#i sometimes wonder why newton talked about his dad like he was dead

[axowotl-l]

more craftlings but this time theyre stress doodles! i have been struggling to make and finish an essay :")

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

[autistickhunsam]

An Atypical Ficlet Collection: 1/?

——————————————

Izzie knocks on the door. As she waits for it to open, she lets out a ragged breath. She puts her shaking hand back in her hoodie’s pocket. She’s a bit surprised when the door opens to reveal Sam. Her phone is dead, and she didn’t have a chance to charge it, so she couldn’t let Casey know she was coming. Still, she was hoping for the girl to open the door. Or figured more likely it would be Elsa, who had offered her a safe space whenever she needed it. Like right now. “Hey, Sam,” she says, managing a smile.

“You look weird,” he says, tilting his head a little.

Izzie laughs lightly. She had been crying on her way over, she can imagine how messy she looks. “Yeah, rough day,” she replies, honestly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam says, in his usual even tone voice. Then adds, “Casey isn’t here.”

“Oh,” Izzie starts, a heavy wave of loneliness washing through her.

But before she can say bye to Sam, he cuts her off, “I’m watching a documentary. It’s called Antartica Edge: 70 Degrees South. Do you want to watch it?”

Izzie is silent for a second, surprised at the invitation but grateful for it. She smiles and nods. They enter the living room and sit down. Sam is immediately focused on the television. “Do you want snacks? My mom made her famous banana bread,” he says as he grabs the tray and moves it in her direction, eyes still on the images in front of them.

“Sure,” she says and grabs one, biting it.

“Mmm,” she says, through a mouthful. “These are really good.”

“That’s why they’re famous,” he says.

Izzie nods and continues to munch on her banana bread. Sam makes comments here and there in between the narration.

Towards the end if the documentary, Sam looks at the tray holding the banana bread and sees that there’s only one piece left. He wants to eat it but he knows Izzie isn’t feeling well. The banana bread seemed to help. But she hasn’t reached for it. Maybe she’s full. “There’s only one piece left,” he states.

Izzie didn’t want to be rude and eat the last piece, but they were pretty tasty. “Do you wanna split it?” She asks.

Sam smiles at her and nods. Izzie lets him cut it and takes her half when he offers it. She settles deeper into the couch. The documentary is about to end. She doesn’t want to leave yet but Casey hasn’t returned from wherever she is. The house seems to be empty except for Sam. When the documentary comes to a close Izzie says, “That was interesting and very depressing.”

“Yes, it was,” Sam responds, bothered by the subject matter the film, which was released five years ago, was bringing light to and had only gotten worse.

Izzie looks down at her hands, mustering up the courage to leave. “It made you sad,” Sam says, looking at her.

Izzie looks up at him and smiles. “No. Well, yeah kinda. But no, it’s not that,” she says.

“What is it then?”

Izzie is quiet for a beat, then says, “My mom’s boyfriend was yelling and throwing things again. My mom....” she trails off, looking back down at her hands, fighting back tears. She looks back up and, not wanting to get into the painful details of the incident, says, “I had to take my siblings to my grandma's.”

She’s looks past him and is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “It’s hard sometimes, seeing their faces after something goes down with mom. Seeing how scared and hurt they are. Sometimes that’s the worst part.”

She’s glad her youngest sister is only a baby, too young to know or understand. But her other siblings are old enough to feel it. She still feels it. She might like to pretend like her mother’s rejection, her neglect, don’t cut deep but they still pain her. Seeing that pain reflected so clearly in her siblings’ face is too much at times. So on occasion, especially since meeting Casey, she leaves after dropping them off at their grandma’s. It’s best for them anyway, she thinks. The place is so cramped, with her gone they have more room. And they don't have to witness her sad, angry tears. Still, she feels guilty at times, when she leaves. Like maybe she isn’t any better and she's abandoning them just like their mom. Just like their dad. Izzie wipes a stray tear with the back of her hand. Sam gets up and then comes back with a box of tissues, which he offers to Izzie. “Julia always said it’s good to express your feelings,” he says, inviting her to cry and not hold back.

But Izzie isn’t used to being that vulnerable in front of others. So while another tear manages to roll its way down, she doesn’t allow herself to cry. “Thank you,” she says, patting her face with the tissue.

Sam reaches over for his trusty notebook and pencil, which are sitting on the coffee table, and starts writing. “What are you writing?” Izzie asks.

“A list of things that make me feel better when I’m upset,” he says, matter-of-factly. “We can do each one until you feel better.”

Izzie smiles, instantly feeling her mood improve.

———————————————————

“You know, this actually feels good,” Izzie’s voice comes through the closed door.

“Yeah, duh,” Sam says, with a light snicker, thinking of all the studies that indicate being swaddled decreases anxiety levels and releases serotonin.

Casey stands in front of her bedroom, her lips curve upward and her brow furrows as she hears the voices of her girlfriend and brother through the door. She grips the knob and opens the door, wondering what she’s about to walk in on, and isnt prepared for what she finds. She can only see Izzie’s face, the rest of her is hidden in her hoodie and blankets. Sam is bent over, pushing the blankets tightly under Izzie. “What the...?” Casey says.

Both Sam and Izzie turn to look at her. Izzies face brightens. She thinks of one of the bullet points on Sam’s list.

“Should I be concerned?” Casey asks looking at the pair, amused.

“Yes,” Sam answers, straightening up. “Izzie is upset.”

Izzie looks up at Sam then Casey. “But I’m feeling much better, thanks to Sam.”

He looks down at her, smiles and nods. Then he turns back to Casey, looking satisfied with himself. He’s happy to have successfully cheered Izzie up.

Casey runs toward the bed and pounces. She lands next to Izzie, causing her to bounce. “Good,” Sam says. “Now that you’re here we can cross another item off the list.”

“Huh?” Casey asks, looking up at him.

“I made a list. Things that help make me feel better to help make Izzie feel better. Now that you’re here I can cross off ‘talking with Casey’,” he explains.

Casey smiles up at him, trying to keep herself from beaming. Then rememebring, she says, “Oh, Elsa was looking for you. I’d suggest running far, far away.”

Izzie laughs and Sam sighs. Casey wonders if it’s at her or their mother. Sam leaves without a word. He closes the door but soon opens it and leaves it ajar, remembering Casey isn’t allowed to have her door closed when she’s alone with Izzie. Casey rolls her eyes then turns back to Izzie and kisses her. “Hello,” she says, after pulling away.

“Hello,” Izzie responds, smiling.

Then she narrows her eyes at Casey when her face turns into one of mischief. As soon as Casey lifts up from the elbow she had been leaning on, she knows what’s coming. “No!” She yells, as Casey gets on her knees and starts tickling Izzie through the fabric.

Izzie laughs but manages to yell, “Stop it! Stop! You’re dead, Newton.”

At this, Casey stops and plops down back on the bed. “Spare my life,” she says. “And I’ll pay you back with kisses.”

Izzie looks away, pretending to consider it. “Okay, I accept. Pay up.”

Casey kisses Izzie again but they are soon interrupted by Sam. Looking at Izzie -who is now in the shape of a loose burrito- he asks, “Elsa wants to know if you’re staying the night or for dinner.”

“She is,” Casey answers. “Both.”

Sam looks at Izzie for confirmation. Izzie nods and he leaves to rely the information. Ever since Casey and her started dating she isn’t allowed to sleep in Casey’s room, but it’s still nice to have a place to stay where she’s wanted and has room for her. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time Casey and her sneak around in the middle of the night.

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery Part 37/? - Pilgrimage to Vesuvius Part 38/? - The Scent of Hell Part 39/? - She’ll be Coming Down the Mountain Part 40/? - Stowaways Part 41/? - Bon Voyage Part 42/? - Turnabout Part 43/? - The Apple Part 44/? - Vesuvius Wakes Part 45/? - Fire At Sea Part 46/? - The Real Jim Part 47/? - Return to Naples Part 48/? - La Mela Part 49/? - A Demonstration Part 50/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 51/? - Into the Fire Part 52/? - The Last Homunculus Part 53/? - Transmission Part 54/? - Metamorphosis Part 55/? - Jones and the Cat Part 56/? - Love and Loss

It’s all over but the angry lecture from Fury.

Nobody’s phone was showing the time anymore – those that hadn’t been destroyed by water were out of batteries.  Natasha therefore had no idea how long they spent bobbing in the Bay of Naples, watching random objects float around and waiting for some sign of Jim.  At one point Allen reached out and tried to pick up one of the golden bubbles, but it was microscopically thin and collapsed under his touch.  The shreds of gold leaf floated on the surface.

The sun rose, glittering on the water and making it look like the entire gulf had turned to gold, all the way out to the horizon.  After some time had passed, another boat did appear – a large white one with a diagonal red stripe painted on the prow ahead of the words Guardia Costiera.  It came alongside their little fishing boat and a number of startled sailors looked down Sir Stephen, Nat, Perenelle, Allen, and their collection of rescued animals.

“When I was a boy,” one remarked in Italian, “we sometimes had our movies in the theatres before the Americans did.  Now look, it’s been how many years and we’re finally getting around to making an Italian Life of Pi!”

The captain of the vessel was not amused.  “Have you seen any other survivors?” he asked them in English.

Natasha looked at Sir Stephen, and saw him look away.  Both of them were going to have to admit it.  In this case, it was Sir Stephen who did the honours, for which Nat was grateful.

“No,” he said.  “No, we are the only ones.”

Back on shore, people from some animal control agency took charge of the Contessa’s pets, including the parrot, which had been keeping company with Sam’s pet falcon. The inhabitants of Naples began to drift back into the city, but there was no electricity – many of the cables and the transformers at the power station had turned to gold, and were either unsuitable or unsafe for use.  Perenelle told the group she knew a place they could stay, and took them south along the Amalfi coast to Sorrento.

On the drive there, Nat caught Clint looking at his phone again.

“Well?” she asked.

“Limoncello,” he said.  “What’s that?”

“It’s a liqueur,” Natasha replied.

She was dissociating, she realized.  Natasha had enough knowledge of psychology, particularly as it related to physical and emotional trauma, to recognize the symptoms.  She felt as if she were floating out of her body above the bus and yet able to see through the roof of it, watching herself talk to her companions.  The medical term was ‘acute stress reaction’.  Interesting.  Nat wouldn’t have thought she was capable of that anymore.

They reached Sorrento, and Perenelle brought them to her friend’s house – a lovely villa overlooking the bay, owned by a middle-aged man in a droopy mustache whom she addressed as Enrico. Natasha was positive that wasn’t his real name and could probably have figured out who he was if she’d wanted to, but she didn’t care enough.  As the sun finally set on what must have been the longest day of her life, she was standing on a balcony looking down on a garden full of yellow cinquefoils, her mind empty.

“Natalie?”

She didn’t jump, because she’d known Allen was there – nobody could sneak up on Natasha Romanov.  She’d sort of hoped he would leave her alone, though.  What was she supposed to say to him?

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No,” said Nat.

But he came up and put an arm around her anyway.  She stiffened, then sagged, putting her face in her hands on the balcony.

“It’s so stupid,” she said.  “I wasn’t in love with him.  I barely knew him.  He barely knew himself.”  Nat wasn’t supposed to be subject to those kinds of silly emotions.  Love was for children.  You are made of marble, her trainers had said. Marble didn’t feel, any more than gold did.

“No, but you were attached to him,” said Allen gently.

“This is why they wouldn’t let us get attached to people,” Nat said miserably.  “Because then we’d be upset if they left.  Or if we had to kill them ourselves.  They trained that out of us from when we were kids.  They’d put two of us out on the tundra and only one was allowed to come back.  Whichever was the stronger.”  She was losing it.  Going soft, weakening.  She’d lived with normal people too long.

“That’s not what you want to be, Ginger Snap,” said Allen, patting her shoulder. “Trust me on that.”

That should have been a statement of the obvious, but instead it stopped Natasha cold.  He was right, wasn’t he?  She thought she wanted to be like other people. They had things she didn’t, they could be things she never could.  She was trying to learn how to be more like that, even if only to fit in better… and yet when it happened, she fought it.

“It hurts,” she whimpered.

He pulled her in for a hug, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.  “Yeah,” he said.  “A wise man once said that pain is how you know you’re alive.”

 “A wise man?  That’s from Crossroads of Twilight, Dad,” said Nat.  “It’s a silly fantasy novel.”  She straightened up a bit.  “Do you read those?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, embarrassed.  “Your Mom got me into them.”

Your Mom.  Kathy Jones had never existed, any more than Allen himself had before the Holy Grail had started messing with reality.  “Tell me about Mom,” said Nat.  It would distract her.

Allen leaned on the railing next to her and looked out to sea.  “She had blue eyes.  I like to think you got that from her more than me.  And she loved snow.  When you were little, at the very first snow she’d take you out in the yard to do snow angels and snowmen.”

Natasha could pretend she remembered that.  It was an easy mental picture, a little girl with red pigtails building snowmen with her mother.  She pictured it as an observer watching from the street, though, not as a participant… because it hadn’t happened to her.

“And she read fantasy books?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Allen nodded.  “I watch Game of Thrones because I know she would never have missed it.  I wondered if it were worth it, when I know now she wasn’t real, but… she was real to me. She’s a part of me and she always will be.”

In a way, Jim hadn’t been real, either.  He’d been something Newton made up, brought to life for a purpose and then discarded.  But he’d been real to the little group of people who’d known him for his few brief weeks of life, and they would remember him.  It wasn’t the same as him actually being able to live on, but it was all they had… was that supposed to help?  Nat honestly wasn’t sure if it did or not.

“When she got sick she was terrified,” Allen went on.  “Her mother died of cancer.  She knew the research had come a long way but when we were growing up, cancer was a death sentence. She didn’t want you to be scared but she also didn’t want to lie to you, so she sat down with you and explained what she had, and that it might take a long time for her to get well again.  The doctors told her that staying positive was the best medicine, but I don’t think she ever really believed she was going to get better.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nat.

“Not your fault,” Allen replied automatically.

“No, it is,” she corrected him.  “I’m the one who wrote your life story.  I didn’t want to give myself too many living relatives because people would wonder why they never saw them, so I made myself an only child with one parent so I’d have an excuse to run off in an emergency.”  She swallowed hard.  It had all been just an exercise at that point.  Something that would never affect reality.  “I killed her.”

“You created her, too,” said Allen.  “And you didn’t kill Jim, either.  From what you said, he made a choice based on what he knew at the time… that’s all any of us can do, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Nat said.

Allen put an arm around her again, and she leaned her head against his shoulder and let her eyes drift shut again.  This was one of those things normal people had and Natasha didn’t – the comfort of another human being’s warm body, the knowledge that pain was universal and that nobody could change the past.  The parts of humanity that Nat kept rejecting, she observed, were the bits that were considered weaknesses… and yet, she should know she couldn’t have the other parts on their own. Emotion was a package deal.  She couldn’t be strong when her friends were weak, and then refuse to allow them to do the same for her.

“You need a kleenex?” Allen asked her.

She shook her head.  “No,” said Nat.  She knew that whatever else she could or couldn’t do, she couldn’t cry.  She could cry on command, when a situation demanded tears from the perfect spy, but the mere fact that she was capable of that made her unable to cry and mean it.  It would be a performance… and right now, what she really wanted most in the world was to stop having to perform.

The next morning they had a very Italian breakfast of pastries and espresso. Their host, Enrico, had presented Clint with a bottle of limoncello out of his private collection of wines and spirits, and was now chatting with Perenelle about homunculi over a bottle of morning wine, which was apparently something people did in Italy.  In the middle of it all, a servant came up to announce that there were visitors.

“Both for your guests,” the man added.  “Lady Andretti, and a gentleman from England, who says he is Earl of Dudley.”

Even in her low spirits, Nat had to smile a little. She knew Fury hated that title, but he didn’t want to give the Contessa priority.

“Let them in,” Enrico directed, and then turned to the CAAP.

“I heard,” said Nat, standing up.  “Fury’s here,” she added to the others.

“Oh, boy, here it comes,” muttered Clint.

Fury was not the first to enter, though – instead it was a woman in an enormous hat and sunglasses, who breezed in trailing Valentino skirts and an enormous Louis Vuitton handbag.  “Which of you is Doctor Jones?” she asked.

“That’s me,” said Natasha.

The woman came up and kissed Nat on both cheeks, and then did so again.  “My darling!” she exclaimed.  “I was never so angry with anyone as when they wouldn’t let me take my family off the ship!  How can I ever repay you for saving them?  Name anything!  Whatever you like.”

Nat glanced up, and saw Fury waiting in the doorway.  He was dressed in civilian clothes today, a light jacket, t-shirt, and black jeans, but the eyepatch was still in place and his ever-present scowl was there.  For a moment she considered coming up with a choice of reward that would annoy him further, but then decided not to be petty.  She had a much better idea.

“Oh, I don’t need a reward,” she began.

“Nonsense!” said Lady Andretti.  “Let me make some gesture, at least!”

“Well… I don’t know if you’re interested in archaeology, but if you could help us fund a search for the ruins of Rogsey Abbey in Cornwall…”  Nat glanced back at Sir Stephen, and saw him stand up a little straighter.

“I don’t know a thing about it, I’m afraid,” said Lady Andretti, “but I would be delighted!”

[iamcmims]

Women Of Letters: Case n°000112 (part one).

Co-written with @stormysymphony

A little girl was playing in her room while her mother was preparing dinner and the dad helping her. The little girl looks up, staring at an invisible thing and smiles at it.

“My mommy is downstairs with my daddy.” She said smiling cheerfully.

But if you look around the room there is no one except the little girl who went back to play with her toys. Suddenly a big noise was heard and two people coughing.

“Mom? Dad?” The little girl called out.

“A woman and a man were both found dead in their kitchen. Their five years old daughter is safe and sound.” You could hear this everywhere, television, radio, online. The cause of death was unknown to everyone, the police searched in the neighborhood, a fight between two neighbors happens more than the police like to admit, and sometimes a revenge goes too far and ends up quite badly, but the problem was, there was nothing on the bodies. No wounds, no scratches, no signs of defense. Nothing.

So far all the police had was two dead bodies and a little girl that miraculously survived the attack.

“How can two healthy and young parents die while cooking? We have no fingerprints, no clues, nothing.” Says an inspector.

“Maybe we should try and talk to their daughter.” Suggests another inspector.

“If we can avoid putting the little girl once more into this, then we do it. She lost her parents. She doesn’t need more pressure around her.” Amelia states when she gets near the inspectors.

Everyone turns in surprise to look at the young woman who just appeared behind them.

“Who are you?” Asks an inspector.

“Amelia Joy, FBI. Can I please see Detective West?” Asks Amelia.

“He is in the lab up there.” The same man responds, she only nods.

Amelia turns around and goes to the lab. When she arrives, she sees two men, one of them being Detective West.

“Who are you?” Asks the other man.

“Amelia Joy, FBI.

-What are the feds doing here?

-A case that I’ll need your help on, Joe.

-What’s up?

-Something came up. Could I talk to you in private?

-If this is about your other job you can speak in front of him, he’s-

-I know who he is. But I don’t think he can deal with something like that, not for now at least.

-What? What are you guys talking about?”

Amelia sighs and looks around her. Why did she have to do this alone? Emma really had chosen the right moment to “work aboard” as she called it.

“Nice lab.

-Thanks.

-I know who you are, Barry Allen and not only, I know what you do besides working for the CCPD. But I think we should go somewhere else for this. Shall we?”

Amelia, Barry, and Joe went to the Women of Letters’ Central City base. Barry was looking around wondering what all was about until he saw the symbol and remembered what Oliver and Felicity told him about it.

“Wait, you’re a woman of letters?” Asks Barry but no one answers.

They get into the elevator and Amelia press the “8” button.

“I’m one of the women that created it.

-So what are we doing here?

-There has been this virus going on for three days now all over America. We have the Winchesters in Kansas, two of our agents in Los Angeles, Team Arrow in Star City and we need Team Flash here.

-What do we know so far?

-Not much, that is the problem. We are aware that this virus somehow turns humans into supernatural creatures.

-You mean metahumans?

-No. Metahumans still have human DNA, it’s merged with a meta one, but it’s still human. No… What I’m talking about is humans that somehow doesn’t have human DNA in their system but supernatural creatures DNA instead.

-Such as…?

-Such as werewolves, wendigos, and vampires.

-Wait… You’re telling me they exist?!

-You have no idea what exists in our world, Barry.

-So, how can I help you?

-Joe, I need to have the full support and cooperation from the CCPD on this.

-Wait you’re not really FBI?

-Oh no, yeah I am. Trust me but the FBI side you don’t know, don’t need to, and won’t ever know about. Let’s focus. Joe, this paper is for you. This will help your boss understand he does not have any choices. If anybody asks about Barry, he’s helping us with his forensic science skills.”

Joe nods and leaves the building.

“Barry, I will need team Flash ASAP.

-I will bring them here. What you have here is so much better than what we have.

-Okay go, but don’t take too much time. We have to hurry.” Barry nods, and in a fraction of a second, he was out of the building in his way to S.T.A.R Labs.

Once he arrives there, he puts on his suit.

“Whoa, dude, what the hell?

-Cisco. Where's Caitlin?

-I’m right here. What’s wrong?

-The woman of Letters, Amelia Joy is in Central City.

-Wait, what? How do you know?

-Because she came to the CCPD earlier and asked for our help.

-Hold on; she knows you’re the flash? How?

-Well-

-Forget about it; we’re talking about Amelia Joy one of the women of letters, they know the secret identity of everyone.

-Anyway, she needs us ASAP, so I’m taking you with me on a fast ride to the women of letters’ base.

-Cool!”

“Gravity, what’s new?” Asks Amelia to Gravity on the phone, while team Flash arrives.

“We know that metahumans cannot be infected because of their DNA.

-That’s all? God there gotta be something. How many casualties?

-We’ve reached 50 victims, Amelia…” The whole room stays silent as Amelia sits down in shock.

“Contact as many people as you can, we need help to cover more of America. If you have to form people then do it, I don’t care. I want results; I want answers! We need to exterminate this damn virus, now!

-Okay. I will spread the word.

-Good.

-I… Lux did send a message. She’s alright, but it might take a little more time than we thought… Should I inform her about what’s going on here?

-No. It’s better that way.”

Amelia ends the communication and turns around, seeing Caitlin, Cisco, and Barry.

“Hi, pleased to meet you but we will have to do the introducing talk later. I have this sample of the virus see what you can find on it even if it’s minimal, at least something that characterizes it, a way for us to identify it.

-We’re on it.

-Barry, I’ll need you with me. We’re going to go search the streets and see if we can find creatures.”

Amelia puts on a black eye mask, control her gun, hides a knife in her boots, puts one on the side of her leg and one inside her jacket. What a shame Emma had to leave for South America for another mission… But there was no other choice.

“Cool.” Says Cisco in awe. “I think I might have a crush.

-Cisco, focus.

-Yeah, yeah, uhm, sorry.”

Barry and Amelia leave the building and turn on their headsets.

“Okay, Cisco, where do we go?

-I don’t know, Barry. Just go where there is something weird.

-Yeah thanks, Cisco but we’re in a city full of metahumans.”

A loud noise is heard, making Barry and Amelia turn around. Amelia charges her gun and aims it.

“Cisco do you see anything?” Asks Barry.

“No, nothing.” Answers Cisco.

Amelia stroll where the noise was heard.

“What? Amelia, what are you doing?!”

A tall person stands in front of Amelia and Barry, making them look up.

“Oh boy.” Says Barry.

The tall person hit Amelia, making her fly to the other side of the road.

“Amelia!!” Barry runs to Amelia and sees her lying unconscious on the ground.

“Crap. Cisco, she’s out.

-You gotta do the supersonic punch. This guy is getting taller and taller.”

Barry looks at Amelia and then at the guy, standing up slowly.

“I gotta put Amelia to a safe place first.” States Barry.

“I’m fine, just a headache.” Amelia mumbles.

Barry turns around and sees her standing up, he goes to her and helps her steadying herself.

“That guy’s impossible to defeat.

-Not really. Do the supersonic punch and then we both attack him at different places at the same time while he’s recovering from the punch.

-Okay. Cisco, how far do I have to go and how fast?”

Amelia takes her phone and starts to type on it.

“I don’t know, we cannot see how tall he is, and we don’t know how he got that strong. We know nothing about the virus” Cisco answers truthfully.

“Cisco, says he hits tall-guy in 1/10th of a second, that’s about 2,000 newtons, about 450 lbs of force - so he’d be hitting him with a force equivalent to 450 lbs and does it in 1/10th of a second.

-How the hell do you know that?

-Shut up Cisco, keep going, Amelia.

-That 450 lbs of force are going to leave a mark, this is going to knock him out or at least shake him enough that we can attack him and finish him.

-Yeah, but how am I sure it’s going to work?

-That force is coming from a disembodied Flash hand flying through the air. So if you’re putting all the force of your body weight - let’s say 180 lbs - behind it, that force is going to be way bigger: 73,737 lbs of force. That’s more weight than two Greyhound buses, delivered by the surface area of a fist.

-No mere mortal could survive this.

-But he doesn’t seem mortal, and our goal is not to kill him, but to defeat him. But you gotta be careful, tall-guy won’t be the only one to feel the punch. Force comes in pairs. That’s Newton’s third law so any force will come back onto your fist.

-Thank the speed force for that super healing, Barry. Otherwise, your hand will not be in good shape.

-Good. That’s, reassuring. Okay, let’s go.”

Barry leaves and runs to tall-guy as Amelia calculated. When Barry punched him, tall-guy flew backward to a wall and broke it.

“Woohoo!! It worked! You’re amazing Amelia!” Cheers Cisco.

Amelia runs to Barry and looks at tall-guy being completely knocked out.

“Well. Let’s bring him to W-O-L Base.

-Yeah, sure thing. How?

-I have no idea.

-Good. Great. That’s, awesome.”

That was normally the part where Emma was useful. Even if her plans were quite weird sometimes, they always ended up working pretty well.

Emma was standing in front of a golden door. She was worried for the W.O.L. Gravity didn’t say anything, but it kinda sounded like something was off up there.

If the guys hadn’t given them their family files, she would have probably still been in the bunker. Not that she had read them. She just needed space. A lot of space. Like a few thousand kilometer space.

She pulled her gun out of the Hollister and smiled fondly towards the metal weapon. If there were still some love in her, it would have been for that little object.

Her phone rang making her curse.

“Yeah?”

“Ugh Hi, Lux… It’s Cisco here… We do have little problem with a really tall guy we have to get back to the bunker?

-Cisco? No actually isn’t important yet. Everyone is good? How tall is tall? How far?

-Like REALLY tall… And ugh… Down the street? And yes everyone is fine.

-... In the alley behind the bunker is a black container. The keys are taped under the desk. There’s a tarpaulin and beneath it is a Fenwick. Get your tall guy back. And bring my Fenwick back too.

-Why do you have a Fenwick?

-... Just bring it the heck back and don’t let Aurea get in there and ask too many questions about it. Oh. And don’t you dare touch anything else in there.”

She ends the call with that.

Raising the gun, she readied herself. The sooner she was done here with the Maya calendar, the sooner she would be back home.

Taking a deep breath and shaking away the worries, she kicked in the door.

“Let’s get the party started.”

“What did Lux say exactly?

-She said that you shouldn’t ask too many questions?

-Okay..., anyway. So tall-guy is neutralized. What did you find on the virus?

-We found the first symptoms. If it infects someone, they will somehow have green eyes, full green eyes.

-Tall-guy did not have green eyes.

-He’s just a metahuman.

-Since when metahumans became “just metahumans”?

-Since there is worse than metahumans.

-People with green eyes...do you know what molecule cause that effect?

-Actually, it’s more of a prototype. Our virus is not only made of changed DNA but also of data?

-So you are telling me that someone is controlling the virus from a computer?

-Yes.

-So we can track them?

-Yes, we can but as the data is only half of the virus, it’s not enough to track its IP, it will take longer than that.

-Well… get to it. Call Gravity, send her everything you have on the virus. We need everyone in the streets to find the superhumans.

-How are we supposed to stop them?

-Well, if the virus is half data, we have to find what frequency it’s on to create a higher frequency to destabilize it and bring the superhumans here until we find the cure.”

Suddenly all of the televisions that were showing different news channel in the W.O.L base flickers and showed a man in a black mask.

“I do hope I have your attention. I think you didn’t miss the number of people dying increasing these days! I’m the one who’s to thank for it, or to blame? I created the viridi 9 virus; it’s changing humans into supernatural creatures, sadly, not all of you can contain the virus without dying, now; Lux and Aurea, if you don’t give me what I want, and you know what it is, more people will die.”

All of the televisions returned to normal after that. Amelia was shocked. She dialed Gravity. Gravity’s voice was heard in the principal room of the W.O.L base, where Team Flash was, including Amelia.

“Gravity, please tell me you know who that is.

-I’m searching. I’m on it.

-And about Lux? How is she?

-The last time I heard, she was fine.

-You need to find that maniac. We cannot let people die because he has a grudge against us.”

Amelia hangs up and gets out of the principal room to the training room and kick a punching bag, breaking it open.

Barry walks in in the same moment.

“Woah, that punching bag didn’t do anything to you!”

Amelia turns to face Barry.

“We’re going to find who black mask is.

-Black Mask?

-Cisco’s work.

-At least 50 people died because that guy had something against Lux and me. Right now it’s 50 but how many are coming? Barry, Lux and I created Women of Letters because there was no way under our watch that innocent people would die! Children that had so many things to do yet, mother that will probably not be able to watch their children get married or--

-Hey, stop. You before anyone should know that a crazy person does not need any reason to be crazy. It could’ve been you and Lux or me and Team flash or even Oliver! None of this is your fault.

-Well, tell that to the families that mourn their loved ones.”

Amelia gets out of the training room and goes to another one. Barry sighs, as much as he was trying to help Amelia, she was right, people were dying.

Barry walked back to the principal room and helped team Flash on whatever he could. After an hour or so, Amelia came into the principal room, she had a red mask on, black lipstick, a jacket on that could throw little blades, black pants, a gun attached on one leg, and a knife on the other, black boots that also had knives hidden in it. In her back, her sword was perfectly attached to her jacket, too.

She wasn’t Amelia Joy anymore; she was Aurea.

“So we get to meet Amelia and now Aurea… Cool.” States Cisco.

“Amelia, what are you doing?” Asks Barry.

“I need the Flash. We’re going for a trip.” Answers Amelia.

“What trip?” Wonders Caitlin.

“We are bringing everyone here. Black mask is in Central City, so we’re bringing my agents here.” Adds Amelia.

“What about Team Arrow? And the Winchester?” Asks Barry.

“We need them to help future victims, just in case black mask has more guys in his team than we thought.”

“And Lux?”

“She hasn’t talked to me for the last week. I’ll ask Gravity to contact her.”

Lux was sitting in an enormous golden chair, her legs laying crossed over one armrest. Her fingers were tapping on the armrest. Her eyes fixed on the large golden door lying before her.

“Ughhh… The heck is this shit…”

She had already kicked in the front door. The second one was more annoying. She had to find some levers to pull to get it to open. The third had taken a little more time, the enigma that was written on it not giving any hints away, she had taken a little more than three hours to figure it out. Her annoyance was raising more and more. The fourth had been an even harder enigma, but she had managed to get it open too.

Frustration was already bubbling in her at that point. And now she was in front of the last door. But this one was different. It had some engravings showing some terrible beasts and a sort of tunnel system on the floor, just wide enough for a little flow of liquids.

Emma was terrified, her mind finally making out the start of the story told by the door. But she had no other choice. What she needed was behind the door. And there was no other way than to get it here. Emma was terrified and would have loved to run away and get back home safely. But she wasn’t Emma anymore. Her black clothing, which was a little dusty by now, the white mask hanging around her neck and the two Hollister carrying her guns, such as the blade attached to her right leg were the proof that Lux was sitting nonchalantly on the chair. And not the former good girl.

Her fingers stopped their restless tapping. Something had caught her eye, and she was already regretting her choice.

She closed her eyes for an instant.

“Bloody hell. The fuck have I done to deserve that...!” She stood up.

A prayer leaving her lips. It was something normal, but she added something.

“Amelia, I hope you are ok. I’m sorry for bitching. And I’m glad I met you or I wouldn’t be here now. And sorry for what’s coming next. I hope you’ll understand it later…”

Before she could hesitate any longer, she grabbed her blade and slashed her left forearm open. Blood was running down the little grooves.

It had taken a few minutes before the blood reached the door and for it to open. Lux only stood there, blood still slowly dripping for her arm but what she needed finally reachable. She smiled satisfied until a dark cloud escaped the now open door.

She cursed under her breath, preparing for what would come her unharmed hand clenching around the shaft of the blade.

[miniaturelovercollectionstuff]

Sandra Kay Russell

My Tribute to Sandra Kay Russell Burgess

By her oldest daughter Marilee Burgess (Cook)

When I think of Mom, many adjectives come to mind. She’s fun, energetic, spiritual, multi-talented, loving, has a good sense of humor, and spends her time serving those around her. She is a very Christlike person and I don’t know why I was blessed with such a wonderful mother, but I am very glad that I was.

Mom has always been there for her children. When we were young she would lay on our beds and tell us stories at night. Ifwe had a bad dream or we felt sick we could wake her up, knowing that she would immediately be sympathetic to our plight. I don’t know how old I was but one time I had a bad dream and Mom rocked me in an old pink rocking chair. I remember thinking that I was too old to be rocked but it felt so nice that Ijust snuggled up and enjoyed it.

We are more than just kids to Mom. We have been her friends. Mom has always been my best friend and I can tell her anything. When I came home from school the first thing that I would do was look for Mom. Many times I found her in her room on the floor doing some church project or another. I would lie on her bed and tell her about my day. She was and is always ready to listen.

Mom doesn’t like to go places alone and food often became attached to certain activities. She used to take at least one of us grocery shopping and we were allowed to pick out a candy bar if we went. I also remember sometimes going to Snelgrove’s for an ice cream cone after surviving a trip to Dr. Newton’s office. She had the tradition of taking us to lunch after spending hours school shopping. And of course, we would get malts after a choir concert or school program. We would sit in the car together eating malts and  end up laughing until we cried.

Mom has a sweet tooth and loves to bake. She doesn’t like taking things out of the oven though. She would very often yell down the stairs, “Somebody take the brownies (or cookies or whatever) out of the oven for me!” Mom has a particular fondness for cream cheese. Her favorite dessert is cherry cheesecake and she also enjoys chicken pillows which are rolls filled with chicken and cream cheese. She and Dad had their special nights every once in a while and Dad would bring home Chinese food from the Pagoda. She enjoyed the dinner even though it usually made her sick. She has a sensitive stomach and has to be careful about what she eats.

Mom has certain sayings that she often repeats. If she is trying to turn left in the car and there is a lot of traffic she will say, “The whole town is coming!” If she has lost something, usually her car keys or glasses, she will say, “I’ll give you 50 cents if you find such-and-such for me.” If we asked permission for something more often than not she would say, “I don’t care.” If she’s giving a baby or toddler a bath she will say, “Swim, Swim.” She’ll also put a baby’s foot up to her nose and say, “Stinky feet.” “Spit in your shoe and blame it on you!” is another one of her sayings. She also likes to say, “Whatever!”

Being raised mostly with girls, Mom was very surprised to find herself with five sons. She was always very supportive of their ball games. She would sometimes become a little too involved at the church basketball games. I recall her yelling loudly, “You’re blind ref!” at a game or two.

She taught us how to be good at finding things by saying, “Go get me the scissors, they are somewhere upstairs.” If we couldn’t find something and she had told us exactly where it was she used to say, “If I have to go upstairs and find it myself then you owe me a dollar!”

Mom likes the house to be alive with noise. She loved it when she could walk through the house and hear the TV on in one room, the piano played in another, the radio on in another, etc. It meant that the kids were home with her. I recall that the teenagers sometimes had to tell HER to turn down the boombox.

Mom loves the mountains. I think that she and Dad would live in the mountains if they could. She likes to go camping. She and Dad love having a trailer and being able to use it. When we were young sometimes Dad would just park us up in the mountains and leave us there for a week or so while he went to work. Mom went camping even when she was 9 months pregnant. I recall having to go home because she was having labor pains. She camped with new babies also.

Whenever Mom visits my house there are two things that she must do. First, she has to make chocolate chip cookies with milk chocolate chips. Second, she has to do laundry. One time she came to my house and I had all of the laundry in the house done. So she pulled sheets off of the beds and created laundry so that she could do it. I remember her doing laundry in the middle of the night when I lived at home. Often we would see her lying on the couch waiting for something to wash so that she could put it in the dryer. Whenever I put something in the dryer at 2:00 a.m. I think of her.

Mom has had to work out of the home for several years now, although everyone knows that she would rather be home. She started out as Dad’s secretary for his plumbing business. Then she went on to cutting hair at a home, working in an elementary school and doing various secretarial jobs. When she started working she didn’t know anything about computers and now she is computer savvy. She enjoys increasing her skills and knowledge in that area. Mom also has a thirst for gospel knowledge. She loves to read and study. She has such a strong testimony and a deep respect for the General Authorities of the Church. She really enjoys rubbing shoulders with these leaders as a secretary to one of the Quorum of the Seventy.

Mom is a worrier. She worries about everything and everybody. And if she didn’t have anything to worry about then she would worry that there wasn’t anything to worry about. She has a strong testimony in the power of prayer and has kept many ofus safe by praying for us. She has a strong relationship with the Lord and more faith than anyone I know. She has done many frightening but growing things in her life because the Lord has told her to. She has had many spiritual experiences and is quick to give the Lord credit for anything that she accomplishes. She really appreciates the power of the priesthood and seeks for blessings often.

Mom has spent many years of her life serving the Lord. She is excellent at every calling that she has been given. But l think that she is especially good at teaching. She has taught her children by her example to really go the second mile to do a good job. I don’t know how many times she has had me or one of the other kids help her color handouts, or roll them up or fold them and put stickers on them. I recall setting up rooms, serving refreshments, cleaning up or playing the piano for one of Mom’s various

meetings.

Mom has served in all areas of the church, both on stake and ward levels. She was called to be a primary teacher to Ashley Call who was both autistic and deaf. She learned sign language so that she could teach her and did a wonderful job. She was also a great Young Women’s leader. Once Dad had to ground her because she was out late, taking the girls toilet papering.

Mom has many, many talents. I believe that because she has been so willing to share the talents that the Lord has given her, that he just continues to bless her with more and more. Her greatest talent is probably her capacity to love, care about, and serve others.

Mom likes to be involved in things. She has written plays, skits, and songs. She has spent hours directing stake plays which she somehow dragged most of kids into. She has written many poems and stories, sometimes giving the kids a special story for Christmas. She likes to paint, both crafts and watercolors. She has been in more than one singing group and loves to play the piano when she has a chance. One of the fondest memories that I have with Mom is singing around the piano. We spent many evenings, usually Sundays, with me at the piano and Mom singing her lungs out. I can’t think of anything more enjoyable than singing with Mom.

Mom is willing to do just about anything for her children. Who knows how many haircuts she has given when she has been so dead tired that she can hardly stand? Family is very important to her. Mom loves her grandchildren. She tries to have a good relationship with every one of them. She especially likes it if one of the babies will only go to her Mom has always cared very much about her appearance. She has a lot of energy and used to be a Jazzercise teacher. Having nice clothes is important to her. She is very picky in many ways, especially when it comes to cleanliness. Some of her most common sayings about her appearance are, “I look so fat!” and “l’ve always thought that I had my dad’s skin. I didn’t think that Iwould wrinkle!” Hair color is an issue with her and who can forget the time that she bleached her hair and it turned green.

Mom likes to tell the story about how she was in the musical South Pacific in high school. She had to walk across the stage and she was sucking in her stomach when her teacher told her to stop sucking it in and breathe.

Mom has supported me, loved me, and helped me throughout my life. I love her dearly.I know that she has been there for me more times than I can count. She has done anything from sewing prom dresses and making chicken costumes to daring to fly across the country to be there for a baby’s birth. I will never, never forget that when Matthew died, the first thing I did was call Mom and within hours she was there with me. She just took over the other kids and the household which was a good thing because I was in such shock that I was truly incapacitated. She listened to me when I needed to talk and tried to be strong for me, even though she was grieving herself. Just like the 3 boys who carried the handcart company across the Sweetwater River, I feel that this one act that she did for me should qualify her for the celestial kingdom.

She’s the best Mom in the world and I am so blessed to have her in my life.  Love, Marilee

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October

Paris in the spring, it ain’t.

It had been cold and wet in England, and damp and chilly in France.  When the plane landed in Athens, Natasha was prepared for it to be warmer – but walking onto the jetway was like walking into a sauna. It was only about twenty degrees Celcius, but there was not a cloud in the sky and the air was thick with Mediterranean moisture.

“How did you like your first aeroplane flight?” Sharon asked Sir Stephen, as they picked up their luggage.  Months earlier, while they’d waited for night to fall in Sherwood Forest, she had pointed out an airplane and suggested that Sir Stephen might get to ride in one someday. Nat suspected it had been on both their minds all day.

“It was a bit of a disappointment,” said Sir Stephen.  “The interior is so enclosed and the windows so small, you can barely tell you’re in the air.  I liked the train much better.  You could see the countryside you were travelling through.”

“It’s not for sightseeing,” Sam agreed.  “Just for getting where you’re going.”

“If you’re in a hurry I suppose it’s fine,” Sir Stephen said with a shrug.  “You couldn’t do it for a pilgrimage, certainly.”

“Why not?” said Nat.  “Thousands of people go by air for pilgrimages every year.  It’s the only way Muslims overseas can get to Mecca.”

Sir Stephen was startled.  “But the point of a pilgrimage is to make a journey,” he protested.  “People who live in Compostela do not walk up the street to see the relics of Saint James and call it a pilgrimage.  Pilgrims are demonstrating to God that they are willing to undergo hardship.  To simply fly over all obstacles in your way makes it seem so trivial.”

“Next time we’ll let you pay for the tickets,” Clint said.  “Then we’ll see if you still call it trivial.”

Outside in the parking lot, they met the bus that would take them to their hotel, and everybody was pleased to find that it was air conditioned.  The landscape between airport and city was a wide desert valley, with hazy hills visible all around the border of it.  Life hadn’t changed much here in thousands of years – it was still all stony red soil and tiny farms, though in the twenty-first century these were as likely to host rows of solar panels as lines of olive trees.  The buildings had white walls and red tile roofs, and sheep and goats grazed on little lots of pasture.  It really did look, Nat observed, like something out of another time.

“How are we going to find Madame Desrosiers?” asked Allen.

“By talking to people,” Natasha replied.  “Expats in areas like this, warm places where people like to retire, tend to live in close-knit communities.  So we’ll have to find where the French people live, and ask around.”

“Oh,” said Allen.

Nat glanced at him.  “You sound disappointed,” she observed.

“I am a little,” he admitted.  “I was sort of hoping there was some special technique spies use.”

“Sorry!” said Nat with an amused smile.  “Sometimes good old-fashioned legwork is best.”

“Absolutely,” Sharon agreed.  “Even nowadays, when we have CCTV cameras all over the country and DNA evidence, most of what a detective does is talk to people.”

“But if we’re in Athens,” Nat added, “you guys will probably want to let me do the actual talking.  Possibly Allen, too – none of the rest of you.”

Sam, Sharon, and Clint all nodded knowingly, but Sir Stephen was confused. “Why?” he asked.

“Because they’re the Americans, Steve,” said Sharon.  “Greeks don’t like British people, and they’ll like us even less now that we’ve at least tried to give Princess Sitamun back to Egypt.”

“Why not?” Sir Stephen wanted to know.

“The Elgin Marbles,” said Natasha.   “Once we find Desrosiers, we can go see the reproductions in the Acropolis Museum, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Athens itself was a maze of little roads between somewhat shabby-looking buildings, with tiny European cars and motorcycles zipping along with little regard for pedestrians or each other.  The entrance to their hotel, located just a few minutes from the ancient acropolis, was a narrow door in between a pharmacist’s and a camera shop – Sharon and Sir Stephen checked them in at the front desk, while the rest of them took turns hauling their luggage to the fourth floor, in an elevator that claimed to be rated for the weight of nine people but didn’t look big enough to even hold three.  Once they had their rooms, they immediately turned on the air conditioning again, and since they’d had a series of very long days, they all went to bed early.

Nat was sharing a room with Allen.  As she was getting her nightshirt on, she heard him say around his toothbrush, “I didn’t know Sir Isaac Newton was an alchemist.”

“A lot of people don’t,” said Natasha.  “His alchemical writings were only discovered in the 1930’s, but there’s loads of them.  He was apparently much more interested in magic and theology than he was in science and math, he just didn’t publish what he wrote.”

“I wonder why not,” said Allen.

Nat knew the answer to that.  “Partly because alchemy was illegal in England in the seventeenth century, because the crown was tired of con men who promised to make gold but then took your gold and disappeared.  And Newton’s theological writings would have gotten him in trouble with the Church of England.  He denied the divinity of Christ, which was a heresy punishable by death.”

Allen spit out his mouthful of toothpaste.  “That would explain it,” he said with a chuckle.  “How do you possibly remember all this stuff?”

“I was trained to remember everything I read,” Nat explained, “and most of what I hear, if I’m paying attention.  Did you know that quail meat can be toxic if eaten at the wrong time of year, because the birds eat poisonous plants?  Or that a churango is a musical instrument made out of a dead armadillo?”

“No, I didn’t know any of that,” said Allen, standing in the bathroom doorway with a fond smile on his face.  “But I bet I won’t forget it.  You know who you sound like?”

“Who?” Nat asked, pulling out her own toiletries.

“My daughter,” he said gently.  “In my memories you were always full of stuff you’d learned and wanted to share.  You’d learn something new in ballet class and come home and show it to us.  Or you’d tell us what you learned in school that day – with your mouth full, when you were little.  Your Mom and I used to have to remind you to swallow first.”

Natasha could picture it – herself as a child, sitting there eating spaghetti while excitedly telling her family about… about what?  She had brought news home when she was small, but it wasn’t about her ballet classes.

“You’re upset now,” Allen observed.

“No, I’m fine,” Natasha said quickly and automatically.

Allen came and put his hands on her shoulders.  “No, I’ve upset you.  I can tell.”

She sighed and stepped away, hugging her own shoulders, then forced herself to give him a watery smile.  “It’s just that your version sounds way nicer than the real… than the one I remember.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

Natasha knew he was asking because he cared.  He wanted to help her bear the weight of the memories, because that was what families did.

She sat down on the bed.  “When I was little, in training, my masters at the Red Room would plant us in groups of schoolchildren who were touring government buildings or newspaper offices… places like that.  Our job was to ‘get lost’ and wander around listening to conversations among people who were suspected of political dissent.  It was towards the end of the Soviet Union, of course, but there were lengths people weren’t allowed to go to, and the Red Room was much more hardline than the government was.  I wonder sometimes, whether anybody ever got executed because of something I told my instructors when I got back.  Probably not,” she added quickly.  “Considering the times.”

Who was she reassuring, she wondered – Allen, or herself?

He didn’t reply right away, and Natasha wanted to look up at his face but didn’t dare. She couldn’t bear to find out what he was thinking.  A moment ago he’d shared that warm memory of his little daughter chatting about what she’d learned at school, and now she’d stained it with eavesdropping and possible murder.

“Even if they were, it wasn’t your fault,” said Allen.  He sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “You were a child.  You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Yes I did,” said Nat.  “They told us – they gave us a list of things to listen for, and told us that people who said them were enemies of the State, our enemies, and we’d be making the world a better place by reporting them so that they could be removed.  And we knew what removed meant, because we’d seen it ourselves.”

Again, there was a silence.  This time, Natasha forced herself to look up and read Allen’s face.  Their room had two beds – they were sitting on the one by the window.  The window itself was closed to let the air conditioner do its job, but the curtains were open, and it was possible to see traffic moving on the street outside. Allen was staring thoughtfully out the window at the darkening sky, trying to decide what to say.  It only took a few seconds before Nat couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Allen?” she asked.  It was not a moment to call him Dad.

He looked at her and ran his hand up and down her back.  “Archaeology,” he said.

“What?” Nat asked.

“Archaeology,” he said.  “You dig up the truth and share it.”

A chill washed over Natasha.  She’d done a lot of examination in the past few months of why she’d chosen archaeology as her cover.  There was the ostensibly practical reason that she was unlikely to become famous for it – the silly but sentimental one that she’d always enjoyed adventure movies – and the one she’d come up with as potential real reason, that after so long living in the shadows she wanted to be responsible for bringing things into the light.  She hadn’t thought of it that way, that it was just another way of doing what she’d always done.

“Natasha?” asked Allen.

She swallowed.  “It is, isn’t it?” she asked.  “I expose people’s dirty secrets and tell them to the world.”

“But it’s different now,” Allen added, “because the people who kept those secrets died a long time ago, and nobody’s going to get hurt because you told.”

“I guess,” said Natasha.

Allen patted her back again.  “Was that so hard, Ginger Snap?”

That was what he’d wanted from her, wasn’t it?  That she trust him with her past and let him try to help her with it.  She’d done her best and he had too, but now that seed of self-doubt had been planted, and she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t do more harm than good in the long run.

“I don’t know,” she said, and she really didn’t.