#oliver tree might have just abducted me

[patibato]

[Bitter Sweet Sixteen] 002-A16 - Scissor Words

Kiroku: … …

Egg: …

Kiroku: …L…legs.

Egg: ……

Kiroku: …Ah!

*shlap shlap shlap*

Kiroku: W-wait…!

Momiji: (It's about time for us to meet. …I wonder if Kiroku-kun had fun.)

Hm?

Woah, what's this piece? An egg yokai that's sprouted legs? Decorating the entrance with this is so creepy-cute!

I've gotta take a photo. Camera, camera…

*click*

Kiroku: Haa, haa… …!

Momiji: Wah!

Kiroku: -…!

Momiji: You surprised me…! What are you in a rush for, Kiroku-kun?

Kiroku: …

… …!

Momiji: (He's agitatedly looking behind me…?)

Kiroku: Ah, wha… ah…! (Don't look over there…!)

Momiji: Huh? What is it?

Egg: …

*shlap shlap shlap*

Kiroku: -…!

*footsteps*

Momiji: …He left.

Huh!? The egg piece disappeared…!

Kiroku: Haa… haa… haa…!

(…I've lost it, what do I do…)

(I'll contact everyone on the app…)

*bwing*

Dewawa: You seriously gonna tell 'em? Say the egg that's so important to them all ran away~?

Kiroku: …

Dewawa: They gonna be shocked? Your lantern art hasn't progressed either, yeah?

Pinfu: Yeah~ Might think you're so~ shameful~

Kiroku: ……

Rouzel: That's not it! It'd be best to joindre them! Tout le monde is surely worried!

Ripris: S'fine… either way… contacting and chasing… are both a pain… zzz.

KB: Nay, I believe getting in contact to be the optimal solution - what say you, Kiroku?

Kiroku: …

…I…… won't contact them.

Akuta: This olive somen is SOOO GOOOOOOD! I could munch on it forever! Infinite munching!

Muneuji: The fried somen from the other day was excellent, but this too is wonderful.

*door opens*

Nanaki: Is Chief here?

Akuta: Ooh, not riiight now.

Muneuji: I'm fairly certain they went out with Kinugawa.

Nanaki: Ah. I'll leave it for later then.

Akuta: Anyway, you doing good, Nanaki? You're all smiley. Something happen?

Nanaki: Nah, though I did manage to make a song with a BPM to match the encore fireworks.

Since it's done, I kinda want to show it to Chief.

Akuta: Eh!? You can make music and stuff!?

Nanaki: Well. Yeah.

Akuta: For real~~~~!? I've tried making songs before, but it was impossible, y'know~~~~!

First of all, I can't read sheet music. Can't see the notes as anything other than dancing tadpoles.

I really respect guys who can do it~! In other words, I really respect YOU, Nanaki~~~!

Nanaki: You're exaggerating.

Akuta: This is no time to be modest! I wanna make a song someday too, so help me out!

Nanaki: If I feel like it.

Akuta: Yippee! I'll work out a strategy to make you feel like it~~~!

Muneuji: …Incidentally.

The one on egg duty yesterday was Kinugawa. Yet despite the date change, he's yet to show himself today.

That is to say, he's still in possession of the egg.

Nanaki: Now that you mention it, you're right.

Muneuji: He hasn't been online, either… I'm a tad concerned.

Nanaki: Think he's in trouble?

Akuta: Nah, I'm sure he's fine. That guy's huge! Gotta be strong too!

Muneuji: No… …he may have been abducted by aliens.

Nanaki: I-I wonder about that.

Muneuji: I suppose there's no problem, as he should be with Chief, but just to be sure, I shall scout around outside.

Nanaki: No no, I think you're a bit too concerned about that. Calm down.

Muneuji: It'll be too late by the time he gets taken…!

*running*

Akuta: What?

Kiroku: … Finally… found it.

(But, the crows scared it, and now it's clinging to a tree branch…)

Egg: ……

Kiroku: …Can you not… get down?

Egg: …

Kiroku: (I'll hold out my shirt to make a trampoline.)

…Here.

Egg: …!

*rustle*

Kiroku: … Thank goodness.

Egg: …!

Kiroku: (… Cute… I need to take it to the others quickly…)

(But.)

(Where am I… everything's dark. I'll consult those kids… ah.)

My puppets are… gone…

(No, before I search for them, I need to hand the egg over to the next person…)

(There's a lot of notifications on the walkie-talkie app… I'll contact every… no, but.)

---

Dewawa: They gonna be shocked? Your lantern art hasn't progressed either, yeah?

Pinfu: Yeah~ Might think you're so~ shameful~

---

Kiroku: (It really is no good… I've gotta do something myself. I need to take the egg back quickly…!)

(But, I can't just leave those kids… Not somewhere I may never come back to…)

(We've always been together… They're-)

*car pulls up*

Kiroku: Ah…

Momiji: Kiroku-kun! Thank goodness…!

Sakujiro: So this is where you were.

Momiji: We had the GPS, but I was worrying about what suddenly happened!

Kiroku: I… I'm… sorry…

Momiji: No, as long as you're alright. But don't run around so much that you get lost, okay?

And… here.

Kiroku: …Ah…!

Momiji: They'd fallen by the side of the road. They're yours, right?

Kiroku: …Yeah… they're my… friends…

Momiji: I thought so. Try not to drop them next time, yeah?

Alright, let's head back to the inn!

Kiroku: ……

Momiji: …

(Kiroku-kun's been making an awkward face this whole time… Like he wants to say something, but can't.)

(Kiroku-kun's a lot more taciturn than others, but that doesn't necessarily mean he isn't interested in those around him.)

(Rather, it looks like it makes him more attentive to his surroundings than most. That's why-)

(If I could do something to console his heart…)

I know. Kiroku-kun, how about we use PeChat?

Kiroku: Eh…?

Momiji: Using words is difficult, but maybe you can spell it out. Let's give it a go.

Kiroku: …

Momiji: Don't worry about what happened today

I know you're truly a considerate person

Kiroku: Sorry for bothering you so much

Momiji: It's fine, I understand you've always got a lot on your mind

Kiroku: ……

…This might.

…Take a bit… to type…

Momiji: Got it. I'll wait.

*blip*

Kiroku: I'll tell you. Why I'm like this. Why I became bad at talking

I accidentally hurt a friend of mine with my words when I was in elementary school. Even though they were such a precious friend

I thought a lot after that. And decided it'd be best if I didn't use words

So I became bad at getting words out

I've not made any progress on the lantern art either, I'm sorry

Even though I can draw properly when nobody else knows. I feel that expressing myself may hurt someone. And it might come back around to hurt me

So I got scared. Sorry

Momiji: No need to apologise. It's incredibly brave of you to express that

There will be times you can't get your thoughts across and end up hurting something

But if you ask me, it's really important to communicate, even if there are times you clash and fight with each other

Face it with courage, and if you're wrong, you can take it back. It's fine to try your best until you can get yourself across properly

That way, won't you be able to build up your relationship with someone?

Words and art are the same. As long as you fear expressing yourself, you'll never understand each other

If you can face them with courage, I'm sure they'll accept you

Kiroku: …

(I'll… start up the walkie-talkie app.)

*beep*

Akuta: "Aah aah, testing the mic now. Is that Kiroku-san? Hey there."

Kiroku: -…! He-hello… Hey… there.

Akuta: "Finally connected! Muneuji was real worried about you, flew right out of the inn. Copy."

Kiroku: …Co …

Akuta: "Anyway anyway, how ya doin'? Still on earth?"

Kiroku: I… …I'm on my way back… …copy.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

[honestlyrainyjellyfish]

Bird's cry in their sleep. Where do they sleep? Moths find them somehow and drink their tears.

[percabeth4life]

i want to know the original version of hades and persephone story. there are so many versions I've read and i wanted to know which one do you believe in or which one do you think is the real one?

Okay so to start with. If we wanna really go back, Hades came into existence after Persephone. But alas, we aren't speaking of this version.

We are talking about the version where Hades sweeps Persephone away without so much as a hello.

The problem is a lot of the stories of Ancient Greece are well... They're lost. They were primarily shared through oral tradition, and written down over time. And so many stories we may not know. On top of that, many that were written down were lost, destroyed or just vanished, to time. Plus, we don't know how to translate Linear A, but we do Linear B, and there may be a version somewhere in Linear A. Overall, it's just possible we don't know the earlier versions.

But the earliest version we do have is from the Homeric Hymn, from the 7th or 6th B.C.E. This hymn is actually one to Demeter, not Hades or Persephone. The myth, while speaking of the two, is actually about Demeter.

It is, for the time period it is from (and you must keep in mind the culture of the time to understand the myth) a feminist myth.

So the culture of the time.

In the time period women did not have the greatest of rights, something improved upon today, but it means that the Father (and/or King) had full rights to hand their daughters off to another man.

That is what happens in this myth, Zeus tells Hades he may have Persephone's hand... But Persephone did not wish to go. And likewise Demeter was not informed.

By the culture of the time that does not matter, but Demeter *makes* it matter. She searches for her daughter first, then when she discovers where Persephone was taken and who was the cause (Zeus) she is angered.

Demeter then refuses to step upon Olympus, not allow any plants to grow, until she sees her daughter again.

This is obviously a problem, so Zeus sends Hermes down to retrieve Persephone (who btw was unhappy and missed her mom). Persephone leaps up with joy to see her mother again and Hades agrees immediately. But he secretly feeds her pomegranate seeds just to be sure she would return.

The reason this is a feminist myth is because of Demeter, because she refused to accept her king and her daughter's father handing their daughter off in marriage. And she refused to such an extent that they had no choice but to compromise with her (and had Hades not forced Persephone to have the pomegranate seed she wouldn't have even had to compromise).

For the culture of the time, Zeus and Hades were taking actions that were more than okay, nothing they did would be considered wrong. But Demeter stood against it.

Demeter stood for her daughter to not be married off, and demanded she be returned, and Persephone (tho she came to love Hades) was relieved to return to her mother.

Many of the "new adaptions" have Persephone wanting to leave Demeter, wanting to be with her husband, and Demeter being overbearing. But originally it was mutual love, Mother and Daughter missing each other and the Mother fighting to get her daughter back when everything of the time said she had no right to.

And so the myth as we know occurs. This is the myth I ascribe too, being the oldest we have, and I do wish more realized how Demeter's actions are why the myth is so important.

I have copied the Hymn in it's entirety below the cut. It is fairly long and four parts. If you have questions about it, feel free to ask!

Homeric Hymn 2 to Demeter (abridged) (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C7th or 6th B.C.) :

I. HAIDES ABDUCTS PERSEPHONE

"[Demeter's] trim-ankled daughter whom Aidoneus [Haides] rapt away, given to him by all-seeing Zeus the loud-thunderer. Apart from Demeter, lady of the golden sword and glorious fruits, she was playing with the deep-bosomed daughters of Okeanos and gathering flowers over a soft meadow, roses and crocuses and beautiful violets, irises also and hyacinths and the narcissus, which Gaia (the Earth) made to grow at the will of Zeus and to please Polydektor (Host of Many), to be a snare for the bloom-like girl--a marvellous, radiant flower. It was a thing of awe whether for deathless gods or mortal men to see: from its root grew a hundred blooms and it smelled most sweetly, so that all wide heaven (ouranos) above and the whole earth (gaia) and the sea's (thalassa) salt swell laughed for joy. And the girl was amazed and reached out with both hands to take the lovely toy : but the wide-pathed earth yawned there in the plain of Nysa, and the lord, Polydegmon (Host of Many) [Haides], with his immortal horses sprang out upon her--the Son of Kronos (Cronus), Polynomos (He Who has Many Names).

He caught her up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. Then she cried out shrilly with her voice, calling upon her father [Zeus], the Son of Kronos, who is most high and excellent. But no one, either of the deathless gods or mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tender-hearted Hekate (Hecate), bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaios (Persaeus), heard the girl from her cave, and the lord Helios (the Sun), Hyperion's bright son, as she cried to her father, the Son of Kronos. But he was sitting aloof, apart from the gods, in his temple where many pray, and receiving sweet offerings from mortal men. So he [Haides], that Son of Kronos, Polynomos (Of Many Names), Polysemantor (Ruler of Many) and Polydegmon (Host of Many), was bearing her away by leave of Zeus on his immortal chariot--his brother's child and all unwilling.

And so long as she, the goddess, yet beheld earth and starry heaven and the strong-flowing sea where fishes shoal, and the rays of the sun, and still hoped to see her dear mother and the tribes of the eternal gods, so long hope clamed her great heart for all her trouble . . . and the heights of the mountains and the depths of the sea ran with her immortal voice : and her queenly mother heard her.

II. DEMETER SEARCHES FOR PERSEPHONE

"Bitter pain seized her [Demeter's] heart, and she rent the covering upon her divine hair with her dear hands : her dark cloak she cast down from both her shoulders and sped, like a wild-bird, over the firm land and yielding sea, seeking her child. But no one would tell her the truth, neither god nor mortal man; and of the birds of omen none came with true news for her. Then for nine days queenly Deo wandered over the earth with flaming torches in her hands, so grieved that she never tasted ambrosia and the sweet draught of nektaros, nor sprinkled her body with water. But when the tenth enlightening dawn had come, Hekate, with a torch in her hands, met her, and spoke to her and told her news : ‘Queenly Demeter, bringer of seasons and giver of good gifts, what god of heaven (theon ouranion) or what mortal man has rapt away Persephone and pierced with sorrow your dear heart? For I heard her voice, yet saw not with my eyes who it was. But I tell you truly and shortly all I know.’

So, then, said Hekate. And [Demeter] the daughter of rich-haired Rheia answered her not, but sped swiftly with her, holding flaming torches in her hands. So they came to Helios (the Sun), who is watchman of both gods and men, and stood in front of his horses: and the bright goddess enquired of him : ‘Helios, do you at least regard me, goddess as I am, if ever by word or deed of mine I have cheered your heart and spirit. Through the fruitless air (aitheros) I heard the thrilling cry of my daughter whom I bare, sweet scion of my body and lovely in form, as of one seized violently; though with my eyes I saw nothing. But you--for with your beams you look down from the bright upper air (aitheros) over all the earth and sea--tell me truly of my dear child if you have seen her anywhere, what god or mortal man has violently seized her against her will and mine, and so made off.’

So said she. And the Son of Hyperion [Helios] answered her : ‘Queen Demeter, daughter of rich-haired Rheia, I will tell you the truth; for I greatly reverence and pity you in your grief for your trim-ankled daughter. None other of the deathless gods is to blame, but only cloud-gathering Zeus who gave her to Aides, her father's brother, to be called his buxom wife. And Aides seized her and took her loudly crying in his chariot down to his realm of mist and gloom. Yet, goddess, cease your loud lament and keep not vain anger unrelentingly : Aidoneus Polysemantor (Ruler of Many) is no unfitting husband among the deathless gods for your child, being your own brother and born of the same stock: also, for honour, he has that third share which he received when division was made at the first, and is appointed lord of those among whom he dwells.’

So he spake, and called to his horses: and at his chiding they quickly whirled the swift chariot along, like long-winged birds. But grief yet more terrible and savage came into the heart of Demeter, and thereafter she was so angered with [Zeus] the dark-clouded Son of Kronos that she avoided the gathering of the gods and high Olympos. She [Demeter] vowed that she would never set foot on fragrant Olympos nor let fruit spring out of the ground until she beheld with her eyes her own fair-faced daughter.

III. THE RETURN OF PERSEPHONE

"Now when all-seeing Zeus the loud-thunderer heard this, he sent Argeiphontes [Hermes] whose wand is of gold to Erebos, so that having won over Aides with soft words, he might lead forth chaste Persephoneia to the light from the misty gloom to join the gods, and that her mother might see her with her eyes and cease from her anger. And Hermes obeyed, and leaving the house of Olympos, straightway sprang down with speed to the hidden places of the earth. And he found the lord Aides in his house seated upon a couch, and his shy mate with him, much reluctant, because she yearned for her mother. But she was afar off, brooding on her fell design becuase of the deeds of the blessed gods. And strong Argeiphontes [Hermes] drew near and said : ‘Dark-haired Aides, ruler over the departed, father Zeus bids me bring noble Persephone forth from Erebos unot the gods, that her mother may see her with her eyes and cease from her dread anger with the immortals; for now she plans an awful deed, to destroy the weakly tribes of earth-born men by keeping seed hidden beneath the earth, and so she makes an end of the honours of the undying gods. For she keeps fearful anger and does not consort with the gods, but sits aloof in her fragrant temple, dwelling in the rocky hold of Eleusis.’

So he said. And Aidoneus, ruler over the dead, smiled grimly and obeyed the behest of Zeus the king. For he straightway urged wise Persephone, saying : ‘Go now, Persephoneia, to your dark-robed mother, go, and feel kindly in your heart towards me : be not so exceedingly cast down; for I shall be no unfitting husband for you among the deathless dods, that am own brother to father Zeus. And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods : those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.’

When he said this, wise Persephoneia was filled with joy and hastily sprang up for gladness. But he on his part secretly gave her sweet pomegranate seed to eat, taking care for himself that she might not remain continually with grave, dark-robed Demeter. Then Aidoneus Polysemantor (Ruler of Many) openly got ready his deathless horses beneath the golden chariot. And she mounted on the chariot, and strong Argeiphontes [Hermes] took reins and whip in his dear hands and drove forth from the hall, the horses speeding readily. Swiftly they traversed their long course, and neither the sea nor river-waters nor grassy glens nor mountain-peaks checked the career of the immortal horses, but they cleft the deep air above them as they went. And Hermes brought them to the place where rich-crowned Demeter was staying and checked them before her fragrant temple.

And when Demeter saw them, she rushed forth as does a Mainas (Maenad) down some thick-wooded mountain, while Persephone on the other side, when she saw her mother's sweet eyes, left the chariot and horses, and leaped down to run to her, and falling upon her neck, embraced her. But while Demeter was still holding her dear child in her arms, her heart suddenly misgave her for some snare, so that she feared greatly and ceased fondling her daughter and asked of her at once : ‘My child, tell me, surely you have not tasted any food while you were below? Speak out and hide nothing, but let us both know. For if you have not, you shall come back from loathly Aidao and live with me and your father [Zeus], the dark-clouded Son of Kronos and be honoured by all the deathless gods; but if you have tasted food, you must fo back again beneath the secret places of the earth, there to dwell a third part of the seasons every year: yet for the tow parts you shall be with me and the other deathless gods. But when the earth shall bloom with the fragrant flowers of spring in every kind, then from the realm of darkness and gloom thou shalt come up once more to be a wonder for gods and mortal men. And now tell me how he rapt you away to therealm of darkness and gloom, and by what trick did strong Polydegmon (Host of Many) [Haides] beguile you?’

Then beautiful Persephone answered her thus : ‘Mother, I will tell you all without error. When luck-bringing Hermes came, swift messenger from my father the Son of Kronos and the other Sons of Ouranos, bidding me come back from Erebos that you might see me with your eyes and so cease from your anger and fearful wrath against the gods, I sprang up at once for joy; but he secretly put in my mouth sweet food, a pomegranate seed, and forced me to taste against my will. Also I will tell how he rapt me away by the deep plan of my father [Zeus] the Son of Kronos and carried me off beneath the depths of the earth, and will relate the whole matter as you ask. All we were playing in a lovely meadow, Leukippe and Phaino and Elektra and Ianthe, Melite also and Iakhe with Rhodea and Kallirhoe and Melobosis and Tykhe and Okyrhoe, fair as a flower, Khryseis, Ianeira, Akaste and Admete and Rhodope and Plouto and charming Kalypso; Styx too was there and Ourania and lovely Galaxaure with Pallas who rouses battles and Artemis delighting in arrows: we were playing and gathering sweet flowers in our hands, soft crocuses mingled with irises and hyacinths, and rose-blooms and lilies, marvellous to see, and the narcissus which the wide earth caused to grow yellow as a crocus. That I plucked in my joy; but the earth parted beneath, and there the strong lord, Polydegmon (Host of Many) [Haides] sprang forth and in his golden chariot he bore me away, all unwilling, beneath the earth : then I cried with a shrill cry. All this is true, sore though it grieves me to tell this tale.’

So did they then, with hearts at one, greatly cheer each the other's soul and spirit with many an embrace: their hearts had relief from their griefs while each took and gave back joyousness. Then bright-coiffed Hekate came near to them, and often did she embrace the daughter of holy Demeter: and from that time the lady Hekate was minister and companion to Persephone.

IV. GIFT OF AGRICULTURE & THE ELEUSINIAN MYSTERIES

"And all-seeing Zeus sent a messenger to them, rich-haired Rheia, to bring dark-cloaked Demeter to join the families of the gods (phyla theon) : and he promised to give her what rights she should choose among the deathless gods and agreed that her daughter should go down for the third part of the circling year to darkness and gloom, but for the two parts should live with her mother and the other deathless gods. Thus he commanded. And the goddess did not disobey the message of Zeus; swiftly she rushed down from the peaks of Olympos and came to the plain of Rharos, rich, fertile corn-land once, but then in nowise fruitful, for it lay idle and utterly leafless, because the white grain was hidden by design of trim-ankled Demeter. But afterwards, as spring-time waxed, it was soon to be waving with long ears of corn, and its rich furrows to be loaded with grain upon the ground, while others would already be bound in sheaves. There first she landed from the fruitless upper air (aitheros) : and glad were the goddesses to see each other and cheered in heart. Then bright-coiffed Rheia said to Demeter : ‘Come, my daughter; for far-seeing Zeus the loud-thunderer calls you to join the families of the gods, and has promised to give you what rights you please among the deathless gods, and has agreed that for a third part of the circling year your daughter shall go down to darkness and gloom, but for the two parts shall be with you and the other deathless gods: so has he declared it shall be and has bowed his head in token. But come, my child, obey, and be not too angry unrelentingly with the dark-clouded Son of Kronos; but rather increase forthwith for men the fruit that gives them life.’

So spake Rheia. And rich-crowned Demeter did not refuse but straightway made fruit to spring up from the rich lands, so that the whole wide earth was laden with leaves and flowers.

Then she [Demeter] went to [the leaders of Eleusis] . . . she showed them the conduct of her rites and taught them all her mysteries . . . awful mysteries which no one may in any way transgress or pry into or utter, for deep awe of the gods checks the voice. Happy is he among men upon earth who has seen these mysteries; but he who is uninitiate and who has no part in them, never has lot of like good things once he is dead, down in the darkness and gloom. But when the bright goddess had taught them all, they went to Olympos to the gathering of the other gods. And there they dwell beside Zeus who delights in thunder, awful and reverend goddesses. Right blessed is he among men on earth whom they freely love: soon they do send Ploutos (Plutus, Wealth) as guest to his great house, Ploutos who gives wealth to mortal men.

And now . . . queen Deo, be gracious, you and your daughter all beauteous Persephoneia, and for my song grant me heart-cheering substance."

[hammaferal]

🤯Spoilers🤯

Oh! Also now because of how things are going in TPN, aka running into the forest, I’m feeling we’ll get Yuugo or Lucas in some shape or form. Things like..

1. As morbid as it is, human bones, a noose, etc. Yuugo’s attempt could’ve been propelled forward to keep the theme that he’s a what if version of Emma, bonus points if he carved the names into trees or something like that when he was winding out of what little motivation he might’ve had with the “Don’t give up!” in his notebook. I strongly doubt they’d let a decaying body get in though.

2. Continuing with the postponed attempt, they find him and stop it (they didn’t learn how to move quietly like Yuugo, unless they somehow did with Sonju and Musica, so Yuugo would hear them coming like he did in the bunker originally.) He’d probably still threaten to shoot them, but they have information like the bunker blowing up, the farm purseurs that did it (the ones they sorta MURDERED), and the main fact that Yuugo has nowhere else to go, so why not be their guide?

3. For Lucas, I feel he’d be looking for someone. He rescued all the resistance kids at GP, so he knows his way around the area, and it’d be pretty concerning if someone like Violet went missing. He’d take her place at meeting Emma and things would hopefully kick off from there.

4. Another for Lucas, the malicious writer I am is telling me this guy could be running from a demon. He has a gun and everything, but it’s hard to aim when your balance is off AND you’re running. So if he so happened to fall and drop the gun, if the kids got over in time, one could grab and shoot at the eyes like Sonju told them to. That or they could use their bows? I think the bows are more likely since there have been no guns at all besides the raider’s, and they didn’t even shoot.

There’s also another thing, I feel if they want to keep this quick pace going, they might have Emma meet Oliver first if they still do GP. Assuming she got abducted here of course. Oliver’s the leader directly under Lucas and he’s been there the second longest. So they could either remove Lucas and stick Oliver there (which would be very dissapointing,) or they could just have Oliver find Emma first.

None of these drabbles probably make any sense but I just want to get some ideas out there, I’m desperate here. ;(

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 41

Final touches took up the full day prior to the nuptials and Norma while on her feet made certain each of the flowers you had chosen were spectacular before returning to her chair to put up her feet knowing that the ceremony involved a good bit of time going up and down. Tradition had the rule that you shouldn’t see one another on the day of and by the past ten hours without a glimpse of James you had guessed that Father Thomas had abducted him to ensure that your paths would not cross. Early morning he had set aside a time for a private confessional to be free of any possible sins for the sacred union and before the guests would be arriving and he would greet them warmly while you got ready until James could entertain them up to the start of the ceremony.

The sight of your blindfolded fiancé in the bed seated upright had you laugh, the sound of which split a smile across his face that shattered his nervous wait he had lost all grasp of how long he could have been there in the first place. Fully relaxed now you were with him the pair of you unloaded the stresses of the day while you got changed and ready for bed. Once the lights were off just leaving the lit fire crackling his body shifted to roll onto his side in a blind catch that you wanted to be held. A bit odd though he didn’t feel the usual peck on his cheek you gave him when you assumed he was asleep or close to it, rather timidly however you spoke in an instant relax of his nerves at his worry you might want him to not be here. “Can we wait for the kisses until tomorrow?”

Around you his arms wrapped to bring you more into his chest nestling his head into your hair, “I’ll wait as long as you want, Darling.”

“That’s not weird?” You barely whispered and he chuckled.

“You’re asking a man wearing a blindfold to just hold you before our wedding night. I love you.” Close as he could he wiggled up against you and settled down to sleep at your body scooting back into his some more.

 *

“Close your eyes, fair Queen of the Cosmos.” Like a distant echo you were back in your bed as a child in the room you shared with Steve. The huffing teen who was now seated on the counter in the kitchen counting how many olives were in the jar he had been rationing for his snack food that your dad had kept well stocked in the house knowing his affinity for them after having stolen one from an empty martini left out at a Christmas party years prior. The simple food he’d always seen and never tasted as his own dad preferred hard liquor over the more classy drinks and rarely had funds for your mother Sarah to have more than the bare minimum tin of oatmeal and weekly single servings of vegetables around the odd apple or orange she could sneak to Steve while the drunken brute slept. The teen in the kitchen held back his snarl to the soft giggle you gave at the kiss left on your nose as a prize for following his request.

“Now, we left off on the Battle of the Dark Elves that drove them into oblivion.” You nodded and his smile spread nestling you more into bed as he said, “Deep underneath the bloody fields, valleys and caverns the war had been waged throughout tiny sprouts burst forth and the most beautiful glowing white pear trees. A sign of peace, prosperity,” into your palm while you drifted off he pressed the medallion that wreathed your body in a glimmering cloud in a nightly ritual of imbuing the strength trapped inside his essence from his being tasked with charge of your essence to find a being to aid in your physical form to be remade fully. The story flowed on until the last of the strength he was given to hold had been returned to you and in the turn of the body in his arms to cling to the stuffed bunny he had traded for his medallion he tucked away again and slid out of bed beaming at being tasked with this blessed task. Over your shoulder he eased the blanket up and quietly slipped out of the room leaving the door open so Steve wouldn’t make it creak and wake you when he went to bed.

In his arrival in the kitchen Steve slid off the counter and flinched to the table awkwardly sitting in his seat at the table he reached down to straighten the chair in a quiet slide of the seat he was seated sideways to quiet the pinch of the edge of the wood pressing into his bony butt. Into the bottom of his button down shirt he folded the jar he eased closed pretending he hadn’t been eating anything, a blatant lie proven by the slow chews on his last stolen olive behind the back of the assumed monster who was readying a meal in the now heated skillet on the stove. Frightfully his eyes kept locked on that back and each calm movement waiting for the snap when he would be sent flying across the room for his now wavering breaths that surely could trigger an asthma attack that always made him a popular target in his younger years.

In all of his focus however when the back had turned he flinched upright in his chair now face to face with the broad wall of a man with a stoic expression that settled a plate in front of him. Wordlessly his hand extended in the settle of a second plate for his mother down to grab the top of the jar that had his eyes shut in anticipation of being struck with the jar. One at a time to the steps away to the fridge his eyes cracked open and through the tremors that wracked through him he sat up again in a pretend way of regaining his pride in front of his monster. True it had been years of not so much as a ruffle of his hair and while a mug of cocoa was made up his eyes narrowed in his plan that again repeated in his mind of his escape when he was old enough. No one changes, no one grows out of that brutality. No one who ever had that much power over another being could possibly then turn kind.

The mug on the table made him flinch back to the present and like always he turned his head to watch the monster stroll to the front door that echoed of the creaks on the stairs to warn his wife was returned home. Keys shifting in a hand was answered by the open of the door and a second bright blue pair of eyes flinched a bit wider at the sudden greeting of her now warmly smiling husband Sarah returned a sleepy smile to. “Rough night, my treasure?” He asked stepping aside to let her in, the door was shut and off her shoulders he eased the jacket that was hung up for his loving shadow of her path to the waiting meal that deepened her smile. Down she settled sharing about her day that he listened to lovingly and shared a bit on his own classes at Columbia, leaving only to pour her a bath to get ready for bed while he did the dishes they had just used.

Bravely Steve spoke up about something he had heard the monster say over the years. “You shouldn’t tell her she’s a Queen.”

Low and rumbling a chuckle was his reply in the rinse of the used mug and glass of milk Steve had been poured, “And what would you call your daughter?”

“Not a Queen. There’s no King out there waiting for her. She’ll get as far as she’s allowed in school and then probably get knocked up before she graduates by some scumbag who’ll use her as a maid and footstool.”

Instantly those purple eyes were on the teen again and he flinched harshly to the stoic expression, “I asked what you would call your daughter.”

“I, don’t,”

“You set the example for your daughter. How you treat your wife is the relationship your child will seek out. If you want your child to be nothing more than a punching bag then by all means, instill that upon them. Until then, give them, Jaqiearae and yourself the benefit of the doubt. Do not limit yourself simply upon your suffering. Strive to be more than a punching bag. Raise Queens and be the man who will not be ashamed to wield less power than the woman you love.” Steve should have scoffed, had the tone not been so imposing of an order. “Jaqiearae is your sister Steve.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his monster turned around to face him fully drying his hands on the towel he set down beside the sink once done. “She will never stop looking to you, perhaps one day you might try returning the favor and be the brother she deserves.”

To the bathroom he went to crouch behind his wife and rub her shoulders, arms, hands and back then move to the foot of the tub with kiss after kiss stolen before he wrapped her up in a towel and took her to bed where he laid out a fresh set of clothes she pulled on and sat up for him to rub her feet and legs.

The memory replayed in the mind of the reformed essence of Erich down in the gardens of Hel strolling with his beloved in his arm and her hand that was playing with the tassel on his outer cloak had his second hand smoothing up her forearm to steal hold of it to lift for a kiss on her palm. Soft and gentle to their gifted abode from the guardians of Hel they chatted together lost to their bliss until at the front door inside the mail box a letter was sticking out that halted him in place. On the sheet of parchment inside he smiled as his wife did in the reading of the wedding notice of their beloved child the pair hurried inside to ready for. The medallion around his neck in the process was removed and clutched inside his palm he sent off ahead to warn of their arrival.

 *

Footsteps across the floor downstairs triggered the arms coiled around your body as well as the hand laid over the back of your loosely curled fist now with the glimmering mist coated medallion inside of it. The shape of the object mid furrow of your brows opened your eyes that moved to the fist now turned in the slide of James’ curious thumb at the feel of something in your hand. “What is that?” He asked not moving anything but his thumb.

At the frightened open of your palm followed by a tremble of your body his grip eased tighter, “What is it, Darling?” His thumb moved to ease across the medallion to try and find what it could be.

“This was my dad’s. He was buried with it.”

Post soft inhale he said, “If it helps it doesn’t feel like jewelry me and Vic have dug up with bodies before.”

“Please tell me you weren’t grave robbers.”

With a chuckle he replied, “Archeologists always need helpers. Rather easy job to get while traveling the world.”

Around the medallion your hand closed and into his chest your body turned to tuck against his chest with your arms looping around his torso that helped you to be brought fully against his bare chest in his kiss to the top of your head. Into your hair he hummed, “I love you, I would take it as a sign that he’s going to be watching. Golden guy and Elliot said he was alive somewhere, maybe he’ll show up with blue eyes to the ceremony.”

“I won’t be able to dance with him though.”

“Vic’ll cause a scene and we can slip out for your dance if we see him.”

Steps came closer to the door and softly he grumbled and kissed the top of your head again. There wasn’t much more time until the door opened and he grumbled again muttering in Vic’s path in and out again with his blindfolded baby brother with a smile your way in their path out and Norma’s path in to settle on the empty side of the bed smiling at you. “Sleep well, Bunny?”

“Pretty well.” Her eyes shifted to your left hand now ring-less with the medallion on the end of the knotted chain necklace, “Found my dad’s necklace.”

She smiled shifting the medallion in your palm to say, “This is beautiful. Could work great as your something old.”

Dawn slipped in through the open door with her daughter nursing under her shawl sideways tied across her torso saying, “Father Thomas just got here for your private confessionals, he’s starting with James.”

With a soft sigh you sat up saying, “I have to pee.” In a quick loop over your head the necklace was put on and the pair smirked waiting as you went to relieve yourself and freshen up then change into a simple sundress over the strapless bra and slip you secured over your nude stockings to Norma’s help fixing the sash on the back of the dress.

 *

Freshly changed to a simple pair of trousers and a button down shirt with some socks and his slippers James turned at the knock on the door to find Eddie still disheveled with Teddy against his bare chest gumming at the spoon that was formerly being used to feed him. “Father Thomas is here for your confessional.”

In a swift exhale he nodded and said, “Right,” that was all he could croak out earning a stroke of Victor’s hand across his back in a comforting motion knowing the one thing he might be carrying and wish to voice to someone other than his brother who might tell him the ‘right’ thing he should have done or could do to make up to you. The words for what he did were lodged in the back of his throat and after having killed his own father and hundreds if not thousands of others there was one true crime he had committed that had hurt you so terribly and couldn’t voice.

Father Thomas with a smile fully dressed with bible in his hand said as the others left the room and closed the door, “Morning James, I trust you slept well, or at least one would hope so.”

James nodded and said, “Would always be nicer to get more sleep, but I slept well.” He motioned his hand to the side to the pair of chairs in the corner they both settled into facing one another. “Did you sleep well?”

Father Thomas chuckled answering, “Yes, weddings are always a blessing and I am gratefully blessed with ample sleep the night prior.” His eyes scanned over the thumb smoothing across the curled fist on James’ thigh and he asked, “Are you nervous? Surely Jaqi will be very excited for today you have no reason to worry about any runaway bride troubles.”

To himself James chuckled and replied, “I’m not nervous about Jaqi running away. The only thing I’d have worried about was her sleeping soundly and we slept just fine.”

That had the Father’s brows twitch upwards a moment, “Did Eddie or the girls tell you how she slept?”

“No, we worked it out we slept together and Vic blindfolded me so I wouldn’t see her.”

Father Thomas said, “That is the Sin of Scandal to share a bed while unmarried. I understand while in the war you might have shared a space to keep warm at night while in the open, however-,”

James said in his word searching pause, “There were other nurses in the hospital on the base that was attacked when Jaqi was put in that uniform by Eddie.” The Father’s eyes narrowed a moment wondering what he was trying to get at. “And every single one of them aside from Jaqi were sent home in pieces,” that parted his lips, “There’s a record that she was given when she returned to Canada about that attack. It basically says the men who found the two nurses that were barely alive were mentally broken at their continued fighting and screams for them to find her. Because they knew what the Nazi’s had done to them and what they would have done to her, facts that when the men slept had them steal a pair of pistols and shoot one another.” That had the Father cover his mouth a few moments. “Up until the point Jaqi got shot and was given a field promotion to E-4 Medic they had her classified as a POW. She would have saved them, she thought someone would have saved them, but Eddie was the only one who made certain any of the women there were safe.”

In the lowering of his hand he said, “Would you give me their names later, I will pray for them and their families.”

James nodded and said, “Most nights Jaqi makes it through, some nights are harsher for her to face alone.”

“Regrettably that had never crossed my mind for what she might have faced. Eddie never allowed anyone to endanger or insult her before they left town, I never imagined she may face that fate. I knew she bore a burden,” he shook his head, “I had guessed it was shell shock and nerves from balancing school and the wedding. Under those circumstances truly comfort of a spiritual level with one is trusted will be welcome to face this day of blessings. And greatly proves the foundation of your bond.”

James said, “I know I may not be the best Catholic, but Jaqi is the kindest soul I know. Even to the point she wanted to wait on even a good morning peck on the cheek until our ceremony is through. I don’t want my lack of history on following the guidelines to be held against her ever, especially today when it means so much to even the memory of her parents who wanted the best for her.”

“And they would be so pleased to have known the man she has chosen to bind herself to in matrimony. We all are so proud of her in that.” His eyes scanned over James’ face asking, “What else it troubling you?”

James sighed and said to the slide of his thumb over his knuckles again. “A couple weeks before Steve died I spoke to him.”

Father Thomas nodded with a slightly tightening of his expression in focus, “Go on.”

“I told him the base hospital Jaqi was in was attacked, and I made him think she died. I spat back every cruel thing she told me he did to her and let him know it wasn’t just between them and God, people knew and would always know how he made her suffer.”

Father Thomas, “Someone was due to do that eventually.”

James looked to his hands and closed his eyes and said to the hand that came to rest over his, “I told him she was dead and a few weeks later he drove the plane he was in into the arctic. If I hadn’t made him think he was alone-,”

Matter of factly the Father cut him off, “Steve never would have returned to her at all had he survived.” That had James lift his head to hear, “Upon notice of his death we were informed that the church was the sole beneficiary of his property and funds including all of hers. Although through the Brocks we were aware of Jaqi’s survival and after legal consultation we were assured we could act as, guardians of that inheritance until she had returned home safely as she was his living blood relative. Steve fully intended to leave her penniless and homeless to the point we considered offering her a spot in our nunnery had the Brocks not taken her in somehow.”

“How could you stand him and all he did?”

“Honestly we had little interaction once he gained custody. Excuses of work kept him from attending mass, Jaqi attended with the Brocks.”

“Did anyone attend his funeral?”

“We did not have the ceremony in the church, as on usual occasion suicides are forbidden our services. However as he died in war and the military gave the impression there was an unstable explosive onboard he was taking away from others so we spoke a few words at the graveyard. All soldiers were expected to have full burials, and truly the burial of Steve was as a kindness to Jaqi for her return to have a place to mourn him relatively close to her parents.” Still with hold of his hand he said, “I understand you lost your parents when you were young. Would this ceremony have pleased them?”

“Yes. My parents always expected me to marry well and to have a proper respectable ceremony.”

“Well you certainly have achieved that, and a fine woman to claim as your own.”

James chuckled, “She’s the one claiming me. And I’m the one who’s marrying up no matter what other people say.”

Off the top of his fist his hand was eased out and into his palm a rosary from the priest’s pocket was settled in his palm. “Though your relationship may have been strained I know on this solid ground to share the faith of your wife and to raise good Catholic children will bring you unequaled bliss in following our Father’s path for you that has brought the both of you together.”

Around the rosary his palm folded without the anticipated burn of having held the weight of an assumed guilt on having cost you your only blood brother. A brief share of more comforting words came before a joint prayer and then the Priest stood with him saying in a pat on his arm, “I will see you in a short while at breakfast, for now, I’m going to steal a few moments with your young Bride.”

James nodded and shifted his fingers around the gifted talisman that upon his being alone again he looked down at eyeing the ruby and pearl beads on the silver chain. Victor’s pop in again had his eyes rising and in their time alone big brother got back to bolstering his mood reminding him of everything that was on the other side of this big day. This was just the tip of the Catholic iceberg that you would be plowing at this whole gigantic day. It all meant so much and years of waiting since first meeting in that store room now found you on your wedding day. After which he could be in every way all yours and devote himself to aiding at least legally in building up anything you desired until laws could be changed for the better and grant you some well deserved freedom. Off to breakfast he was helped with eyes fixed ahead far from being able to turn and try for a glimpse of his true love.

.

Softly there was a knock on the door and with Dawn’s open of the door Father Thomas came inside to be left alone in the room. From the bottom of the steps Erik and Edie waited for the meeting to be through for their chance to have their own talk with you to share their own traditions for wedding days to at least tuck away in your memory to look back upon later. Straight to the open chair beside yours he came with a soft grin saying, “Good Morning Jaqi, you look well rested.”

“Yes, I um, I should probably start there.” He nodded and you said, “James and I shared a bed last night. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep alone. Time with such big guests put me more than a bit on edge.”

“Oh that is quite to be expected. And those who have faced troubles as you have often do face trouble sleeping alone. Which thankfully you have such an honorable man to hold guard over your nights when you are your most vulnerable.” His eyes brimming with hints of the tears of a knowing now of the pain that dwelled deeply in your eyes no matter how brightly he had seen you smile on occasion since returning with James to Brooklyn. From his thigh his bible was eased out between you and he began to flip through saying, “Before we pray I wished to read you something.”

 *

Breakfast for you was brought up and your family came up to join you to keep you calm before those outside of the Bridal party who helped to run through the final checks of the day and to guide the earliest of arrivals who were being entertained by those in the town gathering to help as they always did for other weddings with those from out of town attending. Closer to noon was when your service was beginning and the closer you got the more shared movements were given. All but shoved in a trunk of a car James was taken off first for your comfortable drive to the church afterwards to be kept separate enforced by his path in a side door to the upstairs Groom’s Quarters while you filed into the Bridal Quarters.

One final task was taken up prior to changing, Victor and Dawn both stood witness as you and James signed the marriage license that Father Thomas signed and slipped out to change himself inside his own private quarters he could pray and center himself. Downstairs with boot in hand James stood one legged in white pants and undershirt tucked in adjusting his sock up over the top of the pants to help make the seamless look of the pants under the knee high boots. A vest came next and in the adjustment of the sash that laid across his chest there was a knock at the door that opened to reveal King George on a brief stop to congratulate the groom and share his own experience at his own big wedding day followed by a stop from President Truman. After which Mackenzie King the Prime Minister of Canada had come in as well for his own well wishes for the Groom and Groomsmen who were all nearly dressed completely or at least partway in the process of adjusting their suits.

A bit more puzzled than anything else on how he was meant to take their outstanding ceremonies and marriages since then his coat was eased on in his turn to the mirror on the wall to double check his hair. The few swipes of his comb only stirred up a rare ache at not having you here to fix his hair as you had since that first day you bathed together back in that hotel mid war. It didn’t seem to sit right no matter how he had adjusted his hair only bringing Eddie over to playfully say, “You keep that up and we’ll miss your warning to walk out.”

James smirked and looked back at him, “Not my fault, Jaqi usually fixes my hair.”

Eddie, “Compared to her hair yours is a picnic.”

Victor chuckled, “Clearly you haven’t tried to brush his hair, it’s eaten brushes. When he was a kid I used to check his scalp for teeth.” Eddie chuckled in James’ head shake and eye roll to turn and fetch his top hat he could spin in his fingers as he sat on the arm of the chair he didn’t want to sit in to keep from wrinkling his dress jacket. Where he could have worn his Military uniform instead he broke out his father’s dress jacket to dress to that rank he had inherited that had impressed the King especially upon realizing he had dressed to that rank.

Of course in Canada’s break from the English Peerage it was no more than an empty echo of that title of Baron that his Grandfather died with and was able to pass down legally by his own birth in England. Of course across the jacket he pinned his Military pins that Victor helped him to straighten with a grin at how his brother looked in the uniform he hated to see the senior Mr Howlett wearing at special occasions. The terribly cruel man who made it his life’s goal to discipline James as he felt that his only grandson was being coddled. Now the rank was held by a more suitable man to uphold that weight on the day he was marrying a woman who could take up the title of Baroness James’ mother Elizabeth had aspired to gain but was passed over in her husband John’s death.

 *

Tucked back the sides of your hair in elegant braids the curls from your face were held back to meet in a crossing braid that would lay over the rest of your curls, each was gently combed out to lay down your back in a style that was tested to hold the weight of the veil. Seated in the tall chair shoeless you tapped your toes on the footrest while Norma readied your wedding shoes from their box, namely the bow on the back that required some straightening. A sudden knock on the door had your brow arch up and your fingers fold around the arms of the chair in your body’s frozen state while Ambrose was doing your eye liner.

Across the room you heard, “Your Majesty,” ripple around that once you turned in your seat you saw Queen Elizabeth who nodded her head to your respectful head bob.

She spoke in a stop a few feet from you, “I must say that you have crafted a lovely ceremony, amply fit for the makings of a Baroness.”

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Queen Elizabeth, “I understand the both of you are not to be introduced to your rank, however I assure you the press will be properly informed of the title that James has inherited from his grandfather, the former Baron Howlett.”

“That should be interesting to see unfold.”

She smirked and said, “Now there is little to be concerned over, simply follow the steps of your ceremony and all will be received warmly by the public. Just let the cameras do the hard work and the press will handle the passing of details. You are not dressed yet?”

“My dress is fairly simple to get into.” You said gesturing to the gown draped over a daybed that parted her lips in a silent tug to get a closer look. “Ordered it under Dot’s name so it could be a surprise.”

“Oh that is a lovely gown.” She said and a cleared throat on the other side of the door had her turn to you with a kind grin to say, “We will see you rather shortly. It would appear Bess Truman has come for her own moment with you.”

Curtsies and kind goodbye’s were traded for hello’s to the First Lady Bess Truman, who was shortly joined by Joan Patteson the best friend of Mackenzie King the Prime Minister of Canada. Both whom adored your gowns and excitedly went down to claim their seats to let you all get finished getting dressed. The Bridesmaids had split up into pairs to all get into their gowns with their hair and makeup already completed. You came next with Ambrose and Gina to hold your gown and their tears back as you stepped into your gown that was folded around you. Again you held the bust of your dress that was laced up for the corset to be added over the top of it. When that was secured the door opened again to reveal Momma Brock with a grin that crept wider to Dot’s lift of the hat you would wear, and in an eager trot over in the spill of the girls she had gotten dressed to help secure the Brock lace and silk veil into the braids on the ends of decorative jeweled pins and large hair comb. Over the top of that the top hat was settled for Dawn and Dot to adjust the netting down partially over your face.

One by one each Bridesmaid had their hats secured in place while Edie’s eyes focused on the medallion around your neck that Gina was the first to bring up, “You found your dad’s necklace?”

With a grin you said, “Yes, just sort of woke up to it.”

Compliments rippled around until the next knock on the door when the stunned Father Thomas would come into view, “My my you look stunning.”

“Thank you.”

You replied in a weak try to speak and he said, “James is ready and waiting.”

Pt 42

[mldrgrl]

what if melissa had “i know you’re in love with my sister TELL HER” conversation with mulder in his apartment before scully went missing but scully comes over during it and thinks that melissa and mulder are a thing

Well, I can’t find a way to fit it before Scully’s abduction, so this will have to do.

Nine Minutes

by: mldrgrlRated: PG

November 5, 19943:22 p.m.

Scully had been released from the hospital exactly one week ago and the monotony of recovery was driving her insane.  The shock of discovering she’d lost three months of her life had worn off, and now she wanted answers, wanted to get back to work, wanted things to go back to normal.  She was sick of her mother hovering, sick of her sister offering to do ‘smudge her aura,’ whatever that entailed, and sick of her brother making ‘I told you so’ inferences about her ‘dangerous and dead-end career.’  The only person who hadn’t treated her like a Faberge egg this whole time was Mulder.

Finally managing to convince her mother she was fit to drive and return to her own apartment, the first thing she did, after buying enough groceries to restock her fridge for the next week, was drive to Mulder’s.  She parked her car and sat for just a moment regarding the front of the building.  The last time she’d been to Mulder’s apartment, which to her felt like days ago, it was the beginning of summer.  The trees lining the streets had been lush and green.  Now, they were bare.

As she sat and contemplated, a woman burst from the front doors of Mulder’s building and skipped down the stairs, heading down the street towards the east corner.  Scully had to do a double-take.  From behind, it looked like her sister, but what would her sister be doing at Mulder’s apartment?  By the time Scully got out of the car and crossed the street, the woman was gone.

Putting it out of her mind, Scully entered the narrow lobby of Mulder’s building and headed past the row of mailboxes to the elevator.  It was warm in the corridor and she could hear the heat hissing from the radiator.  She unzipped her jacket as she entered the elevator and pressed the fourth floor.

The first thing Scully noticed upon exiting the elevator was that the olive green carpet that used to be in the hallway had been torn up and beige, honeycomb-patterned tile was in its place.  Her shoes squeaked a little on the way down to Mulder’s door.

Almost immediately after knocking, the door opened and Scully was caught off-guard, almost forgetting why she had come to his apartment in the first place.  He was in a pair of black shorts, shirtless, his chest and shoulder slick with sweat.

“Scully!”  His eyes widened and he stepped back from the door.  “Uh, come in, come in.  I thought you were...uh...”

“Should I go?” she asked.  “Am I...interrupting something?”

“No, no, um...come in.”

She hesitated, but crossed the threshold.  She’d encountered a half-naked Mulder several times in the time that they’d been partnered and never had he acted so nervous and embarrassed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  It was clear he’d been exerting himself somehow, and she had the fleeting thought that it was lucky she had knocked and hadn’t used the key he gave her.  She felt her cheeks grow warm and she dropped her head, now nervous and embarrassed herself.

“Let me just, um…”  Mulder pointed vaguely towards the door past his living area and backed away.

“I really could come back another time.”

“No, no.  It’s okay.  I’ll only be a minute.”

Scully stood awkwardly in his foyer, her feet rooted in place.  She had wanted to come here to thank him for everything he’d done for her in the months she was missing, everything he’d done for her mother.  She’d been told how tirelessly he worked, how torn to pieces he’d seemed (her mother’s words), and the vigil he kept by her bedside.  She wanted him to know she was grateful, that she…

Scully’s thoughts trailed off as he eyes caught a glimpse of a forest green sweater hanging delicately on his coat rack.  It was long and feminine with a knitted matching belt drooping off threaded loops at the waist.  It looked familiar, but it certainly didn’t belong to Mulder.  So, she had interrupted something and by the looks of it, there was someone, a woman, in his apartment somewhere.  She didn’t know why, but her eyes clouded with a sheen of tears.

“Mulder,” she called out.  “I’m just gonna…I’ll see you at the office on Monday.”

“Wait!”  Mulder tripped through the doorway, tying a robe closed around his waist.  “Wait, a second.”

She avoided eye contact with him and avoided looking towards the coat rack.  “I just wanted to stop by to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For...not giving up.  For…”

“I could never give up on you, Scully.  I want you to know that I searched as hard as I could.  As much as I have for Samantha.”

“I know,” she answered, a sense of shame flooding over her.  She never wanted to be a replacement for his sister and she suddenly wondered if he was disappointed that she had come back, but Samantha was still out there somewhere.  “I’m sorry that…”

“What are you sorry for?”  He stepped closer to her and lifted a hand as though he were going to touch her, but he dropped his arm and then they were toe to toe.  His proximity was a little overwhelming for some reason.  She wanted to reach out to him, wrap her arms around him, ask him to wrap her arms around her.  She felt desperate to get back to normal, and what normal meant for her, was being with Mulder.

She shook her head a little, unable to think of how to express her regret to him for not being his sister, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door.  Mulder frowned and stepped away.  She sucked in a breath.

“Sorry,” said a breathless woman, her voice instantly recognizable to Scully.  “I forgot my sweater.”

Scully’s head snapped up and she blinked in surprise.  Her sister had just pushed past Mulder through the door and had a hand on the green sweater hanging from the coat rack.

“Melissa?”

“Dana?”

There was a long pause of awkward silence where Scully’s gaze shifted from her sister to Mulder and back to her sister.  Melissa toyed with the teardrop charm swinging from her choker.  Mulder rubbed at the back of his head.

“I’ll go,” Scully and Melissa both said, almost simultaneously.

But, Scully was the one that moved first, pushing through the space between Mulder and Melissa to move through the door.

“Scully,” Mulder said.

“Dana, wait.”

“I’ll see you on Monday,” she said, walking briskly to the elevator without looking back.  The doors opened as soon as she pressed the button and she finally turned, glancing only briefly at Melissa, hugging her sweater, and Mulder behind her in his robe.

******

November 5, 19943:13 p.m.

It had been a long time since Mulder had a good run.  Not since before Scully had been taken, but now she was back, and she would be back to work on Monday (too soon and not soon enough in his conflicted opinion) and he was trying to get back to normal.  He’d spent the morning shaping up the office into something Scully could be proud to return to.  Okay, maybe not proud, but not so much of a pigsty that she’d turn on her heel and walk right back out again.  He’d kind of let things lapse in the months she’d been missing.

After a morning organizing and cleaning, he had to get out, so he’d driven back home and changed into some running shorts and a t-shirt, despite the crisp fall weather, and hit the pavement.  He managed a full hour, out of his neighborhood to a large park a short drive away where he did a few laps and then sprinted the last blocks home until he felt like his heart and lungs might burst.

Breathing hard and drenched in sweat, he pulled his soaked shirt off in the elevator on the way up to his floor.  He wiped his face with the dryer end of the shirt and then stopped short halfway down the hall, when he saw the woman at his door.

“Melissa?”  His heart, though still pounding from his brutal exercise, picked up again.  “Did something happen?  Is Scully alright?”

“Dana’s fine,” Melissa said.  “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

“Uh.  Okay.”  He unzipped a small pocket at the side of his shorts and took out his key to open his door.  As soon as he opened the door, he was blasted by heat.  “Dammit,” he muttered, leaving the door open for Melissa as he headed to the window.

The radiators in his building had been on the fritz for the last week, running too hot or not at all.  The superintendent promised to have someone in by the weekend to take a look at the boiler, but they still couldn’t seem to fix it.  Mulder opened the window to let some air in.  He was already sweating and now he felt like he was in a sauna.  Melissa was wearing a green sweater over a long black dress.  She plucked at the collar and he nodded towards the coat rack behind her.  She pulled the sweater off and hung it up.  It occurred to Mulder he should probably put a shirt on, but he was too damn hot.

“Can I get you anything?” Mulder asked.  “Uh...I might have...well, I have water.”

“No, I’m fine.  I wanted to talk to you about Dana.”

“What about Dana?”

“She’s back home today.  I think Mom was driving her a little crazy.”

“Your mom?  Really?”

“She’s a mom.  You know what they’re like.”

Mulder made a non-committal noise.  No, he wasn’t too sure what moms were like.  He knew what his mother was like and he knew what Mrs. Scully was like.  That was like saying a banana was the same as an ice cream sundae.

“She told us she was going back to work on Monday,” Melissa continued.

“I know.”

“Do you think she’s ready for that?”

“It doesn’t really matter what I think.”

“I think she’d listen to you if…”

“If…?  If, what?  You want me to ask her to quit?  Is that it?”

“No.  Working for the FBI was a dream she didn’t even know she had.”

“Then what?”

“She pushes herself too hard sometimes.  She always has.  She’s always trying to prove herself.”

“To who?”

“Our father, our brothers, to the world, to the FBI, to herself, to you.”

Mulder shook his head.  “She doesn’t have anything to prove to me.  She...I knew everything I needed to know by the time we finished our first case together.”

“I’m sure you did.  I also think you know by now, even if you won’t admit it, that she uses responsibilities as a crutch to avoid her feelings.”

Mulder instantly thought back to the initial days and weeks after Scully’s father had died, how she’d almost begged him to allow her to stay on the case they were pursuing.  He thought about the forest mites that hospitalized them both and the handful of altercations she’d been in since partnered with him.  All those ‘I’m fines’ he’d heard in the time he’d known her.

“You know I’m right,” Melissa said.

“What makes you think she’d listen to me.  She never has before.”

“It’s astonishing how absolutely blind two highly intelligent people can be.”

At this point, Mulder started to feel impatience creeping in.  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“You’re in love with my sister.  She’s in love with you.  Stop trying to fight it.”

It seemed to Mulder it grew exponentially hotter in his apartment that moment.  He backed away from Melissa and went back to the windows to fight with the second one, the one that always sticks, and try to get it open.  Melissa followed and he broke out into a new sweat all over again.

“I understand why she’s afraid of her own feelings,” Melissa said.  “But, I don’t know why you are.”

“She told you this?” Mulder asked, his voice strained in his battle with the window.

“She didn’t need to.  And you don’t either.  It’s obvious in the way the air changes when you’re near each other.  That’s why you needed to be there in the hospital that night.  She needed a reason to come back.”

Mulder gave up on the window and sagged forward, leaning against his desk.  He put his head down and breathed hard for a few moments, taking in air and letting his ribs expand and contract as he let it go.

“Her partnership is important to me,” he said.

“There is more to life than work.”

“Not to me.  There can’t be.  I can’t lose sight of…”

“Fine,” Melissa said.  She was angry at him and he could feel it.  His back tensed and he turned towards her as she walked away.

“I can’t be what she deserves,” he said.

“Maybe not.  Maybe I should’ve expected such emotional distance from the man who won’t even let people use his first name.”

“Hey, now!”  Mulder moved forward and Melissa defiantly stood her ground next to the table in his foyer, her face tilted up to his and eyes piercing.  It was so much like Scully that he stopped abruptly in the doorway.

“If you’re both determined to reject happiness, that’s up to you.  Promise me that you’ll always be there for her.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it, Fox.  Promise me that she’s safe with you.”

He choked.  He couldn’t assure that kind of thing.  Of course he never wanted anything to happen to her and he would have her back the same as she had his, but he couldn’t make a promise that she’d never get hurt and that broke his heart.

“I’m not talking about your work,” Melissa said, breaking the strangled silence.

“I thought...then what...what has this all been about?” he stammered.  “Why are you here?”

“Goodbye, Fox.”

Melissa left his standing in the doorway, hopelessly confused.  He felt rattled, like stomping his feet or exhausting himself on another run.  The merciless heat of the apartment sent him into a rage and he went back to the window, pulling at it with every ounce of strength, growling with frustration the whole time, until it slipped open an inch and then another.

Spent, he collapsed onto his couch, breathing hard.  He heard a noise in the hall, an annoying side effect of the new floors that had been installed a few weeks ago.  He missed the carpet.  A few seconds later, there was a knock on his door and he jumped up.  He didn’t feel like he had it in him to go another round with Melissa and he needed to send her away as quick as possible.

*****

April 15, 200010: 06 a.m.

It had been Mulder’s private habit for years, to drive out to the cemetery whenever he felt like he had something to tell her.  He stopped and picked up a bouquet of sunflowers from a florist nearby.  Once he’d learned from an off-handed remark Scully had made about sunflowers being Melissa’s favorite, he’d started to bring them instead of the assorted arrangements he’d always brought before.

Morning was his preferred time to visit.  It was usually quieter and emptier.  The ground was always damp in the mornings though, so he brought a folded blanket with him to sit on.  He laid the bouquet of sunflowers at the foot of Melissa’s headstone and arranged the blanket so he could sit comfortably before it.  He brought his knees up and linked his hands over his shins.

“Well, I’ll just get right into it,” he said.  “A lot has happened since we last spoke, but I think you’ll be happy to know that your sister and I are officially...actually, you know what, I don’t know what we officially are, but we’re something.  We’re something more than what we’ve been.  It’s only been a week, but…”

Mulder smiled a little, thinking of the last six days.  He tried to keep the night Scully slipped into his bed out of his thoughts, but that was almost impossible.  His smile widened into a grin and then a blush and he dropped his chin to his chest.

This was the first time he’d brought good news to Melissa.  He’d been here to rail at the injustice of Scully’s cancer, to beg for her no-holds-barred advice when he felt his partner slipping away from him when the x-files had been given to Diana and Agent Spender, to pour his grief out to someone when the failure of their IVF attempts hit him.  Never out of pure joy.  He wasn’t even sure he’d known what pure joy was until this past week.

“We’re together,” Mulder said.  “In all ways someone can be together.  I think you’d be happy about that if you were here.  I mean, you’d probably say something like it was about time we both pulled our heads out of our asses.  But, you’d be happy.”

Mulder paused at the sound of a car approaching.  The car stopped, the engine cut off, and a car door opened and shut.  He heard footsteps in the grass and he tipped his head a little to the side.

“Mulder?”

*****

April 15, 200010: 15 a.m.

Of all things Scully expected to find at Melissa’s gravesite, Mulder wasn’t one of them.  She’d been thinking about her sister a lot lately and couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the cemetery.  With plans for brunch with her mother for later in the morning, she figured she would take the opportunity to pay a visit.

“Mulder?” she asked, walking up behind him where he sat hunched before her sister’s headstone.

“Hey, Scully.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Had some things to talk to your sister about.”

“Oh.”

He was sitting on a blanket and he scooted over a little and patted the other side as she approached.  She knelt down next to him and then reached out to touch the petals of the sunflowers that lay at the foot of the headstone.  When she sat back, Mulder took her hand and laced their fingers together.  She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I forgot,” Scully said.

“Forgot what?”

“You and she...well, it was never any of my business.”

Mulder leaned away from Scully and craned his head to look at her.  “Melissa and I?  What do you mean?”

“Whatever your relationship was.”

“I don’t think you could call it a relationship, but I liked your sister.  I was a little afraid of her too, to be honest.”

It was Scully’s turn to tip her head and give Mulder a sideways glance.  “Like I said, none of my business.”

“Do you….Scully, are you implying that you think Melissa and I were…”

“Weren’t you?”

“What in the world gave you that idea?”

“That day in your apartment, whatever I interrupted, it didn’t seem…”

“It didn’t seem...are you telling me she never told you why she was there?”

“No.”

“Scully, this whole time you thought we had been...wow.”

Scully bit her bottom lip.  She had thought a lot more than that Mulder and Melissa had just been lovers.  The day she’d interrupted whatever she’d interrupted at Mulder’s apartment, she’d gone from thinking it had been lovemaking to a lover’s quarrel.  And then Melissa had taken off and it was months before she’d seen her again.  In the brief days that she’d thought Emily was Melissa’s daughter, she’d also thought Mulder was the father.  Of course, she was wrong.  Very wrong, it seemed.

“I suppose I didn’t want to know,” she said.

“Well, I’ll tell you why she was there, if you want to know now.  It’s part of why I’m here today.”

“Okay.”

“She wanted me to promise I’d keep you safe.”

“That’s impossible.  Especially with our line of work.”

“She wasn’t talking about work.  That’s what I thought too, but she wasn’t talking about work.”

“Then what was she talking about?”

“She said we were in love with each other.”

“Mulder that was...five years ago.”

“So, she was wrong?”

Scully didn’t answer.  She picked at the grass next to her hip.  Mulder gave her hand a squeeze.

“I don’t think she was wrong,” he said.  “I didn’t exactly argue that point with her then, and I wouldn’t now.”

Scully sucked in a breath and let it out slowly with her eyes closed.  Mulder let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders.  She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his torso.

“I think she was telling me not to break your heart,” he said.  “I wanted her to know that I understand that now and I promise.  You’ll always be safe with me, Dana.”

“Dana?”  Scully scrunched her face a little and made a noise.  “It sounds so serious when you say my name.”

“I am serious.”

Scully breathed deeply and stared at Melissa’s headstone, the gilded name and dates.  Beloved sister and daughter.  And friend, she thought.

“I have to meet my mother for lunch,” Scully said, running her hand over Mulder’s chest.

“I know.  You told me last night.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Your mom won’t mind?”

“I think she’d be happy to see you.  And thrilled that I brought a date.”

“I’d love to be your date.”

“Good.”  She disentangled herself from Mulder and stood, brushing the back of her jeans off with one hand.

While Mulder picked up the blanket off the ground, Scully touched the top of Melissa’s headstone.  She mouthed a silent prayer and then crossed herself.  When she turned back, she reached for Mulder’s hand.

The End

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: The Devil Left Him

Rating: G Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Crowley & Jesus, Aziraphale/Crowley Tags: Friendship, Established Relationship Word Count: 2,800 Summary: Crowley showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world. The Bible recorded some version of this event, but left off the walk down the mountain afterward. Hard to find the right wording for, "And then the son of God befriended a demon. Don't try this at home." Also on AO3. Notes: I was really struck by the timing for Crowley's name change, and this was what came of it. The hilarity of me, a recovered Christian, writing about a friendship between Jesus and a demon has kept me amused all day.

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written: “‘He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’” Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him. (Matt. 4:1-11) 

In general, the different versions of the Bible—even the printings with deliberate errors—agreed: after the devil showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world, Jesus shooed him away with clear hand gestures and admonishments that could not be misinterpreted, and the devil slithered off as angels landed on feather-light feet.

In reality, though, Crawley had already expended a lot of energy on what he'd suspected from the start to be a fruitless task. He wasn't about to slither anywhere. It took a lot of work to take a human with him when he willed himself from one place to an entirely different place, even when that human was the son of God. His bones were blessed heavy.

Maybe something of that showed on his human-but-not-quite-human face, because Jesus said, "You look weary, my friend," as if today's activities had all been an elaborate song-and-dance where they'd both played only a part, rather than themselves.

"It's not as easy as it looks," Crawley said. He seated himself on a nearby convenient rock. "I don't usually drag humans round with me."

Jesus seated himself on the ground. For unknown reasons, this made Crawley's insides squirm in discomfort.

"We should rest a while," Jesus said, "before we walk down the mountain."

"You might want to get a move on, actually," Crawley said, squinting down at him. Forty days of fasting was nothing for a demon, but it reduced a human to something horrifying, a skeletal nightmare with the skin just barely hanging on. Better not to even try to describe the hair. "Find something to eat on the way down."

"I will wait," he replied, peaceably.

So Crawley sat in resentful silence while he got his breath back, so to speak. Jesus closed his eyes and turned his face into the chill mountain wind and, for all Crawley knew, prayed. An old envy burned in his gut, an ulcer still barely sealed over. 

"I'm not going to walk down the mountain, you know," he said. In another place—no easier way to describe it than that—his wings did not ache so badly anymore.

"No?" Jesus asked, his eyes still closed. Starving and dirty and stinking, but the hint of a smile curled his mouth. "Do you not require thanks, then, for what you've shown to me? No interest in reciprocity?"

"I don't see how a walk down the mountain is reciprocity," Crawley said, more wary than sneering.

"You have seen the grander view," Jesus said. "Let me show you the smaller one."

Crawley laughed, because it was laughable. He had already seen every view, after all. He had seen the touch of both Her love and Her cruelty in a thousand, a million, big and small ways. He had seen children drown, magnificent creatures lost forever to a flood. He had more than seen his fill. As he'd displayed the kingdoms of the world, he'd looked away.

"If nothing else," Jesus said, undeterred by the vaguely hissing noise of Crawley's laugh, "it will allow you to gather your strength." 

He looked up, meeting Crawley's eyes. There was something terrible and knowing there, something depthless, that did not belong on a human face. It was a vision of agony, of endurance, of suffering. It was more than a person should rightly contain. Crawley could not look away.

"You will need it," Jesus said softly. It was not a warning or a threat; his voice, his sharp-boned face, was filled with compassion.

The breeze tipped from cool to cold, and Crawley stifled the question rising in his throat, though he wondered: What? What will I need it for? Do you know, or are you as vague and inaccessible as Her?

But when Jesus stood, Crawley followed him down the mountain, moving at the pace of the weaker human. They made meals of stringy rabbits caught in clever snares that Jesus fashioned, whatever fruits and roots they could forage from near-barren trees, handfuls of water from streams that ran too low. Crawley didn't need any of it; he left the too-bitter berries to Jesus and had only a bite of one of the rabbits. They were barely real, anyway. What sustenance existed this far up on the mountain had to be encouraged to show itself.

After one night sprawled in the too-thin grasses by the faint roadside, still practicing sleep, Crawley had the strength to leave. Jesus's feet cracked and bled, and he moved at the shuffle of a much older man, but he would make it down the mountain. Surely She wouldn't let Her son die in obscurity after being abducted by a demon. That couldn't be in the ineffable plan.

But in case it was, Crawley stayed. Occasionally he scoffed at the small wonders that Jesus offered up for his inspection—this flower blooming well past its season, that bird singing long past sunset, the pattern of those clouds descending low to the mountain—but mostly, he kept quiet, and kept his eyes open.

When they parted ways in the village at the bottom of the mountain, Jesus said, "You are welcome at my home, should you ever find yourself there."

Crawley gave him a disbelieving look, a raised eyebrow. Jesus smiled as he departed.

*

There was not much to do in Capernaum. Crawley had heard something—just a murmur—that sounded a bit like Aziraphale, and wouldn't it be fun to ruffle up those feathers again, but there were a lot of fantastical things happening now. The world folded on itself to accommodate the son of God. Could've been any old miracle. Jesus could've done it himself.

And Jesus was around and about, no mistake about that—there, by the low fountain in this tiny square, where some barefoot children occasionally splashed. He was surrounded by no less than four others, usually; Crawley had yet to see him alone again after that trek down the mountain.

But today, unlike the other days, his eyes—those terrible eyes—passed over the square and sought the shadows, and landed unerringly on Crawley.

He mastered the instinct to shrink from view and vanish. He gave a cheery little wave from within a flowing dark sleeve, a smirk paired with it, as if to say, Yes, the Temptation goes on forever; choose what I offered and all can be well.

Not likely.

But Jesus smiled his strange small smile, asked his companions to wait, and made his way over to Crawley. 

"It's good you're here," he said, with no irony at all. "We're going to repair a roof. Will you help?"

Strange man, this Jesus. Maybe the lower-downs had it wrong, and there had been some kind of mixup. Compassion and kindness was all well and good, but surely this kind of olive branch was not meant for demons. It never had been before.

"I hear that carpentry is more your area," Crawley said.

"It is simple enough to learn," Jesus replied, "for a creature as old as you." 

He beckoned, and Crawley, infinitely curious, followed.

They spent the afternoon in the hot sun, balanced by turns on the beam that would support the roof, laying in place a lattice of straw mats that were then smoothed with clay. Jesus's friends passed up materials, and Crawley mostly ferried them between points, watching. Jesus explained how to overlay the mats, where to apply the clay, how the beam at this point and this one supported the weight, and Crawley listened. He asked Crawley to smooth down one section of mat and clay and congratulated him on a job well done.

It felt like having his hands clasped around a nebula, drawing out a necklace of stardust, while She stood at his back and offered direction and encouragement. The sun shone like God had not vanished from the world—or at least, like God had not vanished from Crawley's.

But that same sun was setting by the time the roof was done, and all gathered on it for a simple meal, including the family who lived there. Some looked askance at Crawley, glances lingering on his eyes before darting away, but said nothing. It had rarely been a problem before, but he sensed a change coming. A world narrowing in some ways, widening in others. It would all come back around eventually.

Jesus came to the edge of the roof to offer him bread, which he took out of politeness more than a desire to eat the stuff. "What is your name?" Jesus asked, as if picking up a conversation they'd already been having.

Crawley opened his mouth to answer and closed it again. It seemed the depth of disgrace to give the son of God the name that had been foisted on him after his wings burned; it seemed a humiliation too great to endure. Salt rubbed in a great many wounds.

"Which would you prefer?" he said, the words biting. "The name She gave me? Or the name I answer to when my new master calls?"

Jesus chewed on the bread, swallowed, chased it with a gulp of thick wine. "Which do you prefer?" He didn't rise an inch to Crawley's tone. Crawley was beginning to think that patience was actually Hellish. It was annoying enough to be.

"Neither," Crawley said, and though it was knee-jerk, he found it to be true upon closer inspection. The old name—and he did remember, remembered like holy water had left a sizzling burn in its shape on his mutilated grace—didn't fit, now. Maybe never had.

And really. Crawley. No imagination at all, the first thing that had come to mind for a wretched snake.

"Perhaps you should fashion a new one."

"No suggestions?" Crawley said, vaguely heckling. "No offers to help me begin anew? To save my immortal soul?"

"Do you have a soul?" Jesus countered, with a trace of humor.

Crawley gave a very small, very quiet snicker of laughter. It surprised even him.

"The world is changing," Jesus said, gazing out at where the sun had vanished below the horizon.

"The world doesn't change," Crawley said, just for the sake of argument.

Jesus looked at him sidelong. "You'll have opportunity enough to begin anew. You should choose for yourself."

Crawley snorted, but Jesus only stood, no hard feelings, to return to the other humans. Crawley tried a bite of the bread and left the rest at the edge of the roof when he leapt back down to the ground.

*

"You know, my dear, I didn't know that you had any experience with carpentry."

Crowley, mouth full of screws, sizing up the shelf that had collapsed beneath another of Aziraphale's improbable stacks of books, shrugged. With an effort devoted to making sure he didn't accidentally swallow any of the bits of metal in his mouth, he said, "I helped Jesus fix a roof once."

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale said, as if he thought he'd misheard.

"I didn't have any other plans," Crowley said, more defensively than he meant to. "And he asked."

Roofs and bookshelves were entirely different things. He shouldn't have even mentioned it; he could have pointed to any other example of a stupid human thing he'd picked up over the centuries. He could've lied.

But he and Aziraphale were trying this new thing where they were actually honest with each other, since they had the freedom to be, and his instinct was to not fuck that up. Even when he risked exposing as rotten a wound as this.

"He never asked me to help fix a roof," Aziraphale muttered.

"You weren't really up close and personal with the humans back then, were you? Did he even know who you were?" Crowley brushed away some of the sawdust created by drilling one of the screws in.

"I doubt it," Aziraphale said, and sighed the way he did when he was settling into the chair at his desk; Crowley didn't have to look around, or extend his senses, to know exactly how he looked, mug of cocoa cupped between his hands and balanced lightly on his stomach. "There were so many angels coming and going around him, I doubt that I stood out."

"You always stand out, angel."

He left it open to interpretation whether that was a good or bad thing (answer: both), but still he could feel the way Aziraphale smiled in reaction; the force of it warmed the entire back of him. Set a little more at ease by this, he returned to his work.

When the drill had gone silent permanently, and Crowley was fastening some clever little rubber stoppers over the ends to support the shelf—really, carpentry had come a long way in two thousand years, Jesus would have been impressed—Aziraphale said, "What was he like?"

Crowley considered, sliding the shelf back into place. The places where the wood had given out under the old screws was completely concealed, and the shelf was sturdy again; he started restacking the books.

"Ineffable," Crowley said, half-taunting, and Aziraphale gave a protesting little laugh at that. "No, he was...strange. Patient. I walked down the mountain with him because he asked. I helped with the roof because he asked. That was the sort of person he was. He didn't hold a grudge about the whole Tempting thing, like he thought I was just playing a part. Never had the stomach to tell him it wasn't that simple."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, so quietly and so pained that Crowley had to steady the stack of books against the shelf for a heartbeat before continuing.

"Oh, right," he said, trying to sound indifferent, "the name change. I never mentioned it. His idea. Never got a chance to tell him what I'd settled on."

Aziraphale mulled that over quietly; Crowley fussed with the books, attempting to decipher what order they were meant to be in.

"I thought he might have been important to you," Aziraphale said. "But I never would have guessed…"

"Why would you? I never could figure it out, myself. Why he was so...nice...to a demon. Not like Upstairs at all." Crowley voiced the next almost tentatively, nearly afraid to hear Aziraphale's opinion. Not afraid enough, though. "Thought there might've been something wrong with him."

"No," Aziraphale said sadly. "There was nothing wrong with him. And they didn't learn anything at all."

"Well." This conversation was getting too maudlin for him; he stepped back from the bookshelf to admire his handiwork. "I learned something."

Aziraphale got up to look at the shelf, too; his hand slipped into Crowley's, and Crowley returned the pressure, held on tight. "You've always been more open-minded than the rest of us," Aziraphale said; the fondness in his face was too bright to look at head-on, so Crowley admired it from the side. 

"That's a low bar."

"I know," Aziraphale said, and then, more seriously, "thank you. For telling me. Now, can I treat you to dinner, as thanks for holding my bookshop together?"

"If you would just expand a bit, you'd have enough room for all the books, and this wouldn't happen," Crowley said, falling comfortably back into familiar, toothless bickering.

But over dinner, he told Aziraphale everything, everything he could remember about those brief moments two thousand years ago. Aziraphale was, as always, the perfect audience, scandalized and delighted at all the right places, and Crowley, as always, nearly liked him better scandalized than delighted.

They overindulged, as was traditional, and by the last drink, they were toasting Jesus. Crowley hoped he knew.

[chrysaliseuro2019]

A Marathon Effort

Off to Olympia today. Early start for us with breakfast at nine followed by an hour and a half drive through the mountains. Breakfast was as ever more than we could handle. Omelette + toasted cheese and ham foccacias + cake desert plus a whole host of other stuff if you wanted it such as toast and jam. It certainly set us up for the day. We headed off for the big drive which was through the mountains. There are endless peaks, endless olive trees and endless hairpin bends as you either go up or come down the mountains. Certainly we were pretty high at times with 1500+ metres not unusual in these parts. Views spectacular. After close to 2 hours we arrived at Olympia home of the Olympic Games. It was now around mid-day and the weather was stinking hot. You first enter the modern village of Olympia with flags of many nations flying along the street and with the bustle of a small tourist town. 500 metres on is the site of not only the original games but of ancient Olympia. The ancient Olympic Games took place here every 4 years for at least 1000 years up to 393 AD when a Roman emperor banned them and also destroyed a fair bit of the surrounding old city. Earthquakes did the rest of the damage so nothing much of the temples and athletic facilities remains intact but you really do get a feel for how it might have originally looked with some partial reconstructions and also representations of what the buildings might have looked like on explanatory signage outside the site of each ruin. One thing that strikes you pretty quickly is the size of Olympia. It's quite a large area compared say to the Acropolis. Let's say 300 metres by 300 metres excluding the stadium and perhaps larger compared to say 150 by 150 for the Acropolis. You walk past the gymnasium, the wrestling school where columns had been erected to give an indication of the size (extensive) and appearance. Also the workshop where the ivory and gold statue of Zeus was sculpted one of the 7 wonders of the ancient world. Unfortunately the statue was destroyed by fire in AD 475. Pressing on we head for what would have been the most striking building in Olympia the Temple of Zeus which housed the statue of Zeus. One column has been erected to indicate what size it would have been and wouldn't you give anything for it to be intact. It would have been quite stunning. On to the building where the athletes swore their oaths to abide by the rules and not to commit foul play. The temple of Hera (the most intact on site) and also to the spot where the Olympic flame is lit every 4 years for transporting around the world to the host city. The were also a number of other interesting sites of buildings now largely destroyed but nevertheless which were brought to life by the signage and representations of them and basic foundations with a column her or there. An audio guide would have been fantastic though the Greeks largely don't seem to have cottoned on to them at least in this part of the country. Finally in one corner the archway which leads to the stadium itself. The stadium held 45000 spectators though women and slaves had to watch from the surrounding hills. It's rectangular not circular and when we were there there were very few people so you could get a peaceful sense of it. The start and finish line (rows of large stones) of the 120metre race are still there with a judge's seat to one side. It was pretty special if you like the Olympic Games which we both do to stand there and try and cast your mind back 2000 years and imagine what the atmosphere would have been like. Full house 45000 yelling plus those in the hills. I of course completed a 20 metre dash in double quick time. Usain would have been envious. Also a loud group of Americans rolled up and ran the full 120 metres with much whooping and hollering and wildly differing speeds from hare to tortoise (the tortoise finished last on this occasion). Mind you no shade and the temperature would have been mid to late 30s in the sun so good effort and very amusing. We stayed in the stadium perhaps half an hour just looking at it from different angles and enjoying the serenity (prior to the American dash event). We both really liked Olympia. It's one of those intangible things. Were the ruins the best preserved - No. Was the guide or audio guide good - No. It was just well set out and signposted and you had to use your imagination to visualise how things might have been. The devotion to Zeus was very manifest. It also of course has the very tangible link to today. Fabulous. We were probably on site for more than 2.5 hours and it was time for lunch which was a shared roll, iced coffee and soft drink. Batteries recharged we headed for the museum. The museum is excellent with a range of ancient and well preserved artefacts. The highlights for me included a large statue of Hermes and in the main hall the statues/carvings which were high up at either end of the Temple of Zeus. One end depicting a chariot race and the other a fight between centaurs and mythical humans. The centaurs turned up at a wedding feast got drunk and tried to abduct the women. A bunch of charmers they must have been. Never trust one. Also in the museum and from the Temple are depictions of the 12 labours of Heracles (Hercules) and I never realised previously that each labour is linked to a sign of the zodiac. We meandered around for perhaps an hour and a half enjoying the museum and then it was time to head home which would be another 1 hour 45 minute drive through the hills. We took a slightly different route back which took us along some back tracks over and around the mountains and through some small villages. Leaving at 4.30 it was amazing that over the 70 kms we saw 3 cars only (that were moving). Virtually no human beings. Of course we saved the best to last. Within cooee of Dimitsana, in fact we could see it nearby, Narelle the trusty voice of Apple Maps together with the in car navigator decided we should head up a very steep, narrow and rubbly track. Steep like 1:8. Despite misgivings we loyal adherents to Narelle put our better judgement to one side and headed up thinking this must be a back entrance to town. We had also seen another car go up there (must be alright then). After a couple of hundred metres a hairpin saw the road quality decrease (which was remarkable in itself). Rubble was now replaced by ruts and larger rocks with everything uneven. We also saw the car that had preceded us but they were getting out of it and had obviously arrived at their destination. Foolhardedly we pressed on. The road (ha! Track) swung sharp right and moved to 1:6. The little Micra was getting more unhappy and wheels were spinning. Ahead of us 2.5 metres wide moved to what looked like progressively 1.6 or so. We stopped and of course the odd stall occurred (tricky gearboxes these Micras) during which we started to slide backwards. This was shall we say - unnerving. A very calm in car discussion followed. Something along the lines of what the **** **** **** **** ****. That's the abbreviated version and that was just the navigator. Anyway, a somewhat ill fated decision was taken to progress further up the hill as reversing did not seem a good option. Neither was progressing but, it was, on the face of it, the lesser of the two evils. All sorts of thoughts were going through my head. Such as how did we get into this situation? There must have been a better route. Where can I find another navigator. They were the nicer ones. Steeling ourselves I hit the gas and the little car with spinning wheels took off up the hill. As with all these narrow passages there comes the narrowest point and we reached it with the car swerving marginally from side to side. Squeals from the navigator or was it me, curses, but somehow we were thru with inches to spare either side. Heaven knows how. Great - relief but no, now we face the reverse a steep incline going down into a housed area. At least it was paved but where did it lead to? Were we heading to a dead end with half an hour of back tracking (in reverse - up and downhill and round corners with unforgiving stone walls - arguably impossible, at least with my reversing skills) to get out. Liz could not open her car door so close were we to the wall. I had a bit more room so parked up and walked down to check things out. At that point I did let out a squeal as not 5 metres from our car curled up in the street, of all things, was a dead snake. How it died who knows as it seemed intact. Certainly did not expect to see that on the stone surface on the outskirts of town. Skirting it as widely as possible as it might still have been alive I pressed on down the hill swung round a corner and there to my relief was a small square with two cars parked in it. So there was a way out. However the little pathways off the square which led down to the town looked like they wouldn't accommodate a car. At that point a lady came out of her house and I asked if we could get down from there and she said yes. I quickly realised that she meant I could walk down not drive down. However the route out of this pickle was now clear. Returning to the car I moved fwd, let Liz out for guidance purposes advising her to avoid the snake (snakes being one of her prime dislikes). From then it was not hard though quite steep to swing down into the little square drop a Uey and head back the way we came. A bit of care through the narrow section and more care down the slippery slope. Liz who was in front providing guidance reckoned my eyes were wide as saucers and she saw terror on my face. Certainly the steering wheel was being clenched. I maintain this was my look of concentration and focus. Anyway, one more close encounter, in this case with the local police car on the hairpin bend going down as it came up the other way and we were down. Liz took a minute or two to join me as she walked down. She had waved me on initially but it seemed a good idea not to stop for her as the track down only accommodated one car and I didn't want to meet one coming up (and who knows who would give way to who) so I got out of there and waited at the bottom. Probably we both needed a minute or two to ourselves to collect our thoughts. Of course we pressed on on the road we had originally been on once down and within a couple of hundred metres of the death track was the main road into town which took about 2 minutes more to reach. This 30 minutes out of our lives which seemed like 30 hours was totally unnecessary. We had a good laugh about it later and in fact Liz was very happy to tell me she cackled her way down the track to rejoin me. This was mainly due to my terrified (highly focussed) visage which for some reason she found very amusing. Weird sense of humour that girl. Showers were (very) necessary and we reprised the night before a little with a visit to the little bar. Priest was in there. Then headed to a different place for dinner with lamb for me and Moussaka for Liz. Lamb OK, moussaka just. Wine ordinary. Service just but view good. We didn't really care. We laughed about the escapade up the hill and relived the enjoyment of Olympia. It had been a full day! Let's hope tomorrow is more exciting!

[frangipanidownunder]

Returning the Past: part 3

Mulder and Scully are honeymooning in Far North Queensland. Much to Scully’s chagrin, Mulder has delved headlong into a mysterious case of strange lights, Tasmanian tiger sightings and abductions. It’s not long, before they run into trouble…

Read the previous parts on the ‘My Fanfiction’ tab.

Her shirt was stuck to her body but the sun was burning it dry. She ran her tongue round her mouth, her lips were dry and sticky. She lifted a hand to her forehead and chin tenderly and flexed her fingers and toes. She rolled herself up and looked over at Mulder. He was still curled on the ground, out cold.

              “Mulder,” she said, looking around. The forest was dangerously beautiful and she felt stiff with fear, an outsider. “Mulder, wake up.”

              He groaned and she pressed a hand to his chest to make sure he stayed still. His face was mottled with red welts and purple bruising. A cut under his hair line had dried in the fierce heat.

              “Where’s Steph? Did they take her?”

              “Yes and I have no idea where they went. I was out for a bit too.”

              He sat up, despite her arms against him. “Are you okay, Scully?”

              “I’m fine. In a better state than you, I should say. Can you stand up?” She helped him up but he collapsed again, clutching his arm. “Mulder?”

              “My hand, it’s gone to sleep. And I feel a little light-headed.”

              She pushed his sleeve up to his shoulder and checked the skin on his arm. There were bright stripes, red-raw. “They look like scratches.”

              “The thylacine didn’t touch me, Scully.”

              “I don’t think they’re from a dog, but they look nasty, the biggest one is oozing. I’ve got a kit in the bag.” She turned to look for it. The car park was empty. “The bags have gone.”

              Mulder was struggling to sit up, twisting on to all fours. “Why would they take our bags?”

              She knelt back next to him, rubbing his back as he panted. “I don’t know, but they know who we are now.”

              His face paled as he stood up. He was trembling. “Then we need to find them.”

              The perimeter of the forest was bounded by a gravel track and the trees and ferns leant outwards, reaching towards the different air, the fresher air, lighter somehow. The sky was a muddy grey, low rumbling thunder in the distance. Scully felt her hair frizz in the humidity and watched with caution as Mulder laboured next to her.

              “We could drive for miles and not see anybody but the occasional camper, Mulder. This side of the Daintree is not on the tourist route. We don’t have a map or cells or even a compass. I think we should head back. Get you some medical attention. Alert the authorities.”

              He shook his head. “Steph might be in danger, Scully. Is in danger. She knows too much.”

              “About what?” she said, slowing down and pulling over. A smattering of raindrops thwacked against the windscreen. “Mulder, you don’t look so good.”

              He leant his head on the window and sighed. “I’m okay. A little nauseous maybe.”

              “Then we’re heading back to the villa to get you some drugs and then we’re going to the police. No questions.”

The police officer was hard to read. He jotted notes in his pad, tapped the nib of his pen against the desk and tilted his head side to side resulting in loud popping cricks. But Scully wasn’t convinced he was really listening to Mulder. She wasn’t convinced she was really listening to Mulder either, because aside from looking feverish still, frankly he sounded like a lunatic. Extinct animals, lights, abductees, thugs.

              “We saw blue lights, broad and swirling. Then white dots bouncing around. The growl grew louder then boom!” Mulder clapped his hands.

              She jerked at the sound and laid her hand on Mulder’s. “Officer Galea, we are here to report a missing person. The lights were…unusual, but I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation. Our primary concern is Steph Callow. The men that took her were violent, and struck me as some kind of militia outfit.”

              Galea sucked in a loud breath. “I understand you were law enforcement officers in the US. I expect you find us Aussies a little laid back, quaint even. This,” he said, waving his arms around the room, “is not exactly the Hoover Building, but I can assure you there are no undercover militia groups in the Daintree. We have the occasional burglary, theft, minor assaults fuelled by alcohol, but most of the time my day is spent searching for tourists who think they know the forest. Your friend has no doubt simply wandered from the marked tracks. I can send in a team, Mrs Mulder.”  The officer stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the sky was inky purple. The noise of cicadas had steadily risen as the interview progressed. The air in the room was stale, coffee-tinged.              

“It’s Dr Scully,” she said, flicking Mulder on the back of the hand as he offered her a lop-sided grin. “That would be a good start, Officer Galea. And what about the men who assaulted us?” Mulder’s bruises were shiny now and her own arms and hands bore the grazes. “We can give you descriptions.”

              The officer turned and smiled. “Dr Scully, you might like to know that we’ve checked our records and we can’t find anyone named Steph Callow. There is no Far North Queensland Alien Abductee Society registered anywhere, there is no such company as TasTiger Tours and other than a bunch of hinky stories on the web, there have been no substantiated reports of strange lights in this region. But if you would like to report this ‘attack’ then I will happily take details. Did you note the make and model of the cars the ‘militia’ men were driving?”

              Mulder pushed back his chair and the noise made Scully’s teeth twinge. She really needed a shower and a massage and a good night’s sleep. “Come on, Scully. Let’s go.”

He tugged at her arm with the intensity that signalled he was in full X-Files mode. Her fantasy of hot jets of water spraying over her, Mulder’s oiled hands expertly kneading out the tension from her shoulders, sprawling over the cotton sheets in that glorious bed, none of those things were going to happen.

 She read the little booklet, Delights of the Daintree, that outlined the history of the tropical wetland forest for the second time. The flora and fauna was thousands, if not millions, of years old, the scale of some of the vegetation was incredible, with 3000 plant species, including some of the rarest known, she had come here determined to enjoy it for its history, diversity and promise. And yet, this remnant ecosystem with its primitive vegetation and its mysteries had become another bewildering backdrop to the craziness of their lives. It was a forest of light and darkness.

She rubbed at her neck and cricked it this way and that. She needed to reset. She took in her surroundings. The balcony was a rich chestnut timber, wide and deep, with a small hexagonal table and four chairs, a free-standing sun umbrella and a monster barbecue on a stand. There were condiments – salt, pepper, barbecue seasoning, olive oil, a wine cooler. It was perfect for outdoor, evening dining. But Mulder had piled hot chips and battered fish on a plate for her and was in the process of working through the other fried junk he’d ordered.

              “These dim sims are pretty good, Scully. Want a bite?” He held out half of what looked like sausage meat in a crispy wanton wrapper and she shook her head. “What about this, the Chiko roll?” He pointed to the caramel coloured tube that looked like something she’d pulled from a desiccated corpse. She watched him dunk it into the barbecue relish.

              “No, really, Mulder. If you’re feeling better, then you eat them.” She chewed on a chip and sighed. “What are we going to do? Do you have any other contacts, or was it just Steph you were emailing?”

              Against the soft glow of the balcony light and with his longer hair, he looked younger. His fever had settled and the angry abrasions were less bold, his eyes sparkled again, his shoulders relaxed, leaning back in the chair, she could see he was processing the facts, picking over the details that meant nothing to the untrained eye, but could be the pivotal point of a case. She knew he missed it.

The Father Joe case had been too much, too soon, but it had opened up that need in him again, that need to dig, to provoke, to rattle. It was inured in him, instinctual, just like the vegetation in the forest – you could trim it back and cut it away but a seed would always find its way under the earth to grow again. For too many years Mulder had railed against the seeds of his curious nature, sinking into a fallow pit while she kept them both fed and watered. It wasn’t that she’d missed the danger or the fear or the darkness, as much as she’d forgotten what it felt like to see it unfolding. She would always be happy to see him in his element, but she knew what could happen to them if it wasn’t managed carefully.

              “I’ve been checking back over the files and there are a couple of other names. We can start with them in the morning. I’ve left messages for Steph on her cell and her landline. I think we should drive to her house and take a look around.”

              “Mulder, we can’t just break into someone’s house. We don’t have any jurisdiction here. Hell, we’re not even in the FBI any more. We don’t have anything. We can’t prove that she even exists.”

              “They’re covering it up, Scully.”

              “Who is? The police? Is that what you really think?”

              He nodded, taking a bite of the Chiko roll. Brown gunk oozed out. He licked his lips and she looked away, shaking her head.

              “He didn’t care about anything we said, Scully. He’s probably out there now talking to the thugs about how much we know, going through our bags.”

              “Mulder, even for you, you sound….”

“Like what, Scully? Like an idiot? Like a madman? Scully, these bruises are not a figment of my imagination. Those scratches on your arm are real. Steph Callow is a real person. You talked to her. That thylacine was in the forest. You smelled it. Please don’t lay this all back on me and my perspective.”

              Her neck ached and she squeezed it. “Clearly, something strange is happening in the forest. And we probably need to go back there, look for Steph, or her…”

              “Don’t say body, Scully. You looked, I looked. There was no sign of animal predation, no clues, nothing. She just vanished.”

              “Nothing just vanishes, Mulder.” The words tumbled out and she couldn’t stop them.

He shook his head and ate the rest of his meal in silence.

 The next morning the sky was duck-egg blue and looked as fragile. The heat was searing. Her shirt stuck to her back, her front, her arms. Mulder was striding to the door of the little weatherboard house that stood on stilts like most of them in the neighbourhood. She lagged behind, itching at the nape of her neck where sweat trickled. His knocking went unanswered. He called out Steph’s name but the only sound in response was the melodious cry of a magpie perched on the branch of a tree with a shiny green leaves and a trunk like crows feet where it met the ground. Scully recognised it from the Delights of the Daintree as the native red tulip oak tree. She admired it for a moment, holding her hand over her eyes as she scanned its magnificence.

              “I’m going round the back.” Mulder disappeared around the side and she heard him tapping and knocking against wood and glass. She walked through the car port attached to the side of the house and looked in the tins and buckets and plastic tubs. There was nothing to indicate that Steph lived a life out of the ordinary.

              “Scully?” Mulder’s hoarse whisper came from the front. She stepped out and saw him at the front door.

              “What are you doing inside?”

              He beckoned her and she trotted up the steps to the door. He shut it behind her. “The back door was unlocked. And look at this place. It’s a mess.”

              She walked into the small room at the front and papers were strewn across the faded floorboards. Magazines, books, bills. A small table was broken in half and a lampshade was upside down in the middle. A photo frame lay in halves on the carpet, its image curled next to it. A pair of hunters with guns over their shoulders gloating over the corpse of an unrecognisable animal. She walked back into the living room, stooped down and picked up some of the scraps of ripped paper. “The way the papers are, the mess in every room. It’s almost as if…”

              A throaty grumble rose from below. They looked down at the floor beneath them.

“As if what, Scully?” He held her arm, waiting for the noise to dissipate.

              “As if it was caused by a spinning motion,” she whispered now, as the growl echoed around them again.

              His hand on her lower back was comforting. The itch at the back of her neck was amplified by the rumbling noise. She reached up and scratched at it as they walked slowly around the rooms, searching for the source of the growl. He picked up a table leg.

              “You’re right. The debris is all scattered in a circular way, like it’s been spun and tumbled around.”

              The growl deepened and a cackle of barking pealed around the walls. They stood still. She could feel the heat emanating from the skin on his arm as he pulled her closer.

              “Mulder?” she said, as they circled around and came face to face with the open door of the back bedroom. “Is that what I think it is?”

              His loud, dry swallow was all the answer she needed. He gripped her hand now and she shook with him. The Tasmanian tiger prowled towards them, teeth bared.

[twistednuns]

June 2019

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.”   

A (very) sunny day in London. Seeing a seal in the Thames, right under the Tower Bridge. Walking through St. James’s Park, eating ice-cream. Taking a beautiful picture of Laura in Covent Garden. Finally getting out of the underground. A tiny rainbow reflection in the sky over Greenwich.

Playing badminton in the evening with Frank. Sitting by the river, making new friends (duckies).

Micha. Meeting in Thalkirchen after I had just seen a half dead mouse. Walking along the river, finding a nice spot across from the zoo with a bunch of musical hippies playing the drums on the other bank. We got drunk on Toro Loco and Grasovka in ice hockey cups until he kissed me in the middle of a sentence. It took quite a while until I noticed I was just kissing my first man with a tongue piercing. At some point I re-erected a knocked over portable toilet (does drunk me have superhuman powers?) and we walked to the subway together. Such a gentle weirdo.

Making breakfast for someone other than me. Sharing an apple. Eating out of the same bowl.

IKEA has veggie hot dogs now. Excellent. I also got a new cutting board. And that’s ALL I got. I’m virtually patting myself on the shoulder right now.

Christoph and Lauren’s wedding was pretty chill. We squeezed into a car, went up a very steep hill to attend the ceremony and spent the rest of the day around a camp fire drinking gin and tonics or dancing to very bad music. I loved getting to know Michael’s boyfriend of 4 years. I always received gay vibes from him��� good to know that my gaydar isn’t broken.

Taking polaroid pictures in the beautiful afternoon light. I also loved Christian’s outtakes of the theme music quiz. One of them honestly looks as if I’d just won a beauty pageant - we have a host, two ladies with jealous side glances and me, all excited, open mouth, in front of the mic, waiting for her tiara…

Spending a few hours in my mum’s garden. Doing dangerous yoga exercises in the grass. Walking barefoot. Marveling at the lush roses everywhere. Watching a blackbird taking a bath under the cherry tree. Very entertaining.

I want to learn Spanish and this video gives me hope - apparently I can heavily rely on my French vocabulary.

Why the men I like usually look the same.

Hanging out with Martina, Tobi and Diego the dog at the Thalkirchen campsite. Watching the rafts go by (horrible music), driving them home with their car right before the apocalyptic thunderstorm.

The perfect dessert: berries or peaches with fresh cream. The perfect dinner: Truffle pasta.

The concept of eclecticism.

Spending the afternoon with Franzi at Maria Einsiedel. Meeting baby Elise for the first time. Hopping into the Eiskanal, turning my body into a freezer for five minutes. Eating tiny lemon ice-cream and galia melon.

Meeting Catrin and Andreas at Brillengalerie in Altheim. Really good cappuccino (he’s an optician AND a latte artist). I loved trying on those gorgeous glasses and talking to Catrin about the Latte Art championships and rude customers.

Our trip to the Bavarian Forest to make a cake tree for the wedding. We visited Lena’s uncle who turned a tree trunk into a three-tiered cake stand with his chainsaw. We helped. I really want to get a chainsaw license now.

Once again: roses. They are incredibly lush this year. I don’t know why exactly but climate change seems to have one tiny upside.

Drawing. Portrait practice. Filling my sketchbook from idee. Polychromos coloured pencils.

Using Instagram’s story feature for the first time. I love editing pictures and adding gifs and colours. Immature and tacky but fun.

Looking trough old analogue pictures. Finding lots of my dad looking like the perfect Millennial. 90s fashion really IS back. I still loathe fanny packs though.

I found someone who’s coming to India with me!! I’m going to travel with Bibi this summer. So excited!

Unfortunately: the Solitaire app on my phone. Unhealthy obsession. You know you’ve got a problem when you’re getting REALLY good…

The smell of dill pickles reminds evokes vivid memories of my grandma. She used to make them herself, in heavy stoneware next to the wash room in the cellar.

Spending the evening with Bibi at Kulturdachgarten (having Ginger Spritz as a sundowner in the late afternoon sun), eating Israeli mezze at NANA in Haidhausen and seeing Rocketman at Rio cinema. My colleague works there so we got discount tickets and free ice-cream. Taron Egerton is a fabulous actor. If I had to describe the film in one word it’d be flamboyant. Also, I’d have loved to be the costume designer for this.

Iglo veggie love frozen meals. With Hela curry ketchup. Nom.

Extremely cute new rockery plants (who will have to do with regular potting soil I’m afraid).

Meeting Andre at Thalkirchen. Spending the evening on an Isar gravel bank, drinking the beer Martina brought from Croatia. Joining the… eh, what’s the Mile High Club for people who prefer water to air travel? Catching the last train home. Taking dinky photobooth pictures because we still had ten minutes to spare. That fake photo strip makes me happy instantly whenever I look at it.

Getting better at asking for what I want.

The character Moe in the Netflix series Trinkets. To me, she’s so much more attractive than Tabitha. And I love her attitude. And her hookup in episode seven. What a pretty man.

Manu making me realise how much I look like my dad. “At least jawwise!”

Spending the evening with Tom. Pre-theatre Spritz, Melancholia at Kammerspiele, Isar-beer near Müllersches Volksbad. Talking about our insights and issues.

It’s fascinating to see the lupin in front of my balcony door open it’s blossoms gradually from bottom to top. This plant has such an interesting structure and geometry.

Salad season. Somehow I only like salads in the summer but then I eat them passionately. With strawberries, Black Forest tofu, peaches, blueberries, mangoes, olives. Those nice, firm Roma tomatoes you only get during the summer months. I made a huge bowl of Tabouleh the other day and had it for breakfast, lunch an dinner.

Going home in the morning, smelling of another person.

Booking flights to India. 5 weeks. I’ve never been gone for so long and then I chose India of all places… I feel a mild panic attack coming but I’m also super excited.

Artificial cherry flavour.

A day trip with Lexi. She brought crisps and a fun Mexican dice game which we played on the train. Spending the whole afternoon soaking in the warm water at Therme Bad Aibling. Discovering the amazing acoustics in the various domes. Making a new duckie friend. Weird mirror selfies with hairdryers. Dinner at a Bavarian restaurant in Rosenheim. Teaching le Sash some obscure Bavarian words.

The word obscure, come to think of it. Uncanny is a close second.

Jupiter being so bright in the night sky. I always notice it first as soon as it’s dark.

Librarians are secretly the funnest people alive.

So many things, really. I’m feeling quite happy at the moment. My only problem is that I keep gaining weight. Somehow enjoying myself is adverse to the strict regime I need in order to stay perfectly healthy.

Random things: Schweppes Fruity citrus and orange lemonade. Tomato sandwiches with fresh basil on olive ciabatta. That squirrel running over the garage roof in the morning. Dreaming of ferry rides through US rivers. And intercourse with a panther. The Garner Ambre Soleil natural bronzer spray with coconut oil. Nice colour, good smell, minimal chipmunk effect. And of course me regular Garnier sun oil. It’s the bottled essence of summer.

Filling in for someone in the Natural 20s pub quiz team. Being invited to a pen and paper round with feline characters only. Meeting Sophia who, I realised later, played Rosencrantz (or Guildenstern?) at Entity Theatre’s production of Hamlet last year.

My complete and utter obsession with Phil Collins’ version of You Can’t Hurry Love. I think it’s going to be my next karaoke song.

A desire and drive to be creative. Making collages out of dried leftover paint. Drawing on the window panes. Getting out gouache, pastel chalks, oil pastels, those weird 3-in-1 coloured pencils which create such a nice texture. Drawing first thing in the morning. Spending hours drawing owls for the coffee roasters. Using coloured pencils to draw portraits of all the cool girls of Instagram.

Oh, speaking of art. I don’t want to jinx it but I might get the chance to write a book soon! I met an editor who works at a publishing house for lifestyle books and needs someone to make a book about portrait drawing/painting for her. So. Excited. They’re also looking for a trainee in the graphic design department. I really hope I get to collaborate with them in one way or another.

Cute summer outfits. Good colour combinations. Accessorizing. Wearing pretty clothes with a creative twist. Actually putting some thought into putting together an outfit can be a lot of fun. After all it’s just another way of making a collage.

Polarized sunglasses providing me with the bluest skies and rainbow-tinted tram windows.

The Croatian man who sat down next to a visibly pregnant Bavarian woman on the subway and started telling her about his daughter Persephone and the abduction myth connected with her. I keep reading and hearing about Demeter and Persephone lately, for example about Baubo and the vulva presentations / Demeter worship.

Carmen Rohrbach’s Unterwegs sein ist mein Leben. I was very impressed by how much she has seen and experienced. How much she knows about nature and animals. I mean, she’s a biologist, too. Reading this book made my days a little more special because it gave me a sense of how much more there is to discover on this planet.

Eating vegan ice-cream (pumpkin seed and ginger-turmeric) with Micha. Sitting on the balustrade in front of the Art Academy. Staring into these insanely pretty blue eyes all the time. Looking for the toilets, roaming through the hallways. I love the architecture of that building.

A ladybug escaping the subway train through an open door. Freedom!

I love how the characters resemble each other so much in the different generations in the TV-series Dark. Uncanny. And they feature very nice colour contrasts, too. I guess I like their production designer / cinematographer.

Late-night Isar strolls. Drinking red wine, lying down, watching the stars surrounded by fireflies! (which are quite rare where I live so I was lucky - the strangest thing is that I had drawn a firefly into my sketchbook earlier that day, feels like I manifested it)

Tollwood gin and tonics, forgetting to go home, ending up in a gay club at 3am. Nice Thursday.

Making up for the lack of sleep on Friday afternoon. Waking up late. Releasing my inner Julia Child at 2am by making sushi rolls, taboulé and Bergsteigerbrot, something like super tasty vegan granola bars with lots of nuts and honey.

A little bike tour with Frank along the river. Pseudo-meditating on a log, eating some snacks I brought. Floating with the current. His alliterations (“further fodder for future followers”).

[cerberusreport-blog]

Human Trafficking

Human trafficking / sex slavery In our daily lives we take for granted the hot shower, the climate control, the clean laundry, comfortable bed and easy access to a vast array of foods. Just as we all go on with our day to day, there are little children that has just been plucked off the street somewhere, be it in Chicago, London or New Delhi India. Abducted than transported to a “safe house” where the children are reeducated as to what their new lives will be like. Upon reeducation and terrified they are than transported to a private jet and flown to where ever they are to be auctioned off. Once auctioned off depending on who their new “owners” are is in relation to how their new lives will be. Some end up in Thailand in brothels of sorts appeasing the many “clients” to whom they are prostituted to, some are escorted to private estates through out the world as personal sex slaves to whatever their new owners desire. This includes and not limited to the international child pornography sex slave ring, SRA (satanic ritual abuse)/ human sacrifice, personal sex slaves, and subjected to the super rich as models for parties and political events as well as drug trafficking mules. Here are some basic facts: 1. There is an estimated 20.9 million sex slaves world wide. 2. Human trafficking is one of the largest organized crimes. 3. There are 700,000 missing persons in North America alone each year. 4. The logistics alone is a red flag, how can this many people be transported and available for sale on the world “black” market. 5. This leads to the next red flag, who are the kingpins, the syndicate that oversees this massive operation? That brings me to an expose’ please read and investigate its content... Expose’ When trying to research and understand any topic one must do diligent historical fact checking. With that being said in this expose’ besides the facts there also will be a reconstruction of the evidence and obvious conclusions. And when facts are not present it will be noted. Here goes, human trafficking goes back to ancient times, when an established empire or conquering entity will use the resources at hand. This includes people, when one thinks of slavery one thinks of hard labor, but the reality is that sex is paramount in this as well. From temple prostitutes of Sumer, Babylonia, Greece etc, to the phallic worship of the sun god, and goddess worship. We find a trend of hidden (occulted) culture. Where there is predatory elite to whom the commoners are subject. Modern human trafficking (as it relates to Occidental or Western culture) begins with the new world. At the time Portugal, Spain, France, the Dutch and the British Empire were and still are contenders of world affairs and the massive network of trade and commerce. In 1600 Queen Elizabeth I in corroboration with a wealthy “merchant class” chartered what became the British East India Co. This British East India Co had been operating in the Far East for some time already. The main competitor was the French. Upon seizing control of India/ the Far East, the British East India Co became the governing body of India. This B.E.I. co became a trading front for the crown of England. It not only brought tea and spices to all points west, but the B.E.I. co also was heavily involved with opium/ heroin and the West African transatlantic slave trade. During this time the late 1500s till the late 1800s child prostitution was legal in the British Empire. In fact the mid 1700s till the late 1800s was called the “golden age of prostitution”. Especially in the West End district of London, where “gentlemen” would pay up to 25 pounds in the late 1800s for a virgin, they would refer to this as “deflowering”. Child labor and Child prostitution were of course children of the impoverished commoners, who even sold their children or their children were “kidnapped” a term that has an etymology to that era. This is still going on in places the world over, where it is common place for a child to be sold for less than cattle. So than the conclusion is that the British East India Co also traded children for a profitable legal child prostitution ring, chartered by the crown of England. I’m sure other governments were involved. But This expose’ is to showcase the perpetrator, the crown of England and a network of wealthy merchants bound to no law except the crown of England. Who condones and is actively involved with a front organization the B.E.I. co, now ran by international central banks with compartmentalized agencies who puppeteer a “black market”. When one thinks of capitalism and commerce in relation to commodities, goods and services, one just might think of the stock market or just simply being able to go to the local store to purchase the desired items. Not the logistics, inventory control, investors- funding/ money transfers, and overhead. As it pertains to the black market it’s the same except of course the “black” part. This is an underground or secretly controlled and tightly ran operation. Those involved have access to either privet air fields or secured ones, (to me this is an obvious conclusion), Also the receiving air fields. (Note; this is speculative but highly probable) in black market trading business fronts most likely are the norm. Meaning if it’s a junket for a corporate or political retreat, or official high level transport like military etc. Also fronts could simply be a staged company whose goods happens to be humans instead of whatever is listed on the inventory ledger. This brings me to the next point, a play on words, like “natural resources” is for example trees that are being harvested and used for wood and paper products. The same is humans; “human resources” is a eugenic term for human beings cultivated and harvested for their application in a technocracy that is void of human compassion. I know this seems a bit much but connecting dots is of the order. You see weather it’s the free market or the black market, it’s the same humans are expendable goods. Not that the system as a whole is bad, it’s the motives behind of those controlling it. So in regards to human trafficking the motive is evil. Evan the scripture has a reference to human trafficking. [Revelation 18:13 “cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, olive oil, choice flour and wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, SLAVES- and HUMAN LIVES. (N.R.S.V.)] This passage is speaking of the present time in prophecy concerning the Mystery Babylon harlot system. This brings me to the next phase of this expose’, the belief or religious system of those conducting/ perpetrating the black market for sex slaves, arms and drugs, compartmentalized operations so that at each level the one below the other isn’t aware of the full scope and implication of this vast trade and commerce. That has protection, loopholes, and is also run in synchronization with the free market. This is also an obvious conclusion that speaks for its self. It is obvious that an occultist system of beliefs is at play, they (the occulted priest and priestess class) who oversee the sub groups. Again a compartmentalized system is in place, each level unaware of the one above it. Take into consideration fertility cults alone, their symbols of phallic and the divine feminine are every where. Example; the Egyptian obelisk, this is the phallus of the “sun god” and his reproductive or generative force. We have a reproduction in Washington D.C. (The Washington monument), as well as the true obelisks in New York, London, Paris and St. Peters square in Vatican City (this obelisk was brought to Rome in 37A.D.). The common denominator is the worship of the sun gods phallus. Also worth noting church steeples represent the sun gods phallus. This is hidden in the open as a sign of solidarity between those who control our paradigm and know theirs. So as in the ancient times until now, the highest class is a highly secretive priest and priestess class. Than sub levels that make up the social classes each one subjected to superiors. All the while you and I are pawns in the control game. Also it is worth noting the Queen Elizabeth was involved deeply in the occult, she had a personal astrologer and referred to her self as the virgin queen, and thought she was the goddess Dianna. All of this information comes full circle back to children and adults being sold and used as sex slaves and or slaves in general. Be it pedophile sex slave rings, child pornography, S.R.A. (satanic ritual abuse) to misconduct of social services including orphanages, daycares and organizations. This is a massive world wide network of operations, systems and financial backing that is unprecedented and unsurpassed in all of human history.

[honestlyrainyjellyfish]

I CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP

[ajourneythroughtime]

“Large problems can be divided into smaller ones.”

Welcome to the Fall in the Tree of Knowledge of Good & Evil folks. Did you find what you were looking for?

The simulation was made to duplicate and divide. Period. Replicate itself as often and as much as possible. Hmm, sounds a lot like human nature, doesn’t it? Basic survival. “Surely you will not die,” said the serpent.

Let’s just drop some origins shall we?

mitosis -  "process of nuclear division, splitting of the chromatin of a nucleus,"

warp -  *wer- (2) "to turn, bend." "cast of a net" 

measure -  "to deal out or divide up by measure,"  "air, tune;"

me- -  "to measure." "meadow;" "to reap, mow, crop;"

device -  "division, separation; disposition, wish, desire; coat of arms, emblem; “

project -  "stretch out, throw forth," from pro- "forward"   "attribute to another (unconsciously)"

ye- -  "to throw, cast."

shuttle -  "move rapidly to and fro,"

skeud- -  "to reject with scorn;" "cloth, covering;" "rope that controls a sail;"

cubicle -  "bedroom, bedchamber," "to lie down," "to sleep," "uncertain." Compare cubit. "any partitioned #SPACE"

succubus - (generally in female form) having sexual connection with men in their sleep, from succubare "to lie under,"(see sub-) + cubare "to lie down"

nest -  "resting place, nest," *sed- (1) "to sit." "young bird, brood," "a real or artificial egg left in a nest to induce the hen to go on laying there"

overthrow -  "to cast down from power, defeat" "to overturn, overthrow; destroy,"

rapture -  "seizure, rape, kidnapping," "a carrying off, abduction, snatching away; rape” "spiritual ecstasy, state of mental transport"

You shall not oppress a resident alien; you know the heart of an alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.

A people that you do not know will eat what your land and labor produce, and you will have nothing but cruel oppression all your days.34 The sights you see will drive you mad.

At midday you will grope about like a blind person in the dark. You will be unsuccessful in everything you do; day after day you will be oppressed and robbed, with no one to rescue you.

He will put an iron yoke on your neck until he has destroyed you.

The Lord will bring a nation against you from far away, from the ends of the earth, like an eagleswooping down, a nation whose language you will not understand,50 a fierce-looking nation without respect for the oldor pity for the young. 51 They will devour the young of your livestock and the crops of your land until you are destroyed.

You will sow much seed in the field but you will harvest little, because locustswill devour it.

locust -  "grasshopper, large orthopterous insect noted for mass migrations accompanied by destructive ravages of vegetation," 'grasshopper,' 'caterpillar,' 'palmerworm,' etc. "locust; lobster" (see lobster).

lobster -  "The only word similar in form and meaning is lacerta 'lizard; mackerel', influence of Old English loppe, lobbe "spider." "unidentified arthropod" (as apple was for "foreign fruit").

-ster -  Also whitester "one who bleaches cloth;" "woman who cleans wool." Chaucer ("Merchant's Tale") has chidester "an angry woman."

spinster -  "female spinner of thread," from Middle English spinnen "spin fibers into thread" Unmarried women were supposed to occupy themselves with spinning,

worm -  "serpent, snake, dragon, reptile," Can of wormsfigurative for "difficult problem" is from 1951, from the literal can of worms a fisherman might bring with him, on the image of something all tangled up. see quantum entanglement.

yolk, see yellow -  "to shine," from root *wer- (2) "to turn, bend."

dimity -  "of double thread," from di- (from PIE root *dwo- "two") + mitos "warp thread, thread,"

toil -  "agitate, stir up, entangle, writhe about," "mill for crushing olives, instrument for crushing," "hunting net, cloth, web"

Put it under the altar so that the net comes up to the center of the altar.