#only one of these men is jocelyn's real husband

[tiredandoptimistic]

Continuing my family tree project, today it's the Fairchilds!

I think this one might end up getting remade once A Sea Change comes out, since I'm guessing it'll give names to Charlotte and Henry's twins and possibly prove me wrong about Sylvain Allard being Matthew's endgame love interest. For now though, I'm happy with it.

Herondale

Blackthorn

Carstairs

Lightwood

[blue-mint-winter]

Reading Fire and Blood - Jaehaerys and Alysanne's reign

I liked the early chapters and how Jaehaerys and Alysanne took over. The politicking and scheming against Rogar and Rhaena factions was interesting. All in all, both Rogar and Rhaena had fascinating stories as the losers of the power struggle that were allowed to live... but they ended up living without joy, losing those they loved and dying in obscurity.

I think it was maester Anselm who was behind the poisoning of Rhaena's companions. Androw was just a tool, he was too stupid to think of this scheme on his own. It would make sense why he'd kill Anselm when he was uncovered, he wanted the real mastermind to die as well, but then he took the credit for the whole plan.

Elissa Farman's story about stealing dragon eggs to get money so she could build a ship and go exploring the ocean to the west (eventually her ship was sighted in Asshai) was very interesting. Also, Jaehaerys basically confirms that non-Targaryens can become dragonriders, that's why he was so concerned with the eggs being in other hands. I think this opens a lot of possibilities for the main books, like Tyrion or others becoming dragonriders. Also, maybe Elissa's journey is a clue about how Daenerys will come to Westeros. Maybe she'll go east and arrive on Iron Islands, that's why they were so important in the books. Maybe Euron found a way to sail the western seas.

Aerea's story was also interesting. It's pretty clear that she claimed Balerion because she wanted to be the queen (and she was Maegor's heir after all). The one with the biggest dragon rules them all. Things didn't go to plan and she was gone for a whole year, then she came back infected with worms and had a very disturbing death. I'm most interested in what happened in the months before she got infected. I think maybe she wasn't kidnapped by Balerion, like many speculate. Maybe she deliberately went far east, because she wanted to find Elissa Farman? Elissa told her about her idea to go around the world, it's possible Aerea went to meet her halfway, because she had to fly over land. If they succeeded, maybe then they went to Old Valyria together? It's really unknown, but in a year there was enough time for many things to happen before Aerea got infected, came back and died.

Rhaena all in all has a very compelling story, but she isn't very likeable. She's very selfish and only wants power to fulfill her own desires. She hurts everyone she's close to, because she doesn't care about their wishes (prime examples: her mother, Elissa Farman, Androw Farman, Aerea). She could have taken over as queen, but she was unwilling to compromise her own love life and marry a suitable man with an army, instead choosing a useless lump so she could carry on her lesbian affairs. And that ended up in her own downfall because she treated her tool of a husband like shit until he snapped. Possibly, she and Maegor could have been a real power couple if Visenya's first proposal came through. Maegor was great at gaining support from men, while Rhaena did the same with women. And Maegor wasn't against his wife having a female lover, which was proved by Alys Harroway and Tyanna. So in another world, it could have worked out between Maegor and Rhaena.

Shivers sounds like a magical disease. It would explain why Daenerys died despite no one else from her family dying (Targaryens are immune to normal diseases). It was interesting that Boremund and Jocelyn also got sick, but survived. Later on Maegelle died from greyscale, which is a magical disease. I wonder if Jocelyn only having one child was a result of complication from Shivers. Maybe the disease affected her fertility.

Daella's story was really disturbing to me. She was afraid of everything, but for some unknown reason her father wanted to marry her off ASAP? So she chose the oldest possible suitor, Rodrik Arryn, because he reminded her of her father (what in daddy issues...). I assume because Eyrie had no kittens, horses, bees and other things she was afraid of. Then Alysanne got letters written by Rodrik's daughter how Daella is happy and everything is great, but then later finally gets a letter written by Daella herself that she's pregnant and very afraid so Alysanne went and stayed with her until birth of Aemma and Daella's death. Idk, all of this seemed fishy. Why did Rodrik, who already had children, force Daella to get pregnant right away, despite her being young and small, so she was sure to have a difficult birth? Why was Rodrik trying to hide the pregnancy from Alysanne?

I have a bit of pet theory, Daella's description is similar to Helaena, so it's possible Daella was a dragon dreamer. My theory is that the things she was afraid of were connected to her siblings deaths. Bees - Saera's ruin and connection to Braxton Beesbury known as Stinger. Horses - Viserra broke her neck falling from a horse. Kittens - Daenerys had a kitten, which could have carried the disease from a rat to her. Dragons - that one's the toughest to figure out, none of the siblings are killed by a dragon, but Daella's granddaughter Rhaenyra is.

What else... how come Gaemon and Valerion died in cradle, but Gael lived? Maybe it's maester conspiracy getting rid of new male heirs and potential husbands for Alysanne's daughters?

For some reason, Alyssa, Saera and Viserra are described in a way to make them all completely unlikeable - cruel, sly, vain, conniving, manipulative, drunk, promiscuous, stupid. I think this is a sign of the maester bias again. Daella is written as just a stupid and frightened child, similarly with Gael, who was described as small, frail and simple-minded. The only one of the sisters that gets a good rep is Maegelle who became a septa. She's credited with advising Jaehaerys to make up with Alysanne and later nurses patients with greyscale and dies of that disease. She's basically a saint. But the maester had nothing positive to say about any of the other sisters and that was just clearly weird, because they were loved by family.

I liked the tidbit how the first road Jaehaerys built was the one going straight to the Wall. He probably was aware of the prophecy and that's why he insisted on a male heir (Prince that was promised).

[goodqueenaly]

And indeed, Genna Lannister makes a somewhat similar point with respect to Robert Arryn himself and the Tullys:

“If Roslin has a girl—”

“—she can wed Ty, provided old Lord Walder will consent. Yes, I’ve thought of that. A boy is just as likely, though, and his little cock would cloud the issue. And if Ser Brynden should survive this siege, he might be inclined to claim Riverrun in his own name … [sic] or in the name of young Robert Arryn.”

Jaime remembered little Robert from King’s Landing, still sucking on his mother’s teats at four. “Arryn won’t live long enough to breed. And why should the Lord of the Eyrie need Riverrun?”

“Why does a man with one pot of gold need another? Men are greedy.[”]

Robert Arryn is not surnamed “Tully”, almost certainly has never been to Riverrun, and would never have been seen in his grandfather’s lifetime as the heir to Riverrun - but merely by being a (female-line) grandson of Lord Hoster, Robert automatically has a better claim by lineage to be the heir of House Tully, and inheritor of Riverrun, than Genna’s husband and grandson do, with only the paper crown Emmon has been desperately trying to keep on his head. Similarly, though Harry is not surnamed “Arryn”, and again would never have been looked to automatically as the Arryn heir at the time of his birth, by being the only other living, legitimate, and dynastic (again, albeit female-line) descendant of Jon Arryn’s father, Lord Jasper, besides Robert himself, Harry automatically has a better claim than anyone else in the Vale, including those others surnamed “Arryn” (a point Harry, in his heraldry, has very boldly overstated). Dynastic politics can be wonky that way (as indeed, Catelyn’s reference to the Vale-born descendants of Jocelyn Stark as the next nearest relatives of the Stark children further indicates).

(If you want a truly eyebrow-raising example of this in the real world, look at the rise of the Hanoverian dynasty in Great Britain, where George Ludwig, Elector of Hanover, managed to become king despite being only the son of the youngest daughter of the sister of King James VI and I because the elector was the most senior remaining legitimate, dynastic, Protestant descendant of King James.)

Isn’t it crazy that the Arryns of Gulltown aren’t considered to be Sweetrobin’s heir? Surely a bunch of guys with the last name Arryn should be ahead of Harry Hardying in the line of succession

Nah, Littlefinger lays it out pretty clearly in my opinion. The Gulltown Arryns aren't much different to the Lannisport Lannisters or the Stark-Karstark connection - name's the same, but succession has wandered off elsewhere.

[gvbejvmesmichaels]

Task 14: Genderbent

Legal Name: Gabriella Antonia James-Michaels Usually Goes By: Ella Michaels Why: She only kept the James-Michaels because she didn’t want the James name to end with her. She’s never felt as though she was a James or a Conrad. Michaels is the only last name that’s ever felt like hers. Former Names: Gabriella Antonia James (maiden), Gabriella Antonia Conrad (first marriage) Nicknames: Ella (everyone), Briella (Jocelyn) Relationship Status: Married to Jocelyn James-Michaels Past Relationships: Nathan Conrad (ex-husband) Children: Andrew Conrad, Constance Conrad, Arabella James-Michaels (by adoption) Occupation: Professional Tattoo Artist and amateur sculptor. She co-owns a tattoo shop called The Collective with Kaia Johnson where they specialize in Skin Artistry. Higher Education: B.A. in Art History from California State University Los Angeles (prisoner education program), the required certifications to become a professional tattoo artist Tattoos: She honestly doesn’t know how many tattoos she has. She can tell you that all of her tattoos have been done by herself, by Kaia, or by one of the apprentices at The Collective. Her two prized tattoos are 1) her first tattoo she ever did: a crude rendering of her brother’s name on her inner left arm done by stick and poke, 2) the tattoo on her ring finger she talked Joss into giving her. Her wife had been uncomfortable with the idea, and she definitely went too deep in places, but Ella is beyond proud of the shaky Joss printed on her finger. Quirks: Growing up Ella wasn’t allowed to wear pants, which of course means that now she lives in pants and shorts. Ella refuses to wear dresses or skirts. She even wore a fitted pantsuit to her wedding.

Ella James was born and raised in Roswell, New Mexico to extremely conservative parents. Her father was incredibly religious and forced his religious beliefs on his family. He had very strict rules about how Ella was to dress and behave. Her mother was one of those women that wanted nothing more than to be a homemaker. She was more than happy to go along with all her husband’s strict rules because she liked the idea of rules and structure. That was also probably why Ella’s parents only had two children: Ella and her younger brother, George. On the outside, the family appeared to be the American ideal: Husband, wife, and a pair of kids. On the inside, it was hell.

Life in the James household for Ella meant that she was supposed to dress modestly, speak only when spoken to, and only engage in activities that were becoming of women. If her father had it his way, Ella wouldn’t have even gone to school. The only places she was able to go to were school, the family antique shop, and church. So, she took advantage of every opportunity to get out of the house. She signed up for extra art classes, extra home economic classes, and even multiple bible study classes -- anything to get out of the house. Her only saving grace was her little brother, George.

George and Ella were attached at the hip. While Ella’s world outside of the house was art, her brother’s world was aliens. He lived in his own extraterrestrial world, which often brought bullies his way. The worst of the bullies was a boy in Ella’s grade: Nathan Conrad. As much as Nathan harassed George, all it took was a smile from Ella for Nathan to completely forget any bad feelings towards George. It didn’t take long for Ella to figure out that if she dated Nathan, George wouldn’t get picked on any more. As an added perk, her father loved Nathan, which meant Ella was allowed out of the house if she was out on a date with Nathan. So she went with it.

For as long as she could remember, she knew she was a lesbian. She has a very distinct memory of watching Smokey and the Bandit, seeing Sally Fields changing out of her wedding dress in the car and being very jealous of Burt Reynolds. She knew right then and there that she liked girls. The problem was that her family would never accept her sexuality, and she knew it. She’d sat through enough bible study classes to know that her parents believed homosexuality was a sin. So, she knew she needed to play straight until George was out of high school, and they could get out of town. Of course, life had different plans. 

When Ella got pregnant her senior year of high school, she knew she was screwed. Lesbian or not, she knew the only option that didn’t end with her losing custody of her child to her parents would be to marry Nathan. Having a kid at 18 and marrying her high school sweetheart, wasn’t the life she wanted for herself, but it was the life she’d been given. Nathan was very similar to her father so she knew what was expected of her. She was supposed to stay at home and raise their son. It was a miserable life, but it gave her the opportunity to build sculptures as much as she wanted. Besides, as soon as she realized that she was pregnant, she knew there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for her son. She’d never loved anyone as much as she loved George, until she gave birth to Drew. 

As much as she hated being a housewife, she absolutely adored being Drew’s mom. She took to motherhood like a duck to water. Being a mom was the only thing that made life worth living. So when she gave birth to her daughter, Connie, her whole life revolved around her kids. Motherhood gave her purpose, but there was still something missing in her life. So, she started going to parties that the women in the neighborhood used to host: Tupperware, Mary Kay, Avon - housewife parties. Or at least, that was the cover. In reality, they were hook-ups for women needing more attention than what they were getting from their husbands. They would mess around with each other, and go back home to their husbands like nothing happened.

Ella’s life went on like that until 2002. It was just any other normal Thursday. She’d been at a party, and wound up falling asleep. It was two in the morning by the time she stumbled home to a horror show. Her ten year old son, Drew, was sitting in the corner, covered in blood. She followed the trail outside where her brother, George, lay in a pool of his own blood. Immediately, she dropped to her knees and checked for a pulse, but he was long gone. By the time she looked around to see what had happened, it was too late. Nathan had called the police, and Ella was sitting there covered in her brother’s blood. No matter what she said, the police refused to believe her, and she was arrested for her brother’s murder.

The truth was that George was helping her get enough money together to leave Nathan. Her husband was just as terrible as her father had been. All Ella wanted was to escape with her children and start over somewhere she could be herself: like San Francisco or New York. Somehow Nathan had found out, and well… staged George’s murder to frame Ella for a crime she didn’t commit. He could have given a shit about the kids; it was controlling Ella’s life that he wanted, and he got his way and then some.

Her trial ended just as quickly as it started. All the evidence pointed to her, and no matter what she said or what her public defender tried to sell, the jury was primarily made up of men -- and all they saw when they looked at her was a killer. She never had a chance.

Once she was in prison, life got worse -- Nathan filed for divorce and full custody of the kids. As soon as it hit her that she was never going to see her kids again, she sort of gave up. She let herself slip away in prison. She took classes to get a degree in art history, and did tattoos on the girls for cigarettes and juicy romance novels. Ella didn’t exactly take life seriously. As far as she was concerned, she was a lost cause that had nothing to live for once she got out of prison. So, she fucked around where she could and lived in her own world.

Then her stupid cousin, Annie, had to get involved. Annie didn’t believe for one second that Ella would have killed her brother. So she did what she did best: she meddled and needled until 1) Ella was transferred from New Mexico to a prison in Los Angeles County closer to Annie, and 2) she found a lawyer who was willing to reopen Ella’s case -- and that was how Ella met Jocelyn Michaels.

Meeting Jocelyn was the last thing Ella had wanted to do, but hell, was she glad that she’d taken the meeting. Jocelyn was hot as hell, the smartest person she’d ever met, and stubborn as all fuck. Once she heard Ella’s story, she was invested and Ella found herself invested in Joss.

Somewhere between working on the case, they fell in love. If Ella was honest with herself, she never stood a chance with Joss; she’d fallen for her that first time they met. Ella was handling her feelings well enough. It wasn’t like she was acting on her feelings towards the other woman. She’d never actually been in love with anyone before; it was all new for her. And then… she managed to piss someone off in prison. She wasn’t sure what she did, but she’d always been real good at running her mouth, especially back then. One minute she was fine, and the next minute, there was a sharpened spoon sticking out of her side.

There’s not much she remembers about getting stabbed, but when she woke up in the hospital, Jocelyn was there. She knew right then and there that she was going to marry that woman one day. In fact, she must have said that part out loud because then Joss was kissing her, and not even two weeks later, they were married. 

The new trial was probably the most terrifying month of Ella’s life. If they lost the trial, if she lost Joss… She didn’t know what she’d do with herself. But by some miracle, Jocelyn was able to win the case and after serving 8 years for a crime she didn’t commit, she was found innocent, and for the first time in her life, she was free. 

Once she was out of prison, there were still a lot of things that needed to be handled and taken care of. As far as she was concerned, the most important thing was getting back custody of her kids. Drew was 18 by the time she was out of prison, but he was a senior in high school -- it didn’t make sense to have him leave New Mexico when he was so close to graduating. And Connie… She was 14 and wanted nothing to do with her mother. Even if Ella had tried for custody, Connie wouldn’t have gone with her. So, she gave both her kids her number and moved to New York with her wife.

Life in New York took getting used to. It was the first time that Ella had the freedom to figure out who she was, and what she wanted to do with her life. The first thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to be a housewife again -- that had been awful. So, while her wife settled back into New York like she had never left, Ella took it upon herself to figure out what she wanted to do. At first she was so overwhelmed that everything seemed like it was too much. So, she started taking long walks around Central Park, just enjoying naturing and exploring. That was how she met Zak. 

Zak was going to Central Park for the same reasons as Ella - he was trying to figure out his life. The difference between them, however, was that Zak had recently transitioned from having HIV to AIDS. He was dying, and he was trying to figure out a way to ensure his partner, Kaia, wouldn’t lose their self in his death. Throughout their short friendship, they figured out a solution. Kaia was a tattoo artist who loved creating pieces of artwork that took over their client’s backs. With Ella’s self-taught tattoo skills from prison, it made sense for the two of them to open a tattoo shop together. Sure, Ella still needed certification and training in styles other than stick and poke, but it gave both herself and Kaia a purpose and something to focus on.

Once Ella and Kaia officially opened the Collective, it was like the second half of her life had begun. For the first time, Ella was making friends she wasn’t related to or sharing a cell with. It had taken her a long time, but she’d found herself. She had a career, she had her wife, and she had multiple dogs. Her life was finally coming together, but there was something missing -- something that had been missing from the beginning: her kids.

When he was twenty, Drew moved to New York. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do in terms of school, but he wanted to be near his mom. Ella was, of course, thrilled. Jocelyn was a little standoffish about the whole thing, but having Drew staying in the guestroom made Ella happy so Joss warmed up to the idea of having at least one of Ella’s kids around. Or so she thought. 

It was around 2013 when Ella’s biological clock started ticking out of control. She wanted a baby, and more importantly, she wanted to have a baby with Joss. If they wanted to have kids with their DNA (in Ella’s head she wanted Drew’s sperm and Joss’s egg), they needed to have a baby now. As much as she begged, and begged, Joss was in the middle of running for DA so it wasn’t a good time to add a baby to their life, but they were 39 so… after many discussions, they froze Ella’s eggs at least. It helped soothe Ella’s ticking clock, but the desire never fully went away.

Instead of a baby, Ella put all her effort into her career and her marriage, but Joss’s career had taken off and her wife typically was swamped with work. Her wife must have realized how unhappy Ella was becoming because when Ella brought up having a baby again in 2017, her wife said they could make an appointment to potentially begin the process of surrogacy. Except… the meeting never happened; not really. Sure, they went, but Joss was so busy with work that nothing ever came of the appointment. So, Ella stewed and flashed back to her first marriage and then, after a particularly bad fight about Joss never being home, Ella left her wife and moved in with Kaia.

As much as she still loved her wife, she’d been unhappy, and if she was honest, she’d jumped from one marriage right into the next, so she did some soul searching. It was during their separation, that Ella refound her first love: clay. There had been a time where she thought she was going to be a world famous artist instead of a tattoo artist that people booked appointments for 6 months in advance. And she’d loved working with clay. So, now that she had free time, she found a local studio and began sculpting again.

After filing for divorce in 2018, Ella got a surprise. Her daughter, Connie, had been living in New York for about a year and had been convicted on a distribution charge. As her daughter’s closest relative and blood relation, she was given custody of her granddaughter, Arabella. Once Bella was put in her arms, Ella knew she was meant to raise Bella -- this was the baby she’d been yearning for. Much like the first time, she took quickly to motherhood, even though it had been decades between children. Unlike the first time, she was a single parent, which was a totally different experience.

By late 2019/early 2020, Ella more or less had her life together. She knew who she was, the shop was flourishing, she had an insane amount of YouTube followers who liked to watch her sculpt, and she finally had the single (grand)mom thing down. It was then that she realized that the one thing that was missing from her life was her ex-wife. The problem was that it looked like Joss had moved on, and yet, Ella still found herself trying to reconnect with her ex-wife. 

Falling back into a relationship with the other woman had almost been too easy. It was like going home again. Working on their relationship and getting back together had been great and fine until they were quarantined together with a two year old, and Ella found out they were still technically married. Joss had never filed the signed petition for divorce. If there was anything that could have fouled up their reunion - it was that. But somehow (and with the help of an annoying marriage counselor via Zoom), they were able to reclaim their marriage.

October 13, 2021 will mark one year of being remarried (okay, vow renewal). Ella has no idea where the time has gone, but she knows two things for absolute certain: one - she’s the person she was always meant to be, and two - she’s married to the  absolute love of her life. Things in her life may have been rough, but those things led her to where she was meant to be, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She hadn’t suffered through the bad, she never would have been able to appreciate the good.

[nullbutexe]

SHADOWHUNTERS - Created by Ed Decter - Based on The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare

Content Warning - Mentions of abuse, suicide, self harm, internalised homophobia and drugs.

The Netflix show Shadowhunters has a lot of important topics to talk about. These include sexuality, grief, addiction, religion and mental illness.

Firstly, the Warlock, Magnus. Magnus Bane is an openly bisexual male who doesn't conform to gender roles. He is not ashamed to talk about his past relationships with both men and women, which is something that is not really seen within the LGBT community. People often hide their sexuality or gender identity due to fear of being treated differently, but Magnus is so open about his sexuality. He is not ashamed of who he is and is proud of his identity, something everyone should aspire to be, regardless of their gender identity or sexuality.

Magnus embraces his femininity, unlike a lot of cisgender men. He wears makeup (specifically eyeliner, which he describes as his tiger stripes) and paints his nails, something which is a stereotypically feminine trait (although that is slowly changing). As well as this, a lot of his clothing could be described as 'feminine'. This shows other LGBTQ+ people that they are able to embrace their femininity regardless of their gender identity; Things should not be gendered. Experimenting with your gender expression should not be looked down on. Everyone should be able to be free to express themselves however they want without fear of judgement. Magnus’ character is the embodiment of this. He is never judged for how he expresses himself.

Magnus is also shown to struggle with the loss of magic and therefore turns to alcohol, which is a very negative coping mechanism. He ends up having a breakdown in front of his (at the time) boyfriend as a result of drinking too much and not being able to cope with his magic being taken away. Magnus has friends who help him through his loss, especially Alec, who reminds him he is no less of a person without his magic and that he still loves him regardless. People often turn to alcohol or drugs as they believe it will distract them from their issues, which is why this portrayal is very true to the real world. Magnus feels a loss of identity through losing his magic, which is to be expected since he has has magic for over four hundred years. He feels powerless and useless without this huge part of him, however he is lucky to have a huge support system to help him through his dark times.

As well as the trauma from losing his magic twice, Magnus also suffers from PTSD due to events of his past. When body swapped with Valentine, the Clave use the agony rune on Magnus as a form of torture to get him to tell them where the Mortal Cup is. The rune only ends up bringing up past trauma which he has spent centuries trying to bury. After returning to his body, Magnus talks to Alec about what he did and explains that he never wanted Alec to see this ugly side of him. Showing Magnus so vulnerable and talking about his trauma shows people that opening up can help them move on from events of the past. Alec is extremely comforting towards Magnus and expresses how he thinks there is nothing ugly about him. This seems to be a huge relief for Magnus.

Next, Shadowhunter Alec. Alec Lightwood is one of the few gay characters who hasn't been portrayed in a stereotypical way. He is the leader of the New York Institute and is incredibly masculine, which is very different to how gay men are usually portrayed in the media. Having a (now openly) gay man be someone that high up in status is important as it shows other gay or LGBTQ+ people that they can do everything that a non LGBTQ+ person can do and more. By being open about the fact he is gay to the rest of the Institute, it gives other LGBTQ+ Shadowhunters the confidence to be able to talk about their sexuality or gender, as shown by Underhill who tells Alec how inspirational he is. As well as other characters now being confident in opening up about their sexuality, a lot of fans would have also found inspiration in Alec's bravery to come out the way he did. Alec also dealt with a lot of internalised homophobia due to his status and his family, which is something a lot of people can relate to as people are often ashamed of their sexuality due to judgemental family or how society can portray the LGBTQ+ community. Alec managed to get rid of the internalised homophobia with the help of his family and friends, and his now husband. This shows to fans that there are people who support them greatly and will never judge them. Having supportive people around you can help immensely and can save someone's life.

In season 2 episode 4, Alec is possessed by a demon who uses his body to kill Jocelyn, Clary’s mother. He feels incredibly guilty about this and blames himself, despite the others telling him not to. We don’t see much more about Alec’s guilt until season 2 episode 8, in which Alec’s worst fears are brought out due to Iris’ attack on Magnus’ apartment. When talking to Clary on the balcony, he hears her blame him for her mother’s death, when in reality she is trying to talk him down from the balcony. He tries to jump, but luckily Magnus catches him before he manages to. After the attack has been resolved, Magnus talks about how magic cannot create fears, but bring them out, showing just how much Jocelyn’s death effected Alec. As well as Alec almost falling from the balcony, we see him repeatedly shoot arrows which results in his fingers bleeding. This seems like a type of self harm for him, as he doesn’t use the healing rune to fix up the wounds. Magnus points this out as well as the fact that Alec is clearly hurting due to what the demon did. He explains that Alec hopes the pain in his fingers will overpower the pain he is feeling from the guilt, but that it is not that easy. Magnus does all he can to try and comfort Alec.

In the finale of season 3B, we see Alec as Inquisitor and Magnus as High Warlock of Alicante. Previously, there would never have been a High Warlock for any of the Shadowhunter cities, as Downworlders and Shadowhunters were generally separated. By being open about their relationship and Alec being so high in power, they managed to change how the Shadowhunters treat other Downworlders. They ultimately end up working with each other instead of against. Magnus and Alec changed the world with their relationship. They ended the blatant racism between Downworlders and Shadowhunters and they are finally treated as equal.

When planning his and Magnus’ wedding, he states he would like to have it at the Institute. He explains that this is because the Clave would have to celebrate a relationship between a Shadowhunter and a Downworlder under their own roof. Having the wedding in the Institute shows how much Alec is willing to do to abolish the clear racism and hatred of Downworlders within the Clave. This, along with several other acts during the one year time skip (I imagine), had a huge effect on the perception on Downworlders and both Shadowhunters and Downworlders end up working together.

Raphael Santiago is (while nothing is explicitly said about his sexuality) an asexual vampire. He explains to Izzy that he's not interested in sex, implying he is asexual, which was then comfirmed by the book writer, Cassandra Clare. Vampires are often portrayed as sexual beings in the media, and the fact that Raphael is asexual is completely different from the norm. There isn't a lot of asexual representation in the media and is often completely forgotten about, so seeing a character be open about his asexuality to one of his friends gives representation to an often ignored sexuality. Having this kind of representation is important as it lets other asexual people know they aren't alone and also validates their feelings.

Raphael also manages to keep his faith throughout his life time despite everything he has been through. When he becomes mundane again, he talks about how he went to morning mass for the first time in 80 years. In the season finale of 3B, he states to Simon and Isabelle that he joined the seminary and is on his way to becoming a priest. Despite the hell he has been through, he still managed to keep his faith and intends to devote his life to it. To other religious people who might watch the show, it tells them that they should never give up on their faith, regardless of what they go through. Despite not being a religious person myself, I can fully understand how that may be comforting.

We see Raphael’s sister struggle with dementia as it ultimately worsens and she easily forgets who Raphael is. Despite her not knowing who he is, he visits her often and spends as much time as possible with her. In season 3 episode 3, Raphael gets a phone call from the nursing home explaining that she has passed away. This very clearly affects him a lot, and he immediately turns to Izzy for comfort. He is upset that he cannot attend her funeral due to it being during the day, so Izzy promises that she will go in his place. When he becomes mundane again, he goes to Rosa’s grave and plants flowers for her, something he hadn’t been able to do previously. I think this would have been a huge weight off of his chest.

In season 3 episode 5, the head of security, Underhill, talks to Alec about how he is an inspiration for being in a same sex relationship with a downworlder. He explains that if it wasn’t for Alec he would have never had the courage to come out to the Institute. He had to keep his private life separate from his job at the institute until Alec had the courage to show his true feelings for Magnus. This just proves how much of an inspiration Alec is to the rest of the Institute.

As well as Underhill, Shadowhunters Helen (who is half Seelie) and Aline also end up having the courage to be together. In the finale, we see them kiss at Alec and Magnus’ wedding after talking about what they could wear for their own wedding. Their relationship is a similar one to Alec and Magnus, as it is a same sex relationship and one of them is part Downworlder. If it wasn’t for Magnus and Alec being open about their relationship, I doubt they would have been able to be public with their own.

Luke Garroway’s partner, Ollie Wilson, is also in a same sex relationship. While she and her girlfriend, Sam, are a minor part of the show, it gives us another same sex relationship but with mundanes instead of the Shadow World. The two share everything with each other and seem to be in a very committed and loving relationship.

The show also deals with drug addiction, as seen in Isabelle Lightwood. Victor Aldertree gives Izzy Yin Fen, a drug made from vampire venom, as a pain relief for her demon wound. Yin Fen is immediately addicting and Aldertree gives her a jar of it to use when she needs it. Once she finds out what it is from the Iron Sisters, she tried to stay clean, but ends up suffering from really bad withdrawals. In response to this, she tries to find some vampires who are willing to feed from her to get her fix of venom. Raphael agrees to do this, which only gets him addicted to her blood. They both agree that it would be best for them both to stop. Izzy then uses candy as a way to control her withdrawals. Through this and the support of her brother, she manages to stay clean.

Abuse is also heavily dealt with. Johnathan, Clary’s brother, was sent to Edom at a young age and suffered torture from Lilith. She burned him constantly, and when he returned to Earth, he continued to burn himself as a sort of reminder. As well as physically abusing Johnathan, Lilith also mentally abused him, telling him that no one would come for him. This clearly affected him for the rest of his life and he continues to struggle with the trauma of the abuse. When connected by the twinning rune, the behaviour of burning himself was also transferred to Clary. They slowly become more connected and behaviours are shared.

Every topic discussed within the show was dealt with in a very mature and understanding way. With such heavy topics being included, there is always the potential for there to be bad writing as people often struggle to understand certain concepts, but they were all very well written and dealt with maturely. All of these things combined have made Shadowhunters one of the most representative shows to ever exist. These are the reasons why it has become one of my favourite shows and why I will never let it go, even though it’s officially over. It didn’t deserve to end at all, but I’m just glad we got to have this amazing show exist in the first place.

Thank you to the cast and crew, who have done an amazing job portraying some of the best characters and storylines. Thank you for making me and a lot of others feel like they aren’t alone in the world.

[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

Problem is....would I really be able to have sex in public with a stranger like I see in the pornos, or would it just be better to wait until I meet someone I can trust and won't force me to do something I'm unsure or uncomfortable with....

I think I just might be afraid of getting taken advantage again or I'm afraid I might just be too smart, manipulative and aggressive in bed to figure out how to turn somebody on just by how they say they like other things, their appearance, and their approach to me. Cause I find some white men swipe right on me to get dominanted by me, because I intimidate them....but still there's some who are just interested black or white who like my boobs and just want sex.

Idk if it would just be smarter and safer to just have sex with a couple to get all my sexual cravings served all in one. Especially if the guy has a nice ass. Well let's be real both the wife/gf and the husband/bf....

Cause I like ass, and I'm interested in big butts with hair on men and transmen....

I think it's my porn selection 🤔

There's too many ideas and things I wanna try and really wanna do but it's all on one plate.

I'm worried it might be too late, since 25 is like the edge of being seen as too old to not take relationships or sex seriously in a commitment.

And I just wanted to redo my bad couple experience with a good one 😅

And also want a girlfriend. But I don't know yet if I wanna get married if I'm still having these sexual desires that I never ripped the comfort-bandaid off about. Cause comfort means safe for me.

If I could have sex with a much older couple in my friends neighborhood and just come back to her house like nothing happened....I think I would feel full, dirty and raunchy. Perfect after sex feeling lol 🤣

Why do I have such a long list of dark desires that I don't want people to know about??

Especially to visit a bdsm or sex party and come back home to my normal, boring life and just live depressed and repressed again. Edging myself with this existence I only would share to someone who knows how it feels.

But knowing I could never marry someone who is just as equally hyperactive as I in my own head, I would never want my kids to know they inherited Genes from a secret sex freak who wants to try everything on the menu like it's food.

Sex isn't food, it's about love. My heart and my head says, but Jay brought out my dark side that says "Sex is all about secrets, games, and desires."

Jay taught me that people talk about what they think us women don't know while we were having sex with her...Jocelyn. His primary identity.

Jay was jealous of me and Ayunna as she watched us kiss each other the 1st time.

I think that's why I like couples too. I can figure them out without them having to say anything. I can just watch, and then tag myself and adapt to what they want....or let's be honest....need.

Cause couples with open relationships or looking for a threesome are bored in their relationship 😏

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area: Chapter Three

Previous chapter HERE

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors.

CHAPTER THREE

“So, completely, out of the blue, just like that, she’s asked the courts to intervene to ask you to meet her?”

Sarah was sat with Audrey on their break at Joe’s across the street from the ER. It was a favourite haunt of theirs; it was cheap but the coffee was always strong, always hot, and the waffles were to die for. Plus, the chef was so supportive of staff, he would insist on giving them double the amount of toppings. Sarah contemplated using them as wedding caterers should it ever some to that. The location also gave them the added bonus of being far enough away from their work that they felt like it gave them a decent break when they could eventually find a spare 5 minutes, and clandestine enough that they could freely complain about the latest regulations imposed upon them by O’ Brien, the Ward Co-ordinator, and his questionable personal hygiene.

“Fuck me, the nerve.” Audrey shook her head in bewilderment. “You’d think she’d have taken the hint the first time around.”

“Well, there’s always the possibility she thought her letters might not have reached me and now she’s just trying to cover her bases.” Sarah suggested, taking another drink of her piping hot coffee and feeling course through her body, a comforting warmth for the first time that day. She was struck in that moment by her own empathy for this woman. She wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Don’t go making excuses for her. It’s arrogant is what it is, paying for some fancy lawyer to do her bidding. If she wanted to do right by you, she would have responded all those years ago when it was you reaching out to her. Don’t you take pity on her now. You have to make it clear to them, the lawyers or whoever the fuck this is, that you’re happy, you’re in a good place, and you have all the fucking family you need,” Audrey emphasised each point by stabbing her finger on the table. “You need whatever bullshit she is selling.”

Rarely did Audrey mince her words. She could be relied on to tell you straight exactly what she thought and at several times during their friendship, Sarah counted her blessings that she was on the right side of her. 

“Yes, yeh, of course.” she lied. Perhaps lied. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking in that moment. At various times during the days since she had received the notice, she’s swung back and forth between rejecting their request outright or taking the opportunity to see what she was like in the flesh, to see whether she was anything like she had pictured in her mind. Just to satisfy her curiosity at least. Shan suggested they should arrange to meet her and perform some sort of “drive by” and run away at the last minute. As more and more time went by, Sarah found herself warming to that suggestion.

“What do your folks think about it?” Audrey asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t told them about it yet. They’re in town next weekend so I’ll wait and tell them in person I think.”

Audrey nodded in understanding, pouring them what was left of their coffee pot. “I take it you’ve told Shan about this?”

“Yeh but we don’t get a lot of time to discuss things at the moment. More like passing ships in the night.”

“Oh right, I forgot. Cap’s back. How is it going? Is he still hanging out at yours?”

Sarah nodded and watching Audrey’s eyes light up, looking giddier than she’d ever seen before.

“How is he looking? Like, abs wise? I bet there isn’t an inch of fat on him. I bet he walks around in his towel, all wet after a shower. Still buff as hell, right?” She flashed Sarah the naughtiest smile she could muster. She swore Audrey was imagining him right at this very minute.

“Can I remind you that you have a very real and very lovely husband at home?” Sarah playfully jabbed her friend with her fork.

“Don’t tell mer you haven’t noticed.”

“How do you expect me to answer that?” Sarah protested, her voice reaching a little too high for her liking and she could sense Audrey’s doubt in her declaration. “For your information, I haven’t really spoken to him much since he got back.”

“Y’know, I like my husband a normal amount but if I was single and living in close proximity to that, I’d be all over that shit.”

Funnily enough, Sarah didn’t doubt that for a second. She’d seen up close and personal her flirtatious remarks to him after she’d been forced into introductin them some years earlier. She marvelled at how shy she’d become when she was typically so verbose and confident. Things progressed quite quickly that evening thanks to the shots he kept pouring for them and the arm she kept draped across his wide shoulders, practically sat in his lap. He wasn’t complaining one bit. She recalled fond memories of a random video recorded on Audrey’s phone that was meant to be a ‘Happy Birthday’ message to Michael but instead became an example of what not to show your husband when hanging out with an A-List Movie Star. Aside from the occasional political rant and last night’s episode of Jimmy Fallon, Chris was often Audrey’s favourite topic of conversation when he was in town.

“You know why he does that.” Audrey hinted before taking the last few bites of her waffles, feigning innocence.

Sarah knew where this train was going and was keen to stop it before it derailed and killed innocent passengers. “We need to get back. I have an x-ray to collect and you have a bladder irrigation in cubicle two.” Audrey’s shoulders dropped and she grimaced at the thought.

As they were heading back, they narrowly avoided colliding with Greg seemingly leaving for the day. Sarah would soon regret her jibes as Audrey made an unmistakably loud call-out in his direction. He may have just about escaped her clutches but turned to swagger his way back towards them, grinning widely.

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” He asked coolly, and to his credit he seemed genuinely interested. Sarah had thought he only reserved that kind of over-interest for consultants who might be able to further his career but perhaps she’d been too quick to judge him after all.

“Yeh, it’s going really well, thanks. How are you? You finished for the day?”

Sarah inwardly groaned. Audrey was going somewhere with this.

“Just heading home to get changed and then probably just head for the gym, I think. Might try and get a game of tennis in if I can.” He held up his bag to indicate his racket was inside. Sarah saw the label for YSL.

“Oh, you play tennis? How funny! So does Sarah!” Sarah figured she might have played twice in her entire life and one of those occasions ended in her swearing never again to pick up a racket. “Oh my god, Sarah, can you believe this? Such a small world. Sarah was the team at her college in fact.”

How could Greg not notice the insincerity?

“Really? Hey, y’know, if you’re free sometime, I’d love to have a match or two,” he smiled widely at Sarah as she died a little inside. “I haven’t managed to find anyone here who plays yet so it would be good to make a friend at least.”

Sarah spotted the earnestness in his eyes and almost felt a little sorry for him. Nevertheless, she nodded along in the hopes of ending the conversation as quickly as possible so she could get inside and stab Audrey with a scalpel. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Greg. He was perfectly nice, very ambitious with the intelligence to match, and even under the harsh lights of the Ambulance Bay, he was clearly a very attractive man; all height, with not a hair out of place. It was more her issue than his. According to Audrey, she was unsure of herself around overly good-looking men. Audrey first pointed this out to her when they were on a night out. She said a lack of self-esteem somewhere inside her meant that she automatically wrote herself off whenever it came to guys she deemed herself to be unworthy of. Then Audrey - and she may have been drunk at this point, Sarah couldn’t quite remember herself - insisted on writing out a list of pros that started with green eyes and ended with her “impressive butt”. She laughed when Audrey told her that she somehow made scrubs look fashionable and not dowdy, and that she should treat herself once in a while to an item of clothing that wasn’t a hoodie or a pair of jeggings.

“Well, I’m sure that could be arranged,” Audrey winked at him, and Greg seemed agreeable to that idea. “You’re not doing anything tomorrow night, are you Sarah?”

“Um,” she really tried hard to wrack her brains but came up short. “No, not that I can think of right at this moment.”

“Well, great, maybe meet you at Roxbury Gym tomorrow night? I have a membership that lets me bring friends and family so there’d be no problem.”

Of course he did.

“Er, yes, OK. Sounds good. Just don’t go hoping for Open standard or anything. It’s been some time since I played.” She directed that last comment squarely at Audrey who had never looked prouder of her work. Greg smiled at them again and wished them both a good afternoon before backing away and heading to his car, his bag swung confidently over his shoulder.

“Wow, thank you.” Sarah said sarcastically.

“Hey, you can thank me later, sugar.”

*

It was just after eight when she got home. Shan was working late so Chris had texted her to ask if she wanted to share a pizza that evening and she’d agreed like it was the greatest idea in the world. It was actually paying off now that Chris was there most of the time; if he wasn’t keeping the fridge stocked with beer and various groceries, she’d found him hoovering the hallway the day before, apropos of nothing.

He wasn’t immediately present when she entered the apartment. She dumped her bag by the door and collected some post from the side table Shan had left for her.  The TV was on low on C-Span and she spied two scripts on the coffee table, one looking vaguely Marvel-ish. She dare not look at it in case there was a microdot inbred into every page that would alert them to intruders touching the paper. Or it was fingerprint-sensitive. Also, she genuinely wanted to be surprised when she would inevitably see it at the cinema. She’d been invited to a premiere on one occasion and Chris found it both hilarious and endearing that she turned him down, preferring to see it in a packed screening with honest movie fans instead of critics with annoying lights at the end of their pens. She also didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of Mark Ruffalo but she kept that nugget to herself.

Just as she was heading towards the bathroom to wash up before dinner, Chris emerged from Shan’s bedroom, a towel slung low on his waist, a slight steam rising off his skin. Sarah couldn’t stop the knowing laugh from escaping her.

“Ouch. Thanks.” Chris retorted.

“Oh no,” She realised how that sounded. “It wasn’t anything, y’know. Um, it wasn’t, um...” Sarah’s brain had stopped working and she became increasingly aware of time passing very slowly with Chris just staring at her. “I was talking to Audrey about something earlier and you just reminded me is all.”

“Oh, Audrey, nice. How is she?” That seemed to change his attention for the better, thankfully.

“Married.”

Chris snickered to himself. “Man, she loves you, y’know. You’re lucky. She seems like a good friend.”

“Yeh, I know. She’s great. Not many friends would work so hard on setting me up on a date.” Sarah had only intended to say that last part under her breath as she turned to head into the bathroom.

“A date?! You?”

It was evidently now Sarah’s turn to feel affronted. “Yes, me. Why so surprised?”

“Not surprised at all. Just. OK, yeh, surprised, but only a little bit. You always seem so quiet on that front. I actually can’t remember the last time you went on a date.”

“That’s not a helpful comment, Chris.”

“Daniel!” Chris clicked his fingers. “It was Daniel and he rode to work on a skateboard!” He was momentarily proud of his powers of recall until he noticed the look on Sarah’s face. “He was nice. He liked....stuff.”

Sarah couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. “I remember he had an unnatural obsession with onion rings,” She laughed. ‘It took me forever to disinfect the place of the smell!”

Chris laughed heartily at the memory. “Well, I hope whoever this new guy is, he’s worthy of you.”

She was grateful for the nudge and he smiled back at her. “Pizza will be another 10 minutes I reckon, so be quick.”

Sarah shot him the finger guns in acknowledgement, regretted the finger guns, then closed the bathroom door behind her. She toyed with the idea of getting a shower but really, really wanted pizza before Chris had the opportunity to devour it. His appetite was truly off the charts when he wasn’t in training mode. She couldn’t quite believe what he could put away or where it ended up because it certainly made no difference to his physique.

As she re-emerged fresh and in a change of clothes, Chris was laying out the pizza and beers on the coffee table. She rarely ate anywhere other than at the kitchen table but Chris told her to live a little and relax. She followed the delicious smell of pepperoni and garlic bread and quickly gave in.

“So who’s the new guy?” Chris asked when they were both a couple of bites in.

“Just this guy from work. He’s new to Newton’s but only there for a few more weeks I think. Audrey is obsessed with setting me up with him. What?” She spotted Chris’ growing smirk stretch across his face. “Seriously, what is it?”

“So he’s not gonna be there for long? Never had you down as a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of girl before.” She could tell he was trying hard not to burst out laughing. 

“Great, so first I’m not dating at all and now I’m only interested in serious relationships?”

Chris held his hands up in protest. “There’s nothing wrong with that by the way! It works for me. If the girl is into it, even better.”

“It’s different for guys, though. You can get away with it because it’s assumed you’re naturally immature. For women, it’s like... we’re immoral or something.” She picked a large red pepper from her slice, placing it on her plate only for Chris to pick it back up again and add it to his. “The bar is held a lot higher for us, you have to admit.”

“Yes, perhaps. But there’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex without the pressure of asking yourself so many questions afterwards. You don’t have to see them again if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to learn their names. So long as it’s safe, just enjoy it for what it is. I don’t think there is anything immoral about that.” He shrugged.

Sarah smiled at him. “Is this what got you here?” She had only meant that as a passing joke but recent events had completely slipped her mind. Chris paused mid-bite unsure of how to respond. Sarah turned towards him fully prepared to apologise. “Mate, I’m-”

“Don’t worry about it. God knows, I deserve it.” He wiped his fingers with a napkin. “It was what it was.”

Sarah wasn’t sure if that was an admission of sorts and was unsure of how to respond. He could see the thoughts crossing through her mind and nodded slowly, wordlessly answering the question he wanted to ask but was too wary to do so. He hadn’t felt much like talking of late preferring the relative comfort found at the bottom of a beer bottle or glass of whisky. Scott, his friends, his sisters, everybody had worked out quickly enough that it was a topic he did not want to discuss. Everybody except his mom, that is. He readily acknowledged that he had been avoiding the conversation but also a growing awareness that his relationship with Jenny had been possibly symptomatic of something else he’d been trying to avoid of late: that he was getting older and had little understanding of what he wanted to do or where exactly he wanted to be. Sarah also didn’t want to put herself in a position his mother might be better suited towards. 

“It’s so stupid.” He shook his head, resigned. He took another deep breath before picking up his beer bottle contemplating taking a mouthful. “Things just got out of hand. It’s my own fault. I should have thought more first instead of running into things. You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“No, not at all.” She tried to sound as genuine as possible and he was grateful. She never thought he was an idiot. Naive maybe, but not an idiot. “I’ve know you long enough to know that you’re not a bad person. Plus, y’know, it takes two as they say. Look, I’m probably not the best person to advise on this kind of thing anyway.”

He seemed grateful for the brief assurance. “I think you’re better than you think you are.”

She attempted to change the subject. “So, you’re back filming next month?”

“Yeh, just for a few days hopefully.” He decided to follow her lead. “Then I’m free for a while. Should be easy enough.” He seemed to relax a little more physically at the thought of his impending freedom. The immense financial security meant he tended to take longer breaks between projects now, and he was a little fussier about the project when he did eventually choose to work again. “Shan said you folks were coming this weekend?”

“Next weekend now, but yeh. Looking forward to it. I haven’t really spoken to them much recently and Dad’s been so busy lately and Mom’s worrying about his blood pressure again so it’ll be good for him to switch off for a while. I was thinking of taking them to a photography exhibition in town.”

“Steve McCurry?” His eyes lit up exponentially at the name. “I’m dying to see that one. It’s a shame they don’t keep the studio open past nine now. That would’ve been ideal.” He scoffed and Sarah felt a sadness for him. Not so long ago, he’d had to leave his nephew’s school play halfway through and via a fire door when one of the parents insisted on joking with him loudly throughout the first fifteen minutes about whether he saw any acting talent on stage and then subsequently bugged him to play golf during an interval. It was hard for him to just go out and enjoy normal things such as exhibitions or theatre or, hell, even a casual walk through a park. They were beautiful at this time of year now that Summer was just around the corner and the weather was getting much warmer and brighter. For Chris, any simple trip now relied upon precision timing and stealth-like skills to avoid being seen and quite frankly, that must have sucked.

“Well, you’re welcome to come with. I’m sure we could sneak you in with a disguise somehow.” she winked and nudged him with her shoulder to break the silence, and there was a smile forming in the corner of his mouth. 

“Fuck it. You’re on!”

*

Next Chapter HERE

[likesomekindofcheese]

Songbird of Jamestown (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader) Chapter Six

Summary: The year is 1619. You are one among the “maids to make wives” who landed in the Jamestown colony. Despite the hardships faced, a kind recorder helps you through and catches your eye. However, he is engaged to another woman who has given you an ultimatum- be near him or be alive.

Word Count: 6K

Content Warnings: illness, mentions of death and sex and things get really...heavy for a bit (but no smut, I promise...not yet)

Taglist: @bluesfortheredj​ @queenlover05​ @themficsilike​ @itscale​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @supernaturalee​ for help with the ending and when I was feeling stressed about the drafting process, i love you), @blamerogertaylor , @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​,  @theworksgaga​  @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic​ @rubystarflight​ @theoneandonlyeclecticepilepic   @joemazzhello

“Master Castell,” you began, breathing in deep.

He was dressed in his yellow clothes. The same he wore on that first day. It was oddly poetic.

“Master Castell…I’m leaving,” you announce plainly.

“I know, I got your message as soon as I left the assembly. And I saw you walking by I…I…why are you leaving?” he asked, he folded his hands behind his back politely.

“I was not…successful here. The company has a price on me that must be repaid. I came here to be married. And I have other, uhm, offers in the next community over,” you say.

You look down on the dirt.  It is hard to look at him. You do not want to. You did not want this pain.

“But Y/N…are you well? You’ve been sick. The other day you were barely there, it seemed. I knew not if you would even live and now…you are walking and talking. And now you’re going to leave the next day?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, “Doctor Priestly says I’m fine.”

“Look at your bags, they’re touching the mud! You look like you can hardly carry them! Something has happened to you, please tell me!” he begged.

“Please leave, Samuel,” you ordered him, you feel a crack in your throat.

“What, why? Have I…Y/N…are you leaving because…of me? Have I been cruel? I promise, if I have, it was an accident!”

“Don’t play games with me…don’t play pretend and then act like you’re sorry…” you protested.

He was right about your bag. Its weight feels unbearably heavy now. You dropped it, sighing from the release. Your breathing feels shakier.

“I’ve…I’ve cried so much these few days, don’t m-m-mind me…I’m just weak and womanly, you know, and I keep trying to be strong but…” you mumbled, tears finally breaking out.

“There, there, shhh…” he offered

He ran up as you as you finally released those suppressed tears.

Then he takes you in his arms and embraces you.

It is surreal, the feeling of his arms around you. It is too close. Your body stiffens from how close you are to him, unused to such physical intimacy from a man. His warmth and musky scent of ink and tobacco were overwhelming.

As much as you wanted to toss him aside, to throw your fists at him and scream “I hate you!” from how angry you felt at everything, at how angry that his letter put you into such danger…you could not.

The cart driver walked up and asked, “is the lady alright?”

“She’s just upset. She’s saying her goodbyes.” Samuel assured him, with a gesture of peace.

Feeling embarrassment from crying in front of a stranger, you turn up to see the driver. He tipped his straw hat at you as you wiped your face with your sleeve.

“Well, jus’ let me know when she is ready.” he ordered, lighting up a tobacco pipe and smoking.

He walked out into the fields, noting you both and leaving to give room for privacy

You saw Samuel watch him until he walked away and then led you to stand aside, near to where the graves stood like crosses growing on the field. Where no one else about town could see.

“Are you planning to leave or is the company sending you? Was this your choice?” he asked.

“Yes! But…no, not actually, no, no, no because…b-because…neither, because…because…” you fretted, the words were failing to come out of you.

There was one thing that would explain it all. Or explain as much as he needed to know. As much as would keep you safe before you left, and he was wedded.

“I’m doing it for your good and for mine too,” you informed him.

You pulled him away and then got into your bag and pulled out the copy of Ovid, flipping the pages to the letter in the back.

Samuel’s face turned pink and his jaw fell open slightly. He folded his arms and covered his mouth.

“Samuel…did you actually write this?” you asked.

“Yes…I was going to give it to you when you were better and…I lost it. Y/N, how did you find it?”

“Did you really mean it, every word?” you interrogated, ignoring the question.

He paused and then answered very softly, “yes.”

“So…this isn’t a trick or a trap? Something that could get me hanged?” you continued.

“Y/N…I meant every word.”

“You see, I have to go. It is too dangerous to be here. And even if this letter weren’t found, I’m the one standing in the way of you and everything you’ve been promised,” You explained.

“Y/N…I’m so sorry. It was on my desk in my house among my personal things. I hid it and locked it away. I never thought anyone would…”

She must have snuck into there and retrieved it.

You blinked your eyes quickly, looking up at him softly.

“I will miss you so much, you were the best part about Jamestown.” You blabbered, holding the book close to your chest.

“As were you, Y/N. I wish you to stay, but if you want to leave, you can leave. I could…I could visit you. Give you a wedding present See your husband. See your children. See you happy and smiling. Like you used to be. Help you if you needed it…”

Remembering Jocelyn’s threats, you shook your head.

“You can’t…you can’t visit me. I can’t risk being seen with you at all. This is the last time we will ever talk to each other,” you assured.

“Y/N…before you leave, tell me…do you feel the same?” he questioned.

You paused Your head lowered to the ground.

“Goodbye, Samuel,” you lamented.

“Just know, every last letter of that is true, Y/N, ” he mentioned, pointing to the book.

You turned your back and walked forward to the cart.

You paused before getting on it. You pulled out the letter and looked at it, though you had reread it a few times, still processing it, there was one phrase that struck you now. A phrase you remembered from Samuel’s words.

“If you are ever in dire need of assistance…”        

You looked at him, the letter, and the cart. Your legs shook from inside as you walked to the driver and shyly requested “Sir, go on without me.”

“Are you sure, miss?”

“You have been paid already, so there’s no need. Go home. I am staying here.”

You turned around to Samuel as you heard him whistle at the horses and click his tongue as a signal to move.

Samuel’s face began to lighten, and you saw his frown turn to a smile as you walked back to him.

“The real reason I was leaving…. I was just afraid. I am afraid, now. But I’m not going to run. I’m not going to hide. I’m going to stay, and I’m going to fight. I won’t just sit by and let the worst things here happen…just…you said in the letter if I ever needed help…” you began.

“Yes?”

“I need it…I…I’m in danger. That was the real reason I was leaving.” You confided.

“Is someone threatening you?”

Stomach cramping, you kept eyeing around you in case anyone was nearby.

“Is it possible to go somewhere private?” you pleaded.

“Of course, there’s a place around the fort. Where the forest begins,” he offered, pointing to the trees.

The sun was moving into the later afternoon, its bright yellow glow drowning the village now turning everything a little orange. There was a small smell of cooking fires preparing suppers across homes.

You both walked around the fort and then to the opening of the forest beneath some trees. The wind whistled around some trunks that fluttered the leaves on their heads in answer. The bushes were high enough that most heads couldn’t see you. You felt the crunch of sticks beneath your feet and the footfalls of rabbits, expecting hunters.

“It involves someone you know…You will want to sit down…” you began quietly.

He sat down on the grass, sticks creaking beneath his weight as he rests on his knees. You lay down, feeling the soft dirt and smelling the earth around you, sitting on your knees as well.

You take a minute, then your eyes met.

“First of all, you must promise that you believe every word I say. I’m not making any of this up. I’m not saying this for any reason or plan of my own accord or yours. I am not lying in order to spread harm to people. I only want to save myself right now. I’m in danger. Someone’s threatening to kill me.”

“Who…who is it?” he asked.

Pausing, your fists clenched. Heart slowly picking up speed again, you dared not back away from looking into his eyes.

“Jocelyn Woodybrg,” You answered flatly. “She found the book with the letter. Then she poisoned me.”

“Jocelyn?”

You took a deep breath in, all of it seeming surreal

“That was why I was sick. She poisoned my water. I could be dead now if it weren’t for Verity. Then after I woke up, she confronted me. She said since I was her maid and because she had befriended the governor, no one would believe me if I reported it. I was shown the letter from the book. Samuel, I swear to you, I never saw this letter or knew of it until she showed it to me…”

Swallowing again, you saw that although his brows furrowed, Other than that he seemed frozen, his blue eyes wide.

You continued, “she said she had arranged the cart and contacted men who might be interested in marrying me in the town over these past weeks. I had to leave or else��she would find a way to destroy me!”

You backed down, your hand gripping onto your skirt. Not even believing the words that were coming out of you. A couple tears returned. But it felt amazing to finally tell someone. An inhale long denied came through you, as if finally gasping for air after swimming underwater for ages.

He handed you a handkerchief again to wipe off tears and snot now filling your nose from all your crying. You kept twisting it in your hands as you spoke.

“I…I know it…it all seems ridiculous. But…you have to believe me. I’m not lying. I’m not making this up to make her look bad in front of you. I thought if I told anyone, they would just think I’m saying these things out of jealousy and…it would be useless,” you said.

“I believe you, Y/N. I believe you! You already have my sympathy and my admiration.”

“Admiration?” you ask. Your head tilted a little.

“Things like these break people. Make them cruel. But you seem yourself. And you could have held that pain in, you could have run off and not consider asking for help, but you’re asking for it now. I believe you. You don’t have to let that worry torture you anymore…” he sympathized.

“She gave me a choice, leave here or die. She made a threat, and she will act on it. She’s proven it’s possible for her to kill me. I…I only want you to understand what she has done to me and this…this side of her.”

“She wasn’t like that when I met her, years ago. I could have never guessed she was capable of such acts. Y/N…I’m so sorry that I let this happen,” he said.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” you comforted.

It then hits you.

“Mercy…do you remember the time she struck Mercy? Has anything else happened between them?”

“Jocelyn’s always on edge with the poor girl…and then she turns around and is cheerful as ever. And Mercy never complained about anything to me…not that she would. Mercy’s too used to cruel people, poor soul, and you know how the child worships Jocelyn if you ask her.”

“Where will Mercy be by now? Perhaps I could ask her some questions, she could know something. That could give everyone proof and no one would think I’m making it up. Oh, where on earth would she be…” you babbled, your eyes darting with your racing thoughts.

“She’s in my house!” he replied.

“How do you know?”

“She lives and works there, of course!”

You both smiled. You feel it grow, curving up- almost like stretching a limb. It is a little painful from lack of use, but present.

“Y/N…thank you for telling me…but there is one thing I have to be sure of before I do anything else…” he whispered.

There was a rustle from a few more rabbits scurrying away. A few birds let out long, descending notes above you.

“Y/N…do you…tolerate me?” he asked, backing away a little bit.

“Tolerate?” you ask, your voice squeaks a little and you duck your head, avoiding his eyes. You notice his cheeks growing pinker.

 “I…you have read the letter” he turned pink “you understand how it is I…I feel about you. And I’ve promised to protect you, which I will always do. Y/N, all I need is an answer. If you don’t feel the same about me, I will still help you, but I will never bother about it again. But…do you feel the same?”

You looked up at him, almost pulling the handkerchief apart.

“Y-y-yes” you stuttered out timidly.

You went red and held your face in your hands. The little cloth fluttered to the dirt. Laughing a little, you returned it with it’s brown stains.

“Oh my goodness, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t believe I…I’ve said it to you, please, oh, I’m so embarrassed. I love you so much, I’ve worshiped you the moment I saw you, isn’t that silly?” you prattled, overwhelmed.

“It’s not, Y/N…I’m….I’m happy you do.”

He gently takes your hand and rubs on it a little bit. You savor the feeling, warm and smooth. You feel a few cold rings press into you, but not too hard, and you both sit there a while. Though you notice a ring for the engagement is still there. Reminding you, like a little demon.

A small breeze picks up and you feel its coolness. It becomes sunnier.

“I can’t believe, I actually love someone who loves me in return! I thought it’d never happen!” you say.

He pulls you to him and embraces you for a bit, then you both stand up and he presses his forehead to yours gently.

“Can I…Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Freezing a little bit, you looked around. No one seemed to be watching. There were no movements anywhere. Not even from the rabbits.

Breath hitched, you gulped and said “You’ve made a promise to her…”

gesturing to the engagement ring you saw in his hand and fiddling with it.

“I’m…learning more about her. I’m not even sure if she loves me. But you love me. And I love you. And we may not have this moment again. We’re safe here.”

You nodded. “You may.”

He pulled you close and kissed you very sweetly. It was odd and wet, but beautiful. He barely finished one when he went in for another deeper one.

You pulled back for bit.

“We…we can’t!” you say, pulling away, though laughing a little like a child stealing a pastry.

“Just one more, please!” he begged.

“Alright!”

So he pulled back for a third and you let him. You smiled and he gently caressed your cheek.

“Thank you…Y/N…for indulging me.”

“You’re a fine kisser, I was the one indulged! Could you…could you walk out first…I will follow after I just…let’s not give anyone reason to talk…” you suggested.

He took both your hands and kissed them “I will”

The gesture made you grin wider again and his eyes were bright.

“Thank you, dear Samuel.”

“I could hear it all day if I could!”

He let your hands go and walked back albeit with a slight hop.

Waiting for as long as you could, you took in the sun now shining. You heard bugs and the small lizards climbing the trees. Laying down, you saw as the trees rustled above you and clouds floated slowly. You wanted to stay here forever.

You knew you had to return. But you took your time tracing your lips delicately and wondering if all of this had happened.

After you were sure enough time had passed, you walked back.

Once you were sure it was the time of the meeting in church, taking Samuel with it to record the events (with Jocelyn in the audience knowing every small event that happened here like a hawk) you knocked the door of the Castell house.

Mercy answered it, with a broom in her hand, and jumped, letting out a squeal of surprise.

“Oh, Y/N! Y/N!” she cried with joy.

She ran over and hugged you, and you smiled, hugging her back.

“Shhhh, Mercy, I need you to stay quiet!”

“How can I be quiet when there is such joy! But…why are you here? Shouldn’t you be away by now?”

“Mercy, I’m here to see you! May I come in?”

“Please!”

It was rather simple: wooden and light with a large table as soon as you walked in, a little vase stood in a corner with a few white flowers on top of a chest. You saw a large table in front of you as you walked in.

“Mercy, I’m…I’m going to stay. I’ve rejected the marriage offers.” You told her as she pulled up a chair.

“You aren’t leaving! Oh, what happy news! What a heavenly day!” she cried.

“Mercy, yes I’m staying. And I have a few questions to ask you…could you sit down for a bit?”

“Yes, I can!” she said, settling herself into a chair. Wiggling a bit with excitement.

“How are you, Mercy?” you ask.

“Today, I am quite well. This morning God has given me another day to live and so every day I wake up I am thankful.” She answered.

“That is good, and Mercy… do you enjoy working for Miss Woodbyrg?” you asked.

“Oh yes, I have never had a Mistress before! And as beautiful and good as Mistress Woodbyrg is- I could have married her myself!”

“Even when she struck you?” you asked.

“I…I deserved it. Sometimes she would chide me about my mouth but…it is a fault, and I should learn to control it. She had her moods, yes, but she is a kind, sweet, dear lady!”

“How has she…how has she felt since being here? Has she acted strange?” you ask.

“She…she doesn’t like it here. She doesn’t seem happy with anything. When she asked me to change the sheets on her bed to be clean- this was the very day she arrived, see- I told her they were washed this morning. Clean as can be. And she frowned! Thinking clean sheets as dirty, can you imagine! But she is so troubled, it seems…”

“Troubled? How come?”

“She says she has trouble sleeping! So the master asked me to stay the night a few times to attend her. I saw her, middle of the night on her chair and there was something in her hands- it was belladonna. She has been taking it to ease her pain to sleep!”

She paused a little, frowning.

“I don’t know if I should have said that. There are so many things I am to say and not to say it gets a little confusing.”

You slowed your breath.

“Really? Isn’t it poisonous?”

“That’s what I told her, but she said it wasn’t no harm and was helping her sleep, but I said I couldn’t sleep as long as she was troubled and she sent me away to my room.”

You wondered if you could trust her. To tell one other soul the truth. Perhaps.

“Mercy I…I may have seen her with the belladonna too, as I was working with her…do you think me a gossip?

“If I am honest, a bit…”

You smiled a little “I’m just worried… I wanted to be sure. I just…I just needed to hear something from you. I wanted to be sure it was real and not my imagination.”

“What is it, miss? Is something troubling you too?”

“Mercy…I’m just scared because…your mistress…doesn’t like me.”

“But you’re so good to everyone, miss! Why shouldn’t she?”

“No matter what I do…I can’t get her to stop hating me…” you confess.

“Well, she prayed for you! I saw it myself. But I prayed for you even more, just to be sure.” She added.

You decided to leave it at that.

“I must be going…” you finish.

“But Miss…even if our mistress has her little angers it’s only because she has pain. And even if she doesn’t like you… you’re still a kind lady, in my eyes.”

You smiled and said a simple “thank you, Mistress Mercy.”

She gave her wildest smile at that and walked you outside.

Then there was the next step of your plan, hurry home. Some people glanced to see you running back with a full sack. Joy and that odd mix of anxiety and certainty gave strength to your arms and you carried it as if it were nothing.

You went into your home, thankfully undisturbed by any presence since you left. Dropping the sack, shutting the door, locking it and shutting the window, you set to searching.

You looked among the food and pots. You looked under the table, under the bed, blankets, and pillows.

Something under your pillow was shining too bright to be a crumb of food or a hair.

Looking carefully, you saw it as a pearl earring.

It was Jocelyn’s, no doubt. She had planted and planned your fate had you refused her ultimatum.

Now came the time to wait until the next church service tomorrow.

You dressed simply, washed your face with water, and taking a few careful bites of bread and fruit and drinking milk from one of the goats. You could not seem weak to anyone and your appetite was returning.

As the church bells rang, you took the pearl earring in your hand and clasped it tightly. People gathered in and you followed. The familiar sight of brown wooden walls, pews, and the altar that seemed still despite everything that had happened. Though a few curious faces turned to looked at you.

People went to you and said “oh, Miss Y/L/N! You are well again!” Every face, even a few who weren’t familiar, smiled at the sight of you. It was like being surrounded by a flurry of concerned chickens. The church groaned as feet shuffled your way.

And at that moment you saw Jocelyn’s blonde head turn.

Now, if you wait forever, this will never be done. Not with everyone in town here.

“Oh, Miss Woodbyrg! You left something at my house.” You said.

Her reaction to your appearance was that of large eyes and a slightly lowered jaw, only showing a bit of her teeth. Her eyes scattered away from you, briefly, as if figuring out what she could say.

“Misstress, when you were nursing me the other day, as you were so kind, you forgot something by accident! Allow me to return it to you- you must have dropped it!” you insisted loudly.

With as long and clear a movement as you could, so everyone going into church could see, you handed the earring back to her, placing it in her hand.

“I’m glad you have your earring back!” you chirruped.

Her nostrils flared.

“Oh Miss Y/L/N, as am I…and what of your…your proposals?” she asked.

You heard the footsteps of the minister make his way; the service would begin soon.

“I only wish to stay here. Seeing I’ve made a name of myself and there are plenty of men. Will you need my services tonight? I can also check my house, perhaps nursing there may have been more things you have forgotten?”

“Oh, no, Miss Y/L/N you can…you can be dismissed from my service. I…I wish you to rest and…and find yourself a proper husband in that time,” she said.

Her face was still frozen, though her cheeks were getting redder and the slight scowl couldn’t lie.

You smiled wider and wider; it was easier to focus on the sermon today. People continually looked at you, hoping you were well.

And as you knelt to pray, you remembered Mercy’s words, the simplicity of her gratitude in just living. Things that a week ago perhaps you took for granted.

“Please…give me one more day…one more day to breathe…one more day…”

Once you returned home, you ripped the back page of Dante. Looking at the table, you saw the pen and ink you had borrowed thankfully still remained. Dipping in the pen, you wrote:

“MERCY SAW HER WITH POISON. ASK HER. BURN THIS” in your shaky, clumsy handwriting.

It would be better to wait. Perhaps tomorrow there would be less business in the evening for the church meetings. Once you were sure it was the right time, the sun dipping into the evening, you hurried to the meeting hall to the corner on the far right where Samuel always sat with his book, scribbling away. You could hide the note for him to find.

The next evening came and your heart hammered as you prayed Jocelyn’s wandering eyes would not search his records. But as you passed the Castell house with its door open, you noticed Mercy sweeping.

A “hello” barely escaped your lips when you saw her suddenly stand still. She swayed for a little, barely able to hold the broom.

Then she collapsed on the floor.

Letting out a little scream you ran to her.

“Mercy! Wake up! What’s wrong!?” you asked.

“Miss Y/L/N…I…I’m so sorry, I…I just feel so…so horrid…” she mumbled, there were a few tears and she was shaking.

With all your strength, you pulled her to her feet, noticing a little curtain with a small room, just enough for a servant, you dragged her there and placed her on the bed.

“Mercy stay on the bed, I’ll be back,” you promised.

Lifting your green skirt, you ran out. Eyes searching, you noticed Silas looking at the butcher’s wares perhaps for the Sharrow’s supper.

You shook his shoulder and said “Silas! Do you know where the apothecary is?”

Feeling the panic in your voice he replied, “Miss Y/L/N? Yes, I do!”

“Please get him at once, hurry! Mercy’s sick-she could be dying!”

“Should I bring Master Castell as well, miss?”

Pausing a little, you said “yes…yes, of course!”

He dipped your head, offering “Miss Y/L/N…you were a great help to Alice…she wouldn’t be here, in body or spirit perhaps if it weren’t for you, and…and I don’t think I would be either, thank you” before bounding away.

You immediately fetched some water, brought it into Mercy’s bedroom. and lapped off her forehead With a cloth

“Mercy…oh, Mercy…can you hear me?” you wonder.

“It’s…spinning…everything spinning…” she mumbled.

You untied her cap to cool her off, brushing out her long, wavy hair with her fingers. It was incredibly beautiful, thick and the color of a dark chestnut tree. If only she did not have to tie it beneath a cap all day long.

“Mercy, stay awake, please stay with me…please don’t pass out!” you begged.

But then a memory struck you. This was not too different from your condition a few days ago.

Running with all your strength and a newfound anger, you went home and returned with a bit of the medicine Priestly had given you. It was only a little from what was left in that vial, but it was enough. Rushing back, huffing a little from all your activity, you went before Mercy on her sickbed and tipped the vial to her small mouth.

“Take this…”

“No…I need to rely on…God…if my faith is strong enough…he’ll save me…” she mourned.

“Mercy, I…I think God would want you to take it. I think you caught my sickness. This saved me and…I don’t want to lose you, why else would God give it to me first? It’s a sign, Mercy …so please take it!”

You lifted it to her lips and the girl swallowed a little obediently.

“Mercy…tell me at once…do you remember…when were you with Mistress Woodbyrg?” you asked nervously.

“I…the other day…I just asked her if the belladonna was helping…with her sleep…and she told me not to talk of it…and…and I said I was just worried…and I have to talk of a thought if it consumes me…do you understand?”

Your heart raced, all you could think was no, no, no, no, no…it couldn’t be…but, she can be like that…you found that out already…

You nodded.

“I understand, Mercy…”

Doctor Priestly entered in a few minutes.

“Doctor, I leave you to examine her but…I suspect she has the same symptoms I did…” you explain, holding out the medicine in your hand.

“I gave her this medicine to be safe…”

“Quick thinking, miss, thank you! Could you…could you strip her down to her shift? I’ll…. I’ll leave the room…” he walked out a bit.

You undid Mercy’s apron and pulled her dress over her head then laid her down. The girl was very slight, like a thimble, and she did not resist. She was only barely conscious, holding on with the medicine.

You laid her down and then walked out, waiting for a while as Priestly spoke with her and examined her. You sat at the table, trying to listen to the sounds outside to distract yourself, wondering how on earth you would explain to anyone what you were doing in a man’s house unaccompanied.

Doctor Priestly returned.

He looked at you and nodded his head with a worried look.

You handed him the rest of the medicine and said you had to leave. But once you left the house, Samuel was running up with Silas.

“She’s sick?” he asked, eyes wide with worry.

Silas bowed to you and ran off to carry on with his evening duties.

You nodded and before anyone else could catch you, you passed the note to his hands.

“The same as me,” you confirmed before you ran away.

You wanted no reason to give anyone suspicions about you two. The least you could do right now was pray and wait.

That evening, Samuel made sure Mercy was peacefully sleeping by the time it would be dinner. He was going to din with his fiancée. Or that was what she thought. That was what was normal.

She walked into his house to find there was no smell of cooking. And his face did not look warm. There was no Mercy either. Only a small, soft snore coming from her closed room was a sign the servant was there at all.

“Is the supper ready?” she asked coolly.

There was no answer. Samuel stood in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back and his eyes like steel.

“You can’t let your maid sleep when there’s a meal to prepare.”

“I can’t have supper with poisoned food a maid ate…Jocelyn…what were you doing with belladonna?” he asked sternly.

“Was…was Mercy spreading something false?” she asked.

“Jocelyn…please tell me the truth, yes, Mercy fell sick. Christopher said it was poison. And I learned you had it. What is it belladonna for?”

“I…I needed it.” She answered.

“Why would you use it on a child who poses no threat to you?”

“I…I must have…have dropped it. I needed it to sleep.”

“The symptoms matched Y/N’s. When I asked Priestly, he said she was poisoned too. I don’t see how attacking both of your servants would have helped you sleep.”

“She…just wouldn’t��� would not keep quiet that I had it!”

“Why didn’t you tell her you were finally at peace then? That you were sleeping well. Is it her fault that you kept saying you were worried and kept the thing with you? Why were you keeping belladonna in the first place? Do you really need it to sleep or is it something else…are you lying to me? Who else are you trying to poison.”

Jocelyn backed a little bit. Then she folded her hands in front of her, calm as ever.

“See, Samuel…if the Marshal was out of the way- Think of how many people would be help. How they would love it once you were governor.”

“Jocelyn, if you were caught, you would have been hung!”

“I would not have! The men here are corrupt, they’re going to ruin everything and everyone! You should know that better than anyone.”

“Well, what about Mercy? Or even Miss Y/L/N? How could they ruin the town? What would people here think of a woman who poisons her servants?”

“Miss Y/L/N had to be taught a lesson. She…she’s mad for you, Samuel. You’ve…you hurt me! You hurt me when you mention her name!”

She walked toward him, backing him before the fireplace.

“And you retaliate by trying to kill her? Jocelyn, I chose you to marry. I even told her in private that I chose you for my wife. How can I marry a woman who tries to kill any person I talk to? Would you have hurt her if you knew that?”

“As long as she’s here, as long as she can even look at you, I know you’ll never be mine and…she’s going to ruin you,” She spat softly.

“Ruin me? How?”

She pushed him down to a chair.

“Little Y/N won’t give you anything. Do you know what she even told me when I finally asked her about you?”

She touched the sides of his face to look right at hers.

“She said she wished you were a poor farmer and not a recorder so she could be with you! What will that entail, hmm? Think of what that means. No house, no money, nothing but the dirt and plants and heat and work when Massenger, Farlow, and the rest destroy everything. How could you live like that?”

He stood up a little more, he took her hands but pushed her away, lifting from his chair.

“Jocelyn, when I met you, I thought I loved you. You were kind. You cared about others. I thought when I paid your passage that I was agreeing to marry that woman I met in Oxford. But you’re not the woman I thought you were.”

He let go of her hands. But she didn’t keep her distance.

“Don’t you want rule over everything you see? Don’t you want to change things here? See what kind of leader you would be …”

“You mean, what kind of leader you would be…”

She paused.

“We could work together…I could make you like a king…we could be happy…and I love you”

She moves closer, touching his face and kisses him. By instinct, Samuel kisses her back. Something about her was so attractive and her kissing was indescribable.

“And…just imagine the wedding night with me…she could not please you like I could, Samuel. And…we do not have to wait until then…Technically we are married now. I could show you what it would be like, starting tonight”

She kept kissing him and moved her hands underneath his clothes, finding the buttons.

He squinted his eyes. She was cool and soft. His lower body felt tight and hot.

But he thought of Mercy, asleep in her room a few feet over. Just a few steps ahead of death. He thought of Y/N, darling Y/N, crying and afraid to even tell what happened to her.

Who would be next? Was it worth this one moment of pleasure?

Fighting the heat rising in his body, he pushed her away gently.

“Don’t touch me, please” he asked.

“But I know you like it, I know you like danger, I know you like fun…and looking there, I know you like me,” she purred glancing to his breeches.

Her hands lowered from his chest and seemed to go to the seam of his pants. Resisting his own arousal, he finally pushed her away.

“I asked you to stop!” he said.

“You don’t understand, Samuel…pleasure, safety, change…!” she said. As she stepped forward, he stepped back.

Breathing in deep, his hands shaking a little he said “the money has been paid, I promised I would pay for your passage here and it’s been covered, the company won’t care. I talked with the governor today. I wanted this to be done quietly and peacefully. And he gave me his consent.”

He slipped off his engagement ring and placed it on his desk away from her.

“I refuse you, Miss Woodbyrg. You’re free now,” he said.

“You could be a king with me!” Jocelyn argued.

“I think I would rather be a farmer. Now please leave,” he finished.

Once he thought his heart would stop racing, right before she turned the door, she looked at him and said:

“The slut will die for what she has done to us. To the colony. She wants to stay here, then she’ll die here.”

Samuel’s stomach dropped as she shut the door with an odd quietness. But her words still echoed in the room. If he had to help Y/N like she asked him to, he had to act fast.

[tiredandoptimistic]

I think that he's aromantic and allosexual because of his internal monologue in "The Evil We Love" in regards to both Michael and Maryse.

Robert's arc in the short story deals mainly with his fear of change. He's afraid of the future (often symbolized through marriage) and he's afraid that once he's out of school he'll be expected to make his own choices and they'll be the wrong ones.

What's so very aromantic about all of this to me is how Robert says plainly that he's sexually interested in Maryse (and other women), but doesn't think he really wants to marry her. This is disturbing to him because a wife is the only type of life partner he seems aware of, and yet no matter how attractive he finds women he doesn't want to be with them the way he wants to be with Michael. He's afraid of growing up because once he's a real adult he'll inevitably grow apart from his parabatai. It's okay for them to be attached at the hip as teenagers, but after that it's expected that they'll both take separate wives and start separate lives.

He talks about this deep sense of alienation from his peers, this fear that there's something broken inside of him because he can't love Maryse the way Valentine loves Jocelyn and Stephen loves Amatis. He's into her, yeah, and he enjoys what having a girlfriend represents, but he feels like there's something deeper missing. Aromanticism!

Now, I know it's a common interpretation that Robert is alloromantic and in love with Michael, but that just doesn't hit for me the same way because there's something deeply aromantic in the fear Robert has about being expected to love a spouse more than a friend, even when the friend is your whole world. The fear that all your friends will partner up and leave you behind, that you'll have the choice between a loveless marriage or a life of loneliness; it's all so aromantic.

It's true that Robert expresses discomfort which reads as jealousy when he assumes that Michael is in love with someone else, but I really think it's because he's jealous that Michael could move on from their friendship while Robert stays behind. Robert always feels the need to conform, but Michael is the one person he lets himself be genuine around. How could he handle knowing that Michael doesn't feel the same, that Michael would choose a wife over his friend?

I do believe that Robert might have thought he was in love with Michael if he lived in a less homophobic situation and was willing to acknowledge potential attraction to men, but it all reads as more queerplatonic to me.

Looking past "The Evil We Love," as an adult Robert eventually cheats on Maryse and they end up divorced because he's just plain not in love with her. He wants sex (and he'll look for it with other women), but being a husband in the way she wants is not something he's able to do.

So yeah, I think that Robert Lightwood is sexually attracted to both men and women (even though he won't admit that he finds guys hot), but he's not romantically interested in any of them and spent his life making himself miserable in an attempt to pretend that he could love someone the way a man is meant to love his wife. I am also a Waywood QPR truther until I die.

(Under the cut are a bunch of quotes pulled from "The Evil We Love" which my claims are built on).

"He loved the way she made him feel when they were in public: strong and safe. And he loved even more the way she made him feel when they were alone together, when she pressed her lips to the nape of his neck and traced her tongue down the arc of his spine. He loved the curve of her hip and the whisper of her hair; he loved the gleam in her eye when she strode into combat. He loved the taste of her. So why was it that whenever she said, 'I love you,' he felt like such a liar for saying it back? Why was it that he occasionally—maybe more than occasionally—found his thoughts straying to other girls, to how they might taste? How could he love the way Maryse made him feel . . . and still be so uncertain that what he felt was love?"

"Come home to me. As if he belonged to her. As if, in her mind, they were already married, with a house and children and a lifetime of togetherness, as if the future was already decided."

"Only Michael knew how little Robert liked to think about the future, especially this part of it. How much he dreaded being forced into marriage, parenting, responsibility."

"They both enjoyed each other’s company more than that of any girl. Marriage seemed like such a misguided concept, Robert sometimes thought. How could he care for any wife more than he did for his parabatai, the other half of his soul? Why should he possibly be expected to?"

"Their parabatai bond would remain after the Academy, of course. They’d always be best friends; they’d always charge into battle side by side. But it wouldn’t be the same. They’d each marry, move into houses of their own, refocus their attention and their love. They would always have a claim on each other’s souls. But after next year, they would no longer be the most important person in each other’s lives. This, Robert knew, was simply how life worked. This was growing up. He just couldn’t imagine it, and he didn’t want to."

"'Do you think it’s for real? Like, for good?' There was no need to put on a show for Michael. 'I don’t know,' he said honestly. 'I don’t even know what that would feel like. She’s perfect for me. I love spending time with her, I love . . . you know, with her. But does that mean I love her? It should, but . . .' 'Something’s missing?' 'Not between us, though,' Robert said. 'It’s like there’s something missing in me.'"

"It was a surprise, a not entirely pleasant one. Michael never liked anyone. Until this moment, Robert hadn’t realized how much he had counted on that"

"There was a part of Robert that hoped this was the case, that what he felt for Maryse was the kind of eternal, soul-mate love that everyone talked about. Maybe his expectations were simply too high"

"Robert’s stomach cramped. Is this what it would be like now that Michael was in love? Would there be a new distance between them, important things left unsaid? He felt like Michael was leaving him behind, crossing the border into a land where his parabatai couldn’t follow—and though he knew he shouldn’t blame Michael, he couldn’t help himself."

"Her glossy lips and undulating curves prompting thoughts Robert knew better than to say aloud"

"This is what Robert knew: That Michael was the best friend he’d ever had, and probably the purest soul he’d ever know."

"He couldn’t stand to have people looking at him like that again, like he was different. And he couldn’t stand to have Michael looking at him like this. Because what if he started wondering, too?"

"Robert wasn’t capable of absolute love or loyalty. He’d thought Michael was the exception, the proof that he could be certain of someone—could be steady, no matter what. Now that was gone."

also @jaybirdscoffee because you understand my takes.

I am constantly haunted by my aromantic Robert Lightwood thoughts

[teabooksandsweets]

I have actually come to realise that I have a very soft spot, fondness even, for George Eliot. From the Damerosehay books, I mean. It’s funny, it came up to me when I thought about literary characters I personally fancy (yes, what a deep and important topic) and when I thought about how brilliant all the positive romantic relationships (as in, the ones that actually make it work together) in Elizabeth Goudge’s books are all absolitely wonderful and I love them very much, I came to think of how I feel for the men outside their wonderful relationships in the books, and despite my great love for Jocelyn and David in particular, I actually realised that, long story made short, I am very fond of George Eliot.

I mean, I often said that all of EG’s characters are real people, very real and very much alive, and I still say so, but George is, despite his real-ness, a character whose place is mostly in the background of the narrative, and of whose own story, out of Nadine’s personal character arc, we don’t see very much. And you see, I like Nadine actually a lot. She’s a very complex and interesting character, and I love her growth, and I love how she worked her way against her own disposition in a way that actually makes me like her much more than, to name someone in a similar position as her, mentally, Lucilla herself, whom I actually view rather (very) critically, even though of course she’s important in her way.

And I see what her feelings for George, and the way she handled them, and... grew them, worked on them, mean in that context, and I understand George as the technically for a long time unwanted and unloved, generally oblivious and uncomplicated, old and boring husband. I understand how coming to build her new relationship means a lot to Nadine’s story, and I love the way she found her own true happiness in the way she did (without going into much detail here).

But most of what we see of him is either from the eyes of his children, who love him, but also see him mostly as a comforting and kind and otherwise not too interesting, well, father, and his mother and wife who both often look down on him in a sort of loving way, and he is mostly described as a man without much depth (e.g. his religious and political views). George doesn’t have that sort of romantic storyline some of the others have, in fact, all there is is just happening on Nadine’s side of the story.

So, he’s not the obvious character to even care about much. But I noticed I do, much more in retrospect than while reading. It’s funny how he is technically the stereotypically “desirable match” (wealthy, good military rank, one of the “beautiful” Eliots, etc.) his position is more or less that of an undesirable man—boring, bland, conventional, and of little emotional depth.

But he is so kind. There is such a certain air of warmth and safety about him. In the scenes he appears in there is always a certain calmness. The twins, despite not really caring for anyone, are extremely attached to him simply because of that specific aura. Lucilla made very clear that he was a very sensitive child. Nadine once really felt attracted to him, and despite all that made her lose interest in him, she always felt drawn near to him again, and despite not really wanting him for a long time, she never seemed to feel one bit uncomfortable with him, it was just that he couldn’t give her specifically what she wanted, but that’s an entirely different thing. Caroline practically shaped her world around him. Every relation and friend and aquaintance trusted him unconditionally, even if they didn’t really like him or take him seriously.

And there’s another thing—many parts are from the point of view of Hilary and Margaret, and so we know how deeply they think and feel. Even though most other characters seem not to expect that of them. I’m actually sure that it’s similar with George, it’s just that the reader sees little more of his inner life than the other characters.

But I got extremely off topic here, I didn’t actually want to write so much about him. All I wanted to say is that I think is that he, as himself, taking the specific storyline of his and Nadine’s marriage all aside, a very lovely husband. Not only as a nice and rather convenient, boring man. No, it’d be actually lovely to have him as a husband, just as he is. As himself I mean. Simply from the perspective of the reader (in this case, me) and not in the specific context of the books.

[erchommai-a]

timeline + 1

timeline meme / the timeline in which they live an ideal life, had no opportunities taken from them, were subjected to nothing terrible, where they grew up to fulfill their full potential.

Somewhere out there is a world where Valentine Morgenstern’s Father didn’t die. Somewhere he didn’t have to watch as his own Father, taken over by the lycanthropy, take his own life with the very same blade he had promised to give him on his Ascension. No, he comes home with some scratches. 

The wolf dies

And there is no seed of deep hatred and resentment left to grow in the man’s chest. There is no rallying for a movement  that goes far and beyond normal sentiments of the youth. There is no outright call for war. Nothing to push the Circle into anything more than a group of young shadowhunters with some wild belief that they could change their world. 

And somehow, Jonathan isn’t born by necessity. 

He isn’t born to be the weapon his Father needed to breed a new line of shadowhunters. 

No, it happened because they were young and in love and full of life. That the thought of not being with each other seemed all too much. And the fruits of that affection and adoration was a young boy with pale hair like his Father and green eyes like his mother. 

Oskar Morgenstern named their first boy for them. 

Jonathan like their kind’s name sake. Honorable. Strong. Born to be a warrior. Like all Morgensterns were. 

He grows up next to the Herondales and the Lightwoods. He grows up following Luke around when Valentine was away with his own Father and the Clave and Jocelyn was busy painting in the free space behind the Fairchild Manor. 

He’d be carried around on his shoulders and treated like a prince until the other kids would come around and then he was king. Marching around like his Father. Big and tall and brave for a three year old. 

But things changed not long after that. 

Luke stopped coming around. His Father was always busy, hiding away and his Mom was scared. Scared for him. Scared for her husband. And scared of what his Father might think of the new child on the way. 

His Father starts taking him along into meetings. Meetings where he can see his Father and his grandfather standing side by side, shouting things and names and being angry. He remembers his Mom having told him once how they both hated his grandfather. It’s why he hasn’t been to their home since he was a baby. But he’s everywhere his Dad takes him, always with his hand on his shoulder. 

A few nights of this and he finds himself being stirred awake in the morning. 

Jocelyn with a bundle of his clothes in her arms and a few other things. She thrusts a stele and a sword in his hand. He holds onto the sword more than his own mother. His Father had taught him how to use it. The scars were still fresh from their last training. There were a lot more after his Grandfather had invited himself in on their training sessions. 

He asked where they were going. It was too early. His Father would be too tired again from one of their meetings to come with them this early. 

But his mother doesn’t answer. 

Not until they’re outside and they’re on the horse and she finally smiles with some relief. A kiss to his hair and he understood why. Luke stood not too far beyond the clearing. Different. Tired. Hairy. Still Luke. 

And they both say they were going away for a while. 

He asks about his Dad again and for some reason he knew then and there, he might not see the man again. Or his friends. Or Idris. 

He asked his mom why and all he told him then was they had to. 

And for some reason or another, he trusted his mother. 

----

Years later and they’re in New York. He’s waking up to Clary singing in the bathroom and the smell of coffee beans and pancakes from the kitchen. A look around confirms it was home. 

Home as it will ever be. 

He feels for the blade under his pillow. The one he’s never let go of. And Luke teaches him during weekends still how to use it while his Mom taught Clary about the runes once she was old enough to ask. 

Jon never preferred the sword. Maybe because it still reminded him of his Dad. Maybe because he could control it better. Maybe because he can’t draw for shit. Either way, it helped to offer him some peace of mind. 

They’ve only met a few bad seeds when they were younger. Mostly downworlders who were cornered into a bad position. Some Shadowhunters looking still for something that his Mother wouldn’t tell him about. Sometimes they just get a gift. 

It’s wrapped up with the seal. 

This year it was a ring. Addressed to him for his Birthday. 

He thinks its from his Grandmother. Jocelyn’s convinced it’s from Valentine. And she thinks it might be time to move again. 

Jon wanted to go to college in New York. 

Somewhere close. Somewhere he could be on his own but still a cab ride away should they need him. That was what normal kids did anyway. 

As he hears a squeal coming out from the bathroom, he figured they really weren’t normal anyway. 

--------

The first week without his Mom was the hardest. He’s never been out of her sight or her out of his for very long since they’d been on his own. And he’d never had to hold Clary’s hand so tightly as they ran to the first bus stop out of town. 

That was always the plan. 

Run until they couldn’t run any more. 

Never leave Clary behind. 

Never leave the box of baby things. 

That was the larger rule of the two. 

He knew why but he still didn’t understand it. He had opened it with Clary when they were younger. There was nothing but a few tarot cards and some of their old baby things. He just knew he had to trust her. 

If his Mom said it was important, it just had to be. 

It wasn’t long, however until they got caught by some kids. Or what looked to be kids. They had to be. But then a flicker of their blades and he realizes they’re shadowhunters. 

Like them. 

Except they looked better and somehow had better gear. 

They didn’t last long in the fight. Firstly, they were outnumbered. And secondly, they had more gear in their quiver than the two of them combined. One look at him confirmed who he was. The ring they found in his pocket only added the garote around his neck. 

Clary was the one that convinced them they were innocent. 

That they needed to run. 

----

They’re taken in.

They learn the Shadowhunter World isn’t as dark as his mom might have left it. It isn’t as scary as they’ve been taught to believe. And still different from whatever of his memory managed to tell him. 

It’s his Father and his government. His puppets and his strings that was keeping their world in the dark. That was making sure the prejudice and the fear was what stayed rather than the real mantra that had build their species to begin with. Good versus Evil. Angels verus demons. Now it had been Angels versus everyone else. 

Or what counted as Angels in his mind. 

It was sickening. 

They stayed hidden, for as long as they could, but things changed when Luke was brought in. Marched and paraded around. Clary practically jumped at the first opportunity to go through a portal to get to him. 

That didn’t end well. 

The Portal closed before any of the others could follow. They were practically drowning in the middle of a lake. And it only took a flash of memory for him to remember what his Father had told him about this once when he was young. 

“Don’t swallow the water! “ He yelped, gulped and drank, ruefully. Dragging her, only by the collar of her jacket onto the shore where the hallucinations almost immediately begun. He could hardly differentiate where his moans and groans stopped and where was Clary. 

How they managed to stay on a bed, he couldn’t be sure. 

He thinks he saw green before his eyes closed completely and darkness took over. 

By the time he woke up, it had been three days since and there was an empty bed beside him. His panic took over as he fumbled for the sword that was no longer on his person. And he walked, weaponless out of the room to find himself somewhat recognizing the place. 

He was only three. But his Father had took him here too. During one of their nightly meetings. 

He sees a portrait on the wall before he sees Clary sitting on a couch, all kempt and unlike herself. 

A few more steps and it showed a face next to what he realized now was Valentine at a young age. 

“ Grandmother. “ 

Clary confirmed it with a nod, tugging on his sleeve when he was within reach and prompted him to sit beside her. She was nervous and uncertain. As they both were. And from the looks of  one of the chairs, they had already scuffled before he had woken  up. 

“ Where are our things? “

“ She took them away for safe keeping. “ Clary interrupted the old woman before she could answer. Her eyes now fixed on the ring on his hand, similar to hers. 

“ If you two were raised like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have had the chance. “ She retorted, finally allowed to speak, as her fingers played with her own Morgenstern ring. “ I knew you would use that. It was the best way I could find you two without your Mother. Your family’s been waiting for the two of you. “

Now it had been his turn to feel clammy and shocked. He hadn’t thought of bumping into either of the Morgenstern men so soon. 

He tried to look around subtly for anything he could use. Luke might not have been as fast or as strong as Valentine but he still taught him enough. He trusted that gut instinct. But whatever plans of escape he was concocting fell out of place when he saw him come in through the door. He hears the gasp come from Clar right beside him. 

Jocelyn had always noted how much he looked like him as he grew older and perhaps it had only been made apparent now. 

“ Dad, “ He hears her whisper. Partly in shock. It’s instinct then that he stood up, walking slowly just to stand in between him and Clary. His Mom’s voice still loud in his ear. 

Run. 

But he was too frozen in the moment to move. Too slow to think. Still staring at his Father. At the ache he somehow felt in his chest again, the very same ache he’d felt when he understood they weren’t ever going to see him again. It hardly registers that Clary had ran ahead of him, arm flung around their Father’s waist and head in his chest. He blinks and it still doesn’t register. An image that his mind couldn’t seem to process until Valentine was gently pushing her back. The same Fatherly instinct he remember. The same tenderness that quickly hardened when the Morgenstern Patriarch walked into the room. 

He got motion back into his limbs again. And he reached for Clary’s elbow while they weren’t looking to catch a view of the grin on her face and the blade she very quietly thrusts into his palm. Holding back the smile of relief he slips it behind his back onto his other hand. His right arm having the better throw and pointed with his chin to the near by window. 

Jace had done it once before. They could too. 

Before his grandfather could even speak, he aimed and thew the dagger at her shoulder. It him her right where the ligament would be cut off and pushed Clary out the window. 

Her first and him second. 

Making sure to leave the morgenstern ring on the window sill.

------

They run until they couldn’t run anymore. And they walk until Clary’s legs feel sore. He picks her up, carries her on his back, until he thinks she’s fallen asleep. He asks and she tugs on his hair as an answer. 

“ Gremlin, “ He uttered weakly under his breath. 

Alicante was still far off in the distance when a familiar place came into view. 

“ Hey, TIny, Wake up. It’s our old house. “ He stopped at that, realizing telling his little sister she was conceived here was too far. Although correct. She wriggles against his grip until he puts her down and walked ahead of him. Getting a good look of the place. 

He wasn’t sure if it was abandoned but it definitely didn’t look as lived in as he remembered. The drapes were  closed and the vines were everywhere. Leaves crumpled and died on the ground where they fell. And there was an air around it that made it feel like they were walking hollowed ground. 

They should probably get back to the city. Maybe they’ll find the others already there. Luke’s life was still in danger. 

But the more they walked, the harder the pull was to stay. 

And from the looks of it, he had no choice once Clary had opened the door and stepped in. 

He hissed a warning. Their Dad might have alreayd sent some guards ahead or worse. But it was quiet. Empty. There was a faint fire in the fire place as they passed it by. Close to dying. There were empty bottles of wine scattered all around. 

He had wanted to go up. Show her his bedroom. Showed her where hers had meant to go. But she had already disappeared into the cellar by the time he was just about to reach for her. 

A curse and he chased after her.

Nearly bumping into her as she comes to a stop. A faint glowing light chained to the wall. It’s wings thin and frail. Two chairs set on either side of it. 

It moved it’s head and it spoke ; an almost garbled static noise. But Clary hears it. From the way she looks at the thing. He only hears faint words, shapes of what it should be without the sound. Eventually Clary fumbles forward, trying to undo the chains, eventually asking for his help. 

He doesn’t question it. Looks around for the keys until he finds it . And as they key turns and the lock falls out of place, with his wings spread, he glows with a blinding light that makes both fo them turn their head away and cover it. The air around the house different. 

“ I know what he wants, “ Clary announced. “ We need to go back. “ 

Jon makes some sweeping arguments but she was already on her way out and back to where they had come from. 

With the retreating figure of Alicante fading and fading behind them, he knew he had lost the battle. 

-------

They come knocking at the door, much to Seraphina’s surprise. Suspicious as she makes sure yet again they were not armed. Although that took a lot longer now he imagined with her arm in a sling. They arrived just in time for dinner  and was brought to their chairs with his Father at the head, many of his guards around them and his Grandfather on his side and their grandmother on Clary’s. 

Food was served with wine and he realized only then how hungry he must have been. That he didn’t stop to think twice and just eat. 

All the while discussion continued around the table. His Father’s guests paid neither him or Clary any mind, not until Valentine addressed them again. And Clary, jumps in with the obvious question: “We want our Mom. “

He swallows a mouthful and agreed, taking one of the knives on the table to hide inside his sleeve should they need it again. A look between the adults passed and Valentine nodded and got up. 

“ The only way we would ever consider to release her is if she gave up what she had stolen from our people. “

“ I know where the cup is. “

Jonathan tries not to blink his surprise. He looks unfazed by the admittance, although he should have come to expect it, given the circumstances that had pushed them here to begin with. 

“ But I need her awake.  Give her to us. And we’ll come back with the cup. “

He caught his grandparents smile. Although his grandfather’s was more out of amusement than the pride he caught on Seraphina’s. 

“ Jocelyn is still considered a war criminal. She can’t leave just like that. We’ll need a guarantee. Collateral, so to speak. “

Clary fumbles then. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

“ You want a head for a head. “ All their eyes turned to him then, sharply and calculating. Seeing perhaps for the first time the similarity between Father and son. He looked up at the house sigil that clung to a shield just at the end of the room. “ A Morgenstern for a morgenstern. “ 

He catches Clary’s look but doesn’t say anything. 

“ Release Lucian Garroway along with our Mother and I’ll stay. Just until you get the cup. “

Clary’s knuckles turn white gripping the edge of the table. His Father and grand father looked pleased. The rest of the guest depart then to leave the family to their peace. 

“ She can have an armored guard with her return back to the City. Your friends must be worried about you. “ His Father starts. 

“ If you break your promise, I swear by the angel, I will kill you. “ Clary swore before she got up. 

Jon smiles then as he got up too to give her a hug before she was ushered away, promising him along the way that she’ll come back. He didn’t doubt that. But he glared at the guards that tried to drag her away anyway. 

“ Now what do all of you really want with me? “

---------

They want someone to continue the line. An heir. His eyes narrowed at his reflection at that, finding the idea laughable. 

First of all, he was just seventeen. 

Plus, he may or may like Izzy, and he was pretty sure Izzy wouldn’t be into some crazy dictator’s son / potential dictator. 

But he smiled and nodded, politely. 

He remembers enough of his training to know how to act around his Dad. He was three then but he hadn’t changed. The very next morning he was put back to work. His skills sharpened. Brought to what it should have been had his mother not stolen him away - blah de blah. 

It had been easier to tune him out once he’d handed him the sword. His blade. The one he had given to him as a child. 

That was what was familiar after all. 

He could manage against his own man. 

That impressed him. 

And a part of him still appreciated that he could be impressed. Even by him. But it was small and it disappeared as quickly as it would sprout. 

----

It only takes a few days of this before he gets bored. 

A few days  of incessant training for his body to start aching and for him to start wondering where the hell Clary was. 

It felt longer than it should have been and his Father had stopped giving him updates by the second day. 

It’s on the seventh night that he wakes up in the middle of the night again, stirred by his Father and brought down. There’s more people then. All allies from the excited looks in their eyes. 

He should run. He knew it. But there was no exit. 

He’s been led right into the center of it; forced to his knees by Father and grandfather. The cup now being passed along from one hand to another. His Father had lied. Of course. And now they held the cup with what he could only guess was blood. Because it smelled and looked different. Not like ichor. Not even as bad. 

His eyes snap upward, trying to get a view of Valentine and Oskar’s hooded gaze and he thinks he catches a flciker of a woman wil pale skin and dark eyes and long hair at the edge of the room. She smiles with blood red lips and fangs and then disappears when there’s a noise.

A yel from someone being stabbed. He catches gold hair and then an arrow. Maybe more. He tries to get free but their grip is still firm and Valentine grabs his jaw to make him drink from it. He bites down on the edge of the cup instead and make it tip over on him, before taking the chance in their distraction to bite at his grandfather’s hand. 

A hard slap makes him swallow of the blood that had tipped over into his mouth. Oskar’s and the cup’s. He almost retched right and there. And again, he’s dragged, this time by his hair to the nearest door. And before he knows it he’s knocked out. 

----

He wakes up again, groggy and aching all over. Back in the moors behind his childhood home. His wrists tied together behind his back. His head ringing still from the head ache the blow to his head had brought. And the lady in black, still watching from the distance. 

And he sees her clearer than everything else, the more he stares at her. 

But the moment doesn’t last long as he hears his Father begin to talk. Whether he’s explaining it to him or to the air, it didn’t seem to matter. He had a plan. Or they all did. A collective group of people where he was their leader, their king. They knew how to save the world. How to keep out the demons. How to fight every demon blooded thing in the universe. 

It would all start with the cup. 

That would fix all the problems. 

And then him. 

He thinks he hears her smile, feels it right next to his ear, but he can’t be sure. They must have made him drink some of the blood. He could feel it, a sluggish weight in his veins. Burning him rotten. Making him weak. And making his fingers clammy. 

Valentine is still talking. Some nonsense about angels and demons. Something about how he was going to continue his legacy. Be some king down there while he ruled the people here. It was harder and harder to pay attention, if he was honest. All he could hear was the sweet voice of whatever that woman was, singing in his ear.

He almost didn’t register the thud that fell right beside him. He rolled his head to the other side and saw his grand father dead beside him. He nearly laughed. 

The haze fading. In it wake an almost seizing high. A hurricane that goes right to his nerve endings. Somehow, he breaks through the ropes. And there are inks of black under his eyes but there isn’t any fear in his Father’s eyes. 

Now faced with both his children. 

Clary’s concern only distracted him for a moment ; not enough to stop him from catching the blade she had stolen from their Grandfather for him. He had heard the name before. He had already given it to Valentine once before. He thought to ask why he had taken it back but a glance over his shoulder reminded him the man was dead and the reason was moot. 

Valentine tries to reason with either of them ; tries to warn them. But they were having none of it. They were tired of the running. They were tired of the lies. They were tired of him. 

The cup falls to the grass just as his blade cuts through his spine and Clary’s pierces through lung and heart. 

Whatever he was about to say, dies on his bloodied lips. 

-----

The haze of the demon blood eventually dwindled back to that heavy ache straight in his bones. An emptiness that left him passing out on their way to catch up with the others. 

He wakes up a few times on that first night in a cold sweat. The dark in his eyes seemingly never leaving. Leaving him with a hunger for the feeling, for the taste, for the voice he’d heard in the moor. 

It’s a few days until he’s almost caught with a blade to Luke’s throat when they realize what was wrong. 

It was Lilith, Seraphina had told them before slashing her own throat at the very first opportunity she had at freedom. 

Jocelyn somehow knew who that was and clutched his hand. He had only remembered her holding it that tightly when they were leaving. She finally explained to him why. 

But the answer to the threat of lilith was simpler now than it had been then. Protection spells and weapons were readily available. 

The old regime was being pushed out. A new one was starting. 

The Last of the Morgensterns were dead. 

It was just them now. 

[bishopsbelova]

Show stans are now saying that the books were "biphobic", had slut-shaming, were misogynistic, and racist meanwhile they're ignoring the female characters only getting storylines for men and the POC characters getting treated like shit out of nowhere for exactly zero (0) reason. I don't even remember anything that could back up most of that stuff in the books.

Lol nonnie where have you been for the past three years? Show stans have been saying that shit about the books since the show first aired. I have honestly been looking during this current reread of mine, but I’ve found nothing. There is literally nothing in the books to back up their claims. They just love shitting on something that a woman has worked hard on just because they believe in their minds that the show is better when in fact its worse. 

They claim “slut shaming” and “girl-hate” just because Clary and Izzy who both have never had other girl friends didn’t like or trust each other in the beginning and because Clary made comments about Izzy’s clothes. But the thing is Clary only made those comments before they crashed Magnus’ party and Izzy let Clary borrow her clothes. And it all had to do with Clary’s being highly uncomfortable in Izzy’s clothes - nothing against Izzy being comfortable in her own skin. And also both Clary and Izzy came around in the end and consider each other close friends. Not to mention in City of Glass, we learn that Isabelle was jealous of Clary and other mundanes growing up carefree and not having to always be at war and fighting all the time because she never got that. And she also realized that she could have girls for friends and didn’t have to be rude or mean to them. When Clary and Izzy first met, Clary just had her mother kidnapped and her entire life turned upside down and Izzy’s first meeting with her, Clary could have gotten Jace killed. For all Izzy knew or cared, Clary was just a stupid little mundie who was putting her nose where it didn’t belong and endangering her brother. Izzy says herself in CoG that she likes Clary but didn’t like what she caused Jace to do. 

They claim “biphobia” because Alec who was an 18 year old and a closeted gay man who was raised in a very homopobic and ignorant society made an inappropriate comment. Because 1) he wasn’t raised to be politically correct and 2) he was an 18 year old who was in his first real relationship, 3) had just come out and 4) was in a relationship with someone who never opened up about his past and Camille took advantage of that fact. But you know what? Alec grew, learned and apologized for his mistake. 

But like they don’t mention the fact that women are treated like trash in the show. Jocelyn, an emotional abuse survivor who was experimented on without her knowledge by her husband (a man she trusted and loved) who suffered from depression and suicidal thoughts and would have killed herself had she not found out she was pregnant with Clary was killed off for nothing more than shock value, man pain and to further the main character’s storyline. 

Isabelle has been turned into nothing more than a drug addict and has been overly sexualized and was forced into a toxic relationship. Maia hasn’t had a story line outside of a man since she showed up. Lydia was created purely for Malec drama. Same with Camille really and then she was just dropped too. Maryse was portrayed as a shitty mother in season one for no reason. Clary was the one who started bringing Downworlders and Shadowhunters together but all of her credit was given straight to Alec. Luke and Clary both forgot about Jocelyn 2.5 seconds after she died and they focused only on Alec’s (an irrelevant character) feelings.  Luke who is supposed to be a main character is treated like shit, doesn’t get the screen time a main should and lost the love of his life. Raphael who is aro-ace was forced into a toxic relationship. Magnus and Alec are literally only used for ratings and have no development. Honestly I could go on but I’m just fucking tired. 

I’m just glad shadowhunters is cancelled and we can be free from this fucking cluster fuck

[drbibliophile]

Nanowrimo 2020 Day 4

Word count: 10514 

So I am more than 25% into this thing and I still don’t have a real plot.  At some point I’m going to have tie these scenes together, but for now, I’m just writing random scenes.  I still want to rewrite the wedding night.  It’s falling so flat for me.  So it goes.  However, what I wrote today I don’t hate, so here’s an excerpt.  

The brackets are there because I have to name That Thing and I don’t have a name for That Thing, thus the brackets.  In theory if I ever get it figured out, I’ll change it.  It’s a way to keep writing.  I know other writers also use it.  I recommend it as a way to keep the words flowing.  It’s also useful if you have a scene or action or something that you have to figure out, but you don’t want to spend the time figuring it out right then.  Bracket it and yes I tend to use all caps.  I like my brackets shouting at me.  Your mileage may vary.  

Jocelyn groaned.  Gods, she hated ending up on her back, but there was no other outcome.  Trevelyan was just that good.  A cheer rose up around her.  Confused, she raised herself slightly onto her elbows.  She glanced at the men who had watched her and Trevelyan battled.  They were cheering and it seemed to be for her.  She smiled tiredly  before flopping back onto the ground.  Getting up wasn’t worth the effort.  She waved her hand in appreciation, but she wasn’t going to get up.  The ground would work fine for her.  

A shadow crossed her face.  She looked up at Trevelyan.  He stood over her, his breath coming as hard as hers did.  She’d given him a good fight.  She knew she had.  She had even surprised him a few times, but unlike dragon chess, he was just better at sword play than she was.  She knew it.  He knew it.  Gods, that was worth the soreness she was going to have as well as the bruises.  However, that didn’t mean she was going to get up off the ground any time soon.  

“Not getting up?”  he asked as he collected her blade.  

“Not sure it’s worth the effort.”  

He held out his hand to her.  “Perhaps I could make it worth your while.”  

She raised up onto her elbows, a little puzzled.  What was he offering and did she really want it?  There was only one way to find out.  She took his offered hand and came to her feet with a small groan.  She definitely was going to be sore.  Maybe a bath would make her be less sore.  She looked up at her husband.  Sweat plastered some of his hair against his head.  He had a smear or two of dirt on his armor as well.  He handed her sword to her.  She took it and resheathed it.  She looked back at him.  

“Yes?”  she asked.  

He grinned before pulling her into a kiss.  It was soft, sweet, but then grew far more heated and deep.  Oh Gods, he was kissing her.  Vaguely she was aware of a noise around them.  Was it a cheer?  She didn’t know.  She didn’t really care, enjoying Trevelyan’s kiss far more.  Gods, sometimes the man just made her weak, like now.  Slowly, he let her mouth go, but he stayed achingly close to her.  

“Was that worth getting up for?”  he asked.  

“What?” Her mind refused to latch onto any coherent thought, still remembering the feel and taste of him.    

He grinned.  “I’ll take that as a yes.”  

He kissed her again, more heat but also that sweetness that melted her completely.  How did he manage that?  Her hands reached for his hair, holding his mouth to hers.  Was this worth getting up for?  Yes.  The kiss was most definitely worth it.  She’d have to tell him, but later.  Right now, she’d far rather enjoy his kiss.  In time she let his mouth go.  She gazed up at him, marveling again that he was her husband.  Hers.  How did that happen?  She sighed, her hands caressing down him.  Harder to do with his armor on him, but she slid them around his waist.  His arms still held her as close he could.  

“You did well, wife.”  

“Did I?”  

He nodded.  “Aye, that you did.”  Curiosity crossed his face.  

“What?”  

“Where did you learn that sword feint?”  

“Which one?”  

“[ONE OF THEM]” 

“Oh.  Omeyra.”  

“Thought she was your master of archer.”  

“She is, but she’s also good with a sword.”  

He nodded.  Gently he let her go.  “Now, do you want to spar again?”  

“Against you?”  

He shook his head.  “I am to be training the guard, but perhaps Marcus would keep you occupied longer than I did.”  He studied her.  “Or if you are willing, perhaps you could teach William the sword feint.”  

“You’d let me train your squire?”  

He nodded.  “Why else show off how good you are to everyone?”  

Understanding hit her.  He had challenged her to a battle, not because he was trying to humiliate her, but to show off her skills.  “Oh.”  She closed her eyes, pain squeezing her chest.  “I’m sorry.  I should’ve had more faith in you.”  

He shook his head.  “Forgiven.”  He kissed her to reinforce his absolution.  “Sometimes actions speak louder than words.”  

She nodded.  “So they can.”  Her hand touched his unscarred cheek.  “I’ll be happy to teach William the sword feint.”  She paused.  “And perhaps a few other tricks.”  

He grinned.  “As it pleases you.”  Gently he let her go.  “Gervais, the duchess is welcomed to the grounds at any time.”  

The man at arms bowed.  “Your Grace.”  

“And William, my wife has agreed to show you the sword feint.  Take the fourth ring on the left.”  

“Yes, Your Grace.”  He bowed.  

“And what are you going to order me to do?”  she asked him.  

A slow grin spread over his face.  “I was going to ask you to have fun, wife.  Nothing more.”  

“If I must.”  She winked at him before turning to William.  “Come, William.  Let’s see if I can’t teach you something that your duke doesn’t know.”  She sauntered off, knowing that he watched her go.  She was going to have to make up for her lack of faith in him.  She’d think of something. 

[theonyxpath]

Hi, folks, Rose here. ^_^ I’ve got two previews for you from the Storytelling chapter of Changeling: The Lost! Plus, come see us at Gen Con!

Changeling and Gen Con

Onyx Path will be at Gen Con in booth #145. If you stop by, I’d be happy to talk Changeling, as well as show you the pre-layout manuscript for the book.

We’ll also be running a “What’s Up With White Wolf RPGs?” panel at 11 AM Friday in Pennsylvania Station C, at the Crowne Plaza hotel. We’ll be talking about Changeling there, as well as Changeling-related projects like Dark Eras and a certain crossover book.

(Note: Due to the con, I’ll likely be less available on forums and our social media. Questions about today’s preview may need to wait for next week.)

Storytelling

Changeling‘s Storytelling chapter focuses on the chronicle as a collaboration between the Storyteller and all of the players. Today, I’d like to present two sections from that chapter, written by Jacqueline Bryk.

The first section is on chronicle building, featuring a system for tying together the human and supernatural elements of your game, and a series of questions to help you build an engaging group of characters.

The second is something we haven’t done much of in previous Chronicles of Darkness books: safety techniques. I don’t think it’ll surprise anybody when I say Changeling can get pretty dark. It’s a horror game that can evoke abuse and trauma, which are very real for all too many of us.

Some groups may want to avoid those elements, and some groups may want to dive as deep into them as possible. In my experience, most groups are somewhere in between: they want to explore the dark parts of the game, but don’t want to hurt the players behind the characters.

To that end, we present some discussion of the issues involved in running a Changeling game, as well as an overview of safety techniques that you can use at your table to make play an involving, but not harmful, experience.

In addition to these previews, the Storytelling chapter also covers how to build kiths, courts, Contracts, and Mantles.

Enjoy!

Building Your Chronicle

A chronicle is the tale told by the Storyteller and the players, spun out in threads of gossamer and tears. It’s the story of the player characters, their triumphs and failures, their escape from the Fae and their attempts to start a new life in a world that no longer recognizes them. While the Storyteller controls the world around the characters, it is their story. Players need to have input into designing the plots and problems their characters face throughout the chronicle. If the players all built social butterflies and the Storyteller’s chronicle is a combat-heavy slugfest, no one is going to have fun.

To build a chronicle, you first need to consider your props and themes. Once you’re finished with this part, you can move onto the Hedge Paths.

Themes

Themes are the human dramas that make your chronicle compelling. The overarching themes of Changeling: The Lost are beauty/agony, clarity/madness, and lost/found. In the tension between the opposites, one finds the game. Naturally, these aren’t going to be the only things you’ll explore — the Lost have to deal with very mundane issues in addition to being in the liminal space between humanity and Fae. Themes like “lost love,” “poverty,” and “hunger” could all work in a Changeling chronicle. Each might mean a very different thing to each character. “Loyalty,” for example, could mean protecting one’s freehold, sheltering one’s family even when they no longer claim them as kin, or hiding one’s undying fealty to one’s undying master in Arcadia.

Props

Props are the more fae parts of your chronicle, the magical weirdness that surrounds and permeates the lives of the Lost. Set pieces, scenes, and objects all fall under the heading of props. Anything from the Goblin <arkets to a specific token to a blue rose that only grows in the wall of a specific frozen Arcadian garden can be a prop.

Props can also be more mundane objects that show up throughout the chronicle. A player might choose to have her Bright One character associated with torches, for example, so any scene that revolves around her includes candles or flashlights or other small sources of bright light. Grand Princess Caesura, a lady of the Gentry who appears as a feminine form made of the absence of matter, is associated with open doors and missing keys.

Props don’t just have to be objects, either. Anything that will strongly influence the story can be a prop. A family curse, a bargain ill-made, a portal torn open, or a monarch corrupted by their own power can all be used as props. Really let your imagination run wild here — that’s what Changeling is all about, after all.

Using Props and Themes

When brainstorming your props and themes, note each one on a sticky note or a notecard. By the time you’re finished, you should have roughly one theme and one prop per player character. If there are more, that’s fine, those can be set aside as part of the secondary themes and props for the chronicle.

Lay the themes in a row on a table, then lay the props in a column perpendicular to the themes. For the intersection of each theme and prop, the players should choose a character. Ideally, this is a player character — an Ogre Gristlegrinder bouncer at the intersection of “hunger” and “the goblin market,” for example, or the Bright One above at the intersection of “torches” and “descent.” As a storyteller, this lets you know what sort of character-specific experience your players are looking for.

Free spaces are reserved for Storyteller characters. The intersection of “hunger” and “torches” might be a Huntsman coming after the player characters. Players and the Storyteller should work together to create compelling Storyteller characters that can come into the characters’ lives with some degree of commonality already established so that they better suit the overall aesthetic and feel of the chronicle.

Hedge Paths

A changeling doesn’t come into being in a vacuum. She has family, friends, a life she was pulled from, and a life she’s building. It’s important that both the Storyteller and the players know what’s going on with the troupe’s characters before the chronicle begins — otherwise they’re as lost as an escapee in the Hedge. Following the stages below will help you build well-rounded characters and connect them to the game.

The Life Before

All changelings were human before they were taken by their Keepers. Fae politics pale in comparison to the networks of family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, petty rivalries, romances, and other connections mortal humans have on Earth. Rare is the Lost who was taken without any sort of link to other people — otherwise, why would the Fae need to make fetches?

Decide who the changeling was before they were spirited away by UFOs or invisible horses. Ideally, this should include their occupation, their home life, and any important people they may be in a relationship of any kind with. It can also include the age they were taken, any identifying marks (tattoos, moles, scars, etc.) and anything else especially relevant to their mortal life.

Example: Ben decides that his changeling character was an ESL teacher in her mortal life. He names her Jocelyn and gives her a husband but no children, a house that they rent together, a book club that meets on Sundays, and a best friend who recently moved two cities away. She has just graduated with her Master’s degree and she is a friendly, if private, person. Ben decides to put Jocelyn’s husband, David, at the intersection of a prop and a theme, “ancient books” and “unconditional love.”

Sarah decides that her character was a college student by the name of Nate. He grew up in a loving, middle-class nuclear family that hunted and cooked together and encouraged his dreams pretty regularly. Nate does not have a significant other and does not particularly want one right now. He lives in the university dorms, has a close group of friends, and enjoys target shooting and knitting equally. Sarah writes down “favorite rifle” as a prop and “growing up too fast” as a theme. She places his soon-to-be court monarch, Mens Machinae, at the intersection of these elements.

Meg decides that her character, Holly Blue, was raised in a hippie commune out in the Pacific Northwest. Her upbringing very much followed the old adage “it takes a village to raise a child” and she remembers her childhood as a time of love and warmth. Holly Blue was homeschooled until she went to college. She took a year off after her junior year to try and find out what she really wanted out of life, and went on a road trip across the U.S. with some friends. Meg writes a prop, “the old car that should have stopped working” and decides to place Holly Blue’s best friend, Nevaeh, at the intersection of that prop and the theme “unconditional love.”

Emily’s character is named Hel, and is the youngest member of a large family. She lived with her divorced mother and only really saw her father on holidays. Emotional honesty was not really prized in her household, so her upbringing was comfortable, if a bit chilly. Hel got her Master’s in Computer Science and worked as a programmer at NASA. She had several partners, but was going through a divorce of her own due to finding the same coldness in her husband as she did in her mother.

Questions to Ask: What is your name? How old are you?

Did you grow up in a nuclear family? Are your parents still together? Divorced? Never married? Single-parent household?

Were you wealthy? Middle class? Poor?

What’s your gender? Does it match your presentation? Are you okay with that? What’s your sexual orientation? Who knows? Did you have a partner — or several?

Did you graduate university? Do you have more than one degree?

What was your occupation? Where were you living? Were you owning, renting, couch surfing, or squatting? Did you have a pet? More than one?

Did you have any identifying marks, like tattoos or scarification? What were your hobbies and pastimes? Who would notice if you were gone or acting strangely?

Promises: What was the biggest promise you made before you were taken?

Sidebar: A Note on Backstory

It is expected that the Storyteller will use her players’ backstories to enrich the play experience. While they should feel free to do so, players should also communicate with the Storyteller on things they would like left untouched — and, by the same token, things they would like messed with. Storyteller torture of characters via backstory should always be consensual. This is a game, after all.

The Capture

Something had to get that changeling into the Hedge into the first place. Something had to take her to Arcadia. Something had to lock her into shackles of bronze and roses, forcing her to do its bidding. Use this section to figure out how the changeling was stolen or seduced away. You may also use it to get a preliminary outline of her Keeper.

Example: Jocelyn is levelheaded and skeptical of offers that seem too good to be true (she might not have gotten through her Master’s program otherwise), so Ben decides she didn’t make a Faustian bargain. It’s unlikely that she was seduced, so he decides that she was kidnapped and dragged through a mirror while in the bathroom at a Halloween party. He places her Keeper at the intersection of a prop and a theme, “unexpected portals” and “not who they seem.”

Sarah decides that Nate was on a hunt with his family when he got separated in pursuit of a buck. At least, he thought it was a buck. He saw a flawless rack of horns flash through the dusk in the trees and followed it. The woods got thicker and gloomier, but that’s ok, he’s used to having to wait in thickets to get at his game. Nate lost sight of the buck and turned around to go home — only to find the buck and the buck’s master waiting for him. Sarah decides to place the buck that lured him in at the intersection of the prop “the hunters hunted” and “not who they seem”.

Meg likes the idea of Holly Blue being abducted on her road trip. As she and Nevaeh drive along I-80, they see an old woman at her fruit and honey store — really, little more than a shack. They decide to stop to purchase some food. Holly Blue strikes up a conversation with the proprietor, who offers to show her some of her fresher offerings. Holly Blue follows her around the back, only to find herself in the thorns. The woman is a privateer, and she’s taking her newest acquisition to Grandmother, Grandmother (see p. XX) to adopt.

Emily comes into the chronicle a bit later than everyone else, and so her character’s abduction has to be a little different than everyone else’s. She decides that, befitting a programmer at NASA, Hel is abducted by the Three Androgynes (see pg. XX). It’s somewhat unceremonious — one moment she’s walking home from work, and the next, she’s suspended in midair in a sterile room, her limbs and mouth bound by thorns.

Questions to Ask: Were you physically dragged off? Were you deceived?

Did you offend a True Fae somehow?

Did you misstep into the Hedge?

Where were you when you were taken? What do you remember of the journey?

Promises: What promise was made to you while you were en route?

In Durance Vile

The durance is the period of a changeling’s life that shapes their biggest challenges. In a twist of cruel irony, some changelings barely remember it except in nightmares, while others are always on the verge of a flashback or panic attack, seeing their Keeper and her knives around every corner. Most are somewhere in between. Trauma is a funny thing, and for many Lost, it remains safely locked in the back of their minds, slipping out at moments of tension or vulnerability. The durance determines the kith and seeming of the changeling, and may affect what court they choose to join later.

Don’t hold back in this section (at least within limits set by the group, see “Safe Hearth, Safe Table” on p. XX). True Fae are not known for mercy or obeying the laws of physics. How might a True Fae have caused you to turn into a Mirrorskin or a Helldiver? What fell pacts were made with the realm you were imprisoned in that you could survive it? Were you the only one in your motley there?

Storytellers should feel free to do some light narration of this section before game, if their players are so inclined. See the sidebar “Narrating a Durance” for some guidelines on how to do so effectively.

Example: Jocelyn is taken to a realm of mind-numbing bureaucracy and byzantine laws. She is held in a small cell, a room that looks like an unfurnished apartment with the drywall torn out and the wires exposed, until her Keeper sends someone for her. She is taken before the True Fae, a being made entirely of paperwork and red tape. Its face is a white porcelain mask made to look like a baby’s head. Ben has already decided that Jocelyn will be a Fairest Notary, so he states that after being forced to swear fealty (in triplicate!), she is taken downstairs and has the pledge tattooed on her back by another changeling. Her Keeper, the Munificent Bureaucrat, and another True Fae watch. She is leashed and kept at her Keeper’s side to reference at will.

Sarah decides that her Ogre Artist character, Nate, was the one to tattoo Jocelyn’s back at their Keeper’s behest. Nate was taken a year before Jocelyn, and has been forced into his role as artisan of all trades. Not an artist before his durance, Nate was quick to pick up skills in order to avoid harsh punishments with chisels and pigment. He has been forced to reshape other changelings into different forms and configurations, and already he’s growing slowly deaf to their cries, for his own sanity.

Holly Blue, meanwhile, is chosen as Grandmother, Grandmother’s hardworking middle child who doesn’t get enough attention. This is not her normal state of being. She is used to love and affection from all of those around her, and is now constantly ignored and occasionally violently punished for the mischief of other changelings. She finds herself occasionally changing her voice or facial expression and sometimes outright lying to avoid Grandmother, Grandmother’s teeth and claws. Soon, she’s doing it all the time. She uses the voice and face that will keep her most safe, and in this way, Holly Blue becomes a Fairest Mirrorskin.

Hel doesn’t get much of a choice in her durance. She is kept in a zoo of changelings, occasionally taken out and vivisected and put back together again. Sometimes, she’s shown off, paraded in front of the Three Androgynes’ guests like a prized pet. She is not, however, petted and coddled like some of the others, and is subjected to an increasing parade of indignities. Her cell is immersed in the light of strange stars, and in her anger and humiliation, she begins to absorb the light as a source of comfort, becoming an Elemental Bright One.

Questions to Ask: Who is your Keeper? What is their title, or titles? How did they treat you?

What was the lightest part of your durance? The worst? The very worst? Were other members of your motley there, or was it just you?

What was the environment like? Were you mostly inside or outside? Was it hot, cold, or temperate?

What was the last straw?

Promises: What did you have to promise your Keeper to avoid punishment?

Sidebar: Narrating a Durance

If the players choose to play out their durance instead of merely having it as part of their backstory, the Storyteller should carefully consider how to carry it out. The durance is characterized by loss of autonomy, both bodily and spiritual. While the character loses their autonomy, the player should never lose hers. A durance is not an excuse for a Storyteller to torture her players outside of the boundaries of the game in the name of story. The player must always have a say in what happens in her durance. If possible, durances should be narrated in private (this can be done in text form, if that’s easier). Nothing makes a player feel more vulnerable and disrespected than playing out an intense scene, only for another player to interrupt with a joke or an off-color comment about what’s going on.

Decide between the Storyteller and the player what the character’s durance should focus on. A Bright One’s durance is probably not going to involve toiling in the mines, but she might light the way for Helldivers and Gristlegrinders instead. An Ogre is less likely than a Fairest or Darkling to be the lover of the Princess of the Red Crowns, but he might hold her lovers still while she whispers to them and lines up the hats to nail onto their heads.

The Storyteller should take careful note of what the player wants. The durance can be extremely disturbing and upsetting, and it’s important that the player is only disturbed or upset in the ways she wants to be. At any point, the Storyteller or player should be allowed to tap out or fade to black if the scene become too much for them. There’s no rush to tell the story of the durance. Suffering has no deadline.

The Escape

Some part of the enslaved changeling felt the call back to Earth. Perhaps it was the memory of their spouse’s laughter or the warmth in their chest when they held their child for the first time. It might even be a petty vendetta against a coworker left unsettled. Not all human memories are noble or loving, and that’s not the point. Memories of the mortal world are the changeling’s key out of Faerie, so if they have no memories of the world as it is now, they may not be able to make it back.

What was strong enough to bring the character back? This is the paramount question for this section. Even if none of the other questions are answered, the player should know the answer to this one. It’s a good indication of the changeling’s priorities later in the chronicle.

Example: Jocelyn’s memories of her husband and her studies see her through her durance. While reading some of the Munificent Bureaucrat’s paperwork, she finds a loophole inside of a subclause that would allow her to escape. Armed with this knowledge, she unlocks the collar around her neck and sets herself free.

Meanwhile, Nate the Artist is drawn back by thoughts of his friends and his hunts with his family. He creates a perfect likeness of himself, a statue that smiles, and flees. Nate and Jocelyn meet up in the massive air ducts of the domain, quite by accident, and agree to leave together. They both tear through the thorns of the Hedge, seeking a door to lead them home.

Holly Blue has been forced to sacrifice her emotional honesty and her happiness to survive. She is whatever Grandmother, Grandmother wants her to be, and she has not been cut in months. However, she has not forgotten Nevaeh, her best friend and latent crush. When her Keeper leaves to seal a pledge with another Kindly One, she flees through the forest she was told never to enter. The thorns open for her, and she finds herself back in the Hedge, seeking a way back to the fruit stand where she lost herself.

Finally, Hel has been subjected to one indignity too many. As the Three Androgynes bring her back to the operating theater for another procedure, she breaks free, blinding all three of them with the light of her rage. She flees down the infinite halls of their ship, and finds an escape shuttle docked in one of the many cargo bays. Her programming skills are barely a match for the byzantine controls of the shuttle, but she manages to hotwire it and flies out of the Androgynes’ massive ship. Just as she begins to despair of finding her way back to Earth, she crash-lands in the thorns, the nose of the shuttle poking out into the Air and Space Museum in D.C.

Questions to Ask: What was strong enough to bring you back?

Did you sneak out? Fight your way out? Make a bet with your Keeper? Did you not want to leave? Were you thrown out instead?

Did anyone else come with you? Did you have to leave anyone else behind?

What do you remember of your journey back? What were you searching for on your way through the thorns?

Promises: Who knew you got out? Who came with you, and who stayed behind and promised to cover your escape?

Home, But Briefly

The great tragedy of a changeling’s life is that she is forever displaced from what it used to be. Fetches take their place and families move on. Any encounter with former friends and loved ones will result in confusion — and that’s just the best-case scenario. Lost may show up thousands of miles away from their home, drawn by a memory of a favorite vacation or a proposal on a beach, or they may emerge gasping from the thorns 20 years after they were abducted — though only an hour passed in Faerie. For a newly freed slave of the Fae, this is a punch in the gut. Where will they belong? Will they ever belong?

Example: Jocelyn and Nate arrive on Earth, pulled by their shared memories of the university they attended. Jocelyn has been in Faerie for what seems like a decade — but only a week has passed on Earth. Nate has been in the clutches of the Munificent Bureaucrat for much longer, and doesn’t recognize the new buildings on campus.

They go to find Jocelyn’s husband, only to find out that he has never missed her — she’s taking a shower right now. Jocelyn desperately tries to appeal to her husband, who threatens to call the police. Nate’s family found him dead, accidentally shot by another hunter’s bullet. They’ve already mourned and buried him, and when he shows up, they accuse him of being an imposter and making fun of them. Neither family will take them in. Defeated, Jocelyn and Nate retreat to a nearby diner to grieve and figure out what’s next.

Holly Blue arrives on Earth, only to find that her friend left the stall and its nighttime in the dead of winter. Using the skills she’s learned in Faerie, she steals the visage of the privateer who stole her away, and with it, her car and wallet. Meg decides to put the privateer under “the old car that should have stopped working” and “this is mine now.” Holly Blue decides to drive out east, in the direction her friend went, hoping to discover a police report about her disappearance. However, she soon discovers that Nevaeh is not only back home, she is dating a creature with Holly Blue’s face, who had the courage to say to Nevaeh what Holly Blue herself did not. They’re getting handfasted this spring. Holly Blue finds herself alone in a university town out east, sobbing alone at a computer in a public library, unsure of what to do next.

Hel attempts to get back into the NASA headquarters at Two Independence Square, but she’s already working there. Or at least, someone wearing her face has just been fired from her job there. Hel’s clearance is deactivated and she finds herself stranded. Her partners all believe she’s gotten back with her husband and refuse to accept this new impostor, doing everything from slamming the door in her face to threatening restraining orders. She buys the ticket for the first bus she sees, determined not to panic.

Questions to Ask: Who do you seek first?

Are they still alive? Do they remember you?

Do you have a fetch? Where are they? How have they replaced you, or changed your life in a way you didn’t want?

How has your fetch lived your life in your absence? Do they know you’re there?

Promises: What promise did your fetch break to someone you love?

Freeholds and Courts

Unless the game starts with the capture and durance of the player characters, much of any given Changeling: The Lost chronicle will take place in and around the local freehold or freeholds. If any of the props and themes from earlier have gone unused, use them here. The courts of the local freehold are a key part of the story, and need to be fleshed out. The easiest way to do this is to set up the four Seasonal Courts, but see later in this chapter for guidance on building your own.

Unless a player character is beginning the game at the head of a court, creating the four seasonal kings, queens, or monarchs is a good first step. It’s easy enough to put an Ogre Bright One in charge of Summer, and definitely a good choice. However, what would it mean for a small, vulpine Darkling Hunterheart or a Wizened Artist to hold the same position? The monarchs say a lot about the local courts — and, by extension, the tone and symbolism of the chronicle itself. A Spring Court led by a Fairest Playmate is going to have a very different outlook and aesthetic than another freehold with an Elemental Snowskin Spring King.

Once the Monarchs are decided, the players can pick which courts they might have reasonably been convinced to join.

Example: Ben and Sarah decide to divide the courts between them. Ben takes Winter and Summer, and Sarah takes Autumn and Spring.

Ben decides that the Monarch of Winter is a gender-neutral Darkling Artist who goes by Mens Machinae and makes robots and animatronics — and clever constructs to fool the Fae. The Queen of Summer is a Wizened Chatelaine named Small Queen Jane. He decides that she got her position for her ability to command groups and plan tactical engagements, and not necessarily for her own personal puissance.

 Sarah, meanwhile, decides that the head of Spring is an Ogre Helldiver who goes by ghost (the G is never capitalized). ghost prefers no titles or accolades; they merely serve and stay silent until needed. The King of Autumn is a jovial Elemental Hunterheart who has an extremely even temper until his people are threatened — and then he turns into a terrifying force of nature, using illusions and threats and dreams to keep the freehold safe.

After looking at their monarchs, Ben decides that Jocelyn became a member of the Winter Court. Sarah instead decides that Nate is courtless, but sympathizes with Autumn.

Meg joined the chronicle a little later, so she doesn’t assist in creating the courts. However, she decides that Holly Blue has joined the Spring Court, in search of a balm for her broken heart. She was personally recruited by a ghost after they found her sleeping in a tent at a local cemetery. That’s where she meets Jocelyn and Nate.

Emily also joined the chronicle late, so she has no hand in creating the courts. Hel decides to join the Summer Court after they put her in protective custody for blinding a local bartender after he hit on her. The Season of Wrath best suits her slow-burning anger after being constantly disregarded, humiliated, and torn apart at other’s whims.

Questions to Ask: Who is the head of your Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter Court? Why do they have that position?

Are there any other prominent figures in that court?

Why did you choose to join that court?

Where is the freehold located? What is it called?

Promises: What oath of fealty did you swear to your court, and how is it similar to the one you were forced to swear to your Keeper?

A Motley Crew

The motley is the core unit of changeling society, a chosen family that reaches beyond boundaries of seeming, kith, and court. Player characters are usually in a motley together and their connection should be one of the major focuses of the chronicle. Ideally, members of a motley are willing to face death for each other — but it could just as easily be a group of drinking buddies who fear being alone.

Example: Jocelyn and Nate have been through a lot together. From killing Jocelyn’s fetch with a car to showcasing Nate’s latest project at a meeting of two freeholds, they’ve supported each other through thick and thin. After they picked up Holly Blue and Hel, who are more recent escapees from the same realm, they form a motley of four. The freehold calls on them when they need delicate legal matters handled, or an important guest impressed. Unsaid, but also just as true: They are the first line of defense when they True Fae come a-knocking.

Questions to Ask: What drew you to each other?

Who is the leader, if anyone? Are any of you likely to betray the others?

Does your motley have a name? What is your common goal?

How do others in the freehold view your group? How do you view your group?

Promises: What pledge did you all make each other? How was it different from the one you were forced to swear to your Keeper? What was the pledge sworn on?

Sample Chronicle: The Blue Hen Motley

Jocelyn, Nate, Holly Blue, and Hel are all from very different backgrounds, but they all wound up in the same place. They decide to retrace Holly Blue’s road trip back to the Pacific Northwest in order to stop her fetch’s wedding to her unrequited love, Nevaeh. Along the way, they decide to stop to take out Hel’s fetch — except Hel decides to make a pledge with her fetch to not interfere in each other’s lives. Jocelyn oversees the pledge. This frees up Hel to continue on the journey. Nate and Jocelyn take out the privateer on I-80 while Holly Blue watches and smiles her inscrutable smile. Hel’s pledge gives the motley enough points of Glamour to speed up the trip, but their Keepers are all looking for their escaped slaves. The Blue Hen Motley now has to deal with Huntsmen while trying to make it in time for Holly Blue to confess her love…

Other Bonds

Many promises and connections could fit into any of the stages listed above, but aren’t tied to a specific one. Since they’re useful for fleshing out a player character, some examples of other, more general ties are listed below.

What is your single biggest regret?

When did you find true love and why was the form it took unexpected?

Who did you leave behind?

Who do you hate even more than your Keeper?

Why does one person in particular fascinate you?

Who do you dream about, then wake up shaking and sweating?

Safe Hearth, Safe Table

While it’s fun to play make believe with friends, Changeling: The Lost is, at its heart, a horror game. True, it is also funny and beautiful and wondrous — but that typically comes after being held against your will in a world of dreams and nightmares for months, years, or decades. Changelings may have their bodies altered and their minds played with. Personal autonomy is repeatedly violated by godlike entities to whom one cannot simply say “no.” The only way to make it stop is to escape and even then, that’s not a guarantee. The Gentry might find you eventually, or they might send someone to do it for them.

This can be extremely unsettling for players. While consensual fear is part of the game, the goal is not to traumatize the players outside of the play space. Rather, everyone should strive for a game that provides an engaging, terrifying, and beautiful story that gives everyone involved the sort of pleasant chills a really good horror movie leaves the audience with after the credits roll. Even if a character feels trapped and hopeless, the player should never feel the same way at the table. This is a game, after all.

What follows are some safety techniques to help both Storytellers and players maximize enjoyment without taking away any of the horror at the heart of Changeling: The Lost. Feel free to use none, some, or all of them.

Emotional Bleed

Many of the safety techniques talk about something being too uncomfortable or too intense “in a bad way.” This is for clarity of communication. Some players like being made uncomfortable or put into extremely emotionally intense situations. Such players may play horror games to cry or feel trapped as a sort of catharsis, a way to experience traumatic emotions in a low-consequence environment.

This is called emotional bleed, or just bleed for short. When a character experiences emotions the player is experiencing, that’s called bleed-in. Contrastingly, when a player experiences the emotions her character is feeling, that’s called bleed-out. Bleed itself is not bad, but it can sometimes be unpleasant for a player who wasn’t expecting it or didn’t want it. If a player is getting unreasonably frustrated or upset at a challenging circumstance, this could be a sign of bleed. Stop play and give everyone a breather before continuing if bleed begins to cause problems at your table. Bleed can absolutely enhance the play experience and add another dimension of emotional resonance, but only if everyone is on board. Check ins, occasional snack breaks, and use of the safety techniques in this chapter are extremely helpful if the table is experiencing high amounts of bleed.

Lines and Veils

A classic safety technique originally described by Ron Edwards, Lines and Veils allows players to pick and choose what they want to address in the chronicle. Before game, the Storyteller should prepare two sheets of paper. Label one “Lines” and the other “Veils.” Lines are things that will absolutely not be touched on in the chronicle, not even mentioned in passing. Veils are things that can happen, but will not be played out, and instead addressed with a “fade to black.” The Storyteller asks players what they’d like added to the lists, and notes that the lists can be edited at any time. Veils can be moved to Lines, Lines can be moved to Veils, new Veils or Lines can be added, or Veils or Lines can be taken away (with the consensus of the other players). Veils and Lines cannot be used to cut out antagonists (i.e. “I don’t want the True Fae to be a part of this chronicle at all, not even mentioned in passing”) but can be used to restrict antagonists’ actions that might be uncomfortable for some players (i.e. “I do not want the True Fae in this chronicle to use sexual violence”).

Common Lines: Sexual violence, explicit depiction of torture, force feeding, starvation, mutilation, racial slurs, gender-specific slurs, spiders, trypophobia-inducing imagery, needles, bestiality, explicit depiction of bodily functions

Common Veils: Explicit depiction of consensual sexual activity, torture, emotional abuse, physical abuse, body horror, human experimentation, dream or nightmare sequences, childhood memories, prophetic visions

Fade to Black

In a movie, when the hero is just about to get into bed with her love interest or be “forcibly interrogated,” sometimes the camera cuts away right before the action — occasionally with a moan or a scream included as appropriate. This technique is called “fade to black,” and can be used in your chronicle as appropriate. If you don’t want to narrate every caress of a love scene or the weirdness of a changeling’s personal nightmare or the agony of Faerie torments, simply fade to black and focus on another scene. A player can also request a fade to black if they are uncomfortable with what is happening at the table.

The Stoplight System

This is a relatively recent technique and was pioneered by the group Games to Gather. The Storyteller lays out three different colored circles on the table: red, yellow, and green. Each color indicates a response to different levels of intensity. Green means “yes, I am okay with and encourage the scene getting more intense.” Yellow means “the scene is fine at the intensity level it is now, and I would like it to stay here if possible.” Red means “the scene is too intense for me in a bad way and I need it to decrease or I need to tap out.” Players can tap the colored circles as appropriate to indicate to the Storyteller what they want or need at that moment.

The Storyteller can also use the stoplight system to ask the players if they’d like intensity increased or decreased as necessary without breaking the narrative flow. To do so, the Storyteller can repeatedly tap a color — green for “more intense,” yellow for “keep it here,” and red for “do you need me to stop?” The players can then touch a color in response. Players can also respond by saying the color in question out loud.

The X Card

An up-and-coming technique, especially in storytelling-game circles, the X card was designed by John Stavropolous. The X card is fairly self-explanatory. A card or sheet of paper with an “X” drawn on it is placed in the middle of the table. At any point, a player or the Storyteller may touch the X card to call a halt to any action currently making them uncomfortable in a bad way. If they would like to explain themselves, they may, but it is absolutely not necessary and the Storyteller should continue play once everyone is settled back in.

  The Door Is Always Open

This is another technique that needs very little explanation. If a player needs to stop play for any reason, they are free to do so after giving the Storyteller a heads up. The chapter (game session) is then on pause until that player either returns or leaves the premises. Storytellers should use this technique either in conjunction with other techniques, or during sessions where players may have to leave abruptly for personal reasons.

Debriefing

Debriefing is a post-game safety technique, and can be used along with any and all of the suggestions above. After the chapter is finished, the Storyteller asks the players to put away their character sheets and take some deep breaths. Soft music or snacks can also be used to assist in debriefing. Slipping into character is easy — slipping out can be a little less so. Debriefing is all about bringing the players back to the real world, back through the thorny maze of the chronicle they created with the Storyteller.

Use this time to talk about the game in a context other than first person. Players tend to refer to their characters as “I.” The Storyteller should encourage them to use the character’s names instead, and use first person only for things that they felt as players, not as characters. What did they think was the highlight of this session? What was their favorite interaction they had with another player’s character? An NPC? Is there anything the players think the Storyteller could be doing better? Are the safety techniques and chronicle-building techniques working out for everyone at the table? Should anything be changed to make the game more fun and engaging for everyone involved? These are all questions that can be asked during debriefing, though they’re not necessary. If there are other, more important topics that need to be covered, feel free to use debriefing time to cover those as well.

Debriefing does not need to last for a set amount of time. However, after a particularly intense session, it’s probably a good idea to have a longer debriefing period than normal. Changelings are forever changed by their experience with the True Fae. The players should not incur the same amount of trauma just from sitting at a gaming table. Tabletop gaming is a low-consequence environment to explore many different emotions and coping strategies in new and strange environments. To keep this space low consequence, it’s important to make sure that all players (including the Storyteller) are emotionally supported and cared for after particularly upsetting or bleed-heavy chapters.

[jamest-kirk]

Can you do a pirate au where the crew of the enterprise are pirates but like, really bad at it because they only do good deeds, but insist on calling themselves pirates anyways? (Mckirk would be appreciated!)

Part 2

It’s been years since Leonard last saw Jim. Years since he left that sea-life and instead became a respected doctor at a quiet coastal settlement. Tried marriage, too, but that’s just not his thing. Or perhaps she just wasn’t his thing. Either way, Leonard is alone. But it’s fine, it’s quiet, and at least it’s not in a rocking ship risking his damn life every day in the vast open waters.

“Hey, babe,” Jim’s voice rings when Bones comes home from the medical practice. "Jim?“ Bones asks, dropping his bag on the floor next to the front door. Jim is just sitting at his dining table, casually, like he owned the place. “How did you get in here? The door was locked.” “Oh, you know what they say. Pirates don’t exactly follow the law of breaking and entering,” Jim replies, getting up from his chair, “did you miss me?” “What are you doing here?” Leonard asks as Jim walks in closer, and it’s rapidly getting harder to think straight when the other cups his cheeks and says a quick; “I missed you”, before he leans in and kisses him.

Leonard’s fingers trace the scar on Jim’s chest. Right over his heart. The stab wound should have killed him, but thankfully (and miraculously), Jim survived that. There’s scars on his back, too, from a violent childhood Jim doesn’t talk about. Pre-pirate stuff. Leonard doesn’t have to see them to know they’re there, he still remembers every inch of Jim’s body like it was just yesterday he saw the man’s body naked regularly. “Why are you really here?” Leonard asks. Jim grunts in response, half asleep, barely covered by the thin sheets on Leonard’s bed. “James,” Leonard presses, and Jim sighs. “I want you back on the Enterprise,” Jim replies, and Leonard frowns. “No.” “Bones-” “It’s Leonard now, Jim, and the answer’s no. I settled here.” “But what if you don’t have to settle?” Jim suggests, sitting up straight, “you’re a pirate, Bones. You don’t settle. Home is at sea. With the crew. With me.” “No, Jim,” Leonard says, “I can’t risk being a target in every place we dock. We’re better men than pirates. We could be.” “Pirate’s just the name they give us, you know that. Come with us.” Leonard grunts and turns around, back towards the other man. “No,” he says. Jim is silent for so long, Leonard’s sure Jim’s fallen asleep. But then, just when Leonard’s relaxing a little, Jim speaks again. “Joanna’s alive. I know where they keep her.”  

“Doctor,” Spock says the moment Bones steps aboard, “it’s good to have you back.” “We’ll see about that,” Leonard replies, but he smiles at Spock nonetheless. Uhura pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, and Leonard nods. “You can drop the formalities. I’m only back until we get Joanna,” he says, and Uhura smiles lightly. “I’m still happy to see you.” Leonard returns her smile with one of his own, and adds: “me too.” She pats his shoulder, before going back to work, adding a quick: “Welcome home, doctor” before walking away.

Leonard’s forgotten how much being home sucks, because the moment they hit the deep ocean and the waves get rougher, Leonard is dying. He’s pretty sure Chekov’s laughing at him when Leonard throws up leaning over the railing of the ship. He meets up with Sulu at the ship’s wheel, and Sulu nods at him. “How are you holding up?” he asks. “Sea sucks as much as ever,” Leonard replies, and Sulu laughs. “You’ll get used to it,” he replies, and Leonard nods. “I’d hope so. Have you heard anything from Demora?” “No,” Sulu says, and he tenses up visibly. Leonard reaches out, resting his hand briefly on Sulu’s shoulder, “we’ll find her. Demora and Joanna, they’re strong.” “We’re following the lead of some stranger Jim talked to once,” Sulu says, “I’m grateful we have a lead, but there’s nothing suggesting we’re even chasing an actual lead.” “It’s the first thing we’ve heard in years,” Leonard says, “it’s something, at least.” Sulu nods slowly. “Either way, it’s good to have a doctor back on board,” he says, and Leonard smiles lightly. “I’ve missed all of you, too.”

If there’s one thing Leonard remembers from sailing under Jim’s flag, it’s that they generally suck at being real pirates. Sure, they break a lot of laws, sailing independently over British-ruled seas. They don’t usually kill people, but casualties happen in sea battles, even if Jim is a rather forgiving Captain and prone to taking prisoners, releasing them the first time they dock, and in worst case scenarios; drops them off on an island.

Word reaches them usually very quickly the first time they dock at a tropical coastal town, mostly ruled by pirates and outlaws. Jim continues to suck at being the pirate his own legend calls him. He helps people where their government doesn’t. Transports them from port A to Port B, despite Sulu and Leonard loudly going against that idea, since their daughters’ lives are at stake.

Jim and Leonard get incredibly drunk on the last night before departure again, and Leonard remembers just how much he loves being around these people. The drinks, the music, the atmosphere. Sure, they’re robbed thrice before the end of the night, but that’s pirates for you. They don’t even make it to the ship, and instead both of them wake up in the hay of some old barn, clothes stolen as much as their money, and so they make it back to the ship in makeshift outfits that have the crew laugh at their misfortune. “It’s like you never left, doctor,” Chekov says. “Indeed it is,” Spock agrees, while both quietly slip into Jim’s quarters for a change of clothes.

“What are you going to do when we find Joanna?” Jim asks one morning. The Enterprise is rocking gently in the wind, and Bones has been staring out the stained windows next to Jim’s bed. Nothing but crystal blue water, with an occasional island in the far distance. Right there, right then, it feels like home more than his actual home on land does. “I want a safe place for Joanna to live,” Leonard replies. “The Enterprise is safe,” Jim replies, and Leonard turns to look at him. “The Enterprise is under fire regularly.” “You know Jo was on dry land when she was kidnapped, right?” Jim counters, and Leonard replies in a disapproving grunt. “Can’t blame Jocelyn and her new husband for the pirates who took her,” Leonard says. “Jo being taken was no one’s fault but-” “It was mine. For not saving that captain’s life when he got ill.” “He was a bad man, Bones. His crew even worse. We’ve located them now, and we’ll get them. And if you… if you really want to leave the ship afterwards, then I’ll drop you and Jo off whenever you want,” Jim says, sliding an arm around Bones’ stomach and pulling him closer. “Hmm, but imagine staying with me? Doing a bit of good and a bit of bad. Getting tons of treasure.” He continues, and Leonard laughs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Jim’s lips. “With you here, I got all the treasure I need.”

[nbafunnymeme]

The hidden history of Nasas black female scientists

The diversity of Nasas workforce in 1940s Virginia is uncovered in a new book by Margot Lee Shetterly. She recalls how a visit to her home town led to a revelation

Mrs Land worked as a computer out at Langley, my father said, taking a right turn out of the parking lot of the First Baptist church in Hampton, Virginia. My husband and I visited my parents just after Christmas in 2010, enjoying a few days away from our full-time life and work in Mexico.

They squired us around town in their 20-year-old green minivan, my father driving, my mother in the front passenger seat, Aran and I buckled in behind like siblings. My father, gregarious as always, offered a stream of commentary that shifted fluidly from updates on the friends and neighbours wed bumped into around town to the weather forecast to elaborate discourses on the physics underlying his latest research as a 66-year-old doctoral student at Hampton University.

He enjoyed touring my Maine-born-and-raised husband through our neck of the woods and refreshing my connection with local life and history in the process.

As a callow 18-year-old leaving for college, Id seen my home town as a mere launching pad for a life in worldlier locales, a place to be from rather than a place to be. But years and miles away from home could never attenuate the citys hold on my identity and the more I explored places and people far from Hampton, the more my status as one of its daughters came to mean to me. That day after church, we spent a long while catching up with the formidable Mrs Land, who had been one of my favourite Sunday school teachers. Kathaleen Land, a retired Nasa mathematician, still lived on her own well into her 90s and never missed a Sunday at church.

Hidden Figures: watch the trailer for the Oscar-nominated film based on Margot Lee Shetterlys book.

We said our goodbyes to her and clambered into the minivan, off to a family brunch. A lot of the women around here, black and white, worked as computers, my father said, glancing at Aran in the rearview mirror but addressing us both. Kathryn Peddrew, Ophelia Taylor, Sue Wilder, he said, ticking off a few more names. And Katherine Johnson, who calculated the launch windows for the firstastronauts.

The narrative triggered memories decades old, of spending a much treasured day off from school at my fathers office at the National Aeronautics and Space Administrations Langley Research Centre. I rode shotgun in our 1970s Pontiac, my brother, Ben, and sister, Lauren, in the back as our father drove the 20 minutes from our house, straight over the Virgil I. Grissom Bridge, down Mercury Boulevard, to the road that led to the Nasa gate. Daddy flashed his badge and we sailed through to a campus of perfectly straight parallel streets lined from one end to the other by unremarkable twostorey redbrickbuildings.

Only the giant hypersonic wind tunnel complex, a 100ft ridged silver sphere presiding over four 60ft smooth silver globes, offered visual evidence of the remarkable work occurring on an otherwise ordinary looking campus.

Building 1236, my fathers daily destination, contained a byzantine complex of government-grey cubicles, perfumed with the grownup smells of coffee and stale cigarette smoke. His engineering colleagues, with their rumpled style and distracted manner, seemed like exotic birds in a sanctuary. They gave us kids stacks of discarded 11×14 continuous-form computer paper, printed on one side with cryptic arrays of numbers, the blank side a canvas for crayon masterpieces.

Women occupied many of the cubicles; they answered phones and sat in front of typewriters, but they also made hieroglyphic marks on transparent slides and conferred with my father and other men in the office on the stacks of documents that littered their desks. That so many of them were African American, many of them my grandmothers age, struck me as simply a part of the natural order of things: growing up in Hampton, the face of science was brown like mine.

Christine Darden (ne Mann) in the control room of Nasa Langleys Unitary Plan Wind Tunnel in 1975. Photograph: Credit: Nasa

My dad joined Langley in 1964 as a co-op student and retired in 2004 an internationally respected climate scientist. Five of my fathers seven siblings made their bones as engineers or technologists and some of his best buddies David Woods, Elijah Kent, Weldon Staton carved out successful engineering careers at Langley. Our next-door neighbour taught physics at Hampton University. Our church abounded with mathematicians. Supersonics experts held leadership positions in my mothers sorority and electrical engineers sat on the board of my parents college alumni associations. My Aunt Julias husband, Charles Foxx, was the son of Ruth Bates Harris, a career civil servant and fierce advocate for the advancement of women and minorities; in 1974, Nasa appointed her deputy assistant administrator, the highest-ranking woman at the agency. The community certainly included black English professors, like my mother, as well as black doctors and dentists, black mechanics, janitors and contractors, black cobblers, wedding planners, real estate agents and undertakers, several black lawyers and a handful of black Mary Kay salespeople. As a child, however, I knew so many African Americans working in science, maths and engineering that I thought thats just what black folks did.

My father, growing up during segregation, experienced a different reality.

Become a physical education teacher, my grandfather said in 1962 to his 18-year-old son, who was hellbent on studying electrical engineering at historically black Norfolk state college.

In those days, college-educated African Americans with book smarts and common sense put their chips on teaching jobs or sought work at the post office. But my father, who built his first rocket in junior high metal shop class following the Sputnik launch in 1957, defied my grandfather and plunged full steam ahead into engineering. Of course, my grandfathers fears that it would be difficult for a black man to break into engineering werent unfounded. As late as 1970, just 1% of all American engineers were black, a number that doubled to a whopping 2% by 1984. Still, the federal government was the most reliable employer of African Americans in the sciences and technology; in 1984, 8.4% of Nasas engineers were black.

Nasas African American employees learned to navigate their way through the space agencys engineering culture and their successes in turn afforded their children previously unimaginable access to American society. Growing up with white friends and attending integrated schools, I took much of the groundwork theyd laid for granted.

John Glenn enters his Mercury 7 capsule for a test at Cape Canaveral. Photograph: Bettmann Archive

Every day, I watched my father put on a suit and back out of the driveway to make the 20-minute drive to building 1236, demanding the best from himself in order to give his best to the space programme and to his family. My father secured my familys place in the comfortable middle class and Langley became one of the anchors of our social life. Every summer, my siblings and I saved our allowances to buy tickets to ride ponies at the annual Nasa carnival.

Year after year, I confided my Christmas wishlist to the Nasa Santa at the Langley childrens Christmas party. For years, Ben, Lauren and my youngest sister, Jocelyn, still a toddler, sat in the bleachers of the Langley activities building on Thursday nights, rooting for my dad and his NBA (Nasa Basketball Association) team, the Stars. I was as much a product of Nasa as the moon landing.

The spark of curiosity soon became an all-consuming fire. I peppered my father with questions about his early days at Langley during the mid-1960s, questions Id never asked before. The following Sunday I interviewed Mrs Land about the early days of Langleys computing pool, when part of her job responsibility was knowing which bathroom was marked for coloured employees. And less than a week later I was sitting on the couch in Katherine Johnsons living room, under a framed American flag that had been to the moon, listening to a 93-year-old with a memory sharper than mine recall segregated buses, years of teaching and raising a family and working out the trajectory for John Glenns spaceflight. I listened to Christine Dardens stories of long years spent as a data analyst, waiting for the chance to prove herself as an engineer.

Even as a professional in an integrated world, I had been the only black woman in enough drawing rooms and boardrooms to have an inkling of the chutzpah it took for an African American woman in a segregated southern workplace to tell her bosses she was sure her calculations would put a man on the moon. These womens paths set the stage for mine; immersing myself in their stories helped me understand my own. Even if the tale had begun and ended with the first five black women who went to work at Langleys segregated west side in May 1943, the women later known as the West Computers , I still would have committed myself to recording the facts and circumstances of their lives.

Just as islands, isolated places with unique, rich biodiversity, have relevance for the ecosystems everywhere, so does studying seemingly isolated or overlooked people and events from the past turn up unexpected connections and insights to modern life. The idea that black women had been recruited to work as mathematicians at the Nasa installation in the south during the days of segregation defies our expectations and challenges much of what we think we know about American history. Its a great story and that alone makes it worth telling.

In the early stages of researching my book, I shared details of what I had found with experts on the history of the space agency. To a person, they encouraged what they viewed as a valuable addition to the body of knowledge, though some questioned the magnitude of the story.

How many women are we talking about? Five or six?

I had known more than that number just growing up in Hampton, but even I was surprised at how the numbers kept adding up. These women showed up in photos and phone books, in sources both expected and unusual. A mention of a Langley job in an engagement announcement in the Norfolk Journal and Guide. A handful of names from the daughter of one of the first West Computers. A 1951 memo from the Langley personnel officer reporting on the numbers and status of its black employees, which unexpectedly made reference to one black woman who was a GS-9 research scientist.

I discovered one 1945 personnel document describing a beehive of mathematical activity in an office in a new building on Langleys west side, staffed by 25 black women coaxing numbers out of calculators on a 24-hour schedule, overseen by three black shift supervisors who reported to two white head computers. I can put names to almost 50 black women who worked as computers, mathematicians, engineers or scientists at the Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory from 1943 through 1980, and my intuition is that 20 more names can be shaken loose from the archives with more research.

While the black women are the most hidden of the mathematicians who worked at the Naca, the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, and later at Nasa, they were not sitting alone in the shadows: the white women who made up the majority of Langleys computing workforce over the years have hardly been recognised for their contributions to the agencys long-term success. Virginia Biggins worked the Langley beat for the Daily Press newspaper, covering the space programme starting in 1958. Everyone said, This is a scientist, this is an engineer and it was always a man, she said in a 1990 panel on Langleys human computers. She never got to meet any of the women.

Nasa space scientist and mathematician Katherine Johnson at Nasa Langley Research Center, Hampton, Virginia, 1980. Photograph: Donaldson Collection/Getty Images

I just assumed they were all secretaries, she said. Five white women joined Langleys first computing pool in 1935 and by 1946, 400 girls had already been trained as aeronautical foot soldiers. Historian Beverly Golemba, in a 1994 study, estimated that Langley had employed several hundred women as human computers. On the tail end of the research for Hidden Figures, I can now see how that number might top 1,000.

To a first-time author with no background as a historian, the stakes involved in writing about a topic that was virtually absent from the history books felt high. Im sensitive to the cognitive dissonance conjured by the phrase black female mathematicians at Nasa. From the beginning, I knew I would have to apply the same kind of analytical reasoning to my research that these women applied to theirs. Because as exciting as it was to discover name after name, finding out who they were was just the first step. The real challenge was to document their work. Even more than the surprisingly large numbers of black and white women who had been hiding in a profession seen as universally white and male, the body of work they left behind was a revelation.

There was Dorothy Hoover, working for Robert T Jones in 1946 and publishing theoretical research on his famed triangle-shaped delta wings in 1951. There was Dorothy Vaughan, working with the white East Computers to write a textbook on algebraic methods for the mechanical calculating machines that were their constant companions.

There was Mary Jackson, defending her analysis against John Becker, one of the worlds top aerodynamicists. There was Katherine Johnson, describing the orbital trajectory of John Glenns flight, the maths in her trailblazing 1959 report as elegant, precise and grand as a symphony. There was Marge Hannah, the white computer who served as the black womens first boss, co-authoring a report with Sam Katzoff, who became the laboratorys chief scientist. There was Doris Cohen, setting the bar for them all with her first research report the NACAs first female author back in 1941.

My investigation became more like an obsession; I would walk any trail if it meant finding a trace of one of the computers at its end. Iwas determined to prove their existence and their talent in a way that meant they would never again be lost to history. As the photos, memos, equations and family stories became real people, as the women became my companions and returned to youth or returned to life, I started to want something more for them than just putting them on the record. What I wanted was for them to have the grand, sweeping narrative that they deserved. Not told as a separate history, but as a part of the story weallknow.

Today, my hometown, the hamlet that in 1962 dubbed itself Spacetown USA, looks like any suburban city in a modern and hyperconnected America. People of all races and nationalities mingle on Hamptons beaches and in its bus stations, the whites only signs of the past now relegated to the history museum and the memories of survivors of the civil rights revolution. Mercury Boulevard no longer conjures images of the eponymous mission that shot the first Americans beyond the atmosphere and each day the memory of Virgil Grissom fades away from the bridge that bears his name. A downsized space programme and decades of government cutbacks have hit the region hard; today, an ambitious college grad with a knack for numbers might set her sights on a gig at a Silicon Valley startup or make for one of the many technology firms that are conquering the Nasdaq from the Virginia suburbs outside of Washington DC.

But before a computer became an inanimate object, and before Mission Control landed in Houston; before Sputnik changed the course of history, and before the Naca became Nasa; before the supreme court case Brown v Board of Education of Topeka established that separate was in fact not equal, and before the poetry of Martin Luther KingJrs I have a dream speech rang out over the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Langleys West Computers were helping America dominate aeronautics, space research and computer technology, carving out a place for themselves as female mathematicians who were also black, black mathematicians who were also female. For a group of bright and ambitious African American women, diligently prepared for a mathematical career and eager for a crack at the big leagues, Hampton, Virginia, must have felt like the centre of the universe.

This is an edited extract from Hidden Figures by Margot Lee Shetterly, published by William Collins (8.99). To order a copy for 7.64 go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over 10, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of 1.99

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