#one’s got the (likely) more severe of his mother’s maltreatment

[dkniade]

Genuine question, are there other (preferably free mobile) games that’s got GI’s level of character trauma but is written well and has pretty graphics and nice environment design? I guess I’m asking for recommendations

(Do I just want to see pretty anime characters get pretty traumatized or something)

I don’t play that many games and it’s hard for me to get into games ‘cause usually I do a ton of research about it before deciding to get into it

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Eidolon 8 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

8. Double Teamed

It had been an incredibly trying day, and Winston was more than glad to be home. Chaos greeted him as he walked into work and had remained until it the end of the day. His ears were still ringing from a rather vicious call from a mother claiming that the school was somehow brainwashing her child. Although it was quite possible that one of the teachers had said something questionable in class, he highly doubted that aliens were in any way involved. To make matters worse, he was forced to go to a meeting afterwards with one of Vlad's representatives, which ended up being far more problematic.

The representative as well as the state mediator (who had been sent to babysit them) explicitly told him that a date had been set for a hearing, and if the judge found that the accusations were valid, than Danny's case would go to court. It sounds simple enough, but Winston had no idea where Vlad had managed to get his so called evidence. Maltreatment of a child? That was preposterous! He had done the best that he could to take care of the boy, and although he was nowhere near perfect, he felt that Danny was growing up just fine. How Vlad managed to convince the state that there was a problem was beyond him.

What was even more surprising was learning that the date for the hearing was so soon, just after Danny's birthday. Due to how busy the U.S. court system could be, it could take months to years for a hearing to occur, let alone an actual case. Yet, he was going to have to deal with one in just a couple weeks. It was, for lack of a better word, uncanny. It was possible that there just happened to be an opening that particular day, but it was more likely that Vlad had somehow used him money to move up the date.

There was just something not right about the entire mess, and the more Winston thought about it the more he became convinced there was something else to the motives of the eccentric billionaire. When the representative called his boss during the meeting and mentioned when the date was, the man seemingly lost it. Although Winston could not make out any of the words, it was very clear that something about the date was in no ways appealing. It was also odd that Vlad had managed to convince the state of a possible problem with Danny's current situation. With there being no previous reports, complaints, or evidence it seemed utterly ridiculous that the state would have taken such a claim seriously, especially without having sent their own investigator out.

He also had a sinking suspicion that Vlad was somehow involved with Plasmius, but there was no way to prove it. The strange co-appearance of the two had strengthened previous misgivings that had been brought up by the letters the Fentons had sent him prior to their disappearance. But Vlad was too intelligent to have any dealings with a creature like Plasmius. They could be in contact through a second party, but that would be stretching it as well. There was also the fact that Vlad had alluded to having knowledge about what was currently plaguing Danny. If that was true, how would he have gotten that knowledge?

A throbbing pain interrupted his thoughts. The migraine he had been trying to ignore throughout the day was no longer manageable through willpower alone. As he searched the kitchen cabinets for some medicine that could take the bite out of the pain, he tried to push the previous thoughts from his mind. It was true that Vlad's motives did not seem to add up, but it was probably nothing more than the man's unusual nature. Paranoia and anger can be some of the best motivators of the imagination.

It was probably in his best interest to lie down once he managed to take the medicine, but he figured that he should at least try to get some idea of how he was going to break the news to Danny first. The boy had finally gotten out of the funk he had been in after being informed about what had happened to his parents with the help the apparent help of his friends. It had been their idea to have a sleepover tonight, since tomorrow was the start of the weekend, to help keep him in good spirits. Winston had been very glad that they had been worried enough to try and get through to him. Everything he had tried with the boy had failed miserably, and had been considering taking him to a psychiatrist if his closed off mood continued.

As he thought about it, he figured that it would probably be best to explain the situation fully once Danny returned home. He had tried to keep most of the details hidden as to not worry the boy, but with the severity of the current situation, the time for secrets was over. Danny was going to need to know exactly what to expect.

He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. His migraine was getting worse. After checking to make sure that all of the legal papers he was going to need within the next few days were organized, he decided to turn in for the night.

….

Getting to sleep was harder than Winston thought he would. His migraine prevented any position from being comfortable. After about twenty minutes, he had finally managed to start to doze when a strange noise caught his attention. Sitting bolt upright, he strained his ears for any further noise. The house seemed quite enough and his throbbing headache was a compelling enough reason to go back to sleep.

As he lay back down, a severe chill crept over his body. Knowing that the situation was quickly becoming dangerous, he slowly reached down to retrieve the gun that was hidden under the mattress.

"Do you really think that toy will be effective against me?"

He had rolled out of bed as soon as the voice had begun to speak. A moment later, he was standing with his gun trained on the specter. "Plasmius…." he hissed, "what do you want?"

The ghost smiled as it placed its hands behind its back. "Normally, I would say the boy, but he's currently not here at the moment, is he?"

"If you already knew that, why did you come?" Winston asked while trying to determine a possible escape route. Of course the ghost had placed itself between him and the door.

"It's simple, really," it told him with a flourish. "The current chain of events is moving a bit too slowly for my liking, so I'm speeding it up a bit by removing you from the equation."

Winston cocked the weapon in his hands as he readied himself for any sign of attack. "Sorry to burst your bubble," he told it as he slowly started to move towards the door, "but if I'm gone, Danny will just be sent to Vlad Masters. And believe me when I tell you that the man has the money to get what's needed to keep you away."

An amused laugh answered him. Winton eyed the specter carefully as he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Because that's exactly what I want to happen," it replied as it suddenly fired a plasma ray at him.

He barely managed to dodge, and by the time he had caught himself, another blast was coming his way. The strange cool but burning energy sent him flying backwards into the wall when it hit. After sliding down the wall, he glanced up at his attacker. "I don't understand," he told it as he winced. The attack had done some damage to his ribs.

It laughed again as it approached him. "With as intelligent as you are surely you've noticed that there's some sort of connection between myself and Masters. Only, it's far more complicated than you think it is." As it spoke, a strange black ring of energy came into existence around its waist before it split. Both halves of the ring traveling along both halves of its body as it melded its appearance into that of Vlad Masters. "Ta da. It's a handy little trick, don't you think?"

Winston had seen a great deal during the course of his life, especially after having served in the military, but not even that had prepared him for such a shocking event. "Wh-what are you?" he stuttered.

"Me?" the billionaire asked with faked surprise. "I'm the same as young Daniel is… or I should say will be once his birthday comes around."

It suddenly became apparent to Winston why Vlad had been so angry during the phone call earlier. The hearing would fall after Danny's birthday… after he became… He didn't even want to think about it.

"Did you know that Jack and Maddie had gone into the field of paranormal studies in order to find a cure for their son's 'aliment' years before he was even conceived?" Vlad gave him a disgusted look as he… it began to pace. "They knew what a child of theirs could end up being, but they failed to see the truth of the matter… The boy would be given gifts that no human could ever dream of understanding. So, I did the boy a favor and got rid of them. But, unbeknownst to me at the time, they had thrown a wrench into my plans, you!" It glared at him as the black rings formed again and returned it to its proper appearance. "But after tonight, that's not going to matter anymore."

"And I say that it's not going to be as easy as you think, you crazed-up fruit loop!" he shouted as he raised his gun, stared into those crimson eyes, and fired.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Guys, after everything that's happened, do you really think it's a good idea for us to be out, in the park, alone, at night?" Tucker asked as he followed behind him and Sam. His voice betrayed just how frightened he was.

Sam just rolled her eyes as she continued to walk. "Wasn't it you who said that the ghost couldn't leave its haunt?"

"Well, yeah… but…"

"But what? Come on and live a little!"

Danny smiled as he watched his two friends argue. Although he too was a little wary about being alone, he figured that nothing too bad could happen to them. Ignoring the ghost that appeared on Wednesday, Amity Park was usually a very safe place to live, even at night.

It was Sam who managed to once again convince them to come out at night. Though, this time, he wasn't exactly sure if it was to talk privately or just to get away from her parents. She had decided to have a sleepover at her house because she thought that they were out of town, but something had prevented them from going. He couldn't forget the look of horror she wore when they entered her impressively large house to find them waiting for her. In a way, it was apparent why she didn't like them too much; they were dressed very brightly and had an unusually sunny disposition making them the complete opposite of their daughter. After having dragged himself and Tucker into her room, she apologized, much to his surprise.

"So Danny," Sam said suddenly, catching his attention, "have you heard anything new about what's going on with your case?"

"No, not really… Winston had mentioned on the phone earlier that he was supposed to be going to a meeting for it today. I guess I'll find out tomorrow if anything happened," he replied with a shrug while trying to keep his voice neutral. Winston had kept saying that everything was fine, but a worried expression seemed to be appearing on his face more and more after getting off of the phone with anyone who had anything to do with the case.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Tucker asked, his voice betraying a strange mixture of hope and concern.

Danny shrugged and continued walking. Although it concerned him, without having a lot of information, he couldn't get too worked up about it. "So, pushing that aside, what's going on in the realm of the normal?" Little did he know how much trouble he would get into by Sam from just using the word 'normal'.

….

After a few hours of walking around the park and having Tucker continue to complain, the three of them decided to return to Sam's house. Although he couldn't be certain, he was fairly sure that it was after midnight. There was just something about the silence combined with the lack of cars or other people that suggested it.

There was something about the night that was concerning him. Perhaps it was the paranoia of everything else that had happened weighing down on him, but the shadows seemed to be darker and more defined than usual. The feeling of being watched was also present, though this time, he was unable to see any movement.

A cold chill ran through his body. Thinking it was just the wind, he hugged himself hoping to gain a little more warmth as they walked. "Dude, are you okay?" Tucker asked, surprising him.

"Yeah," he replied as he tried not to let his teeth chatter. "I'm just a little cold." His friends looked like they were about to shrug it off until he and they noticed that his breath was slowly becoming visible. He stared at the misty vapor as it formed for a moment before disappearing. Had it really gotten that cold?

After sharing a look, both Sam and Tucker grabbed his arms and began marching, for a better lack of a word, towards the entrance of the park. "Guys, stop! What's wrong with you?" he demanded as he yanked his arms out of their grip.

"Um, Danny, I don't know if you've noticed, but every time something weird happens to you, something weirder happens," Sam told him.

"And after hearing about what happened last time, I really don't want to be around when it does," Tucker continued.

He just stared at them. "What do you mean weird? It's just cold out here!"

"That's the thing. It's not the temperature that's cold, it's actually you," Sam tried to explain. "I don't know what it is, but you're skin's like ice, and I'm fairly certain that you weren't like that earlier."

Danny frowned as he looked at his hands. How was that even possible?

"Anyways," Sam told him with an uncertain tone as she gave him a slight push, "let's get you back to my house so that we can get you a blanket. No matter what other weird stuff is going on with you, it is probably not a good idea for you to continue to be that cold."

He grudgingly agreed and allowed himself to follow his friends. An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they walked, which really began to grate on his nerves. Okay, so he was cold. That was a problem how? Not all that strange. Falling through solid objects, on the other hand? That was a completely different matter.

As they approached the street a high pitched whine disturbed the night. He had just enough time after noticing the initial flash of light to make some sort of noise and tackle both of his friends to the ground. The sharp vibrations that followed verified his initial fears.

"What was that for?" Sam demanded as she pushed him off of her.

"You're welcome," he replied sarcastically as he stood up and glanced around. Something told him that was just the opening for something much larger.

"Um, guys…" A hand was tugging on his pant leg. Glancing down, he saw Tucker pointing at something. The boy's face was as white as a sheet, which was rather impressive for how dark his natural skin color was. Danny allowed himself to take a look and gasped. Where the three of them had been standing only moments before, the ground was warped and destroyed. Whatever that light had been, it was certainly strong and dangerous. He did not want to think about what could have happened if they hadn't moved.

The feeling of being grabbed startled him, but he quickly learned it was just Tucker using him as leverage to help stand back up. "What… what was that?" His voice was little more than a frightened squeak.

Danny did not replay immediately. Inwardly cursing that there weren't more lights in the park, he tried to find any sign of where the source could have been. There was absolutely nothing! No shadow, no further noise; just an eerie silence that was only broken by the sound of breathing. "I-I'm not sure…" he told his friends hesitantly as he turned back towards them. "But, we need to get out of here… Wait… what was that?"

A strange noise had broken through the silence and was quickly becoming louder. It was difficult to place what it could be, but it definitely had a metallic sound to it. But there was an unusual sort of hitching within the sound, which almost made it seem like it was laughing.

"Come on!" Sam's sharp tone brought him back to reality as she again tried pulling on him and Tucker. "I really don't think that we want to be around when that thing shows itself." She had just managed to get them moving again when another blast hit nearby sending them back to the ground.

He must have hit the ground pretty hard because the next thing he knew, Tucker was trying to shake him awake. "I'm okay…" Danny told his friend as he tried to push himself up. As he did, he could feel something wet beginning to run down his face. Great, he was bleeding, but he was going to have to push that aside, escaping was far more important.

After a few more heart pounding moments, the three of them had managed to get to the outskirts of the park. Taking a hesitant breather, they scanned the area hoping that they were free of whatever had just attacked them.

Thankful for the temporary break, Danny took the chance to wipe the blood off his face and out of his eye. If he was going to have to run again, he really did not want any other distractions. Grimacing at the sight of his blood covered hand, he realized that he was going to get the cut taken care of as soon as possible. He was also going to have to figure out what else had managed to get on his face. Although it was faint, there was an odd looking green color that had gotten mixed into it.

"Danny! Behind you!"

The fear in Sam's voice was nothing like he had ever heard before. Startled, he turned to see what was wrong and found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun.

"I have you now, ghost child."

[gia-l-mar-blog]

Exploring childhood trauma and its effect on adulthood.

Currently, I am required to take an English 115 course where I thought I’d just be doing basic English learning things such as grammar, writing essays about whatnot, and taking a bunch of quizzes. I already assumed the negative and prepared myself for a long boring semester of English class. However, during some point in the semester, the topic turned to a book called “We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves” by Karen Joy Fowler, where the book follows the chaotic but intriguing life of UC Davis college student named Rosemary, who grew up with a chimp as a sibling, has a runaway brother that is wanted, and two semi deranged parents. To follow up with the book, my English 115 class also watched a documentary titled Project Nim, which is quite similar to the book but documents a different experience that is under the same criteria and theme. Scientists wanted to create and discover verbal communication between chimps and humans, so when Nim the chimp was just a baby, he was given to a human family to see if he can be conformed to society and communicate verbally. Overall, the experiment did not go well and caused many issues within the family and most prominently to Nim. The book and documentary opened a discussion about many issues such as trauma, memory, communication, and childhood. This part of the class became really intriguing to me, and although I had and still have a really hard time keeping up with English 115, the topics discussed are of great interest to me and I loved discussing it. I decided to narrow down my topic and do further research into childhood trauma affecting one’s adulthood, which was a recurring theme in both the book and documentary and that I actually found relevant to myself as well. I’ve come to the conclusion through my research and in-class activities that one’s childhood is a great influence in the way a person develops in present time and in their future, and if not raised correctly and/or unfortunate events have occurred in one’s life, then certain behaviors and psychological disorders are developed as a result of those events or experiences, and can negatively impact the development of the brain. For the rest of my mini-essay/blog, I want to explore the research I did and elaborate more on the documentary and book to further prove my conclusion of the impact of childhood trauma on adulthood.

Throughout the book, it is quite evident that Rosemary has many issues that stemmed from her childhood, with the chimp being the greatest factor of them all. The most saddening moment in Rosemary’s life was when her “sister” Fern, also known as the chimpanzee, randomly “disappeared” one day. It is quite obvious that being raised with a chimp is a whole different experience than being raised with a human sibling. With that being said, because Rosemary considered Fern as a sibling, she developed different perspectives, expectations, and social interactions as a result of conforming to Fern and her ways of interacting. As a result, this caused Rosemary to be an awkward child, and even an awkward adult in her social interactions. She felt as if she had no friends and had a hard time communicating with others. However, Rosemary did, in fact, make one friend. In the opening introduction of the book, Rosemary witnesses a chaotic argument between a woman and who it seemed to be her boyfriend. Out of impulse, Rosemary becomes dramatic as well and joins in. They both disrupted the peace of the environment and both got arrested. While under custody, the woman introduces herself as Harlow Fielding, who is also a UC Davis student studying drama (how ironic). Rosemary stated specifically that she was intrigued by Harlow and decided to interact with her because she exhibited the same characteristics of a chimpanzee (A.K.A Fern); being impulsive and reckless. With the information about some scenes and about the characters I have provided, it is evident that there is a deeper psychological meaning to the actions taken and the effects of certain outcomes as well, and how it plays into how someone may act or perceive the world due to the way they were raised or through past experiences.

Through my research, I found that people who have experienced childhood maltreatment or trauma may reflect those same experiences through their behavior or how they react to people and situations. It was also found that they may be drawn to people who exhibit the same characteristics as the people who they interacted with during their trauma and childhood experiences (Mulder, Tim, Kimberly C Kuiper, Claudia E Van Der Put, Geert-Jan J.M Stams, and Mark Assink, 2018). For example, as mentioned in the previous paragraph, Rosemary found herself intrigued by Harlow due to the fact that she showed many similarities to Fern, who is someone that was dear to Rosemary and was suddenly taken away from her. Although Fern may have a special place in Rosemary’s heart, it does not mean that Fern was a positive influence in Rosemary’s life. Fern was reckless, impulsive, sometimes violent, and caused problems, and because of this it became normal to Rosemary; therefore, it became a behavior that Rosemary exhibited and behavior that Rosemary was attracted to, hence the curiosity she had with Harlow. Harlow was not exactly a good influence on Rosemary and trapped Rosemary into many different issues. Wrapping and connecting all of this information up, it is evident that someone who was greatly influenced by someone in their life, positive or negative, and experienced some sort of trauma or great event in their life, will be drawn to the same negative behavior and experiences that ultimately will affect their behavior, way of life, and social interactions.

Moving on to Project Nim, I just want to say it was an extremely saddening documentary. What those people put the poor chimp through just for a psychology experiment was hard to watch, that ultimately left Nim with what it seemed like an identity crisis, trauma, violence, and non-conformed behavior that was uncontrollable, which was all due to the fact that he was given to a human family to be raised in. The first caretaker he was given to was an American family whose task was to raise Nim as a human child to conform him to society. Nim learned some English Sign Language (ESL), but he still acted like a chimp and would act out in violence where he would destroy their house or hurt the family members. This eventually became too much for the family to handle and for the next several years Nim was passed down to different caretakers because he was simply too much to handle for humans. Eventually, Nim was moved to a notorious research facility that kept chimps in small cages with other chimps. Nim had an extremely hard time socializing with other chimps as he was raised by humans and was constantly picked on by the other chimps. It was evident through Nim’s behavior and facial expressions that he was full of fear and sadness, almost as if he was in a depressive state.

'Keeping Chimpanzees In Cages Is Torture', Bob Ingersoll. 

Fortunately, Nim was moved to a ranch for abused animals where he was able to spend the last of his years in harmony and peace. The life of Nim was one that was especially important because his saddening experience as a science experiment and documentary brought awareness to the fact that one, chimps and animals are not for our amusement to use as our experiments, and two, chimps should not be confined in cages in research facilities that causes many mental issues and trauma to the chimps, who have scientifically been proven countless of times that they are just as smart and aware as humans, and their brains are no different than ours.

Going into the research I did about trauma, since the brains of chimpanzees are extremely similar to that of a human, we can draw the same conclusions to get an estimate as to how they develop certain behaviors throughout their life, and a lot of the conclusions drawn is just simple cause and effect as well. As mentioned previously, the chimp’s trauma began when they took him from his mother and in the arms of complete strangers. You may think it was extremely hard for the family to raise Nim as he’s just an animal, but imagine being disciplined for who you are and the nature of your being, which would ultimately create an identity crisis for Nim. Studies have shown that children who are in abusive households tend to exhibit the same behavior while interacting with other people and especially in schools, where reinforcement is needed by special staff and more caretaking (Shen, April Chiung-Tao, 2009). This information can be compared to Nim’s experience where he was put into a cage with other chimps of his own kind for the very first time. Because Nim was raised by a human, his behavior was more similar to the way they raised him rather than how an actual chimp would act. As a result, the other chimps would bully him and Nim became lonely, this caused him to go into a deep depressive state. Nim also had violent behaviors with most humans and would not want to interact with them at all. With research, I found that this behavior is a result of childhood betrayment that causes negative behavior towards people who have similar characteristics to the person that originally caused their trauma (Hocking, Elise C, Raluca M Simons, and Renata J Surette, 2016). With this research, it can be concluded that Nim felt betrayed by his original family and by humans in general while he was being passed down to different caretakers and put into a research facility, that caused him to be violent or negative with humans in general.

Concluding all of the research I have done, and the in-class assignments of reading the book and watching the documentary, it is quite evident that childhood trauma and certain experiences through one’s life can negatively affect the way that someone may see the world, how the world perceives them, and their overall behavior and social interactions. The book and documentary is a good way to see the trauma and its outcomes come into play, and how it affects one's life. It creates more personal experience as you can see the struggles of Rosemary and Nim and how they adapt to their later life with what they know from their experiences and how they conformed to society. The research was an add on and helped further prove and conclude my statement, creating a deeper understanding of the book and documentary, and even for one’s self. I hope that this mini-essay/blog helped you better understand yourself, a loved one, or someone you may know if they act in a particularly negative way. If you notice someone or something is off in their behavior and social interactions, remember to be the bigger person and maybe ask if they’re okay, they may be going through something. To further wrap up my text, if you may think that you are going through something similar do not hesitate to reach out for professional help, to do research, or talk to someone you can trust. Everything has a fix, it just takes time.

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter XVIII

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 XVII

Emma woke with a start sometime in the small hours, gripped by a sudden need to make sure that Killian was still next to her. After the family moot had finally broken up quite late, they had gone upstairs, shut the door, and celebrated their reunion in a far more intimate way, repeatedly, and she was languorous and sated with sleep and sex, somewhat enjoyably sore – God, she was getting old. She fumbled across the covers in panic, until her fingers encountered the warm flesh of his left arm, the roughened end of it in place of a hand, and she surfaced enough to be aware of his comforting weight in the bed, dark-silver head sprawled in the pillow, breathing deep and slow. It was real, then. She hadn’t imagined it or dreamed it. He had come back to her.

Tears of relief stung her eyes, and she knuckled them away. She settled back down, not wanting to disturb him, but, sensitive to her as ever, he stirred. “Swan?”

“I’m. . .” Emma hesitated, then snuggled closer. “I’m sorry. I just needed to make sure you were still here.”

Killian made a soft sound half between a laugh and a sigh, pulling her against him and mouthing light kisses over her forehead and nose and cheek. “That I am, love. So far as I can tell.”

“I know,” Emma whispered, nuzzling her head against his shoulder and unable to resist one final, confirming poke that made him chuckle. He was thinner and more ragged and older-looking than when they had last seen each other, and he plainly had not had an overall good time of it, but at least he didn’t appear to have been outstandingly maltreated. Not that she had any warm sentiment toward the fiends responsible – the Lost Boys would have a great deal to reckon with if she ever caught up to them, no matter if Killian had already killed Rufio. Yet now, after the euphoria of reunion, the long talk with the family followed by the wild abandon of lovemaking, all had fled away to leave just them in the darkness, and the question she did not want to ask, but had to. “Are you still mad at me?”

“What?” Killian sounded startled. “For Charlestown?”

“I. . .. yes. Before you were abducted, we were fighting, and everything we said then. . ..” Emma paused. “And now we do know where Gold himself is, according to you, and we’re going to have to face that again. . . I was just wondering if you still felt that I’d done wrong.”

“Emma.” Killian shifted her on his chest, so he could look into her eyes. “I have thought of nothing but getting back to you ever since those juvenile snotrags grabbed me and dragged me aboard that dismal boat of theirs. Nothing else has mattered. And I. . . I didn’t appreciate it at the time, to be sure, but I’m not sure I would have gotten to face my brother otherwise. What happened between us, we. . . we needed it. And it’s making me realize how much I put aside, how much I took for granted I would do later, if I wanted, and never actually intended to. I was a selfish git, and perhaps this was the kick in the arse that I bloody needed.”

Emma didn’t answer at first, tidying a loose strand of hair out of his face. Then she said, “You’re right, though. I shouldn’t have gone off alone and tried to push everyone away, but with Charlestown. . . you know how that place is for everyone, it just made me. . . I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Killian said gently. “I do, Emma. And I’m saying that between the two of us, I was the one who acted far more like an idiot, for a far longer time, and you can ask Regina if you don’t believe me. So I do accept your apology, love. But I hope as well that you – and Liam – can see your way to accepting mine.”

“I can’t speak for Liam, but I do.” Emma shifted, turned over, and settled against him, her back to his chest, as he rested his chin on her head. She pulled his arm over her, circling the stump with a finger, feeling his warm breath and the slow, comfortable thump of his heart, the slant of his legs tucked against hers – admiring how well they fit, even after close to a quarter-century of marriage. “I’m just glad you’re back. I – always thought you would, that we would see each other again, but I. . . I’m relieved anyway.”

“So am I.” Killian planted a light kiss on her ear. “But we’re not out of the woods. There’s everything you were telling me about Sam and whatever that rat bastard Da Souza did to him, there’s Geneva and Thomas off with Silver, there’s Gideon Murray and his Jacobite friends, there’s Billy and Lady Fiona hunting Skeleton Island, and there is, of course, Gold. Bloody hell, you think we throw dice to decide which one we handle first?”

“I don’t want to split up again if we can help it.” Emma was very devout on that point indeed. “We’ll have to talk with the others tomorrow, see if we can possibly work out something for tackling all this. Finding our children, or fighting our enemies. That seems to be our choice.”

Killian tugged her closer. “Hey, if we found each other again, I’m quite certain we can find them. They’re both clever and resourceful and too much like the rest of us for our peace of mind, unfortunately. For example, I’m quite sure that John Silver swiftly discovered he was biting off far more than he could chew, when he decided to tangle with Geneva.”

Emma laughed, somewhat painfully. “As am I. But I hope it wasn’t more than she could.”

There was a brief silence, both of them clearly trying not to worry themselves to distraction about Geneva and Sam, the creeping fears and the whispering phantoms harder to push away in the darkness. Then Emma said, “We should sleep. We need to think about this in the morning.”

“Aye.” Killian kissed the back of her neck. “It’s all right, love. I won’t go anywhere.”

Emma tightened her grip on his arm, closed her eyes, and while it took a few moments, managed to relax. Then, slowly, she swam once more into the dark depths of slumber, and for the rest of the night, did not dream at all.

The  next morning, they stirred soon after dawn, and despite the obvious urgency of getting up and attending to their manifold problems, could not resist one more round beneath the blankets, quick and intense, with a delightful furtiveness like secret lovers trying not to be caught in the barn. Emma’s breath hitched as Killian gripped her left hand fiercely, pushing it over her head into the pillows, bending her back like a bow as he thrust into her with a rasping, rough possessiveness. She ran her right hand down his side, caressing and clawing, meeting his need with her own, and bit hard on her lip rather than have anyone notice what they were up to (the walls were rather thin, but then, doubtless they had guessed anyway). When they were both spent, sweaty and flushed and panting, they lay there as if their spinal columns had been removed for several moments. Then Killian groaned, rolled out of her with decided reluctance, and pushed to his feet. “Well then. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Having gotten dressed, they made their way downstairs, still holding hands, to Charlie’s kitchen. David was the only one up, and greeted them with a warm smile. “Killian. It’s good to have you back with us again.”

“It is, yes.” Killian sat down at the table. “I think I’ve had enough sailing for a while, even for me, but I don’t doubt we’ll have more. You own a good bit of property and ships here, if we have to borrow one – ”

“You’ll have whatever you need,” David assured him. “And I don’t intend to charge you for it, either. Will your brother and his wife be returning to France? It’s late in the year for another sailing, and I imagine they’ve likewise had all they want, but – ”

“I don’t know.” Killian looked hesitant. “I don’t think so, but Liam did say he would go after Gold with me, and I can’t see him being content to just turn around, go home, and sit on his arse while the rest of us are in danger. We have quite a few reparations still to make, and I. . . I don’t think I want him to go either. So I shouldn’t think so.”

“Good,” David said. “I think that’s a good decision for both of you. But either way, we’re completely overstuffed here in one house, so I’ll track down one of my other properties to move a few of us into. Unless – ”

“I’m not sure any of us will be staying here much longer,” Emma interjected. “So the accommodations are most likely the least of our concerns. But thank you.”

“Of course.” David looked at her steadily. “You have a wonderful family, Emma.”

“I. . .” Something caught in her throat, but she nodded. “I know.”

They sat there for a short while longer until Charlie’s housekeeper appeared to prepare breakfast, followed by Flint and Miranda (also with the look of quiet contentment that made Emma think they had been doing some private making up of their own) and then Charlie, Liam, Regina, Henry, Violet, and the children. That made everyone, except for Charlotte, and Emma looked up in concern. “Did she not come back from Max’s last night? What if something happened to her in the streets? One of Da Souza’s men lying in wait to – ”

“Charlotte is a tremendously capable young woman,” Miranda said. “I am quite sure that nothing happened to her that she did not intend to happen.”

Emma glanced at her mother in surprise, but Miranda did not appear inclined to elaborate. Indeed, they were halfway through breakfast when there was a knock on the front door, footsteps in the hall, and Charlotte appeared in the kitchen, looking somewhat windswept and fresh-faced. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t make you worry. It got quite late, and Max didn’t think it was wise for me to walk alone across the city at midnight. But I’m back, and – who are these?”

“This is Killian,” Emma said. “My husband. He made it here last night, with his brother Liam, and Liam’s wife, Regina. Killian, this is Charlotte Bell, Cecilia’s aunt. Her husband is Jack, the one who seems to be with Sam, so we’ve all ended up on the same adventure.”

“Mrs. Bell.” Killian got courteously to his feet and bowed over her hand. “I’ve heard you’re quite a good shot with a pistol, is that so?”

“Yes.” Charlotte looked pleased. “Are you the one that was kidnapped in Charlestown, then?”

“I was, yes,” Killian said wryly, “but through a complicated chain of events, very long story, I managed to escape and make it home. Now that we’re all around the table again, however, it seems like the time to discuss what in blazes we’re doing next.”

“Max had heard some sort of rumor,” Charlotte said. “About Gold. They thought he was in – Barbuda?”

“No,” Killian said. “Barbados. Regina and I found it in the Navy’s offices in London. He sailed to Bridgetown last year, aboard a ship captained by an M. Rogers of Bristol. No sure chance he’s still there, but he always liked to have a lair. We’re guessing he is.”

Liam looked at him askance. “You and Regina just. . . walked into Whitehall?”

“Yes,” Regina said, somewhat defiantly. “We were looking for you, and since a few officers still remembered me from Antigua, it worked rather well.”

Liam looked as if he was trying to picture this, and being somewhat sad he’d missed it, even as he nonetheless had his own opinions on the advisability of strolling straight into the Admiralty, especially given the circumstances in which the Jones brothers had resigned (rather spectacularly, in Killian’s case) from the Royal Navy. “Well then. Moving on. As I said, Billy and Lady Fiona are also sailing for Barbados. That seems to be the place in which we have the best chance of catching the most of our enemies together.”

“Indeed,” Flint said. “And this time, I’ll be sure to fucking kill Billy Bones properly.”

“As long as you realize,” Miranda pointed out, “that he will be set on doing the same to you?”

Flint shrugged that off. “I’ve known that since we first got word that the big blonde bastard had resurfaced, from whatever shithole he’s been squirreled down for the last twenty years.”

Emma was quiet. She and Billy had, of course, been friends once, and she still wanted to think that if they came face to face, he would not be able to kill her out of hand. He had tried to make her safety a condition of his bargain with Woodes Rogers, to betray the pirates and lead the Navy to Skeleton Island after the Walrus, but she had rejected it then, and spent years living as family with Billy’s mortal enemy. She knew very well that it might be necessary to kill him to save that family, but she didn’t want to think about it.

“Jenny and Thomas are still off on whatever plan of John Silver’s to follow Billy,” Miranda said, picking up on Emma’s own thoughts. “They’re likely to return here at some point. Even if some of us go to Barbados, the others should stay behind to run interference.”

Flint looked as if this was a job which, even with Thomas’ welfare at stake, he would not be caught dead doing, not if it entailed a reunion with Silver. “I nominate Nolan,” he said. “He’s the one who owns Nassau now, as I have not ceased to be reminded, and has the most connections. Not suspicious at all for him to stay here, and he can also keep an eye on Henry, Violet, and the children. Charlie can help him, make up for his bungling in letting Jenny and Thomas go in the first place. The rest of us go to Barbados.”

Everyone was forced to admit that this was, even and especially for Flint, a sensible plan. Sending Killian, Emma, Flint, Miranda, Liam, Regina, and Charlotte after Gold, while leaving David, Henry, Violet, Charlie, and the children on Nassau, bisected their forces fairly evenly, and applied their strengths in the correct directions. Flint had clearly given up on trying to convince Miranda to stay behind in a less dangerous spot, and did not want to be parted from her anyway. Besides, all “less dangerous” spots were relative, with one’s safety not particularly assured over another, yet nonetheless, matching six senior citizens, plus Charlotte, against Gold was not a terribly wise idea. “We need help,” Flint said. “We need to let me recruit a crew.”

“We could ask Nemo,” Liam suggested. “He did say he was willing to – ”

Flint tensed. “Nemo?”

“Yes.” Liam looked at him, confused. “The one who brought me, Killian, and Regina back here. I suppose you didn’t see him last night, but – ?”

“He’s the one who pulled you off Skeleton Island, all those years ago,” Killian said. “He told me.”

“That was him?” Miranda looked startled. “James did mention a man named Nemo, to Thomas and I, but – I didn’t realize it was that same one in Nassau now.”

“There can’t be many men named Nemo who sail ships called the Nautilus, and he remembered you.” Killian looked at his father-in-law with a quizzical expression. “Mate, I don’t think he’s interested in wringing you for the whereabouts of the island – he’d have done that long ago, if so. And since he’s now saved your arse and ours, it might be a bit presumptuous to ask him for another favor. But it’s still safer than trying to raise a crew.”

Flint looked as if it was not Nemo’s potential interest in the whereabouts of Skeleton Island that concerned him, but did not, as usual, want to talk about his feelings. Instead he said, “What about Sam? Are we planning to pick him up on the way? Da Souza said he threw him into the sea near St. Kitts – that’s between here and Barbados, but it’s not likely he’s still drifting somewhere.”

“Of course we want to find him,” Emma said. “And it’s not out of the question, if he’s already in some sort of trouble in that direction, that Gold sniffed him out and scooped him up. You know what a prize he would regard that as.”

“If Gold – ” Flint rose half to his feet, making the plates and teacups rattle. “If that bastard did anything to Sam, I swear – ”

“We will both skin him slowly,” Killian said grimly. “You have my word on that. If by some miracle, Gold’s been able to resist adding to his crimes – well then, we can think of something else. But if he’s taken it out on Sam, all bets are off.”

Nobody had anything to say to this, even as Emma prayed more than ever that it would not be needed. She thought of something that Sam senior had said to her many years ago, that he would rather be hurt himself than watch her and Killian be tortured, and as a mother, she had always intuitively known the truth of it. She could stand Gold hurting her, if she had to – him, or any other malfeasants who might cross their path and mean them ill. But she could not bear to see him replay his campaign of destruction over Killian, or even worse, over the younger Jones, recreating every element that had led to his father’s fall. No, not Sam, not my sweet, brave, gentle boy, you can’t touch him, you can’t do that to him. Fruitlessly, she thought of Gideon Murray, back in Charlestown, and his avowed hatred of his sire. Was even Gold such a monster as to remain unmoved when confronted with his flesh and blood, his lost child? They had thought of the possibility before, but there was small chance now of popping back to the Carolinas and bringing Gideon along as a nasty surprise for his father. What with that bloodline, it would be far more trouble than it was worth.

“Sam?” Liam said, startling her from her reverie. “This would be my other nephew?”

“Aye.” Emma recalled that he and Regina had never met the youngest Swan-Jones child. “He’s an absolutely lovely lad, but he does have. . . a bit of a knack for trouble.”

“No idea where he could have gotten that,” Liam said wryly. “Well then, if nobody has any alternatives to Captain Flint’s plan, I say we put it to a vote. All in favor?”

There was a pause, and then the adults more or less raised their hands in unison, some looking more keen on it than others. After all, some of them did need to stay in Nassau, and some of them did need to go to Barbados, and the delegations that Flint had proposed for each were sensible, but it was still another separation, another hazardous undertaking, with no certain victory. It was well along in fall by now, and there would be squalid winter weather to reckon with, on top of everything else. A voyage south to Bridgetown was not the longest or most unfamiliar in the world, but it was still over a thousand miles, and a confrontation with their oldest enemy awaited even if they did get there in a timely fashion. For all that they spoke of “handling” Gold as if he was a distant and mildly embarrassing relative, all of them knew better than to underestimate him. His minions had made damn near successful attempts at killing them twice already, and the danger would only increase the closer they came to the man himself. This might be the choice they had to make, to account for Thomas, Geneva, and Sam the best they could, but it was still a hard one to swallow.

Silence, until a voice said from the door, “Aunt Charlotte? Are you going to find Uncle Jack?”

Charlotte turned in her chair to smile reassuringly at her young niece, who was peering into the room anxiously. “Yes, sweetheart, I think so. You’ll be staying here with Mr. and Mrs. Swan and Richard and Lucy, isn’t that nice? You’ll have plenty of time to play.”

Cecilia considered this, then nodded bravely, scampering off as if aware she was not supposed to be listening in on the adults. Flint watched her go with sharp curiosity. “From what I can gather of your husband, he’s not much the fatherly sort. He doesn’t mind her, then?”

“He likes her,” Charlotte said defensively. “Why all this interest in Jack, anyway?”

“Well, for one, he appears to be with my grandson – and according to that fucking wretch Da Souza, may be the only thing that saved him from a watery fate. And he’s a Spanish spy, there’s that small detail. But what you called him – Black Jack. Given as we are on Nassau, I feel it only fair to ask. That, to say the least, is a rather pirate-sounding moniker. Is there some other association of his that we should know about?”

Charlotte hesitated. “It was a slip of the tongue.”

“I don’t think it was.”

“James.” Miranda put a hand on his arm. “If you recall, Charlotte has explained herself to my satisfaction. What with everything else, I don’t think we need to resume the interrogation.”

Flint, as if deciding that they had just made up and he did not want to be at odds with her so soon again, paused, then nodded. But the look in his eyes as they remained on Charlotte was not angry or suspicious, it was sad. Until Emma thought suddenly that he was not trying to sniff out a potential rival in order to destroy them, but rather that he had grasped onto some faint, wild, impossible idea, and could not, however much he wanted, dismiss it out of hand. After all. . . the use of “Black” before one’s first name, and a surname that started with Bell. . . it called to mind the man that all of them had had ever more to reckon with, their vanished love, even as they were finally coming to terms with the fact that he was gone, and they must let go. But that was just a strange coincidence, unsettling but immaterial. Sam’s son with his Cape Cod lover, Mariah Hallett, had died at birth, the reason he had gone back to try to plead her forgiveness, and sailed into the storm where he met his fate. They could not return to grasping at straws now.

The next order of business was to find a ship. Despite Flint’s unenthusiastic response to the proposal, there was no harm in seeing if Nemo was willing to take them the rest of the way to Barbados, even if he might then justly decide that he and his crew wanted nothing to do with Gold. So Emma, Killian, and Liam went to the docks to see if they could track down some of his men, as the Nautilus was still anchored outside the harbor. It took a while, but they managed, and the sailors took them to the lodging house where Nemo was staying. “I would be happy to take you to Bridgetown,” he said, upon hearing their updates. “And if it comes to it, any man of mine who agrees is welcome to back you in a confrontation with Gold, but I will not force it upon anyone who is unwilling.”

“Neither would we,” Killian said. “The man’s a bloody demon, we won’t blame anyone who’d rather not come to grips with him. I don’t think it’s a wise idea to take a whole army, as that’s a good way to be spotted in a hurry, and I am sure he’s well fortified the place against any potential invasion. The smaller the group, the better, but as it will be me, Emma, Liam, Regina, and my father-in-law, with my mother-in-law traveling with us but not along for the actual fight, and with all of us considerably over fifty, we could use some fresh blood. Charlotte Bell will be with us, but she likely doesn’t want to be the sole caretaker of the feeble elderly folk.”

“Indeed,” Nemo agreed, with a wry smile. “As I said, any man of mine who agrees to help is yours, so that should not be a problem. We could use a few days to resupply and recollect ourselves, but we should be able to depart by the end of the week. And your father-in-law – that would be Captain Flint, would it not?”

“Aye. He. . . doesn’t seem terribly chuffed about sailing with you, to be honest.”

“I imagine,” Nemo said, “that he fears what I might tell you of Skeleton Island, of what he said to me then, of the man he was when I took him to Philadelphia. He need not. As I said to you back in London, I remember nothing particularly enlightening, and even if I did, I would not share it without his consent – which, I sense, I would wait a long time for him to grant. At any rate, he will not have to endure me long. I had other business in the Caribbean that I meant to see done, you will recall, and while of course I do not wish to strand you on Barbados at Gold’s mercy, would you take it terribly amiss if I set you down there, and then returned in due time, assuming you could not arrange other passage, to pick you up again?”

“No, of course not. You’re doing us another bloody favor as it is, as I said – we won’t look down our noses at you for seeing to your own interests. If you don’t mind me asking, what is it? We used to know the Caribbean quite well in our day, if we could offer anything in return for what you’ve given us – ”

Nemo considered briefly. Then he said, “My business is with a certain vodou priest, a man named Merlin, and a pair of Maroon chieftains, Ursula and Lancelot. They periodically assist me with information about where I might find men for my crew, men who need to be freed from their chains. I expect this is something you can underst – ah. You know them?”

“We – we do, yes,” Emma said, blinking. “From a long time ago.” She remembered Merlin, the oddly ageless-looking houngan of the Maroons’ island where she and Miranda had taken refuge, and surely Liam did as well, since Ursula, then just a young girl and the daughter of the chief, had helped nurse him back to health after he was stabbed by his half-brother. Merlin had given her foreboding prophecies of the fall of Nassau and the arrival of Woodes Rogers, warned her that everyone she loved would die, and Emma felt a faint, unaccountable chill at the memory. As for Lancelot, he and Killian knew each other quite well, as Killian had saved his life back on Jamaica, Lancelot had later returned the favor with Liam, and sailed with his men on the Jolie Rouge, as well as fighting with them throughout the pirates’ war. Ursula, however, might be a less pleasant reunion. She had ordered Killian off the island for his dishonorable treatment of her, and as far as Emma recalled, had not seemed inclined to forgive him.

Still, though. They had Gold to reckon with, and it was Nemo who would be venturing off to find the Maroons, not them. It was oddly comforting to hear that their old allies were still alive and kicking, and Emma nodded firmly. “Very well. Let us know when you’re ready to go. Not to rush you, but we. . .” She trailed off, thinking of Sam. “We can’t afford to wait much longer.”

“I understand,” Nemo said. “It will be as soon as we can possibly manage it, you may be assured. We will do this, Mrs. Jones. No matter what.”

“I hope so,” Emma said softly. “I do certainly hope so.”

As the gun went off, with a kick and a boom and short, sharp explosion of fire from the muzzle, time seemed to slow, strange and stretched and distorted, until it seemed impossible that it should still be happening, that Geneva would never do anything in her life but watch it happen. She could almost see the trajectory of the ball as it left Israel Hands’ pistol, see it tearing toward the capstan and the barrel of powder that must be waiting there to blow the entire Rose sky-high. Knew then that she had to jump in front of it, that indeed she should already have started to do so if she wanted any hope of stopping it, and yet her feet were not cooperating. She took half a stumbling step, pushed off, and started to leap – and then was knocked violently sideways by something, ended up face-down on the deck with reality snapped back to full speed, and nothing, anywhere, but shouting.

Geneva began to panic, twisting and kicking to get free, as whoever had tackled her out of the bullet’s path struggled to hold her. The Rose had not yet blown up, so it must not have hit, but – it could be a misfire, it could not have penetrated deep enough, Hands could be reloading even now, someone else could have been hit, something could have –

She rolled over, jammed her knee up hard, heard a grunt of pain, and realized that the person who had tackled her was Silver. There was a look of desperate fear on his face that she had never imagined, and he only half seemed to see her. Yet there was also a terrible commotion going on behind them, and after their eyes locked for a jolting instant more, Geneva recovered herself and pushed him off, springing to her feet. She glanced wildly from side to side: in one direction, someone was slumped in front of the capstan, and in the other, Jim had charged Hands personally, and was now battling to contain him with the help of Thomas and one of the brawnier crewmen. Hands was fighting like the madman he was, but Thomas, likewise with a look Geneva had scarcely imagined from him, something hard and hot and violent, swung back a fist and hit him in the face with the sound of crunching cartilage. “Stay down.”

Hands spat blood as Jim wrestled the empty pistol out of his grip and kicked it away across the deck, then divested him of the several more loaded ones that had been strapped at various locations on his person. Geneva stared between them, then remembered that someone had been shot, and experienced a terrible fear that it was Madi. She whirled away from the hand Silver was trying to put to her elbow, ran back to the capstan, and –

It was not Madi. It was Eleanor. She half-sat, half-sprawled against the wood, hand pressed to the scarlet hole ripped low in her left side, staring with an expression of disbelief at the blood leaking through her fingers. By the looks of things, she had made a last-second leap between Hands and the gunpowder, perhaps realizing for bloody once what a misjudgment she had made in trusting a dangerous man and arrantly taking for granted her own ability to control him. Eleanor was not a martyr, Geneva had known that from the first. She must have just meant to stop the Rose from being blown up, to preserve her chances of reaching her son, but. . .

Geneva paused, staring at the older woman, as Eleanor’s eyes met hers in a look of silent, desperate appeal. Then she bent down, awkwardly slid her arms behind Eleanor’s back and knees, and hauled her upright. Awkwardly balancing her, grateful for all the ropes and barrels she had hauled, Geneva carried her across the deck, Eleanor’s torn skirts trailing, and kicked the cabin door open. Aside from serving as first mate, Mr. Arrow had also been the Rose’s surgeon, and they had nobody left of remotely comparable skill. It would have to be her, Geneva realized. She knew the basic idea of it, but this – and for a woman who had sold them out to Hands, had sold her family out to Gold, betrayed everyone who ever cared for her –

For a brief moment, Geneva supposed that she would be completely justified in standing here and watching Eleanor die slowly. Wounds to the abdomen were often a death sentence even with attempted care; they festered and lingered and worsened inexorably, brutish and protracted. She didn’t think the shot had hit the bowels, but she would have to look, and even if she managed to get the bullet out and stop a preliminary infection from setting in, they still had at least another fortnight at sea before they reached any sort of land. Bermuda was the closest, as they had stopped over on the way out from Nassau, but even if they dropped Eleanor off for care – even if Geneva did her best now, it still could be all for –

Eleanor looked up at her, eyes blank with terror, and Geneva realized that Eleanor knew exactly what she was thinking –  that she was debating whether to let her live, or perhaps whether to fetch one more pistol and make a clean end of it. She reached out, clawing at Geneva’s skirt, staining it with blood. “Please,” she choked. “Please help me.”

Geneva remained immobile an instant longer, then whirled away. Tied up her loose hair in a knot, splashed her hands in the wash-basin, and fetched Mr. Arrow’s old surgical chest from the trunk. Most at-sea medicine was of the quick and gory sort anyway, the amputation of a shattered limb or the stitching of some wound from a gun or broken spar, and she had certainly assisted at these, shoved the leather strap between a man’s teeth, told him to bite, and held him down through the awful grates of the bone saw. Mercifully few, but at least she wasn’t going to swoon at the sight. She uncorked a brandy bottle, wiped the wicked-looking shears with them, and cut away Eleanor’s dress and corset, revealing the mangled mess of her lower ribs where the round had struck. She had to get it out, or it would putrefy and burrow deeper and tear apart more of Eleanor’s innards. Jesus. There was a lot of blood.

Taking a deep breath, Geneva removed the fine-nosed forceps, and likewise washed them in brandy. She was just thinking sorely of the need for a pair of extra hands when the cabin door opened again. “Jenny? Jenny!”

“I’m a little busy, Uncle Thomas.” Her voice sounded strange, thin, detached. “Can it wait?”

Thomas evidently saw what she was doing, as she heard another sharply indrawn breath, but he did not miss a beat. “Silver and Jim are dragging Hands to the brig,” he said crisply. “And I sent men down to the hold to sweep it thoroughly, as well as check the capstan. We should be safe enough, for now.”

“Thank you.” Geneva gestured to him with her chin. “Hold her down, please.”

Thomas strode over without delay, taking up a position at the head of the bed and gripping Eleanor’s forearms with both hands, pinning her firmly in place. Geneva dipped up another bowl of water, pulled some punctured whalebone from Eleanor’s corset out of the way, and began to excavate for the bullet, prodding gingerly with the forceps to further gushes of blood. Eleanor was clearly doing her best to suffer stoically, but she finally screamed, a horrible, choked, gulping sound, as cold sweat dewed on her forehead. “Light,” Geneva ordered tersely. “I need more light.”

Thomas managed to strike a one-handed spark against the corner of the desk, dropping it in the wick of the oil lamp and moving it for Geneva to see what she was doing. Finally, she glimpsed the dark, blood-wet curve of the ball, embedded fairly deeply in tissue, and had to use the knife to help cut it free. She gripped it and eased it loose, Eleanor uttering a repetitive, stabbing whimper every time she tugged, until it finally came free. She dropped it in the bowl, a fine tremor running through her hands, and tried to think how to possibly stanch the bleeding. It was impossible to stitch, and all but inviting corruption. It was plain that Eleanor could not be moved, or exiled to one of the crew’s berths below, and that Geneva would have to devote a good chunk of further time to her care. For better or worse, for whatever motives, whether intentionally or by accident, Eleanor had saved them all from being blown up by Hands, even if she had been the one to partner with him and help bring him aboard in the first place. She might well still die, but at least not if Geneva could do a damn thing about it.

After a pause, she went back to Mr. Arrow’s surgical chest, pulled out the wads of cotton wool, and remembered that ideally you were supposed to boil them, but she did not have time, or a cookfire, near at hand. Instead, Geneva carefully pulled together the wound as best she could, then began to pack it with the wool, pressing down hard, even as each layer kept soaking up red. Eleanor’s eyes were showing their whites, and the bedclothes where she lay were sodden as well; her pulse was fast and shallow. Thomas snagged the brandy bottle and administered her a few swallows as makeshift pain medicine, with a sort of casual dexterity that made Geneva realize he had done this before, and often. Thought again of the years he had spent apart from Grandpa and Granny, and how he had said that they did not need to know it all, just as he felt no entitlement to demand every part of their lives. That, however, would have to wait.

At last, with their combined efforts, they got the bleeding slowed to an oozing, angry trickle beneath the pads and pads of soaked gauze, and carefully replaced them with some fresh ones, wrapping Eleanor’s torso about and about with bands of torn linen. Thomas held them in place while Geneva pulled the knots tight, and then, finally, she laid Eleanor back against the thin pillows, feeling absurdly guilty that this was such a poor hospital. Thomas gave her another swallow of brandy, and Eleanor’s eyelashes fluttered as she shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering, blue veins showing beneath her skin. “I’m c-c-c-cold.”

Geneva went and fetched the other quilt from the trunk, draping it over her. “You can’t move. That will open again at any exertion. I’ll clean it and do my best for it, but I. . .” She hesitated. Eleanor wasn’t a fool, she knew it was bad. “I can’t promise anything.”

Eleanor paused, then nodded once. She was barely at the threshold of consciousness anyway, and with the hellish procedure done, clearly saw no reason to cling on in pain and blood. Her head dropped back, and she passed out as if struck with a rock.

Geneva and Thomas stood side by side, breathing hard, regarding their patient. It was the most time they had spent together since their fight – if fight was even the word for it, just Thomas’ disappointment and anger – in Bristol, and neither of them said anything for a long moment. Geneva braced herself for her uncle to ask why she had not told them about Hands and Eleanor, why she had nearly risked getting the Rose blown up, all the other mistakes she had made. She supposed it was his right, but she felt as if she might crack if he did, and did not want to cry. Not yet. There was still that monstrous lie that Silver had told Jim about Daddy, and – and – so much. So much. It pulled at her like an endless dark sea, threatening to close over her head no matter how much she struggled, the way a drowning man drowned faster when he knew that he was and his body tried to force him to breathe, and took in only water. Jesus Christ, she was so exhausted.

Thomas, however, did not rebuke her. Instead, he bent to rinse his bloody hands in the bowl, still with an intent, inward expression that made Geneva think that he was recalling some less-than-pleasant memories of his own. Finally, she said in a small voice, “You were good at that. And – and with stopping Hands. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Thomas did not look up, scrubbing methodically between each of his fingers as if determined to get more than Eleanor’s blood off him. “I – used to assist with such things. At the plantation. The men were all highborn, embarrassments to their families in one sense or another. Many like mine, incidentally, though not all. At any rate, none of them were accustomed to manual labor. Many of them had never lifted a finger for themselves in their lives, always had servants to do it for them. When they were stripped of all such comforts and expected to work the land, that resulted, at times, in rather gruesome accidents, and there was a need for a man to help the surgeon. I – well, I found myself in the role.”

Geneva nodded wordlessly. She could well imagine that her uncle, who cared so deeply for people, who would have felt with every breath the injustice that had led their families to reject them and pack them off to the middle of nowhere, would have been drawn, indeed bound and determined, to alleviate his fellows’ suffering how he could. It made her heart hurt that this was how Thomas Hamilton had had to cling to his goodness through those years in the wilderness, that he had only been in Georgia and James and Miranda in Nassau, so close and never knowing. She did not want to ask if he had ever heard of the exploits of the dread pirate Captain Flint, for that seemed too cruel to be borne. Besides, she sensed that Thomas’ preoccupation just now did not have to do with Grandpa. Finally, she ventured, “Did something. . .?”

Thomas smiled, very faintly. “There was a man a few years younger than me,” he said after a pause, “and disgraced for similar offenses. We arrived around the same time, and as people in desperate circumstances do, we grew close. His name was Alexander Gordon MacKenzie, of Edinburgh. I at least had the experience of Bethlem Royal Hospital to prepare me for what I was going to face – indeed, by comparison, the plantation was a great relief. He had less, and suffered more. I protected him, as best I could. We – I suppose we loved each other, for a little while. He had the most delightful wit, turn of phrase, gentle humor, when it could be coaxed out of him, from the wrack and wear and madness that the world had dealt him.”

Geneva could hear the pain in Thomas’ voice, his struggle to speak of this even now, and knew better than to ask if he had ever mentioned Alexander to James and Miranda, if this had been another of the ghosts that he, like they, had quietly put aside in the terrible joy and terrible agony of their reunion, all these years later. Left behind with the pieces of the old self, in the past, and yet still mourned. Softly she said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Aye, well.” Thomas drew an unsteady breath. “One day, in the fields, he cut himself badly with a threshing knife – an accident, or so they said. Given as he was a soldier in his previous life, I doubt very much that he should suddenly be unfamiliar with a large blade. They brought him to the surgeon’s, and I, of course, was there to assist. I held Alexander’s hand, and watched him bleed, and when the surgeon tried to give him brandy for the pain, he spat it out. We patched him up much as you and I did for Mrs. Rogers, just now. I told the surgeon that I would stay with him, and so he left. When the man was gone, Alexander told me to take off his bandages, kiss him, and sit with him until I should prod him with a knife, and make sure he was dead. If he screamed, he told me, I would know that he was bound for hell, as the Scriptures said, for loving another man. If he did not, if he should die with a smile, then I should know he saw the gates of heaven before him, and I should feel no shame.”

Thomas’ voice caught, ever so slightly, and he had to turn away. Finally he said, “So I did. I took off the bandages, and kissed him, and held his hand. I was terrified, I confess, that he would scream in torment, and that I would know I had done a terrible wrong – to him, to myself, to James, to everyone else I had loved. Not to Miranda, true, but then, nothing could ever dishonor her. But he did not. He never did. I have never seen a man die in such profound relief, and with his eyes reflecting some light far beyond that rude little hut. He looked over my shoulder in such humble awe and delight, and I wonder still if he saw Christ Himself coming to take him up into his arms. Then I saw him go, so quietly, the very moment. I did not need to prod him with a knife or anything else of the sort. I knew.”

Geneva reached for his hand, and Thomas held it tightly. Again it was several moments until he could complete his story. “They came in later, and found me with his body, his bandages off, and it plain that I had done it. They asked why I had not called for a priest if I knew him to be dying, that I had placed his soul in peril of hellfire if I had not allowed him to confess and be cleansed, that I had even helped him along the road. It was, they said, as if I had murdered him myself. After that, I was no longer allowed to assist the surgeon. I went back to the fields.”

“Uncle Thomas. . .” Anything Geneva could say felt hollow, just as when she had heard Madi’s story of losing her son. Part of her did not want to know these soul-deep scars of her elders, since learning them illicitly was what had made Thomas angry with her in the first place, but that was only since she could not imagine bearing such pain herself, and remaining sane. Retaining any scrap of herself, of continuing somehow onward, and not wanting ever to know, in such fashion, if she had enough strength to do it. She now knew why Thomas did not, could not, grudge Sam Bellamy to James and Miranda, or any of the other ghosts. Any of the others they had known, and loved, and lost, in the long years thinking the others dead. “Uncle Thomas, I’m so sorry.”

He smiled at her, eyes still a thousand miles away, and patted her hand. “I’m sorry too, Jenny,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry too. But it’s all right. Alexander is in heaven, I have never known anything so strongly as I know that, and I knew then that I had not been wrong. To believe as I had, to act as I did, to love as I had, and always would. And so, I found the strength to carry on.”

“I shouldn’t,” Geneva said. “I shouldn’t have sailed into the storm, I shouldn’t have spied on you and Silver, I shouldn’t have made such a mess with Hands, I shouldn’t have – ”

Thomas leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Te absolvo,” he said, very quietly. “If you will forgive me the bit of Popery. Alexander was a Catholic, you see, and it rather comes to mind.”

Geneva nodded, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, and Thomas offered her his handkerchief. He put his arm lightly around her shoulders, the Rose creaking reassuringly beneath them as they kept on sailing into the night, whole and intact. She allowed herself to shake for a few moments more, then pulled herself together and got to her feet. “I need to talk to Silver.”

Thomas paused, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll stay here with Mrs. Rogers.”

Geneva kissed his cheek, then got to her feet, hair coming down in tangles from its slapdash knot and blood drying brown on her skirts as she crossed the cabin and pushed out into the night. The crewmen had managed to mostly clean up the scene on deck, and Madi was still standing by the capstan, shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Geneva could not help but wonder if Madi thought that of course, one more time, Eleanor had elbowed her aside for her own needs. She paused. “Madi? We can find you a bed, we – ”

“Thank you,” Madi said, not looking around. “I will find my own. You have other matters to attend to, Captain. Do not trouble about me.”

Geneva winced, sensing her dismissal, and decided to take it. She climbed onto the ladder and down toward the brig, which was not much more than a barred privy shaft crammed against the fore hold. Silver and Jim were standing in front of it, not looking at each other or speaking, both of them keeping baleful eyes on the rattling and clanking from within. Israel Hands, by the sounds of things, was not disposed to take his imprisonment quietly.

Geneva could not help glancing nervously at it, even though she knew he couldn’t get out. She and Jim stared at each other for an excruciatingly uncomfortable moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Could I – could I borrow Mr. Silver, please?”

Jim grunted, as if to say he couldn’t stop either of them from whatever it should damn well please them to do. He remained where he was, plainly intending to continue standing guard, and this was not a conversation that Geneva wanted to have with an audience. She beckoned Silver off down the gantry, for as much privacy as anyone could ever have on a sixth-rater. The ensuing silence was even more hideous. Then Geneva said, “I must ask this only once, and you must answer truthfully. Did you have anything to do with smuggling Eleanor and Hands onto the ship behind my back?”

“No.” Silver threw his shoulders back and regarded her coolly. “Did you think I did?”

“No,” Geneva allowed. “But I had to be sure. Besides, that is not what you have to answer for. Thank you for saving my life, by the way. But if that bullet had struck the capstan and Hands’ firetrap there, we all would have – ”

“And was it better that it should strike you?” Silver’s blue eyes were both angry and pleading. “Allow yourself to be shot by the madman, in some damaged atonement for your own mistakes? Believe me, I know something about those. But you are, if nothing else, the captain of this vessel, and therefore, you are slightly less replaceable than the others. Besides, I dealt with your parents long enough to anticipate that some unwise self-sacrificial streak might appear at a moment like this. And so – ”

“Yes,” Geneva said, not quite as coolly as she wanted. “My parents. Do you care to tell me, perhaps, why you told Jim that my father killed his, and for what purpose?”

Silver grimaced. For a moment she thought he would try to run, and resolved to kick his false leg out from under him and beat him over the head with it if he did. Then he said, “I told Jim to stop him from going down to the hold, after I met Eleanor and she warned me that there was something dangerous down there – which, as we have all learned most spectacularly, was our friend Israel Hands. As for what I told him, it is because. . .” He hesitated. “Geneva, your father did kill James Hawkins senior. I was not lying. I know you don’t want to hear that, but – ”

Geneva reared back as if he had slapped her. “How would you know that?”

“I was there in Nassau at the time. So were you, in fact, but still some months from being born.”

“So you told Jim that my uncle Liam didn’t kill his father, because – ”

“Because it wasn’t what happened!” At last, Silver sounded frustrated, balling his fist and hitting the bulkhead wall with a thunk. “Your uncle didn’t, but – ”

“So what, hold back the real information until you could most profitably use it?” Geneva’s own tone was becoming more heated. “When were you planning to turn Jim on me, exactly? And I still don’t believe that Daddy even did it, he and Mr. Hawkins were friends, they were friends, Hawkins was the purser on the Imperator, why would he – ”

“Your father was Captain Hook, Geneva.” Silver modulated his tone with an effort, and looked at her straight. “You know the stories, but the reality is. . . different. You know that he sacked Antigua and Jamaica, you know he killed men – many of them, in fact. Yet all of those were faceless, abstract, and doubtless you half-felt, as he did, that they deserved it anyway for daring to side with Robert Gold and the British crown. But to know that your father looked into the eyes of a man he held a dear friend, wished with all his heart it had not come to this, and destroyed him nonetheless – that is no easy thing to reckon with.”

“And what? You’re judging him for that?”

“Me?” Silver laughed, unfathomably bitterly. “When I did the exact same thing? Jesus Christ, no.”

“Oh?” Geneva lifted her chin. “Whatever you did to Grandpa on Skeleton Island, you mean?”

“Yes.” Silver’s hand opened and closed on the wall. “Yes, I do mean what I did to your grandfather on Skeleton Island. Now that that is clear, may we proceed?”

“But – ” Geneva faltered. “You didn’t kill him – so it can’t – ”

“Believe me,” Silver said, “I killed Captain Flint. And to know that James McGraw made it off eventually, that he reunited with his great loves, that he has had a long and happy life with his family – yes, I tell myself that it was all to the good in the end, and that he must have seen it my way, and even have ventured at forgiving me. Then I remember that man forgave no one, and never did, and that he must still hold the bitterest loathing in his heart deep down, that he feels it stab again when he thinks of me. Over and over, for twenty-five years. And then you and Thomas appeared, like something out of a dream, like something from a nightmare. Do not expect me to stand aside and watch you be shot. Do not.”

Despite herself, Geneva flinched at the rawness in his voice, the burn of tears in his weathered eyes, as he realized he was saying too much, baring too many wounds, and shut his mouth with a click, turning away. The horrendous silence returned. Then she said, “If Daddy – if he did kill Hawkins – why didn’t he just – why didn’t you just – ”

“I was not trying to hurt Jim,” Silver said, half to himself. “Or turn him against you. I swear.”

Geneva considered grimly that if Jim did end up turned against her, she did not have the luxury of only blaming Silver, easy and convenient as it was. Would have to face her own choices, if she likewise wanted to stand aside and watch it happen, or try to avert it now before it went past the point of no return. “Even if so – what would be enough, what would make Daddy turn on a friend like that – if he – ”

“As I understand it,” Silver said, “Hawkins wished to hand Sam Bellamy over to the Royal Navy, in exchange for the possibility of a pardon and restoration to service of the Imperator’s men who had followed your father into piracy. In hopes of preserving this chance, he had also led those men into mutiny. Your father himself was. . . not amenable to the idea.”

“Daddy had known Hawkins for years. He had only known Bellamy for – what, a few months?”

“Your parents loved him.” Silver’s voice was very quiet. “So did your grandparents. It was something he inspired easily. The time of it mattered little, but – ”

Geneva did not answer. She felt as if her heart was falling out of her foot. She had always been so adoring of her father, never given much real thought to the darkness of his past, had felt – exactly as Silver had said – that anyone who crossed him and ended up dead must have deserved it somehow. She had always felt attached to her godfather as well, been determined to honor his memory, when everyone in the family seemed to miss him so much – but to hear that your father had killed a friend of many years’ standing for the sake of some pirate that had been dead all this time, and none of them could just let go of –

“To hell with Sam Bellamy,” Geneva said furiously. “I’m tired of the control his ghost somehow still has over all of them. He can fuck off and drown again, for all I care. Maybe this time we’ll finally be rid of him. I don’t care what Daddy thought he was doing. I know they were bad people in their day, but – you know what, I can see exactly why Jim is so angry at the lot of us. I used to be proud to be part of this family. I don’t know that I am anymore.”

Silver opened and shut his mouth, looking stricken. He reached for her, but she pulled back as if he had tried to stab her. She spun on her heel, and strode away.

The next several days were a repetition of the same dreary routine. While it was debatable if that had been her exact intention, Eleanor had ended up with the best bed on the ship, and could not be dislodged from it. Geneva fetched her chicken broth twice a day, rich with meat and marrow, and changed and washed her bloody bandages, carefully tending the wound with what few supplies she had to hand. But Eleanor was clearly suffering, hanging on but not mending, and kept urging Geneva to try something else, as if she was supposed to become a full-fledged surgeon on the spot. Thomas helped with what field knowledge he had, but a gunshot wound of this location and severity was sometimes fatal even in the best-equipped circumstances. Geneva still did not intend to just let her die, but Eleanor’s care was occupying all of her time, attention, and the extra supplies on the Rose, and it could not even be certain of a favorable result.

As well, the situation with Jim and Silver continued to walk on eggshells. Jim barely exchanged more than a dozen words with Geneva a day, and those only when he could not otherwise avoid acknowledging her presence. Thomas had given up his berth to Madi, as she refused to bunk with Eleanor, which meant that she and Silver were now sharing quarters; Thomas and Geneva themselves slept on cramped pallets on the floor of the cabin, Eleanor occupying the bed. They continued to make good time on the westerlies, but if they were drawing closer to Skeleton Island like this, preparing to find Billy and Lady Fiona and whoever else they might have recruited – Geneva could not for the life of her imagine it going well.

A few more evenings hence, she got a distant sight of land on the horizon, pulled out the chart, and reckoned that they must be almost in reach of Bermuda. As it was of course where they had stopped over on the way out, and learned of Billy’s intent to go to Bristol, there was something to be said for a return visit – if nothing else, they could offload Eleanor and transfer Hands to the custody of a proper bailiff. They could also top up on their beleaguered supplies – nothing critical, but still running lower than Geneva would like. God, she wanted to be off this wretched tub and not set foot on it again for at least another six months. Or a year.

She went off to find her crew and give the order for them to make for St. George’s Town. They were bearing up reasonably well under all the unexpected exigencies, detours, and delays, but Geneva knew they were running thin at the edges as well, and one night ashore did not sound like the worst thing in the world. Thus, of course, no matter how much they changed the sheets and lines, they could not wrestle the Rose out of the grasp of the wind. Geneva ordered the sails reefed, trying to slow their headlong charge, but even with the canvas down, the current kept the ship firm in its grasp. The waves were rough and choppy, and remembering that this was almost precisely where they had encountered the hurricane on the outward journey, everyone was terse and on edge, watching the sky for any hint of an ominous darkening. It wasn’t quite that bad, but at this rate, all they were going to do was wave at Bermuda as they were swept by.

Geneva had been fighting the wind and current with the rest of them all day, every muscle aching as if she had been clubbed, hair coming down in long, sweaty clumps until she was sorely tempted to take the shears and hack the lot of it off. At least the effort had kept Jim from remembering, too much, that he was mad at her, and they had been working in close proximity to more or less success. But as it became clear that they were not going to be able to force a landing at St. George’s, and Bermuda began to fall astern again into the twilight, Geneva pushed back from the wheel and began to beat her hands on the helm-housing, swearing. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck this whole fucking stupid fucking fuck of a voyage! Fuck!”

She felt someone grab at her wrists, trying to stop her, but ignored them, hitting her hands again and again, ignoring the pain. Then Jim managed to catch her palms, covering them with his own, and their eyes locked for a long moment as one of the crewmen dove to take over the abandoned helm. The entire mood on deck felt fragile and furious and close to snapping, men grumbling and staring evilly at Silver, the most clearly apparent scapegoat for their present misfortunes. “What d’ye think, lads?” one of them asked. “Chuck him overboard, see if the goin’ gets easier?”

A low, agreeing rumble went up, chilling and ugly; Geneva had heard the sound of men intent on violence often enough not to mistake it. She took a step. “Jesus Christ, you cretins. Throwing him off the ship isn’t going to help a – ”

“How do you know?” one of the men asked – one of the newcomers she had taken on in Bristol, who had no particular reason to trust a young female captain. Job Anderson, Geneva thought his name was – a tall, athletic, powerful man, who would have been rather nice-looking if he wasn’t scowling so heavily at her. “You’ve barely been seen all voyage, nursemaiding that bitch who nearly got the lot of us blown up.”

“Eleanor didn’t – look, bloody hell, there are plenty of other sins to lay to her account, but – ”

“You shut up, woman.” Anderson’s scowl turned into something closer to a leer. “Keep all those pretty teeth inside your head, eh?”

“You don’t speak to my niece that way,” Thomas warned him. “Or else you’ll be the one we offer as a sacrifice for calmer seas, Mr. Anderson.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

“Don’t do this. We barely avoided this situation once, and to replay it again can be of no use whatsoever. Stand down, all of you.”

“And look at you givin’ the orders for her. Isn’t it clear she can’t command men by herself?” Anderson took another step, causing Geneva to retreat an involuntary pace. She hated it when taller, stronger men purposefully used it to loom over and intimidate you, knowing it was something almost primal in a woman to back down before an angry male, if the alternative was being hit. “Think it’s time you go back to your dollies and your embroidery, little lady. The Rose needs a real man’s hand to master her.”

“Fuck off, you arrogant son of a bitch.” Geneva’s knees were trembling, but she locked them hard. “This is my ship. Anyone who disagrees is welcome to explain himself to the magistrate, when we reach the Colonies and I have the lot of you arrested.”

“Oh, arrest and the gallows, is it?” Anderson eyed her appraisingly. “Well, if what’s standing between us and that fate is you, an old man, a one-legged arsehole, and the Hawkins lad, could be we’ll take our chances.”

“Don’t you lay a finger on the captain, or any of the – ” One of Geneva’s longtime crewmen, Alan MacGregor, drew his pistol. “You rabble-rousing bastard, you get the fuck off our ship before you do something you can’t – ”

Anderson whirled, pulled his own gun, and shot MacGregor through the head. The sound was like a thunderclap, nailing everyone’s feet to the ground, as Geneva felt as if she had been about to scream but it had been driven out of her. Jim grabbed her arm one one side, Thomas to the other, as MacGregor, lips still moving, keeled over and went down face-first on the boards, blood spreading in a slow leak beneath him. Even Anderson seemed momentarily taken aback by his temerity. Then he lifted his head, and grinned.

“Get her, boys,” he ordered, and the mutiny of the Rose began.

“Sam,” Jack said, after a long pause. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course it’s a good idea.” Sam got to his feet, brushing off the leaves and twigs, as if he was prepared to charge back down into Bridgetown and murder his quarry on the instant. “You were the one who jumped onto the roof of his carriage wearing a dishcloth like a nincompoop. I’m going to actually think about it. Besides, since when was anything you said a good idea?”

“I’m – ” Jack appeared briefly at a loss for how to answer that, which was satisfying. “Well, since when were you any good at killing people?”

“Last night,” Sam said challengingly. “I killed three men, in fact. It wasn’t even that hard.”

Jack stared at him. Sam expected some stupid crack about how perhaps he wasn’t entirely useless after all, but Jack looked rattled, and less than pleased. “You – ” he said convulsively. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“Oh? Nathaniel shouldn’t have had to die either. Fuck them, I hope they’re roasting in hell.” Sam did his best to sound fierce, but his voice still wobbled. He would kill three more men for something to eat, but his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of actual food. He felt possessed of a black, restless, manic energy that would not let him stand or sit, stalking back and forth between two palm trees like a caged tiger. “Either help me, or go on with whatever the hell you were doing that was so important. I really don’t care.”

With that, he spun on his much-worn boot and did his best at an icy, imperious exit, bushwhacking through the trees with far less grace than he wanted. After he had just enough time to think that of course Jack was abandoning him, he heard more crashing through the underbrush, and a hand grabbed his arm. “Jesus, if you’re – at least think about this! What are you going to do, walk straight into his mansion? Even if you did kill him, you’d be surrounded, his men would kill you in retaliation right away. Never meet an enemy on his ground!”

“Fine then! And I suppose you’re Hannibal the master military strategist, are you?”

“If we have any hope at killing him, it’s when he is outside his house and off his guard.” Jack clearly wondered whether he should explain this as if to a two-year-old. “If we could lure him somewhere by himself, without his guards – then yes, we might have a chance at him, he’s an old man and I don’t think he’s trained as a soldier. I still think we would be shot on the spot, and he’s far too canny, he’d sniff out a trap a mile away. So we’d have to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse, even knowing it was some sort of trick, and I’m afraid the only thing we have with that sort of leverage is you. And why bother to come to get you by himself, when he can just bring his guards and capture you by force?”

“I just – ” Sam tried to pull away, but Jack held on tenaciously. “I just want to kill him!”

“So did your entire family, they spent months trying to do it, and look where it got them, with all their skill and all their plots and all their rage! And call me completely mistaken if you must, but I’m not sure they want a dead son to add to the pain Gold has already caused them. I’m sorry about your friend, you know I am. More than I can ever say. But this isn’t going to – ”

“Shut up.” Sam shoved harder, managed to break Jack’s grip, and turned his back, marching angrily through the plantains. “Just shut up. Instead of trotting across the Caribbean after me, how about you go home to your wife? Or back to Cuba and Güemes for a new assignment, wherever a spy goes? Oh, and don’t act like you care about my family. It doesn’t suit you.”

There was a marked silence at his back, and Sam lowered his head and told himself it didn’t matter. Remembered that plantains could be eaten for food, grabbed one, tore at the tough skin, and took a bite. It was starchy and unripe, but he was hungry enough that he forced it down. He kept on trudging, driven on by the bonfire of rage in his stomach, until he reached the road that led back in the direction of Bridgetown and the governor’s villa. It was just a muddy track, heavily shaded by the palm leaves overhead, sunlight coming and going behind the clouds. Gold’s men were surely still out hunting for the escapees, and if he wasn’t careful, he would walk directly into them. Fine. If nothing else, they likely did not expect him to take the main road, so he’d stick with it as long as he could, and dodge into the brush if he saw anyone coming.

He walked for a while, until the sun went in, did not re-emerge, and it shortly began to rain. Rain, however, was a far too delicate and civilized word for this full-throated torrent, drops as thick and heavy as mercury slashing through the jungle and hitting Sam hard enough to make him stagger. Seething runnels of brown water ran around his legs, first at ankle height and then up his calf, until it occurred to him that it he had better get to higher ground if he did not want his grand revenge quest to come to an anticlimactic end by being drowned in a flash flood. He clawed up the steep, muddy bank, hair coming loose and pasted in his eyes, grabbed onto a root, and it broke off in his hand, sending him skidding. A stab of real fear went through him as the water began to suck eagerly at his boots, knocking him off balance. He gathered his legs under him, felt the ground start to crumble, slipped, and –

A hand caught his from above, a hand large and sun-browned and attached to an arm corded with lean muscle, clasped hard, and gave him a very firm jerk clear of the rush. Sam did a stupid little somersault, got a faceful of rich, soaking mud, and then an upside-down view of Jack, who looked utterly exasperated. “What, exactly, were you intending to accomplish?” He had to shout over the thunder and the downpour still drumming the canopy. “Amazing start, really!”

“What are you – ” Sam spat out a large beetle and sat up. “Were you following me?”

“Of course I was following you, you idiot!” Jack looked incredulous that this even had to be asked. “And good thing I was, wouldn’t you say? Now, should we go together, or do you still want to storm off in a huff?”

“You have no right to point fingers for storming off in huffs, Mr. I’m-Bad-At-Caring-For-People!” Sam struggled to his feet, almost slipped again, and had to grab the trunk of the nearest palm tree. Trust Jack Bellamy to bugger off when you wanted him to hang around, and to hang around when you wanted him to bugger off. “So don’t start now!”

Jack opened his mouth, once again discovered no good answer, and shut it. They were thus obliged to discontinue the conversation until the tropical cloudburst passed, leaving the road a good two feet of muddy swamp and the trees dripping like bullets, as well as both of them thoroughly soaked to the skin. Then they started to walk, boots squelching, the humidity briefly dispelled by the rain but already closing in again, as unpleasantly as a hot wet blanket. Sam felt as if he was breathing more water than air, drenched in sweat, by the time they reached an overlook into Bridgetown. Gazing down over the harbor, the first thing they noticed was that the Griffin was still in port. Evidently, whether because of the need to search for the fugitives or some other reason, Matthew Rogers had not yet departed.

Sam was half tempted to suggest that they make it a clean sweep and kill Matthew too, but for some reason, the young Navy captain frightened him more than Gold did, and he didn’t want to get Matthew’s entire crew, as well as the Admiralty, on their cases as a result. One Jones poking that bear in the eye was more than sufficient. Besides, Matthew would thank him, once they killed Gold and he had his eyes opened to the wee bastard he’d been serving so devotedly. Might even give them a free ride home in gratitude. No sense shutting that door just yet.

Sam blew out a wet, weary breath, wondered if it was worth it to empty out his boots or if they’d just fill up again, and beckoned Jack around to the path that led down the backside of the headland. It was a slow, skidding descent, nearly flying off the hillside several times, but when they finally made it down, they spotted another ship just entering the harbor, perhaps held off from approach by the earlier storm, but now closing with intent purpose. It was a sleek, black, two-masted brigantine under English colors, outwardly no different from anyone else landing at the busy trading port of Bridgetown, but something about it made Sam look again. He stood still, watching intently, as it drew nearer and nearer. It had a figurehead that looked like a queen or a fairy or something of the sort, a crowned woman with wings. The hell?

The ship glided up to the quays, enough for Sam to squint and see that the name on the bow was Titania. A rope was thrown out to tie up, and then after a few moments, two passengers appeared to disembark. A tall, muscled, rough-hewn man with a blonde-grey beard, and a smaller, dark-haired woman in an elaborate black traveling gown and parasol. For no good reason, the sight of them made Sam uneasy, and he squinted harder, possessed by the conviction that he should know them from somewhere. Until suddenly, he recalled something that Gold had said during their audience at first arrival: Make no mistake, the prospect of Skeleton Island intrigues me as much as anyone, but I have already set other pieces in play toward that end. You recall a man named Billy Bones? I don’t suppose you would.

But wait – was that Bones? The one who hated Grandpa? They had already discovered that he had bought up the maps from Mr. Kerr in Nevis, but – was he back now, and who was that woman? Sam did not like her just to look at her, and he didn’t know why. She had a prim, sickeningly sweet, self-satisfied expression on her face, as she and Bones climbed into a hire cart and she leaned forward to have a word with the driver. After a brief discussion, and an aristocratic wave of her gloved hand, they set off up the hill toward the governor’s mansion.

Sam remained irresolute an instant longer, then jerked his head at Jack. “Come on,” he said. “We’re following them.”

[averyjarhman]

#TheLargerIssue #SingleParenting #ChildNeglectMaltreatment #MentalHealth #Solutions

Video: 'Anti-Racism Strategist' Tariq  Nasheed Collides With 'White Advocate' Jared Taylor

Hello, my friends. The main purpose of this writing is to provide evidence exposing the nature and character of a fellow American citizen loudly declaring Racism, the concept of 'White Supremacy' or 'White Privilege', is impeding our black or American friends, neighbors and co-workers of African descent from experiencing equality and respect, as well as achieving success in today's ever-evolving American society.

Recently I was listening to social commentator 'Tree of Logic' speak with alleged 'White Supremacist' Jared Taylor. (see included YouTube link)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jared_Taylor

During their conversation I learned in February of 2018 'White Advocate' Jared Taylor and  'Anti-Racism Strategist' Tariq Nasheed, a loud voice representing America's large PRO BLACK minded community, got together sharing a discussion about race relations in America, as well as race relations on our planet.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tariq_Nasheed

"Dysfunctional 'PRO BLACK American' Logic Succinctly Explained By Social Commentator Mr. David Carroll"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hbm7xE99jVI/ ___

Keeping it REAL, listening to Tariq sharing his thoughts and concerns I became embarrassed for him, as well as his large base of supporters and admirers.

In my opinion Tariq Nasheed is an emotionally troubled, $for-profit$, race-hustling clown. A man exhibiting childish behaviors while offering off-the-cuff, childlike arguments to support his views about "White Supremacy."

See for yourself...

"Tariq Nasheed vs. Jared Taylor" Streamed live on Feb 8, 2018 by Baked Alaska

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdrrqS6IBnA/

Frankly, listening to Tariq Nasheed and Jared Taylor discuss historical, as well as current race relations on our planet, confirms my suspicions that Tariq, much like many of his fans and supporters, is not a well adjusted fellow citizen, nor is he interested in intelligently discussing issues affecting black American citizens.

In fact, YouTube personalty Ms. Cynthia G, a former Tariq Nasheed admirer, took the time to investigate Tariq's past, sharing with her fans what she believes is his documented criminal history of fraud, lies and deceptions:

"Tariq Nasheed: Hidden Criminal?" Published on Jun 5, 2018 by Cynthia G - 8,313 views

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKcG0RwWoNI/

My friends, by sharing evidence of emotional illness and HATE depicted in this writing, I am hoping my responsible American neighbors will recognize that cries of RACISM and WHITE SUPREMACY are being exploited by apparent troubled Americans totally focused on lining their pockets with $$$.

Unfortunately, social media platforms like YouTube are incentivizing and $rewarding$ with cash, folks banging the Racism and 'White Supremacy' drums.

Sadly, over the past several years I've witnessed a growing number of black Americans  choosing to join and CASH IN on the Racism, 'White Privilege' bandwagon. Attracting an audience by angrily offering history lessons about our evolving specie's ignorant, hateful past.

While IGNORING the hate existing in today's world.

I'm talking about Hate embraced by PRO BLACK minded Americans choosing to bully, intimidate, harass and denigrate as "C^^N, Uncle Tom and Sell-Out" our successful black American neighbors peacefully pursuing THEIR OWN unique vision for L, L, (Love) & Happiness.

I'm talking about the worst kind of human HATE. The HATE Child Abuse and Gun Violence Homicide victim Tupac Shakur includes in his often misinterpreted, much ignored T.H.U.G.L.I.F.E. Child Abuse, Emotional Neglect, Abandonment & Maltreatment *AWARENESS-PREVENTION* Public Service Announcement, applying to American and foreign born citizens of ALL backgrounds:

T.H.U.G.L.I.F.E. - "The HATE U Give Little Infants Fvvks *EVERYONE"* ~Tupac Shakur, American Urban-TRUTH-Teller

The good news is, a growing number of apparent responsible, caring black American men and women are speaking up, producing videos sharing their concerns about the harm single parenting is doing to many communities.

Hopefully, one day soon, Tariq will evolve into a responsible citizen, denouncing the fvvkery, while at the same time supporting and admiring his responsible fellow citizens choosing to peacefully experience life on their own terms. ____

"Tariq Nasheed gets DESTROYED by White Nationalist Jared Taylor - Shameful" Published on Feb 12, 2018 by The Amazing Lucas 42,574 views

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DiSwIwsuro/ ___ "Jared Taylor Talks With Tree of Logic about Race Debates, White Victimhood and More" Published on Jan 24, 2019 by Tree Of Logic

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQoEAOFB5E8/

"Tariq Nasheed vs Jared Taylor, NOW Y'ALL KNOW!" Published on Feb 12, 2018 by Donovan Worland  12,821 views

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FG2Ih2eSSNk/

Peace. ___ American *(Children)* Lives Matter; Take Pride In Parenting; *End Our National Epidemic of Child Abuse and Neglect*; End Community Violence, Police Anxiety & Educator's Frustrations ____ "My mother was cancer, she would destroy *EVERYBODY"* ~Richard 'The Iceman' Kuklinsky, 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victim and now-deceased convicted serial murderer.

"I would have never been able to do this work if I had come into this world with a mother who stayed, who nurtured me in a healthy way." ~Dr. Stacey Patton, Ph.D., Professor, Author, Child Abuse & Violence Researcher

[awesometheauthor]

Revisiting Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon’s Informaciones

Copyright 2016, All Rights Reserved, National And International

John J. Browne y Ayes, Author.

“Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.

Be still they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of thousands.”

Linda Hogan. Native American Writer.

I’ve decided to go back to the document, “Informaciones: Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon” AGI/Mexico, 203, N.19 because I have been seeing the same old data concerning the undocumented consort of Juan Ponce de Leon being listed again online. History, especially erroneous theory concerning Juan Ponce de Leon is still being disseminated to our children by stalwart essayists and historians. I guess old things are very hard to let go of by some people. People have been using Fuson’s erroneous work in their essays. Fuson writes that “Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon was Juan Ponce de Leon’s cousin.” Then other authors, Robert Greenberger, followed suit copying the error and publishing it in their books. These authors also cited Leonor as being the “consort” of Juan Ponce de Leon.

In any case, Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon’s Informaciones is a document that was discovered in the archives years ago by me and Richard Troche when I had been researching and collecting data for my book. I couldn’t include a lot of information derived from that document because my publisher had set a limitation on how many pages my book could have. Five hundred and sixty-eight pages were all my publisher’s printer could handle at the time so I had to drastically edit Informaciones down to who were the parents of Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon.

After a lot of thought on the matter, I’ve decided to release and share more data that seems to have been ignored by people who have written about it, especially those parts of the document that confirm many times over who the legitimate wife and father were of Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon and his siblings. You don’t have to be a DNA expert to prove a specific point, just a good paleographer. And, by the way, the undocumented Leonor, “the daughter of an innkeeper” is not in my family tree. Dona Beatriz de Luna is the legitimate wife and mother of all of Juan Ponce de Leon’s children. I am not going to pull back here or be kind because if you insist on keeping undocumented Leonor in your family tree, you forfeit your claim of being a documented descendant of Juan Ponce de Leon, el Viejo.

Archivo General de Indias.

ES.41091.AGI/1.16403.13.203//Mexico,203,N.19

Informaciones:

Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon

Dated 1532

On page number 0000SWYF Yten y Saben que Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon es hijo legitimo de Don Juan Ponce de Leon y de Dona Beatriz de Luna.

Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon’s document begins in the abad of Tenochititlan, Mexico. The document is dated 1532. Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon gives testimony on his “probanzas.” He talks extensively about his “hechos” in la Isla de Espanola de Santo Domingo and Isla de San Juan de Borinquen as well as his adventures in Mexico during the conquest.

He was twenty-seven years of age when he left the kingdom of Castilla and arrived at la Isla Espanola de Santo Domingo during the year of 1505. After his father’s work was done there, they left for Isla de San Juan. History records that the cleric de Ovando sent a letter to the king full of praise for Juan Ponce’s work. The king was impressed and sent a cedula that set Ponce’s work to begin in Isla de San Juan de Borinquen.

The Armada left Isla Espanola to populate the island of San Juan. The captain of the armada was Captain Juan Ponce de Leon el Viejo. In the document, Juan Gonzalez described the large bay that was discovered by him. That bay was large enough to accommodate the entrance of the armada therein and to facilitate landfall of the soldiers.

That bay today sits below San Juan proper.

Juan Gonzalez translated for his father whenever they had any interactions with Indians. Juan Gonzalez never explained in the document how he had become fluent in the language of the Taino. One can theorize that he had studied the language from one of the Taino Indians that Columbus had brought to Spain to show off to the king.

What his compatriots didn’t know was that he was also employed by the king to be his eyes and ears in the Caribbean and Mexico. He was a spy sending back detailed reports and information about the going on within the body politic of those places. One can assume that Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon also sent reports pertaining to the maltreatment and abuse of the Taino at the hands of Spanish settlers. The king probably knew of this well before the cleric de las Casas began sending off his lengthy complaints to the king.

Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon goes on to talk about how Agueybana began the war of revolt in Isla de San Juan. He relates that a lot of good Christians were killed during that revolt including Cristobal de Sotomayor. He went on talking how he and his father went off to protect the settlers of San German, the place his father had founded during 1510. Juan Ponce de Leon set up a foundry there to process gold. They had a brief but fierce battle with the Indians who retreated into the mountains that surrounded San German. In one of those battles, Juan Gonzalez was wounded.

Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon related that he went off with his father on the journey of exploration and discovery of Pascua Florida. He jumped forward to remind his inquisitors how his father was murdered along with many of the good Christians during the task of setting up a settlement.

On page 0000SWYC

Before 1521 Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon left Isla de Fernandina-Cuba, in the armada of Panfilo de Narvaez.

On page 0000SWYD Juan Gonzalez spoke about the battle of la Noche Triste. He was a Captain of cavalrymen and almost got killed in that battle fighting against Aztec warriors. Despite losing a lot of his comrades in that battle he saved many of his companions during the retreat.

Juan Gonzalez relates how he was the first to scale a stone runway after crossing enemy lines. He engaged enemy warriors in a fierce battle single-handedly and was wounded many times before retreating from that battle. He later served in Tlaxcala exploring and fighting with Aztec warriors in those mountains.

Let’s stop here for a moment while we are on the subject of the conquest of Mexico. Historians like to gloss over important facts when it comes to the conquest of New Spain.

When the Spanish arrived in Mexico they encountered Aztec priests tearing the hearts out from live victims atop temples in Tenochtitlan dedicated to their gods. After the victims were bereft of their hearts their heads were cut off and their bodies were thrown down the temple’s steps. One can imagine the terror, anguish, and fear in the hearts of the other victims waiting their turn, while they waited their captors worked trying to convince them that it was a great honor to die this way. In the eyes of the Christian conquistadors, these acts of appeasing false gods must have been repulsive and loathsome. The Spanish might have

thought that the Mexican people had to be saved from demons that must have taken possession of the powerful priesthood. The rulers in their turn must have been deemed to also have been possessed because they allowed the meaningless slaughter of innocent people to continue instead of protecting them. Historians can only see the wholesale slaughter of a generation of the emperor, his nobles, and soldiers-warriors who went out to capture victims for those sacrificial rites.

Historians tend to forget or ignore the fact that these Spanish explorers were commanded by their king and pope to spread the word of Christianity wherever they went by contract. It was the Spanish Christian duty to punish and eliminate by whatever means those who were deemed possessed by the evil who demanded blood and hearts of innocent people. Thus historians have painted the conquistador not as saviors but as butchers and murderers when in fact they were releasing a nation of people from what they saw as devil worship.

The gold that was taken from the Aztecs is no different from our own action of closing down banking accounts and real interests of people who support terrorism today. It was a way to stifle the Aztec nobility from calling up and paying more warriors to continue to fight against the Spanish.

That gold and silver that was taken served a higher purpose to support ongoing discovery and exploration and to spread the word of Christianity in the New World. It also served to support the Christian king back home who was at war on three fronts against the English, French, and Dutch as well as pirates who had been contracted to harass the Spanish by the aforementioned countries. Yes, gold was needed by Spain to arm and outfit infantry, to build and arm ships for Spain’s armadas and to protect her new colonies from invasion as well as her borders and ports.

When the Spanish moved farther south they encountered what was left of the Maya civilization. The Spanish discovered that the Maya were also performing ritual human sacrifice. Again, the Spanish dealt with the heretic emperor, priests, nobles and soldiers in the same way they did in Mexico.

When the Pizarro and his troops entered Peru they must have already known that Peruvian priests were taking children up to the summit of mountains to garrote them painfully and slowly on behalf of their gods. On November 16, 1532, Francisco Pizarro, set a trap on emperor Atahualpa and his retinue at Cajamarca. With fewer than 200 men against several thousand, Pizarro lured Atahualpa to a feast that was supposed to honor the Incan emperor.

When the Inca ruler arrived at Cajamarca, he was met by the cleric, Vicente de Valverde, Valverde attempted to convert Atahualpa to Christianity and urged him to accept the Spanish monarch, Charles V, as his sovereign. This outraged and angered Atahualpa, who refused the friar’s demands. At the cleric Valverde’s signal, Pizarro’s men opened fire on the Incas.

Spanish spies brought news that one of Atahualpa’s generals was planning to attack the Spanish with a large force of warriors. Atahualpa was sentenced on charges of stirring up rebellion, The emperor was sentenced to death to burn at the stake in 1533, this sentence was befitting a heretic who had refused to convert to Christianity. Atahualpa became frightened and horrified because the Inca believed that the soul would not be able to cross into the afterlife if the body were burned. In an attempt to avoid the stake, Atahualpa offered to fill a large room once with gold and twice with silver within two months. However, his offer was refused by the Spanish. Atahualpa converted to Roman Catholicism before his death, in order to avoid being burnt at the stake. He was baptized and given the name Francisco Atahualpa. In a manner conforming with his request, he was strangled by way of garrote on 26 July 1533. He was given a Christian burial.

Christianity has always been at odds with paganism. Before history was recorded in Europe there were Druids. The bogs in England are probably still full of the bodies of people. Christianity finally came to those lands. The Druids were put to the sword and human sacrifice ceased.

In France pagans were given a choice, convert or lose your head on the block. Thousands who made the wrong choice lost their heads.

I want you to remember this because the old authors of the history of the conquest of the New World were the sworn enemies of Spain. They worked very hard putting the Spanish who explored our continent as well as South America to place them in an unfavorable light. These erroneous lessons have been taught to us in my day and are still being taught to our children today.

Now to continue with more Informaciones: Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon.

On page 0000SWYF

ytem y Saben, Item and know that Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon is the legitimate son of the legitimate marriage of Don Juan Ponce de Leon and of Dona Beatriz de Luna. They were his legitimate parents who were born of a noble family.

On page 0000SWYH

Again it is written that Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon is the legitimate son of Don Juan Ponce de Leon and Dona Beatriz de Luna.

On the same page: 0000SWYZF

Juan Gonzalez stated that he was born and raised in his families home in Castilla, Seville. And in Isla Espanola and San Juan, he resided for a time with his parents and family. His father built a villa in Isla Espanola de Santo Domingo and Isla San Juan for his wife and family.

Going back to the above statement, it makes me ask why did Juan Ponce de Leon, el Viejo risk exposing his family to the dangers inherent in the potential of an Indian attack and slaughter of his family. If Juan Ponce fortified the villas he surely would have also staffed them with his bravest and skilled soldiers to stand guard and protect his family from danger. Could bringing his wife and family to the Caribbean serve another purpose? Perhaps he wanted to set an example to other settlers to do the same for the sole purpose of getting adventurous people to come to those islands to populate them. After all, it was part of his contract with his king to populate and build Isla de San Juan de Borinquen at his own expense. Amongst these settlers would be craftsmen who would also build and fortify the island. One must not forget the farmers who would work tirelessly to feed the new population. Furthermore, if Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon was living only with his mother and father the document would have stated it in that way. The document specifically implies other family members, brothers, and sisters.

On page 0000SWYA The name of Agueybana appears in regard to the slaughter of good Christians. The war of revolt begins. On the same page, San German is mentioned as well as Cristobal de Sotomayor who was killed as well as settlers in the villa of Tavora by the Indians. After a short battle with the Taino, the warriors retreated into the mountains that surrounded San German.

On page 0000SWYH

A man, first name illegible, Lopez gave witness testimony that Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon served and lived in the Villa on Isla Espanola and on Isla de San Juan de Borinquen with his family. Lopez confirmed that Juan Gonzalez was the legitimate son of Juan Ponce de Leon and Dona Beatriz de Luna.

It is important to note the word familia in the document. The word family was used to indicate mother, father, brothers, and sisters. Not once in the whole of seventy-two pages of Informaciones has the woman’s name Leonor been cited as being the mother of Maria, Juana, and Luis Ponce de Leon. It is without a doubt that I can write here that Dona Beatriz de Luna was the mother of all the children of Adelantado Juan Ponce de Leon.

On page 0000SWZE, the bottom of page, it has been written again that Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon is the legitimate son of Don Juan Ponce de Leon and Dona Beatriz de Luna.

On page 0000SWZG Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon is the legitimate son of Don Juan Ponce de Leon and Dona Beatriz de Luna, the parents in a legitimate marriage.

On the final remaining pages the name of Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon’s wife is finally mentioned, Dona Francisca de Ordaz.

Again, I have finally shared a lot of the content of the document, Informaciones to finally put to rest undocumented Leonor, “the daughter of an innkeeper.”

Let this be a firm lesson on how old theories raise erroneous ruminations and needless controversy.

I can not understand or speculate why historians chose to ignore Juan Gonzalez Ponce de Leon’s parents for decades. But I can tell you this today, I have not.

I thank God for gifting me the talent of paleography.

July 5, 2019

John J. Browne y Ayes, author of Juan Ponce de Leon His New And Revised Genealogy, genealogist, historian, visual artist.

Sources:

Atahualpa, Martin Garcia Merou. 1886, Imprenta, M. Biedma

Pizarro, Joseph M. Sinclair, 1929, The Conquest of Peru as Recorded by a Member of the Pizarro Expedition

http://www.lulu.com/shop/john-j-browne-ayes/juan-ponce-de-leon-his-new-and-revised-genealogy/paperback/product-10969692.html

https://www.history.com/news/aztec-human-sacrifice-religion

[luckylq5-blog]

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[synthsizedproductions]

The Passage

I sat under the big tree in our yard, reading one of the books I had borrowed from the library. I had to return it when my mother and I went back that day, so I was speeding my way through the last few chapters. It also helped to distract me from the yelling coming from inside the house. 

My parents had been fighting all morning. I heard my name several times which usually meant my mother was trying to defy my father's will. Sometimes I wished I could be the warrior my father wanted me to be. It wouldn't be for my father's sake but my mother's so she didn't have to endure the maltreatment from defending me.

"Fine! Just take the boy!"

"The boy has a name!"

"Serin!"

I jumped to my feet when my father called my name. I ran inside, abandoning my books near the tree. I tried to hide my fear as I approached them. My father's cold eyes bore into me like daggers of ice. "Y-yes, Sir?"

"What would you rather do, train with me or go to the library? And don't lie to me. I will know."

I hesitated, glancing at my mother but finding no guidance in her eyes.

"Well?"

My gaze returned to my father as I considered my options as quickly as I could. "You want me to be honest, Sir?"

"That was the point, yes."

I gulped nervously. "Honestly, I want to go to the library. My ribs still ache from our training the other day." That wasn't quite true, but I hoped the excuse would be enough for him.

He narrowed his eyes at me before turning away. "Fine. Go." He stalked out of the front room.

My mother and I both let out our held breaths. She smiled at me. "That was very brave."

I shrugged, my eyes still glued to the doorway my father had left through. "He wanted the truth."

She knelt down and kissed my forehead. "Being honest in the face of adversity is brave, Serin. Are your books still outside?"

We quickly made our way to the library, my mother holding my hand tightly until we were safely in the fortress of knowledge. 

Nerif's welcoming smile turned to a concerned frown when he saw how upset my mother was. "Is everything alright, Maria?"

She gave him her best smile as she shooed me toward the book return area. "We can talk about it in a minute. Go return your book and find a new one, honey. I'll let you know when it's time to go."

I left the adult Angels to their conversation, finding a new book in no time and going to my reading corner. I was both surprised and happy to see Lyza already sitting there.

She looked over her book at me and smiled in that way that made my face feel warm. "Hey there, Ser. I was worried you wouldn't make it."

fI sat next to her, my book left unopened on my lap. "I almost didn't make it. My parents were fighting again. My father wanted me to do more physical training today."

"And you stood up to him? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't that impressive. All I did was tell him the truth."

"Yeah, but you stood up to a commander for what you wanted. I don't think I would have been that brave."

I blushed at the compliment and hid my face behind my book despite knowing she had seen my face redden. She laughed in her musical way that always made me shiver a little. We sat in comfortable silence as we both read our books.

"Go back home, Harmen."

My attention was pulled to the counter, surprised to see my father towering over my mother and Nerif. I tried to make myself as small as possible even though my father's full attention was directed at those in front of him.

"I just need to talk to you, Maria."

Nerif stood but was still remarkably shorter than my father. "She said you should leave."

My father glared coldly at the librarian. "Stay out of this. You've disturbed the order of my family enough."

Nerif was not deterred by my father's scowl, about to give a retort until my mother put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Nerif."

Nerif sat sat down again but kept his glare on my father.

I panicked when my father began leading my mother to my corner. "No, no, no."

Lyza took my hand, pulling my focus to her. "Hey, it's okay. I know a place we can hide until he's gone." She pulled me up and toward a set of shelves I had never ventured to examine. It was filled with books on dangerously dark magic. She glanced around conspiratorially when we reached a shelf against the back wall. She put her finger to her lips as she pulled a black leather bound book. The bookcase swung open to reveal a hidden passage.

I followed her inside and we were plunged into darkness as she closed the secret entrance. "I didn't know this existed." My eyes quickly adapted to the lack of light and I could see we were in a long brick tunnel.

"Almost no one does, I think. I found it on accident the other day. I didn't explore much because I wanted to share that experience with you." She took my hand and led me into the unlit passage.

"Why? What if something dangerous is down here? I don't think I'll be very helpful if we get in a fight."

She laughed with a shake of her head. "Your father has you paranoid, Ser. What kind of physical danger could we really be in under the library?"

Though I could only barely see, it seemed like Lyza knew where she was going. We passed a couple staircases that all led into an inky abyss. She pulled me down one of them and my eyes were unable to adjust any further.

"Where are we going? I can't see anything down here."

"Don't worry, I can see just fine. It's amazing to have the gift of dark vision. I won't let you get hurt, Ser. You know you can trust me."

We stopped at the base of the stairs and Lyza rummaged in her pocket. "I know that key is here somewhere." I heard her slide a key into a lock and the passage was illuminated by the dim lights in the now unlocked room we stood in front of. "Come on. This is where they keep all the stuff they don't want us to see."

I followed her into the room, my eyes going wide when I saw the dusty cases full of magical objects and shelves of ancient looking books. "I don't think we should be here, Lyza…"

She went over to one of the cases and wiped some of the dust off to better see its contents. "Everything is fine, Ser. Live a little. It isn't like I'm going to take anything out of here. Besides, aren't you curious what hidden knowledge those books hold?"

I glanced at the shelves, unable to deny the pull I felt to examine them. "I guess it can't hurt…" I went to the first shelf and ran my fingers along the spine of each book. "None of them have titles on the spine." I stopped when I reached one that had several  almost completely faded symbols on it. "Except this one."

"You should give that one a look. I can almost feel your curiosity from here."

I touched the faded symbols, a static tingle going up my arm. 

What harm could it do?

I plucked the book from the shelf, wiping the layer of grime from it. The same unreadable symbols were on the cover. I traced each one with my finger, my breathing speeding up from anticipation. I slowly opened the cover and flipped through the first several pages.

"Ow!" I looked down at my hand to examine the paper cut running down the length of my finger. I tried to stop the bleeding, but wasn't fast enough to prevent spilling my blood on the ancient pages.

"You okay?"

I looked over at my concerned friend and held up my hand. "Just a paper cut."

She gave me a confused look. "I don't see a cut."

I reexamined my hand, perplexed at the injury's disappearance. I looked down at the book only to discover there was no blood on the pages.

"I...guess I imagined it…"

I continued flipping through the pages, this time being more careful of the edges. Realization dawned on me when I finally recognized the symbols.

"This is from the First Era...These are mystical writings. A spell book, I think."

Lyza moved to stand behind me. "Just looks confusing to me. Can you read any of it?"

I traced the symbols on the page I had open. "Maybe. This language has been long dead, lost when the Bloodlines were hunted down. At least, that's what I was told. I only recognize them because I saw Nerif sketching some in his notebook. He briefly explained how to unlock their meaning."

"Well? What does it say then?"

"Give me a minute." I concentrated on the writing, trying to piece together the text from my limited knowledge. 

"Time is a cycle. 

Fate repeats eternally. 

The spark of Creation lights the path. 

Wanderers beware the Darkness. 

A path taken cannot be returned from. 

Bound with blood. 

The journey begins." 

I felt a surge of power race through me and dropped the book.

"You okay?"

I stared at the open book on the floor, Lyza's words feeling far away. "Yeah...I'm okay."

She frowned and moved toward the door. "We should go, Ser. Your father has probably left by now." 

While her back was toward me, I grabbed the book and shoved it into my bag before following her. She took my hand and led me back into the pitch black stairway. We walked in silence as we made our way back to the library.

"Do you smell that?"

"Do I smell what, Ser?"

"It smells like sulfur."

As we got to the slightly more lit portion of the tunnels, we saw smoke billowing up from several of the other stairwells. The acrid smell filled my lungs, making me cough uncontrollably. I tried to block the smell out by pulling my tunic over my nose, but it only helped so much.

"We need to get out of here!"

We both ran as fast as we could toward the secret doorway, horrified to find it engulfed in flames. Lyza grabbed my hand again and pulled me down a side hall. "I know another way out!"

Despite our rapid pace, the smoke wasn't far behind us. I was relieved when another door came into sight. Lyza shoved at the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"Something is blocking it…"

Horror filled me as the smoke caught up with us, making breathing all but impossible. We huddled together in the corner and neither of us hid our terrified tears.

The door suddenly burst open, wood shrapnel flying past us. My mother ran in, scooping me up and pulling Lyza to her feet. She wordlessly ran through the burning library, making a beeline for the only exit not engulfed in flames. As we almost reached salvation, beams collapsed on us and the world went dark.

"Maria! Maria, wake up!"

I startled into consciousness when I heard my father's panicked shouts. I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't respond. All I could do was let my head roll to the side his muffled voice had come from. He was kneeling over my mother's broken and bloody body. His clothes, hair, and feathers were burned, tears and blood streaming down his face. I had never seen my father cry before.

A healer approached my father cautiously. "Harmen, she's gone. We need to get you and the kids help. Please."

My father stood, somehow seeming smaller than usual. His attention moved to me when I attempted to get up again. "Don't try moving, Serin. I won't lose you too…"

I don't remember the trip to the hospital I woke up in. My entire body ached and it hurt to breathe. To my left was Lyza, unconscious and hooked up to just as many machines as I was. To my right was my father who was staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression. 

"F-father?"

He slowly turned his face in my direction. "Go back to sleep, Serin. You and I have much work to do when we are healed."

It was my turn to stare at the ceiling, haunted by the fact that my defender was gone forever.

[battybat-boss]

Mother's Day Reunion: Military Dad and Mom Reunited with Children 3 Years After Kansas Took Them Over Medical Cannabis

The Schwab family – their ordeal is finally over. They joined activists speaking out for families at the Fools No More Rally in Topeka, Kansas, on April 2, 2018. Photo provided by Raymond Schwab.

by Health Impact News/MedicalKidnap.com Staff

Shortly before Mother's Day 3 years ago, on April 26, 2015, the Department for Children and Families (DCF) in Kansas seized 5 children from Raymond and Amelia Schwab over false allegations.

Now, just before Mother's Day 2018 – 3 years later – their nightmare is officially over. The children are home and the case against them is finally closed.

See our original coverage of their story here:

Navy Dad Goes on Hunger Strike in Kansas Until State-Kidnapped Children are Returned or He Starves to Death

The happy parents took to Facebook Live on Thursday night, May 10, to share their joyous news, surrounded by 2 of their children and a couple of pet guinea pigs. The children shouted:

We don't have court anymore!

Raymond said:

In a stunning surprise, we got an email today that the Kansas case has been dismissed. We are officially, completely and utterly out of out of DCF business, out of court business.

It is over.

There is a great deal of excitement in the Schwab household over the news, and Amelia had a huge smile on her face as she exclaimed:

Finally!

The children came home on December 27, 2017, but as families whose children have been taken by Child Protective Services know, just because the children come home, it did not mean that the case was over at that time. Social workers and court hearings continued to be part of their lives until the case was finally closed yesterday.

The final closure of the case was not expected to happen for another 2 months, but the unexpected email arrived Thursday, May 10, 2018 to announce the good news.

Even so, Raymond told Health Impact News that even this is not really a “win” because they lost so many years with their children. Those are years they can never get back.

Mother of Medically Kidnapped Children Speaks Out

Amelia Schwab has been largely silent throughout the family's entire ordeal, staying in the background as her Navy Veteran husband became the voice and face of the fight for families all across Kansas and even the United States.

On Friday, she spoke up in a powerful Facebook post about what they have been through:

I still can't believe it's over!! The stress I have felt for 3 years is gone!! I have my children back!!!! We are healing…

Now we will persevere with making these people be held accountable! We will shout it from the rooftops what dcf kvc and st Francis community services did!! We will encourage others to file law suits and be proactive! We will help others when we can. This isn't over by a long shot.

I was silent but my children are here behind me… so now it's time to roar!! My fight now is for our own justice, others suffering the same cause as ours, and my future grandchildren's lives.

Amelia beamed at her husband Thursday night as they shared the good news that their DCF case is over. Photo from Facebook.

Child predator services needs shut down!! We need a new system!

People say “what will we do for the children who need intervention if there is no cps…” you will save so many lives that's what you will do if child predator services get shut down. Look at the statistics! The WORST homes are SAFER than cps care!!

The children who need to be taken need help. Right now they don't get it, they are further traumatized and most of the time drugged. Children that are DYING from abuse at the hands of the state care. Sexual abuse and child sex trafficking is rampant for children in state care.

The parents that need help, training, and real resources that will actually help (in most cases); right now they are bombarded with case plan tasks and futile classes.

Many parents take their own lives in the midst of the stress child predator services puts on them. Too many children feel hopeless as well ending their short lives.

We need a new system in place! That's years beyond, it's probably true. If people stay dormant and do nothing except complain, it may never change.

I do see an awakening but not enough to make a difference.

We have to be louder!!! We need more people to get involved! We need better coordination nationally! So many children's lives depend on what we do!! Sit back be silent and blood is on your hands also. If you know what's happening and don't do anything you are guilty of whatever these children in state custody go through.

It's time to stand up and speak the truth to save these children. It's time for the children to speak and be heard. ~Amelia

Amelia speaks of things about which the general public remains largely unaware. Like most Americans, they learned these things the hard way – as they happened to her own family.

Hard Fought Battle

The Schwabs have traveled cross-country speaking out against the injustices that they see in the system.

Raymond Schwab went on a 17 day hunger strike on the steps of the steps of the Kansas capitol. The couple and their oldest son Tyler have traveled to Washington, D.C., several times to rally for families and to speak with legislators.

Tyler was not taken by DCF because he was already 18 by the time his siblings were taken. He spoke out many times on behalf of his younger brothers and sister.

Tyler with his parents at a candlelight vigil in Washington D.C. Photo from Free the Schwab Children Facebook page.

Theirs was a hard-fought battle. It was costly.

During the reunification process, Raymond Schwab took a job in Puerto Rico helping the people there rebuild after their hurricane. He was thankful that God provided the job, but he points out the irony of having to go so far away from home simply in order to be able to pay for the reunification of his own family.

He says that they were spending $700 a month on court-ordered counseling because he didn't qualify for Medicaid. They had to come up with $1000 for a home inspection in order to get their children back.

How can families without resources fight such an expensive battle? Raymond said:

There were times I didn't think it was going to happen. I would not want to subject what our family had to go through on my worst enemy, and yet there are parents that have far worse, and there are parents that get [their parental rights] terminated, and there are grandparents that get terminated.

Like Most Foster Children, Schwab Children Were Taken for Unsubstantiated Allegations

The Schwab children should not have been taken, as is clear from the original allegations were found to be “unsubstantiated” less than 3 months after they were taken.

The children were taken in Kansas while their parents were packing up to move back to their home state of Colorado. The Schwab parents thought that things would be cleared up quickly, so they continued their move as they worked to get their children back.

The children were kept in Kansas DCF custody after this because their father, a Navy veteran suffering from PTSD, used medical cannabis to treat his PTSD in Colorado, a state where it was legal.

Allegations found Unsubstantiated, yet children still held by DCF. Source: Schwab family.

It was in the Scwabs' story that we first learned that most of the allegations against families whose children are taken from them are not substantiated.

The Topeka Capitol-Journal reported in 2016 that a DCF spokesperson admitted that 96% of the children taken by Kansas DCF are taken for reasons that are not substantiated:

Determining whether an allegation is true is separate from a recommendation to remove children from the home, said Theresa Freed, communications director for DCF. Though an unsubstantiated finding that doesn't lead to a parent getting their child back may be confusing, Freed said, substantiated findings account for only 4 percent of the removals the agency handles.

The numbers are not much better nationwide.

According to the 2016 Child Maltreatment Report by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, only 17% of the allegations against parents are “substantiated” or “founded.” (Source.)

See:

Almost 40% of American Families at Risk to Have Their Children Kidnapped by the State – Over 50% if You Are Black

Not Abused at Home, But Traumatized by Abuse in Foster Care

As Amelia pointed out, children are more likely to be abused or even killed in foster care than they are in their own homes. Sadly, this is something their family learned the hard way. Their children, too, suffered abuse under the system that says it protects children.

Health Impact News has previously reported that, under DCF care, at least one of the Schwab children was sexually assaulted, and others were abused.

One child was punched in the face and his glasses were broken, but DCF told the parents in a letter not to worry because the state would replace the glasses broken in the assault.

Unlike the allegations against the parents, those allegations of abuse have been substantiated. At least one of their children was placed on psychotropic drugs.

See:

Foster Care Children are Worse Off than Children in Troubled Homes – The Child Trafficking Business

Their friend and advocate Jennifer Winn, former gubernatorial candidate for the state of Kansas, joined the Facebook Live broadcast to say:

Now we have a family, a beautiful family, that has so much healing to do from the trauma caused by DCF. But it's over!

Advocate Jennifer Winn fought long and hard for the Schwab family and others. Photo from Free the Schwab Children Facebook page.

Amid Their Gratitude, Schwabs Vow to Keep Fighting for Other Families Trapped in the System

The Schwabs consider themselves blessed to have had the support of many. They are grateful to all the people who have stood by them, prayed, financially supported them, and published their story.

Raymond recognized that God was with them through everything, and that there were times that they felt like giving up. In those moments, they were thankful for people who helped to hold them up:

Thank You, Jesus! We can't forget that. We thank the Lord first and foremost, because it was our faith praying through this and having confidence that we were not alone.

Even in the spiritual [unclear], that helped us stand up when we didn't want to stand up anymore, we didn't want to get up any more.

He wants to encourage other parents who are fighting for their children:

We've just got to keep up the fight and hope that our story inspires people to never give up. Never quit. Never surrender.

The part of fighting DCF to get their children home is indeed over. But the battle for families is not over by any means. Raymond and Amelia Schwab and Jennifer Winn have each stated that they intend to keep fighting for justice for all families.

Raymond said that they will keep supporters posted as they heal and work to help other families and change the system. They will continue to post on their Facebook page, Free the Schwab Children, although, Raymond said with a smile, they will have to change the name of the page:

The Schwab Children Are Free!

Their son Asher shouted out a blessing at the end of the video:

Let the Lord be with you!

See our continuing coverage of the Schwab family story:

Veteran Dad on Hunger Strike Arrested with No Charges – Kept Naked in Dirty Cell

Kansas Dad Ends Hunger Strike – Federal Lawsuit Filed To Return His Children

Wife of Hunger Strike Dad Arrested in Kansas While Protesting to Have Kidnapped Children Returned

Children Taken from Military Dad Using Medical Marijuana for PTSD to be Returned

Navy Dad Plans Hunger Strike at White House Over Medically Kidnapped Kids

Judge Orders Children Home in Kansas Case with Navy Dad Who used Medical Cannabis

Navy Veteran Makes Christmas Eve Plea for His Children

Families Protest at Kansas State Capitol: “Our Children are not for Sale!”

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[biggamesbigcities]

Harris Sage: Industrial Giant or Underground Hero

Abby Nickerson

Character: Harris Sage, 24, Male

The name Harris Sage is based on Mary Harris “Mother” Jones, and Syracuse robber baron Russell Sage was an financer, railroad executive and Whig politician, while mother jones was an teacher and seamstress who became a prominent organized labor representative and community organizer She helped coordinate major strikes and cofounded the Industrial Workers of the World. This character is caught up in the industrial revolutions dichotomy of morality and corruption.

Originating in Britain during the last quarter of the 18th century, the Industrial Revolution spread to the United States and gained a foothold in the country by the 19th century. Since manufacturing previously took place in homes, the shift to special-purpose machinery lead to the countries transformation from an agrarian society, to a predominantly industrial and urban way of life. The iron, textile, coal, etc., industries along with the development of the steam engine helped to improve transportation, communication, and banking systems. These central players also lead to the development of new revolutionary industries, such as those of steel and oil. Unfortunately, the Industrial Revolution having made production and consumerism greater and easier than ever before, lead to a great dichotomy in American society that can still be seen today: those who worked, and those who ran the businesses. Either end had incredible differences in livelihood, the poor lived day to day, children were placed into incredibly dangerous working conditions, and the pay for their long hours was corrupt to no end. On the other side, however, the ones running the businesses, lead finer lives by far, the tycoons living lavishly in large houses with unimaginable amounts of money. The ones sitting at the top of the worlds industrial food-chain at this time and continue to hold top rankings even compared to those now, were known as the industrial giants. 

Since Syracuse wasn’t a noteworthy place in industrial history n terms of labor movements and tycoons, this world will be somewhat of an alt-history setting; within the Central New York area surrounding Syracuse, the character will be faced with many obstacles in regard to the business world as well as his personal life. As the second in command for a large railroad company, Sage faces many strikes and riots related to his industries practices. However, in order to hold his position as the industries next successor, Harris will need to make difficult, sometimes cruel decisions. He’ll need to turn a blind eye or ignore his morality in specific situations. All that is necessary to become a man worthy of standing next to the other industrial giants in the history books.

Contextually, the two biggest names during the 19th century were Carnegie of steel and Rockefeller of oil. Carnegie specifically was known as a philanthropist, writing a book aiming at the rich to use their excess wealth to help others. After selling his company to J.P. Morgan, Carnegie placed his money into the development of public institutions; including libraries (sound familiar?). However, Carnegie has participated in extremely corrupt behavior regarding the workers under his company. Most notably, the Homestead Strike occurring in 1892 led to a clash between Carnegie Steel workers and the company itself following the strike. However, the company, like Rockefeller, had hired private security agents, thus leading to an onslaught of violence. The death toll hit 10 civilians and employees before it ended, but this was nothing compared to the Johnstown flood of 1889. This imprudently built dam that Carnegie had associations with eventually collapsed after a heavy onslaught of rainfall, leading to the death of over 2,000 people, the destruction of several towns, and a damage cost of $17 million.

Harris Sage is a character similar to Carnegie. In his earlier years he didn’t start out with much, and his teenage life consisted of rebellion through aided union workers in their riots. However, he was admitted into University on scholarship, as rare as it is, and during college became an intern for Railroad tycoon Cornelius Vanderbilt. The two got along well with their similar upbringings: Vanderbilt was originally poor with only a mediocre education. Perseverance, intelligence, and luck is how he work his way into leadership positions in the inland water trade and then invested in the rapidly growing railroad industry (he is known for owning the New York Central Railroad). Vanderbilt is proud of this, and guides Sage in the direction of striving for success, away from his earlier path of helping people like himself.

However, the maltreatment of workers and dichotomy between corruption and morality within the major companies lead to the formation of even stronger and more persistent unions and labor movements who fought for better working conditions, hours, and pay as well as discontinuing the practice of child labor in dangerous factories or coal mines, as they would often develop respiratory illnesses or get mangled up in the machines.

Harris Sage has seen many sides of industry during his past; children dying, over exhaustion, violence against protesters, abuse of laborers, as well as the luxury of being in the 1%, with its delicacies and money to be used for philanthropic purposes. As the second in command for Vanderbilt’s railroad industries, Harris can achieve tycoon status just as easily as he can fall into the blacklist and live in the world of the labor movements. Riots at the railroads in and surrounding Syracuse can either be solved by calling the private security agents, which could lead to casualties, or by respecting the workers request greatly damaging his position. The same goes for the construction of the Croton Dam; hastily build the dam placing nearby towns at risk for the purpose of providing better transportation and irrigation for the surrounding area while also increasing Harris’s status, or have Harris do everything he can to prevent the completion of the dam, potentially sacrificing his position. All these obstacles and many more of the like pull Harris Sage in two polar directions: in Harris’s position, would you choose to throw away your life for a change you wouldn’t see in your lifetime, a change that would probably happen anyways without your involvement? Or would you pursue what’s best for you and those close to you, and carve your name into history as one of the most powerful men to have ever lived?

Look:

Clothes: 19th century business

Decoration: Scar on left side from working with machines in factory

Armor: 3

Hit Points: 7 (He carries a gun)

Damage: D8

Alignment: Neutral, but can change based on the players choices

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 4 (-1 shakiness)

Constitution: 8 (-2 from uncertainty, will become +2 once future is determined)

Intelligence: 12 (+1 from education)

Wisdom: 9 (+1 from Vanderbilt’s guidance, can become -2 if path of unionists is chosen)

Charisma: 12

Starting Moves:

·       Negotiation

o   Stall chosen players attack for the next turn

·       Bribe & Bargain

o   End a battle with a loss 1 Constitution or Charisma point

·       Gun

o   Shoot um

Advanced Moves

·       Unionist: Unify

o   This move will help call in fellow blacklisted laborers doubling your strength for the next two turns.

·       Robber Baron: Blacklist, Security

o   Blacklisting will destroy every opponents chance at regaining work in big industries; cursing each enemy for the next 3 turns

o   Security calls for private backup, increasing your defense by 5 for the remainder of the battle.

Gear:

·       Money

o   It will never be an issue, that is, as long as you remain on the path of industry, if you choose the path of laborers, you’ll be left with none.

·       Suit and Gun

[joshuazev]

On paper routes:

Lately it feels like the technological world will have me believe that if I don’t work for Amazon or Facebook, don’t have a degree in business, and don’t have an acceptance to a medical or law school that I will be a pretty irrelevant human being.  Now maybe that’s because I’ve been reading the wrong articles, watching the wrong news, surfing the wrong social media, in turn surfing Facebook too much or maybe, on the other hand, I’m just I’m not understanding correctly.  The paper route is the route where the money is.  Fame is where the money is.  Tech jobs are where the money is.  Unknown examples A, B, and C are where the money is.  I wonder if happiness is where the money is.  From what I’ve gleaned in these Facebook posts, people are excited to be joining the secure community, the community where a comfortable salary is promised.  In extreme cases, the position even matches up with the work they’ve wanted to do in their life.  Pretty cut and dry.  This is what I want to do.  This is one of the best companies that provides it.  I got a job there.  Woo hoo!  Case closed.  Life isn’t 100 percent about anything, though.  Through the cracks you can see the fallen and not fallen because they’ve dropped through, but fallen because they had high hopes and were sucked into a dream and after two years of overly intense labor and intense maltreatment  and unhappiness, they let go of the false ideal they were so eager to clutch.  I’ve seen both sides and feel like I’ve witnessed both spectrums of emotion based on the detailed accounts that friends and friends of friends have provided on the internet.  Amazon is good and is growing, seems to be employing everyone for every job nowadays, but doesn’t seem like it’s cracked up to be.  Facebook, it’s corporate twin, is a power hungry monster.  I downloaded Facebook messenger today on my phone because I was left no other option.  I needed to see my messages and send some to someone else, but couldn’t do that by just going on my phone’s internet.  No, instead I had to download the specific app to perform that action.  When I did and quickly tried to delete it I learned that there would be no “quickly” involved.  I could not log out on the app nor I could I delete it.  Catch this, I had to download the official Facebook app that performed all of the other functions in order to log out and delete the messenger app.  The sad thing was it took me so long to search on google (both on my phone and on my laptop) and there was nothing clear cut about it.  You would think that “how do I delete Facebook messenger off my phone” would be easy enough, but I had to actually go on google, narrow the search to the past month, and scroll through a couple of pages before I found anything that helped me out.  The truth is, you are never truly logged out of Facebook.  Everything you’ve ever heard about the blurred lines between that company and security is true.  For example, when you have Facebook open and you also have several other tabs open, Facebook is legally allowed to use those other tabs to better suit your Facebook navigation pleasure.  Ever wondered why all of the ads on Facebook are of companies and interests that you were looking up on google and other search engines?  Yeah.  Some new school people might think that’s cool, but it seems a little creepy to me.  Why can they do that you might wonder?  Well, according to my roommate and several others, Facebook locked you in the moment you signed up and checked those long length terms and agreements.  No one has time to read every word in those things.  They seem to be overly long on purpose, but that’s what it is.  The Facebook devil works in mysterious ways.  Now I digress; the fact that Facebook has purposefully made it difficult to remove its applications from your device seems like an A1 example of corporate abuse.  If you know that there are literally billions of people that use your website and everything related, why would it matter if one person simply deletes it or not.  A question I would ask all of you.  If I were going to retreat a little bit and succumb to the powers that be then maybe that would be fine.  Maybe I’m making a big deal about nothing.  Security is an issue though.  I’m not a vigilante, a convicted breaker of laws, nor do I have any desire to be in the future, but regardless of whether I am or not, there seems to be a tangible and, to some degree, intangible breach of privacy going on.  Protect yourselves, people.  Watch “Enemy of the State.”  Yeah.  And if you know about it, have seen it, or want to see it, keep in mind that that movie was done almost 20 years ago.  Let that thought sink in.

…

I went looking for places to live today.  I started my journey at the library, my first library visit since moving here last April.  It was pretty fun, you know.  I was able to get a decent amount of work done.  A lot of people were using the facility to sleep, like the guy next to me for example.  He was dozing in and out.  The security guy, far from an enforcer approached the man to tell him that he couldn’t have his eyes closed.  I thought that was a bit ridiculous.  Do closed eyes vs open eyes determine what could be deemed loitering vs taking a rest?  The security man seemed hesitant to do much after he told the man to “wake up” and it was pretty entertaining to hear the sleepy man tell security guy, “Do something.”  Everyone in the library could see he wasn’t going to do anything at all.  

That wasn’t it though.  It didn’t stop there.  Later, this girl behind me who kept talking on the phone despite the calls for “please no cell phones!,” seemed to get the impression from her mother (who was sitting right next to her) that the man was bothering her or something.  Completely caught off guard after the girl jadedly asked, “What you been doing to my mother?” the man responded with, “What?”  “What was I doing?” and started shaking his head in disbelief.  With an incredulous look the man looked at me, shook his head, and said, “I think it’s time for me to go,” looked at the mother and daughter and said, “Gnats.”  I had a good laugh inside.  

…

The housing hunt continued in a physical manner after I left the library.  The first place was in a great section of Hamilton Heights on 145th and St. Nicholas, about 40 blocks from where I currently live and a similar price.  I think it was on the fifth floor and the woman who was leasing it seemed very nice, but I worry that it might not work out because I’m only interested in staying there for a couple of months, so I can potentially live with some friends of mine whose leases end around that point.  We shall see.

The other spot was over on Adam Clayton Powell and 149th.  This one was on the second floor.  How should I say this?  The spot was interesting.  On the phone the woman seemed to be very obsessed with cleanliness and upon arriving and walking in the spot I could see that she wasn’t lying.  There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.  This woman was very nice, but I just didn’t get an incredible vibe.  I worried that if I sat down on the couch in the living room she might give me an earful for displacing the cushions.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was OCD or she spent the whole day cleaning her spot.  But that wasn’t the kicker…  In the middle of the living room was a pole.  And the way I found out (because I hadn’t noticed it before, despite it being right the fuck in front of me) was I asked her about the cleanliness of the room.  She told me she exercised in there.  And I was like, “Oh you do yoga?” and she said, “No, I work on the pole.”  She told me she wasn’t a stripper after I asked (I mean, I didn’t have a problem with it), but I just thought that I wasn’t ready to wake up in the morning, make the cleanest, most perfect egg, and see a woman pole dancing in the other room.  Something about the scenario didn’t appeal to me.

…

My room looks strange.  I have my AC at the window that has given me long, calming, talks at night about the near future and I’m comforted by its kind words.  I’m thinking in return I will put it in storage, so that I can take it along with me when I get a permanent spot.  The one thing that I had hanging on the wall—a map of the Parisian subway system has been taken down.  “Not for long,” I told it.  “You’ll be hung up with the brothers and sisters you’ve never met yet, D.C. Metro, and NYC MTA when I get more comfortable.  They are so eager to meet you.”

[contentcommadigital-blog]

Pet Rescue Nightmare

A Middle Island pet rescue has been accused of selling sick puppies, costing new pet owners over $6,000 in vet bills. The ‘Friends of Freddie’ pet rescue, located at 206 Middle Country Rd. in Middle Island, has been operating on and off for over a year, adopting out dogs and puppies, who vets say are sick and unfit for adoption. Families looking to adopt their new furry family member are met with horror as they incur thousands of dollars in veterinary expenses after completing the adoption process. In the month of March 2017, at least eight puppies died due to the rescue owner’s negligence. These accusations have sparked suspicions from Brookhaven town residents, and those who have adopted sick animals from this shelter before. Kristen Addiss, 27, and her boyfriend, Mike Levi, adopted a puppy on Sunday, Feb. 12, 2017 from Friends of Freddie. The couple named their puppy “Layla.” Unusual coughing and labored breathing prompted Kristen and Mike to contact Patchogue Animal Hospital, the veterinarian affiliated with the rescue. “The Veterinarian diagnosed Layla with kennel cough, something that we were told is common in puppies and it was nothing to be concerned about,” stated Addiss. With multiple vet visits back and forth, Addiss and Levi were given the green light to take Layla home. Addiss stated, “We were told that the cough would get worse before it got better and that she was looking better.” Relieved, Addiss and Levi took their puppy home for the weekend. It was during the next week that the couple noticed Layla’s condition worsening. Concerned, they took Layla to Island Veterinary Hospital in Coram for a second opinion. After a series of X-rays, Layla was diagnosed with pneumonia. Layla’s one week checkup led to an unexpected discovery, the young pup had Canine Distemper Virus. After hospitalization, and being given a 50/50 chance of survival, Addiss and Levi lost their 11-week-old Layla on March 5, 2017. While checking the vet records provided during adoption, Addiss and Levi discovered that Layla had not received a vaccine for Canine Distemper prior to being adopted. Tracy Butcher, a volunteer rescue transporter from Ontario, New York, explains the difference between shelters and rescues; “Shelters are subsidized by the town or municipality, and rescues do it all on a volunteer basis, often having to do fundraising to offset the costs of the dogs they rescue.” Shelters are regulated by the township and are supported by tax dollars, providing fixed adoption fees. Rescue’s run on donations and volunteers. Butcher stated, “$450 adoption fee for puppies is slightly high, but not completely out of line. In most rescues, dogs are spayed/neutered, have all their shots, and are microchipped.” Butcher adds, “They should have been vaccinated, [against] distemper definitely.” Addiss explained, “Our family veterinarian filled out paperwork for a pet lemon law stating that Layla was unfit for adoption. Under these circumstances, we approached Friends of Freddie hoping they would do the right thing for us and reimburse us with what they owe us under the New York State pet lemon law. When they found out our vet bills were approaching $6,000, they said they wouldn't pay us and told us to take them to court.” Shortly after this encounter, Addiss and Levi discovered that they are not alone in their fight. Kenneth Harsch Jr. of Wading River also adopted a sick puppy from Friends of Freddie. “He was coughing so much I got concerned about his breathing. I brought him to my local vet to be looked at because I didn't trust the place she wanted me to go. My vet did a physical exam and X-rays and determined he had advanced pneumonia,” Harsch stated. “I spent the next few days home with him taking time off of work. He got worse. I took him back to the vet and he told me to get him to an emergency hospital right away. He had advanced pneumonia, kennel cough, and worms. I was told he was de-wormed,” said Harsch. Nearly $6,200 later, Harsch’s Chihuahua-Daschund mix, Kody, made a full recovery. Ken explained, “When you see the look in a 10-week-old puppies eyes it breaks you down. He spent the next 4 days in ICU. Luckily he lived and is now a happy healthy puppy. The emergency room vet and my regular vet both wrote me unfit for sale letters saying the dog was so sick he should have never left their facility.” Concerned about other pets in the shelter, Harsch contacted the rescue founder, Barbara Sanelli. “I've called Barbara a few times confronting her about adopting sick dogs and she screamed at myself and my mother-in-law, calling us horrible people for questioning her and disputing the credit card charge,” explained Harsch. “I also had to call 4 times before deciding to go down there face to face to get the vaccination records for my dog. She couldn't find them and just jotted some stuff down on a generic photocopied paper and said ‘here's what we gave him.’” Amanda Stein, of Miller Place, adopted her puppy “Lucy” from Friends of Freddie. “She was super sick for a while. [She had] Giardia, eight parasites, kennel cough and an upper respiratory infection. She’s been on tons of antibiotics, we are at the vet once a week and she’s almost better,” Stein explained, “We are one of the few lucky ones. Everyone else got scammed and ripped off way worse by them.” Courtney, a licensed vet tech at Farmingville Animal Hospital, explained, “Giardia are protozoan parasites. Dogs get it from drinking stagnant water. It’s pretty common in ponds and bodies of water like that. Giardia and coccidia can also be transmitted from dirty water bowls. They can get it from stepping in feces and then stepping into their water bowl.” Christyn Malone, a registered nurse from East Setauket, spoke about her experience adopting “Jax” at Friends of Freddie. “Jacqueline, the vet tech, cleared him to go home with us, right in front of me.  She checked all the appropriate boxes saying his lungs were clear and his respirations were normal,” said Malone. When Malone took Jax home, she noticed something off about his breathing. “My husband took him to the vet the very next morning after we got him. The vet diagnosed him with severe pneumonia and parasites, saying he probably had kennel cough weeks ago, but was never treated properly,” Malone explained. After spending more time at the hospital than he did at home, Jax’s constant seizures couldn’t be controlled. Jax had to be euthanized. It was later that day, Jax’s blood work confirmed he was positive for distemper. “It is criminal that these people are allowed to adopt out these dogs knowing they are as sick as they are,” Malone adds, “They are killing animals and breaking families’ hearts.” Brookhaven Town Supervisor, Ed Romaine, stated, “I shut down Friends of Freddie a year ago due to code violations. I know we closed this facility down once before for lack of a Certificate of Occupancy and other related code issues.” Brookhaven’s citizens advocate, Kevin Molloy added, “As far as animal welfare goes, anytime you’re going to be doing anything with animals, it comes under state law, New York State Agra-Markets [Agriculture and Markets] law. I would check with local state legislature because you’re talking about a lemon law, and I would speak to Suffolk County Department of Consumer Affairs.” Rob Calarco, Suffolk County's 7th district legislator, states; “Certainly, we do not want illegitimate operators maltreating these animals and preying on folks who want to do the right thing and adopt a dog. Suffolk recently adopted some regulations as they apply to pet rescues to try to address those kinds of issues. We will refer the matter to our Consumer Affairs to see if any of our pet store and pet shelter regulations could be used to help investigate and shut down this operation.” Currently, pet shelters and similar non-profits, such as rescue organizations, are exempt from the New York Pet Lemon Law. Consumer Affairs defines a pet dealer to be anyone who sells more than nine dogs to the public for a profit in one year. The laws regarding pet rescue regulations are set to change on May 22, 2017. On April 14, 2017, Brookhaven Town fire marshal condemned the building that Friends of Freddie is located in. According to Ed Romaine, “A number of violations were noted. Also, the space was lacking a Certificate of Occupancy. The facility was closed to the public but to avoid chaos, the dogs were allowed to remain until other arrangements can be made. The town has no authority to enforce animal welfare laws. Also, Friends of Freddie can work to clear up these violations.” Caitlin Minieri, a volunteer for Friends of Freddie, stated that the rescue does not turn away dogs. “We get them from kill shelters and we basically get the question: which ones do you want to live? How do you answer that? So as long as we have the room, we’ll take them,” explained Minieri. In a statement made on April 15, 2017, Minieri said, “We probably have about 80 adult dogs right now.” Minieri added, “We get them here and we quarantine them and we hold them, but there’s only so long we can hold them for. We’re a handful of volunteers.” Barbara Sanelli, founder of Friends of Freddie Animal Rescue, offered an explanation as to how this may have happened. Sanelli stated, “Unfortunately dogs from the south came up that must have been harboring a disease. We had the dogs for many weeks and then adopted them out. Unfortunately, the disease broke after they went home, probably because of the new environment. It’s a stressful environment, their immune system lowered and they got diseases. It manifested. Do we like that? Absolutely not.” Dori Scofield, President of Save-A-Pet in Port Jefferson Station, makes this statement; “I decided we needed legislation to regulate animal rescue. I never thought I would have to have legislation regulate common sense, honestly.” Scofield and her team took the initiative to contact Suffolk County legislators to include rescues and non-profit organizations in the animal welfare laws. “We got a really good piece of legislation that was passed in Suffolk County, I’m really proud of it. So now, all of us, myself included, if we bring in dogs from out of state, they have to be quarantined, they have to have a certain amount of space, they have to have a certain amount of exercise, they have to be vaccinated, stool checked and microchipped. So all of the 501c3’s in Suffolk County, hopefully have received an application for a permit to have a rescue, and they will have to comply with all of these simple regulations,” Scofield stated. Save-A-Pet was founded in 1994 and is a no-kill animal shelter. Scofield explained how she has been able to successfully run this non-profit organization for 23 years; “You can’t overcrowd. Overcrowding breeds disease. We can’t all cram our shelters just because we can’t say no. You can only take in what you can care for properly, and if you can’t care for them properly, you’re doing a great injustice to the ones you already have.” The victims have sought legal help to close down Friends of Freddie for good. The Attorney General is conducting an investigation to handle the consumer fraud element of this rescues operations. After meeting with the Attorney General, Stein explained; “The end goal of the investigation is to permanently put a stop to Barbara for good once she is found guilty.” Addiss, Harsch and Malone are among many victims involved in a class action lawsuit filed against Friends of Freddie, by Miller Place attorney Vesselin Mitev. “Over 60 other people have contacted my firm and come forward and said that they were in a similar situation, so I decided that a class action was the way to go,” explained Mitev. Harsch makes it clear why he feels so strongly about exposing Sanelli, stating; “This place has got to be shut down for good, or at the very least until they can conduct themselves in a manner that is nothing but beneficial to these animals. After all, they have no voice, no choice, and are completely at her mercy.” Stein and other victims also plan to seek the District Attorney’s help to ensure Friends of Freddie doesn’t open up a new location. Local rescues, such as Almost Home in Bohemia, Save-A-Pet in Port Jefferson Station, and Happy Tails in Smithtown, have stepped up to take in some of Friends of Freddie’s dogs after the recent condemning of the building. Multiple dogs remain, as Sanelli hopes to find them their forever home, instead of continuing their life in another shelter.

[averyjarhman]

President Obama's friend and admitted 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victim Kendrick Lamar is a perfect example of a tormented & conflicted human being who during a critical period of his childhood development suffered potentially life scarring Child Abuse, Emotional Neglect & Maltreatment.

At the 2015 BET Awards, President Barack "My Brother's Keeper" Obama's friend and repeat White House guest 28-year-old American urban story-TRUTH-teller Kendrick Lamar, an admitted victim of CRIMINAL Childhood Abuse, Neglect and Maltreatment perpetrated by "LIVING WILD" violent felon family GANG members who exposed Kendrick, his siblings & numerous cousins to gun violence, as well as other life threatening 'people and community' harming behaviors, performed these lyrics for a worldwide audience,

"AND WE HATE THE PO-PO, WANNA KILL US DEAD IN THE STREET FO’ SHO."

In his 2015 Grammy award winning Rap Performance titled "I", admitted suicidal thinking 'Childhood Trauma' (#ACEs) victim Kendrick Lamar writes, *"I've been dealing with depression ever since an adolescent."*

In paragraph eight of a January 20, 2011 LAWeekly interview published online, Kendrick born in 1987, the same year songwriter Suzanne Vega wrote a Grammy nominated song about child abuse and *VICTIM DENIAL*, told the interviewer:

*"Lamar's parents moved from Chicago to Compton in 1984 with all of $500 in their pockets."

"My mom's one of 13 [THIRTEEN] siblings, and they all got SIX kids, and till I was 13 everybody was in Compton," he says."

*"I'M 6 YEARS OLD, SEEIN' MY UNCLES PLAYING WITH SHOTGUNS, SELLIN' DOPE IN FRONT OF THE APARTMENT"*

"My moms and pops never said nothing, 'cause they were young and living wild, too. I got about 15 stories like 'Average Joe.'"

In this interview Kendrick speaks about being a SIX-YEAR-OLD first grade elementary school kid REGULARLY experiencing a potentially life-scarring mental and physical HEALTH Disease/Condition known to medical doctors and researchers as "Childhood Trauma."

Knowing or unknowingly, Kendrick candidly reveals witnessing daily the roots of POVERTY, MASS CRIMINAL CHILD ABUSE & MALTREATMENT, UNJUST HUMAN OPPRESSION. Kendrick reveals he was raised, nurtured and socialized by emotionally ill, violent felon family & community GANG members who intentionally & recklessly ignored the emotional and physical well being of their community’s children. UNJUSTLY DEPRIVING American kids from enjoying a home and community environment where their young minds feel SAFE, loved & cared for.

During a December 29, 2015 NPR interview, Kendrick recalls being a FIVE-YEAR-OLD CHILD witnessing his "FIRST" drug related "SHOTGUN" homicide right outside the home where he, his siblings and numerous cousins were UNJUSTLY OPPRESSED & intentionally denied by their criminal primary child caretakers, their human right as well as ABSOLUTE HUMAN NEED to feel SAFE, loved and cared for during critical period of OUR human/childhood development.

No small wonder why Kendrick raps & speaks about childhood & adult depression, as well as experiencing suicidal thoughts.

Kendrick Lamar Talks About ‘u,’ His Depression & Suicidal Thoughts (Pt. 2) | MTV Video News April 2015

https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=Hu4Pz9PjolI

After ADMITTING his primary childhood caretakers are "living wild," Violent Felon, Gun Toting Criminals who peddled life-sapping dangerous drugs to their depressed, self-harming neighbors, the adult Kendrick Lamar CONTINUES hating the police for trying to protect his peaceful neighbors from the VIOLENT, SUIC!DAL, HOMIC!DAL 'people and community harming behaviors' embraced by the apparent emotionally or mentally ill CHILD ABUSING CRIMINALS Kendrick was raised and nurtured by.

I realize witnessing human grief and violence at a young age sowed the seeds for Kendrick maturing into an emotionally scarred & troubled human being, though today he is an adult who despite experiencing depression, has no legit excuse for NOT knowing difference between right and wrong.

I have NO DOUBTS Kendrick is only one of untold numbers of African American children severely impacted by CHILDHOOD TRAUMA that far too often results with depressed kids maturing into depressed, angry, frustrated, sometimes suicidal *(NY Times May 18, 2015 - Rise in Suicide by Black Children Surprises Researchers)* teen and adult citizens CONDITIONED by their DEPRESSED, emotionally or mentally ill parental caretakers to BLAME EVERYONE under the sun, except their IRRESPONSIBLE "living wild" moms and/or dads, for them experiencing a traumatic, potentially life scarring childhood full of struggles, hardships, depression, FEAR, anger, uncertainty, anxiety, torment, demeaning government handouts, resentment, hate, human dysfunction and PAIN.

The issue American Society faces is how do we RESPONSIBLY  PROTECT FROM LIFE-SCARRING, EMOTIONAL HARM, kids like Kendrick and the numerous kids in his family being raised to embrace and perpetuate the Gangsta or Street Hustle Culture prevalent in far too many struggling American communities and neighborhoods? ____ I write about and share evidence of America’s MUCH IGNORED, oppressive, potentially life scarring black or African American *MATERNAL CHILD CARE* #T_H_U_G_L_I_F_E NATIONAL PUBLIC HEALTH CRISIS that I, as well as a growing number of my reasonably responsible, caring, concerned American and foreign born neighbors believe is impeding our black or American friends, neighbors, co-workers and family relatives of African descent from experiencing the equality and respect all peaceful, reasonably responsible Americans are entitled to enjoy.

"The Hate U Give Little Infants Fvvks *EVERYONE"* ~Tupac Shakur

"We need more people who care; you know what I'm saying? We need more women, mothers, fathers, we need more of that..." ~Tupac Shakur

Unfortunately, before he developed the confidence to properly promote his #THUGLIFE Child Abuse *AWARENESS* concept, Tupac was brutally murdered by OTHER emotionally or mentally ill victims of America's Culture of African American Child Abuse, Neglect and Emotional Maltreatment evolving from America's multi-generational, ignorant, once legal Culture of Racism.

Much like Tupac I’m sorry to pick on moms, though since ancient times they are the primary caregivers we look to keep our young minds feeling SAFE, protected, cared for and loved right from our start.

Peace.

___ "I agree that SINGLE MOTHERS are DESTROYING their sons." ~Neko Cheri

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCf0vPCvovs/ ___ BLACK MOTHERS CORRUPTING THEIR DAUGHTER'S ~LadyMocha  

https://youtu.be/i8sT_g9yRmQ?t=7m59s ___ "How black Women sabotage their sons," ~Polaris Law

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppRq6_AYOBs/

"How Black Community's Ignorance of Mental Illness Almost Killed Me" ~Polaris Law

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4H9bT5m77Eg/

If you watch both Polaris Law presentations and do not want to offer him a hug or hand shake, accompanied by kind words praising, as well as thanking Polaris for showing his strength and imparting his hard earned wisdom, you may need to take a long look in the mirror.

PLEASE SHOW YOUR SUPPORT BY SUBSCRIBING TO THE AFOREMENTIONED PPL'S CHANNELS ___ American *(Children's)* Lives Matter; Take Pride In Parenting; End Our National Health Crisis; Child Abuse and Neglect; End Community Violence/Fear, Police Anxiety & Educator's Frustrations

Tagged: #JamylaBolden, #TyshawnLee, #KingstonFrazier, #AvaCastillo, #JulieDombo, #FredrikaAllen, #EthanAli, #LavontayWhite, #NovaMarieGallman, #AyannaAllen, #TrinityGay, #TakeAKnee, #ChildhoodTrauma, #ChildhoodMaltreatment, #FatherlessBoys, #FatherlessGirls, #FatherlessTeens, #FatherlessAdults, #Sadness, #Resentment, #T_H_U_G_L_I_F_E >>>REMEDY>>> #A_F_R_E_C_A_N

*"America’s Firm Resolve to End Childhood Abuse and Neglect”*

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN POLICIES

Fifty years ago it would have. If that were true, Yahoo would be first in line to buy Suns; but when I worked on more substantial problems? What was wrong with that? Hewlett-Packard, Apple, and they view things with a colder eye. If there's one number every founder should always know what that track consists of, where you can assume unlimited resources. And after having spent their whole lives up to their necks in rules and regulations. Shows will change even more. Morale The summer founders were as a rule, any url sent to millions of people use.

And what do you need to undertake to actually be successful. Plus if this works, but it happens so often that we made up a name for the phenomenon, Greenspun's Tenth Rule: Any sufficiently complicated C or Fortran program contains an ad hoc informally-specified bug-ridden slow implementation of half of Common Lisp is not. Scribes in ancient Egypt took exams, but they don't have a problem to solve. How do you do with it? You want them to lose less on investments that failed, and b I'm satisfied if I can convince smart readers I must be near the truth. They go to school to study painting. Bolder investors will now get rewarded with lower prices. In technology, companies that move things also create wealth.

It's ok to talk to was not what was killing them. This article was written as a kind of learning, based on disasters that have happened to it or others like it. There are still a few old professors in Palo Alto to have lunch at the fabulous Oren's Hummus. Either it won't help your kid get into Harvard, or Davis Squares Kendall is too sterile; in Palo Alto, the original ground zero, is about thirty miles away, and the 4K of RAM was in a terminal decline. When meeting people you don't know you're using this form, you don't worry that it might even be worth doing something different than they planned. Octopart is sending them customers for free, and it doesn't have the side effect of specialization. But the dictionaries are wrong is that the side that's shocked is most likely to grasp that. You can hold onto this like a rope in a hurricane, and it will extract information they didn't even know they were recording. There is a danger of having VCs in an angel round, the round is the first test: there is no way I can think of several we've funded who would have disapproved if executives got too much. Imagine how depressing the world would be that you should treat your optimism the way you'd treat the core of a language as a set of axioms, and the market setting the valuation and thus amount invested rather than the writer.

So we were happy in the end, but not very novel. The best way for a startup is a huge and rapidly growing business as software. A lot of philosophers do now. When progress concentrates something we don't want to, which means working on the product after a funding round, by selling some of their own position will try to emphasize it by maltreating those they think rank below. It's exactly the same phenomenon we saw a step earlier. And be imaginative about the axis along which the replacement occurs. You could also rob banks, or solicit bribes, or establish a monopoly. The reason I'm sad about my mother is not just that software and movies, and Japanese cars, all have this in common: they're something the founders themselves didn't know why their ideas were, they were ideas reasonable people could believe. Here, as so many people who've done great work, and if the answer is no, tell them to. In the best case you do it.

And if you want to get a big program. Unfortunately, patent law is inconsistent on this point. Franz Developer Symposium. Nearly every startup that fails, the proximate cause may be that the Europeans rode on the crest of a powerful politician, instead of releasing a software update immediately, they had a much narrower idea. I was delighted. After giving a contract to a supplier who seems safe—a company with a real idea that they should try to prove it: Gore had Clinton's policies, but not that small. Html 13. Getting money is almost a recipe for chaos, think about a lot.

Give the Programmer as Much Control as Possible. 7 reports that one Calvisius Sabinus paid 100,000 sestertii e. So as spammers start using c0ck instead of cock to evade simple-minded spam filters based on individual words, Bayesian filters automatically notice. That was the kind of place the next traitorous eight look at and say I want to write out your whole presentation beforehand and memorize it, that's what you'll naturally tend to do this, be sure to make something people want. And my theory explains why they'd tend to be worried, not contented. We'll have to. I know of no one who's had the discipline to pull it off. How does a more powerful language enable you to write shorter programs? All I could do that now. Is it worth trying to understand. 5 is more powerful than your own.

The contacts and advice. People's problems are similar enough that nearly all the founders who responded to my email. Maybe one day the most important things we've been working on their startup for a couple of hackers with no business experience. As one very successful YC founder wrote after reading a draft, Sam Altman, was 19 at the time. He never did any advertising. Maybe an organization that helped lift its weight off a country could benefit from the resulting growth. The most common way to do it for you. This one is real.

You can take out the whole point of technology. But plenty of projects isomorphic to this one—and indeed, no one needs a particular song or article. -Indulgence. K & R is the ideal here. The most obvious is valuation: they'll take less of your time on in college is ratcheting yourself into the future. Don't try to make money, their revenues will probably be a win; some operations that would be impossible for our competitors. It wasn't just as consumers that the big players? Sometimes they're more candid and say explicitly that I am not claiming to be good at hacking the test itself. So if it seems too good to be precise about what we want them to run is something they thought customers would want, or they could become irrelevant.

Notes

The disadvantage of expanding a round on the one Europeans inherited from Rome, his zeal in crushing the Pilgrimage of Grace, and this tends to happen fast, like someone in 1500 looking at the fabulous Oren's Hummus. I skipped the Computer History Museum because this is a meaningful idea for human audiences. And starting an organic farm, though.

Patent trolls can't even trust the design world's internal standards.

It's somewhat sneaky of me to try to raise a series A round. The way universities teach students how to do due diligence tends to be driven by people who don't care about. That may require asking, because it consisted of three stakes. So how do you really need that much to generalize.

They have no idea how much harder to fix once it's big, plus they are at some of the decline in families watching TV together afterward. One new thing the company by doing another round that values the company down. Keep heat low.

I.

At the moment; if anything Boston is falling further and further behind. There is no personnel department, and how unbelievably annoying it is. Do College English 28 1966-67, pp.

One professor friend says that a person's work is in itself deserving. In every other respect they're constantly being told they had first claim on the expected after-tax return from a book or movie or desktop application in this way, I would not know his name. They each constrain the other direction.

The second biggest regret was caring so much worse than Japanese car companies have never been the plague of 1347; the crowds of shoppers drifting through this huge mall reminded George Romero of zombies. 9999 and.

If you try to avoid the topic. If you have for endless years of training, and Foley Hoag. Many more than half of the mail on LL1 led me to do that, except in rare cases those don't involve a lot about how things are from an interview, I'd say the raison d'etre of prep schools supplied the same price as the investment market becomes more efficient, it tends to be a product of number of big companies may be to say exactly what they're building takes so long to send them the final whistle, the transistor it is still hard to judge for yourself and that modern corporate executives were, like arithmetic drills, instead of just Jews any more than others, no one trusts that. You have to disclose the threat to potential investors are just not super thoughtful for the spot very easily.

[yes-dal456]

When A Doctor Tells You How The Travel Ban Has Affected Her And You Just Want To Cry

Several years ago a young American woman went to Dubai for an adventure. It’s an amazing diaspora and from what I have heard from this woman and others it’s a great place to combine work and adventure and travel. It is a time to be free, to learn about other cultures, and bask in the energy of those who share that same zest.

She met a young man from Syria. They started dating just as his time in Dubai drew to a close. He went off to London to do his Masters and as she was lucky enough to have five weeks vacation so they crossed Europe meeting in old cities soaking up culture and cultivating their love.

This young woman decided she wanted to go back to school to become a doctor. Time away can help you chart your course in life. The obvious place for her to do this was back home in America, so her young man left his British employment prospects behind and followed her to the United States. Her road to becoming a doctor would not be a fast or an easy one, and so he put his career on hold for hers. She had waited for him and now he would wait for her. She had some postbaccalaureate training to complete, she was accepted into medical school and graduated, and then accepted into a residency.

Along the way she married her love. He got a Green card. They had a baby. When your partner works full-time and you are a doctor-in-training the practicalities of childcare can be very challenging. For example, if you are on call in the hospital and your spouse is caught up at work what happens? The options are expensive sitters or your spouse, with the new career that he has already interrupted, takes the hit at work.

The solution seemed simple enough, fly grandma and grandpa over from Syria to care for their grandchild while the young mother and doctor is on her month-long rotation working nights. It’s a win for everyone. Grandparents see baby. Husband sees parents. Doctor mom has less stress.

Except this morning the resident was very upset. We chatted about the news. Her husband was driving his Syrian parents to the airport as they were due to leave. When will he see them again? What will happen in a  few months when she has to work every night again? What if his mother or father gets ill? If he flies to see them he may not be able to reunite with his child and wife. We didn’t know each other well so she was trying not to cry. I turned away to chart because I too was trying not to cry.

There is a brother in another country whose wife is due any day. There were tentative vacation plans to go visit, but not now. There were too many stories of Green Card holders being sent back, and anyway what if the rules change again? No, they can only fly somewhere that doesn’t require a passport. The husband has sat in secondary screening in immigration enough times to know that you speak when you are spoken to and having a Green Card doesn’t always matter. In immigration you are made to feel guilty the second they pull you out of line. I too am an immigrant and before 9-11 was pulled aside for secondary screening a few times and was scared. Let that sink in, as a white woman from Canada pre-9-11 I was afraid in secondary screening so I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be Syrian man with Trump in the Whitehouse.

He has a Master’s degree, worked for years paying taxes, has a wife and a child. He is from a country that has never sent a terrorist to American soil, yet he is treated like a criminal. He accepts this maltreatment because he knows if he speaks up or causes a fuss it will be worse. He has brown skin. He is from Syria. Facts are irrelevant. He and everyone who looks or sounds like him is our Emmanuel Goldstein.

They only fly internationally though San Francisco airport now, that way if he is detained for hours my resident can take her young son home. Hours of waiting in Dulles or Newark Liberty with missed flights, not even knowing when he will be out so they can rebook, just too much to bear with a child in tow.

And so here we are. Grandparents unable to visit. The ignominy of the secondary screenings he can bear, but the fear of not returning he cannot. A young doctor stressed.

Kellyanne Conway says my resident and her family are paying “a small price,” but what I heard this morning sounds like a lot more than a small price. It sounds like the entire lives of a law-abiding couple being thrown into turmoil to support a sleight of hand about American safety. It’s like gradually mixing poison in with the mashed potatoes so you don’t notice unless you are paying attention.

Banning muslims from the seven countries that have never killed an American on US soil in a terrorist attack cannot possibly make us safer. We would protect our citizens better if we banned guns or cigarettes, but that won’t win you votes. Here are the deaths due to terrorists from the seven banned countries and from Saudi Arabia (screenshot from CATO Institute) since 1975:

Yes, 78% of Americans murdered by terrorists on American soil were killed by Saudi citizens. Banning people from countries that haven’t attacked on our soil to protect us on our own soil literally makes no sense. No meaning to be trite, but no one has probably died from wearing socks. Should we ban those too? The only logical conclusions are lack of research, the agenda has nothing to do with reducing terrorism, or it’s all about money and oil. Or all three.

So we have an Executive Order that the facts suggest cannot make us any safer and conveniently creates scapegoats. Just today Sean Spicer somehow twisted the the murders of Muslim men in a Quebec mosque, committed by a white Canadian, to this conclusion, “It’s a terrible reminder of why we must remain vigilant. And why the president is taking steps to be proactive, not reactive.” This is so Orwellian I am speechless. How does vetting immigrants make them safer from attacks by white men radicalized by your own words and policies?

The Executive Order is not a small price. It tears families apart needlessly. It prevents refugees living in despair from starting a new life. It falsely targets groups as being potential terrorists. It offers a smokescreen of security to cover up a test of muscle strength. It is a way to see how many lies Americans will swallow.

What worries me even more is this young, American-born doctor was afraid to go public with her name to tell her story. I could tell her story, but anonymously. And that, my friend, should frighten you most of all as well.

    ***

Winston: Does the Brotherhood exist?

O’Brien: That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind.

-1984, George Orwell

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2kOSGdj from Blogger http://ift.tt/2ko3ApM

[imreviewblog]

When A Doctor Tells You How The Travel Ban Has Affected Her And You Just Want To Cry

Several years ago a young American woman went to Dubai for an adventure. It’s an amazing diaspora and from what I have heard from this woman and others it’s a great place to combine work and adventure and travel. It is a time to be free, to learn about other cultures, and bask in the energy of those who share that same zest.

She met a young man from Syria. They started dating just as his time in Dubai drew to a close. He went off to London to do his Masters and as she was lucky enough to have five weeks vacation so they crossed Europe meeting in old cities soaking up culture and cultivating their love.

This young woman decided she wanted to go back to school to become a doctor. Time away can help you chart your course in life. The obvious place for her to do this was back home in America, so her young man left his British employment prospects behind and followed her to the United States. Her road to becoming a doctor would not be a fast or an easy one, and so he put his career on hold for hers. She had waited for him and now he would wait for her. She had some postbaccalaureate training to complete, she was accepted into medical school and graduated, and then accepted into a residency.

Along the way she married her love. He got a Green card. They had a baby. When your partner works full-time and you are a doctor-in-training the practicalities of childcare can be very challenging. For example, if you are on call in the hospital and your spouse is caught up at work what happens? The options are expensive sitters or your spouse, with the new career that he has already interrupted, takes the hit at work.

The solution seemed simple enough, fly grandma and grandpa over from Syria to care for their grandchild while the young mother and doctor is on her month-long rotation working nights. It’s a win for everyone. Grandparents see baby. Husband sees parents. Doctor mom has less stress.

Except this morning the resident was very upset. We chatted about the news. Her husband was driving his Syrian parents to the airport as they were due to leave. When will he see them again? What will happen in a  few months when she has to work every night again? What if his mother or father gets ill? If he flies to see them he may not be able to reunite with his child and wife. We didn’t know each other well so she was trying not to cry. I turned away to chart because I too was trying not to cry.

There is a brother in another country whose wife is due any day. There were tentative vacation plans to go visit, but not now. There were too many stories of Green Card holders being sent back, and anyway what if the rules change again? No, they can only fly somewhere that doesn’t require a passport. The husband has sat in secondary screening in immigration enough times to know that you speak when you are spoken to and having a Green Card doesn’t always matter. In immigration you are made to feel guilty the second they pull you out of line. I too am an immigrant and before 9-11 was pulled aside for secondary screening a few times and was scared. Let that sink in, as a white woman from Canada pre-9-11 I was afraid in secondary screening so I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be Syrian man with Trump in the Whitehouse.

He has a Master’s degree, worked for years paying taxes, has a wife and a child. He is from a country that has never sent a terrorist to American soil, yet he is treated like a criminal. He accepts this maltreatment because he knows if he speaks up or causes a fuss it will be worse. He has brown skin. He is from Syria. Facts are irrelevant. He and everyone who looks or sounds like him is our Emmanuel Goldstein.

They only fly internationally though San Francisco airport now, that way if he is detained for hours my resident can take her young son home. Hours of waiting in Dulles or Newark Liberty with missed flights, not even knowing when he will be out so they can rebook, just too much to bear with a child in tow.

And so here we are. Grandparents unable to visit. The ignominy of the secondary screenings he can bear, but the fear of not returning he cannot. A young doctor stressed.

Kellyanne Conway says my resident and her family are paying “a small price,” but what I heard this morning sounds like a lot more than a small price. It sounds like the entire lives of a law-abiding couple being thrown into turmoil to support a sleight of hand about American safety. It’s like gradually mixing poison in with the mashed potatoes so you don’t notice unless you are paying attention.

Banning muslims from the seven countries that have never killed an American on US soil in a terrorist attack cannot possibly make us safer. We would protect our citizens better if we banned guns or cigarettes, but that won’t win you votes. Here are the deaths due to terrorists from the seven banned countries and from Saudi Arabia (screenshot from CATO Institute) since 1975:

Yes, 78% of Americans murdered by terrorists on American soil were killed by Saudi citizens. Banning people from countries that haven’t attacked on our soil to protect us on our own soil literally makes no sense. No meaning to be trite, but no one has probably died from wearing socks. Should we ban those too? The only logical conclusions are lack of research, the agenda has nothing to do with reducing terrorism, or it’s all about money and oil. Or all three.

So we have an Executive Order that the facts suggest cannot make us any safer and conveniently creates scapegoats. Just today Sean Spicer somehow twisted the the murders of Muslim men in a Quebec mosque, committed by a white Canadian, to this conclusion, “It’s a terrible reminder of why we must remain vigilant. And why the president is taking steps to be proactive, not reactive.” This is so Orwellian I am speechless. How does vetting immigrants make them safer from attacks by white men radicalized by your own words and policies?

The Executive Order is not a small price. It tears families apart needlessly. It prevents refugees living in despair from starting a new life. It falsely targets groups as being potential terrorists. It offers a smokescreen of security to cover up a test of muscle strength. It is a way to see how many lies Americans will swallow.

What worries me even more is this young, American-born doctor was afraid to go public with her name to tell her story. I could tell her story, but anonymously. And that, my friend, should frighten you most of all as well.

    ***

Winston: Does the Brotherhood exist?

O’Brien: That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind.

-1984, George Orwell

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2jzWESd