursed, dropping the glass to his side. “I can’t see a damned thing. They could be anywhere. If it even was them.”

“Trust me,” Emma begged him. “It’s not Spanish, I looked at the cannonball, it’s not. Liam thought he recognized the sound of the guns. Please!”

Matthew searched her face. For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, to remind her that the lot of them had been on the brink of naked mutiny less than an hour ago, he had no reason to trust them, and if all was fair in love and war, he might well have ordered Flint to be flogged. But something – she didn’t know what – must have convinced him. He turned away and raised his voice over the screaming wind. “Club haul her!”

The men darted to the capstan to unship the massive leeside anchor, and Emma shouted at Miranda, Regina, and Charlotte to brace hard. Club hauling was the fastest way to turn a square-rigger going full speed, but it was also a risky maneuver in the best of times, and necessitated a captain who knew what he was doing to the nicety, and the exact moment to cut loose. Emma herself grabbed hold of the railing as they heard the anchor dropping, rope paying out, and Matthew yelled at the crew to get ready to change her. The men clawed up the swaying shrouds, crawling on hands and knees on the yards, which were vibrating hard enough that Emma feared they would plunge into the sea. But they were tenacious bastards, as the Navy scabs always were, and managed to get the sheets reset, even as lines tore out of their hand like whips. It was at least twenty minutes since Emma had first suspected the identity of their attackers, and every second they lost felt like death by a thousand paper cuts. The Titania was somewhere, somewhere, desperately near and agonizingly far away, unseen, inchoate. Please, Emma prayed, she wasn’t even sure to who. Please, please, please.

They had an instant of warning before it happened, and then the anchor caught, slamming through them like one of Zeus’ thunderbolts. With the wind as hard as it was, they were inviting themselves to be torn apart if Matthew misjudged this in the slightest bit, and out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see Flint trying to struggle back from the foredeck, apparently in the interest of giving the order himself. But she shook her head at him violently. Flint had already gotten them into enough trouble as it was, and if he tried to usurp this too –

Just when the anchor cable moaned and shrieked as if it could take no more, and they were almost on their side, a wall of iron sea rushing up at them, Matthew roared for the cut. The crewmen standing at the ready with hatchets swung them down violently, the Griffin defied gravity and any law of physics known to Sir Isaac Newton, and suddenly they were free, sprinting across the waves in the opposite direction. The loss of an anchor was one of the unavoidable sacrifices of club hauling, another reason it was only called for in dire circumstances, and now they only had one, which would have to hold her in high seas. Emma was soaked and shivering to the bone, but she didn’t care. Matthew lifted the spyglass again. “There!” he yelled. “There! Six degrees starboard!”

Emma struggled up next to him, almost forgetting to ask if he could give the glass to her and nearly prepared to snatch it from his hands if not. But she could just see it even without it, the distant dark tip of a mainmast. A powerful, sick relief scourged her insides like acid. So the Titania was still afloat, there was still a chance, there was still –

– unless this wasn’t the Titania, but another ship altogether, and this was wrong, all wrong, she was wrong, and they were about to be pounded to splinters by a proper Spanish broadside –

Once more, Matthew Rogers raised his voice.

“Fire!”

[thatfictionalgal]

Sansa & Daenerys, a parallel

Basically what the title implies. I’ve been annoyed about all the Sansa hate and biased comparisons to Dany (which usually amount to who is the better victim). SO while pondering it, I started to notice similar plot points between the two and thought I’d share. Read on and find out.

Political Prisoners/Fugitives

One of the more obvious points is how Dany and Sansa have been prisoners and fugitives of the crown. Daenerys had to flee Westeros in order to survive Robert's Rebellion and was under threat of death at any given time. While this was Daenery's origin story, this is Sansa's main arch through the books and show. She is kept as a political prisoner of the Lannisters and had to become a fugitive when accused of murdering Joffrey. Both women would be killed by the crown if given the chance.

2. Abused and Survived

No one could argue that Viserys and Joffrey are misunderstood bundles of joy. Both have exercised physical and mental abuse throughout their time with Dany and Sansa. A key difference is that Dany was able to confront her abuser and played an active role in his downfall. Meanwhile Sansa had no real means to confront Joffrey (aside from sass) about his abuse and played an unknowing passive role in his demise. Also, Viserys and Joffrey had some of the most rewarding deaths in the series.

3. Political Marriages, aka Everybody Wants Their Stuff

Daenerys and Sansa have been some of the most eligible bachelorettes in the series. Both have had numerous connections and would-be suitors after their titles, connections, or dragons. Daenerys was used to secure a Dothraki army (Khal Drogo), barter ships for dragons (Xaro Xhan), and Mareen's stability/crown (Hizdhar zo Larqu). Sansa has mainly been used for her claim to Winterfell and the North but she has connections to the Vale through her maternal side as well.

4. Good first husbands and protectors. (Also another side parallel.)

Its easy to say that their first marriages were the best situation possible for each character. Khal Drogo was protective and loving of Dany throughout their marriage. (Fuck you DD for your reinterpretation of their wedding night, you monsters.) This was probably the first time Dany felt safe and cherished so it allowed her to build out of her abused shell into her own power. He killed Viserys when he tried to take Dany away and promised to take the Dothraki across the sea to take the Iron Throne when he learned of the assassination attempt.

Tyrion Lannister has been protecting Sansa Stark since he arrived in King's Landing. He even bitch slapped Joffrey when he caught the boy using his guards to strip and humiliate Sansa. While a notable playboy, Tyrion vowed not to touch Sansa until she wanted him and did what he could to treat her well. This would have been a good match had things not gone sideways such as the Red Wedding and Joffrey being killed. It's enough that Sansa remembers as Tyrion being kind to her and defended him against people who misspoke of him (ex: Aunt Lysa).

It seems both women's characters are also close to their first husbands characters as well. Where Dany has adopted the role of conqueror like Khal Drogo would be proud of and Sansa has started to develop into a sensible political figure like Tyrion was as hand of the king. Just interested side parallel.

5. Rise in personal power.

Keeping in mind that Dany's storyline and archs are several steps ahead of Sansa's, her rise to personal power correlates with Sansa's fall. Dany becomes a formidible general, a beloved breaker of chains, and the all mother to the slave class. She proves time and time again how clever she is in her battle decisions, how underestimating her is a death wish, and her devotion to the less fortunate. People would kill and die for Dany. Her personal power is the most obvious growth and display.

( Nothing says personal power like crowd surfing in a mob that’s grateful to you)

Sansa's is quieter and again, a few steps behind Dany. Her ability to coerce people and her political savvy is starting to become more noticiable as season 7 goes on. In season 6, she uses her lineage to round up the Northern Lords to fight for Jon and uses the Vale Knights to come to Jon's aid at a crucial moment in battle. In season 7, we see her advising Jon on politics and so far seems to be using everyone around her to bolster Winterfell as a safe haven against invaders. More evidence will become available as the seasons go on but we are starting to see Sansa's rise in power.

6. The Turning of Public Opinion

Both women have had to deal with mob mentality at some point in the show which left them rattled and disillusioned about 'the people'. For Dany, it was the abandonment of the Dothraki after Khal Drogo died and her entire arch in Maereen. Invading and killing the Maereen nobles led to the Sons of the Harpy. Executing White Rat turned the 'mesa' worshipping slaves into an angry riot that through the city into chaos. I'm not entirely convinced that Dany was able to recover that ground with her people.

(Could not find a good gif of the slaves turning on Mareen so here’s Dany fleeing)

When Sansa was engaged to Joffrey, the public was generally happy until Ned Stark was accused as a traitor. She quickly went from a beloved Northern daughter to a traitor by extension and used as a pawn. There was also the Kings Landing riot where she was seperated from the King's party and had to be rescued by the Hound before she was attacked. She watched as the public turned on the Lannisters before turning back once Joffrey was engaged to Margery and there was some stability because people were being fed.

7. Creepy mentors who love and betray them

Jorah “Friendzone” Mormont was actively spying on Daenerys for Varys and King Robert in the beginning. While living beside her and watching her, Jorah eventually came to love Dany and switched teams. He even actively pursued her before being turned down and acted as guide/mentor/friend/father-figure for her throughout his time with her. So when she learned of his betrayal, Dany was heartbroken and banished him from her side. He kinda-sorta makes up for it in the show by bringing her Tyrion and chasing after her when she's recaptured by the Dothraki but hasn't been forgiven fully.

Petyr “Creepshow” Baelish has been creeping on Sansa both in the show and the books. While he initially seemed to use her as a pawn or a Catlyn keepsake, he's also spent enough time where he could have fallen in love with her behind the scenes. (Although I do believe he's projecting his feelings for Cat and his grand scheme of the Iron Throne onto Sansa.) He's the main instigator for Ned's death and (in the show) married her off to Ramsey Bolton, nee Snow. Because of his multiple claims to care for her and to trust him, Sansa felt betrayed that Petyr would leave her in the hands of Ramsey, whether he was aware or not. Despite her desire to separate from him, Sansa ended up using Petyr and his connections to secure a win in the BoB. Not completely redeemable since it aligns with his plans and Sansa doesn't seem eager to forgive him any time soon.

8. Back to the Start and Turning it on it's Head.

The show's storyline ultimately brings both Sansa and Daenerys back to where they were last truly happy. For Daenerys, it was at the Khal's great city where her baby was proclaimed He Who Mounts The World and bringing her back full circle to the Dothraki. Except now the Khals are deciding what to do with her since she refused to do her duty as a Khal Widow and return to live as a priestess passing out horse hearts. Now that she's come to power, Dany is less than amused at being brought low again so she sets all the Khals on fire and she gains the whole Dothraki horde.

For Sansa, she's back in Winterfell and everything seems tense-but-fine until Ramsey shows his true colors to her. Again, Sansa has to endure a sadist's attention but this time she looks for a few ways out. Ultimately she escapes with Theon in tow and into Jon's arms. There she uses her newfound personal power to inspire Jon to take back Winterfell, round up the Lords, and use the Vale Knights to win the BoB. Now that she's come into her own power, Sansa is able to face her abuser and actively orchestrate his execution (or at least it's assumed between one scene and another).

9. Everybody underestimates you.

Daenerys is a silly little princess who can't possibly know multiple languages and should let the men around her take over. HA!

Sansa Stark is often considered a stupid girl who doesn't know anything about anything and has nothing valuable to offer. HA!

10. The Quest for Home

Although for Dany it's easy to argue her quest for the Iron Throne is a quest for power and authority, it's also the quest for home. She grew up being told Westeros was her home. Storms End was her home. Kings Landing was home. The Iron Throne and the regency is home. Her goal is to come home and reestablish the Targaryan regency. It's what she grew up hearing from Viserys.

Sansa Stark has wanted to go home since Season 1. This is the one time where Dany's and Sansa's timelines do not match because Sansa came home before Dany did (season 6 and 7 respectively). Ultimately she isn't fully done with this quest as she has to deal with her trauma, the coming threats, and the Baelish problem. There's no security at Winterfell yet but we will probably see that build as the seasons go.

Honestly if you read through that, awesome. Took me waaaaayy too long to type it out and get gifs for it. Hate it, love it, I’m glad you read it. All I’m trying to say as there are a lot of commonalities between two characters in terms of story. The only real reason why people hate on Sansa when she went through the same trials as Dany is because we were with her through her suffering just as we went through Dany’s uprising from a similar place. We experienced her suffering simultaneously with Dany’s rise and that it’s easier to see the difference between a current victim and a vengeful one. I hope this shows how similar they are.