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ghostbustermelanieking · 5 years

Text

postcards slipped under the door

Summary: Mulder finds his life disrupted when activity similar to the work of the New Spartans reappears nearly two years later.

note: this is a pine bluff variant sequel set in season 7. i got this idea last fall for a prompt that i never actually finished. i wrote a little bit of it and more or less left it behind, and then i couldn’t stop thinking about it, so i picked it back up and finished it.

warning up front for violence, deaths, references to major character death, and suicidal ideations.

---

It all starts with a postcard, because how the hell else is it going to start.

If he's being really accurate, it started two years ago when he spoke in Boston, since he got a mysterious phone call inviting him to take down the federal government. But he thought it was over two years ago. He'd thought he could leave it behind, forget about it.

Or, no, that's not true. He tried to tell himself it was over. Scully had always insisted it was over. But now, he doesn't think he ever really believed it. Somehow, he always knew the New Spartans would be back.

He just always thought they'd come for him. Not her. Never her. He never really thought it'd end like this.

---

Technically, calling them the New Spartans may be a little inaccurate. They apparently have a new name. But the flesh-eating biotoxin has shown up again, little spurts of activity up and down the East Coast. Mulder had noticed, of course, suspected that the government is up to its usual disgusting methods again, but Scully hadn't wanted him to look any further into it.

The first time he noted it was in the uneasy period between Scully's venture with the smoker and his trip to England, before things seemed to fall into place for them and everything seemed okay. She had simply fixed him with a scalding look that said everything when he told her he wanted to look into it. “Mulder, no,” she said immediately. “The last time you got mixed up in this stuff, you were almost killed. They tortured you, Mulder, they almost killed you, and whatever members of that group are left… they know you were a mole. If this is the same group, then digging into this could be incredibly dangerous. There's a good chance they could have held this grudge, and this is their attempt at revenge.”

If it'd been two years earlier, he might've fought back. He might've argued the point that innocent people could be dying and he might be the only one who can stop it. But the combined fear from memories of his time undercover, and fear at the thought of losing Scully (he had been angry at her, but now the anger had mostly faded into regret and apologies he didn't know how to say) was clogging his throat. He thought of the biotoxin eating away at flesh, gun metal at the back of his head, the pleading eyes of a stranger in a bank floor. The old, muted fear rose higher in his throat like bile. “This is very likely activity by our government, Scully,” he said quietly. The most he could bring himself to fight. “On innocent civilians. I can't just ignore it.”

“So pass the information on.” Scully was looking at the ground, but he could see her jaw clenched anxiously. He suddenly remembered the way she had hugged him when she had brought him back to his apartment, leaning over the center console, her fingers digging desperately into his shoulders. He remembered that it was hard on her, too. “This isn't your responsibility, Mulder. You've more than paid your dues here, and you should never have to go through that again.”

Her eyes were soft, pleading; the softest they'd been since this whole ordeal with the smoker. He couldn't find it in himself to say no. He couldn't bring himself to let her down again.

So he passed it on to Skinner. Every possible inkling of activity in the news or the crimes flowing into the Bureau that sounded vaguely like the New Spartans, he passed it on. And every time he passed it on, he got no response. He didn't know if they were investigating or not, and he tried not to care. He went to England, and he came back, and Scully came into his bedroom and slipped and the covers next to him, kissed him so hard that it would've knocked him off his feet if he'd been standing up. Things gradually became okay again. They went to North Carolina, and he almost died from tobacco beetles burrowing into his throat, and Scully stayed in his apartment with him while he recovered, stroking his hair and laying beside him on top of the comforter with her hand in his.

And then the biotoxin appeared in a government lab. Several employees gruesomely dead, suspicions on the rise. And that was when people began to pay attention to Mulder's claims.

---

He's gonna keep thinking about it. He's gonna play it over and over again in his head, like a wheel churning in water. It starts up again in the back of his mind, like a fucking movie he's not going to be able to turn off, and he swallows back nausea. He was hysterical last night, and he's sure he'll be hysterical tomorrow (he's cold, he can't get warm, he can almost hear Scully diagnosing him with shock), but tonight, he needs to focus.

He should've known that it would happen like this. He should've fucking known. It's his fault, just like he always suspected. His fucking mistake. The fucking New Spartans.

He drives, the fact of this situation hard and icy in his brain like a metal spike. He wants to vomit. He clenches his teeth and swallows it back and stares at the map on the seat beside him. The creased map he studied repeatedly last night before making a decision; he knows it like the back of his hand. He drives, his hands hard on the wheel, his mind solidly and singly determined. Replays the whole thing in his mind again.

---

Scully was the one who found the postcard. She'd been at his apartment for a solid two and a half weeks, she was practically living there, and she'd gotten up to get some coffee, and she saw the postcard stuffed under the crack.

She hadn't touched it. She'd called his name warily from the living room. When he came out, she was retrieving plastic gloves from under the sink. “Scully, what is it?” he asked, confused, his hair sticking up at the back and his eyes gritty with sleep. His mind wasn't completely awake yet.

“Someone sent you a postcard,” Scully said softly, pulling the gloves on. “No, no, no—don’t touch it,” she added quickly as he drew closer. “I'm afraid it might have the biotoxin on it.”

“Why would you—” He stopped cold in his tracks when he saw it. The symbol scribbled in Sharpie over the painted image of the Liberty Bell. The one he was unfamiliar with two years ago, when it may have been important, but one that he knew now, from reading files on August Bremer, who notably dropped off the grid right after the whole ordeal was over two years ago. Bremer's symbol, the one he used to leave at crime scenes years before he supposedly created the New Spartans. Mulder had thought that Bremer was something of an ally (as much of an ally as he could be when the government was supposedly behind the biotoxin in the first place), but the symbol had popped up again, in the labs where employees turned up dead. It was practically a confirmation of Bremer's involvement. And here it was on his doorstep.

“Bremer's symbol,” Scully said grimly, picking up the postcard in her gloved fingers.

“I thought Bremer was on my side,” Mulder said, his stomach suddenly churning with nauseousness. He didn't want to do this again. “He… he saved my life.” But he was thinking of the cavalier way that Bremer betrayed him when he could've let him walk away, killed that man in the bank even after he stopped Mulder from doing it, killed Haley and the gimp without blinking.

She turned the postcard over and pinched it between two fingers. Lifted her head and gave him a gentle, comforting look with just a tinge of fear in it. “It just looks like a street address,” she said softly, holding up the postcard so he could see the scrawl. “No city, but I think it's safe to assume that they mean Philadelphia.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, blinking hard. “Do you think it's some kind of trap?” he asked. “Or…”

“I don't know, Mulder. I honestly don't. Will you get me a Ziploc bag?” He retrieved it from the drawer and held it open for her so she could drop the postcard in. “It could be a trap...” she said gingerly, “or it could be information that the FBI could use. It could be an actual lead.”

“You think so?” he said with surprise, sealing the top of the bag.

“Think about it,” Scully said, peeling off her gloves and dropping them into the trash can. “Your last encounter with Bremer was when he let you go. The assumption was that he was working against his own group. He could still be undercover. He could be using this to reach out, to expose them.”

Mulder stared at the postcard through the plastic. “You think they're in Philadelphia?” he asked softly.

“I think something's in Philadelphia.” Scully finished disposing of the gloves and reached out to touch his shoulder. “I think we should pass this on immediately,” she added. “Your involvement doesn't necessarily have to go further than that.”

He was still looking at the postcard, feeling the slight weight of it dangling from his fingers. Thinking about that bank robbery, the man he was ordered to kill fearful and bleeding on the carpet in the last few moments of his life; the bone in his finger snapping like a twig, black fabric and stale air and the white-hot pain; gun metal grazing his ear and the gunshot not meant for him; the terror of hearing Scully's voice on that tape, thinking that they'd kill him and go for her. The innocent people who died painfully, the more that might still die. “Yeah,” he said, his fingers numb, his hands cold with sweat. “Yeah, I'll call Skinner.”

---

It didn't end at giving the postcard to Skinner. They had to take it to the lab to examine it, and Mulder and Scully had to explain their theory to Skinner, and then again to the leaders of the task force created to track down whoever used the biotoxin against the government employees, and then Mulder had to recount his time undercover to the task force. It went on and on until they finally conceded, finally agreed to send agents to the address in Philadelphia—apparently it was a warehouse, which would make sense for a home base or a storage facility of some kind—to check it out. But they weren't going to let Mulder go with them.

Scully looked astonished, at first, when he said he wanted to go, but she hid it well. He explained it over and over again—he knew the New Spartans, or whatever their name was now, better than anyone on that task force, he had firsthand fucking experience; it was him who Bremer supposedly wanted to contact, so it must be him who they wanted to come to the warehouse.

“And that's exactly why we can't let you go,” Skinner said in a hard voice. “Mulder, if they're gunning for you, we'd be playing right into it. We don't truly know Bremer's allegiance, or why he let you go in ‘98. It's too much of a risk to you and to the task force to let you go.”

He looked at Scully immediately, and she was nodding along. “It's too dangerous,” she said. “We still have no idea if that postcard had biotoxin on it or not, much less why Bremer sent it to you. If he's looking to hurt you somehow, it'd probably be in everyone's best interest if you weren't there.”

He looked between them helplessly—helpless to argue, after what he'd been through; helpless not to argue, when he knew what they were capable of. For some reason, Bremer had contacted him. For all he knew, he was all that was standing in between that biotoxin and innocent civilians. Was it possible that some of the men still carried grudges against him, that Haley had died but he'd gone free? He had thought the group was gone.

“You can work the case from here, Mulder,” Skinner said, a little kinder this time. “And Agent Scully can go to Philadelphia.”

He looked between them again, this time in disbelief, but Scully was nodding at that, too. “They don't know who I am,” she said. “But I've had… more access to your side of things than most people, as your partner. It makes sense.”

He wanted to protest that these people operated dirty and it was dangerous, but there were other people going, too. He wanted to insist that he wouldn't let her go alone, that they were partners and he was supposed to have her back and he fucking hated it when they did shit like this. “Sir, I can be more of an asset in the field,” he said quietly. “I can recognize their traps. I was this group, once.”

“You're too close to this case, Mulder,” said Skinner. “That's the end of it. We'll make sure you have active communication with the task force in Philadelphia.”

He should've argued. That's what he kept thinking, that he should've argued harder. It would've pissed Scully off, but he doesn't care about that. He'd do anything to have her pissed off and here, instead of the other way around.

But he didn't. Scully reached out and squeezed his arm comfortingly as they discussed details, right in front of Skinner, and he found he couldn't argue. Scully could take care of herself, he reminded himself; Scully could probably manage to stop whatever their plan is. He didn't want to let her go alone, but he knew neither one of them would budge. So he went along with it, even as nervousness ate away at him. He really had thought this was over.

---

They went down to their office in the space before the briefing. They were quiet on the walk to the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder as they stepped inside, but as soon as the door closed, Scully's hand was on his back gently. “You okay?” she murmured, her voice soft with concern.

He worked his jaw back and forth, nodded carefully. “I… I really did think this all was over,” he said quietly. “And I never thought that… that I'd be sending you into the midst of it.”

He'd expected her to be angry that he was being protective, but her eyes softened as much as her voice. “You're not sending me,” she murmured. “I’m choosing to go. I want to end this, for you, and for everyone else that has been hurt by them.”

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders drooping. The elevator beeped, and the doors slid open as they reached the basement. “I wish I was going with you,” he whispered.

She rose on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, even as the doors slid closed again. “I'm glad you're not,” she said softly. “I saw what they did to you the first time; I don't want to give them the chance to do it again.”

That was the reason he didn't want her to go. He thought involuntarily of the gun at the back of his head, of Scully's cool fingers on his injured hand in the dark. He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight. “Be careful,” he mumbled into her hair, and she nodded. She squeezed him hard before slipping out of his embrace, pressing the Door Open button.

In the office, they gathered the file Mulder had put together on the New Spartans, which was really just photocopies of the information from the official New Spartans file, aside from some information that Mulder and Scully had added themselves. Scully gave him a small smile over the pile of files; he could see some mix of worry and affection in her eyes, reassurance.

He should be going instead of her, he had thought, over and over again; it was his case and his responsibility, and they had sent the postcard to him. It's what he'd thought then, and it's what he thinks now. It should've been him. But at the time, somehow, he was able to reassure himself that it'd be okay.

At the briefing, someone else was speaking about previous activity by the New Spartans. The postcard was blown up on the wall, the symbol enlarged. Mulder and Scully stood shoulder to shoulder in the back of the room, the way they usually did, until they were called up to add in their statements. Mulder summarized his experience undercover as briefly as he could, and the activity he'd been noticing, ending with the postcard. He skated over the details of Scully having found the postcard first, saying that he called her when he saw the symbol. The agents laid out the plan, and Mulder listened despite himself. He was thinking of Scully, thinking of making one last, pathetic bid to go with her; they were partners, after all. He tried to catch Skinner on the way out, and he shook his head tightly.

---

If there's any particular part he keeps playing and replaying, it's of his goodbye with Scully before they left. His last moments with Scully, ever. It makes him sick just to think about it, and he has to swallow hard and clench his jaw just to overcome the nausea, to keep driving.

She was about to get in the van, already dressed in tactical gear and not looking the happiest about it—it was a long drive to Philly. She tipped her head up to say goodbye to him, offering him a grim smile as if to reassure him. “If things go well, I'll be back tonight,” she offered, her voice soft so that none of the other agents would hear.

He'd touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently through the gear. “Call me when you get out,” he told her. “Or as soon as you get a chance.”

“I will.” She offered him a small smile. “This is all going to be over soon. Maybe even tonight.” She reached up to touch his arm, gently, her eyes soft. And then she turned around and went to the van. He thought about calling Be careful! after her again, but he didn't. He was thinking about her rule on public displays of affection, and he didn't want to embarrass her. So he just watched her go.

Now, he regrets not kissing her, not wrapping her up tight in his arms. He regrets every single thing he didn't say to her, not telling her that he loves her. Regrets not insisting that he go with her. Regrets not begging her not to go.

The images are too bright behind his eyes, of her face, her eyes, the way she looked at him. He pulls off sharply on the side of the road, buries his face in his hands, and lets himself cry.

---

He had tried to wait out news in the bullpen, but the wait was entirely too long, and he felt like people were watching him, wondering what he'd been through before with the New Spartans, wondering if he was up here waiting for news about his partner who he may or may not be fucking. He couldn't stand the pitying looks across the room from Skinner, so he slipped downstairs to their office and shut the door, read over the New Spartans file again and again. He couldn't figure out what was happening, why they wanted to talk to him. He flipped through photos of the places the symbol had been left, trying to find some kind of link, but he found nothing. Research on the address yielded nothing, either; it seemed to just be a perfectly normal, definitely abandoned warehouse. After a few hours, he trailed, restless, up to the bullpen.

He found several agents, including Skinner, crowded around a television turned to a news channel. He drew closer, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to see the screen, and his stomach seemed to drop out from beneath him when he saw the headline: Explosion at abandoned warehouse in Philadelphia. His breath left him, his limbs weakening, and he stumbled a few steps closer to the TV before Skinner saw him. He turned to Mulder immediately, his hands held out in some semblance of warning or comfort as he said, “Mulder, we don't have very much news yet, but we've been in touch with the leader of the task force, and he's saying that it looks like everyone got out…”

Mulder turned away, striding across the bullpen as he pulled out his cellphone with trembling hands. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest; it felt as if his ribs were splintering under the pressure. He hit 1 on his speed dial and listened to the rings, silently urging her to pick up, pick up, goddamnit Scully. But nothing happened. The phone just rang and rang until it clicked emptily to indicate that she hadn't answered. He let out a painful breath, pressing his palm flatly to his furrowed forehead. He tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything, that she was fine, but he couldn't reassure himself. His stomach was churning; he felt as if he was going to throw up.

He turned back to Skinner, crossing the room again, as he tried Scully's number again. “She isn't picking up,” he said tightly, clutching the phone too hard. Some of the other agents were staring, but he didn't care; he stared at Skinner with a pleading sort of look.

“I'm sure it's fine, Mulder, she might not even have her phone with her…” Skinner started, but the phone began ringing before he could get the thought out. It felt like the cannons signaling an execution; it seemed to cut Mulder right to the soul.

Skinner, casting a weary look over the gathered agents, picked up. “Yes,” he said tightly, indicating he knew who it was. “Oh, I'm glad to hear from you… yes. What?” His jaw seemed to be tightening. “Goddamnit,” he said softly, inflections of emotion in his voice, and Mulder knew immediately what had happened. He didn't want to know it, but he knew it.

“Are you sure?” Skinner was asking, his voice full of his own grief. “Are you positive? Because I want you to be fucking sure before we deal with this.” Mulder couldn't breathe. He was nearly swaying on his feet, dizzy. He started across the room, reaching for the phone, but Skinner turned away, a hand held up. “Well, once everything is under control, I'd like you to fucking figure it out,” he said evenly before hanging up. He hung up the phone, hard. He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Mulder couldn't breathe. His chest was tight, his throat was shut. He asked, so softly he could hardly believe it, “It's her, isn't it?”

Skinner rubbed his nose again, his eyes, the glasses bumping up on his forehead. He turned towards him, speaking carefully, beginning, “Mulder…”

“Was it her?” He was shouting now, his voice cracking. “Was she inside the warehouse?”

Skinner looked as if he didn't know what to say. “They… they haven't been able to find her…” he tried. “T-they… they think she was inside…”

Everything seemed to go red: a red sheen over his vision, tiny dots behind his eyes. A roaring in his ears. Everything was blank for a moment, a blank space in his mind. He shouted something. He didn't know what it was, but it made his throat hurt. The next thing he knew, he was charging at Skinner when someone caught him and held him back. Two other agents. Skinner was looking at him with some sort of acceptance, as if he'd known he would react this way. He was still shouting, his fingernails digging into the skin of the other agents, and he was finally able to make out the words; he was screaming, “Why did you send her instead of me?”

(Looking back, now, it was a nonsensical thing to shout. It wasn't Skinner's fault; Scully wouldn't have stayed back if she was told to because that wasn't the way Scully was. But still, it was the way he felt. It should've been him. He'd give anything for it to have been him.)

Skinner was shouting something too. He yelled, “I didn't have a choice, Agent Mulder!” and it sounded like he was crying. “I didn't have a fucking choice. Agent Scully would've been furious if I had sent you.”

Her name seemed to hit Mulder like a weight of bricks. He stunned away from the other agents as if he had been burned. He staggered towards the door as if he was drunk, broke into a run. He reached the bathroom just in time, hitting the ground so hard it felt as if his kneecaps cracked, and vomited hard into the toilet. He was shaking, shivering, and he was sobbing. It was hitting him, all at once, that he was never going to see her again.

He doesn't remember much more after that.

---

Skinner, he thinks, picked him up off the floor. Skinner drove him home, and Skinner, sounding inches away from his own breakdown, offered to sit with him. He refused, unable to look him in the eye. He went upstairs and deadbolted the door and fell into a heap on his empty bed, thinking that it was inevitable that he'd lose everyone important in his life, his mother and his sister and the love of his life. He curled into a ball on the bed, around the discarded t-shirt Scully had shed this morning. Pressed his nose to the collar and inhaled her scent and tried to pretend that she was here. Dissolved into sobs again, clutching the shirt to his chest like a child's blanket and thinking, again and again, that it should've been him, it should've been him. They were looking for him all along; why else had they sent him that postcard? They wanted to kill him. And he had sent her.

And he was stumbling to his feet and rushing to the bathroom, and he was retching again over the sink, dryly, shaking and shaking on the floor. He stumbled to his knees, nearly bent in two, his forehead against the cool of the porcelain. He felt as if he was splitting in two. He curled into a ball on the floor, his spine hitting the wall. He was crying again, the tears cold on his face. He stayed like that, curled into the smallest possible space, for a long time. He was thinking about Scully and thinking that maybe he shouldn't be; he was thinking about the way she looked the night before when they were falling asleep: curled on her side, over his arm that was slowly falling asleep, her hair falling across her face, her expression peaceful. He loves her so much; he loves her with everything in him. And sitting there then, scrunched up under his bathroom sink hugging his knees and sobbing so hard his throat hurt, he couldn't remember if he had ever told her.

---

He didn't know how long he had sat there, curled up on the bathroom floor, but when he finally got up, his knees ached. He shuffled slowly into the living room, thinking almost involuntarily of his gun sitting in his office. Just sitting there in the holster. He walked through his dimly lit living room, and that was when he saw it: another postcard shoved under his door, lying peacefully on his rug.

He went to it quickly, landing so fast and hard that his knees burned. It looked strangely bulky from where it lay on the floor, as if something was taped to the back of it. Greetings from Pennsylvania, it read, and the same symbol was scribbled in Sharpie over the front. Bremer's symbol.

He scooped it up immediately, cradling it in the palm of his hands, wondering too late if it had been sprayed with the biotoxin. He remembered Scully the morning before, holding up the postcard with gloved hands, and he winced. But he didn't feel any sting, any sensation that might've hinted his skin burning away. And besides that, this didn't seem important. This postcard may have come from the man who killed Scully.

He flipped it over and felt something flop away from the postcard. It was a map, he realized, folded up and taped to the back of the postcard. He yanked it off and unfolded it, smoothing out the creases. It was hard to make it out, but it looked like a map of the East Coast.

It looked like someone had outlined a route heading north from DC, into Pennsylvania, in bright red marker. Has written an address in smeared red letters, overtop a woodsy rural area drawn in green.

---

The map is sitting in his passenger seat now. He is driving; he has been for hours. He's following the route on the map. He has no idea where it goes, but he isn't sure that he cares. He's sure of one thing: it leads to the men who killed Scully, and he is determined as hell to find them. He's not going to let them get away with it this time, with all of the dirty work they've been doing, everything they've done. He's going to end it, once and for all.

He doesn't know what happens next. He doesn't want to think about what happens next. He doesn't want to think about the next day, or the day after that, or the years and years that may hollowly follow. He has no family left; they took his mother and his father and his sister and now they have taken Scully. (Someone might point out that the New New Spartans, or whatever the hell they're calling themselves now, aren't necessarily the same as these bastards that tore his family apart, but if Bremer was government and the men who took his sister were government, then they are one and the same to him.)

Maybe he'll go to Canada. Maybe he should've gone to Canada a long time ago, but that wouldn't work, would it, because they have a hand everywhere now. Maybe he'll go to the farthest reaches of the Earth, where no one can ever find him again, because he doesn't have anyone worth staying for at this point. If he even survives any of this, that is; he's almost to the point of not caring about that anymore. It should've been him yesterday.

He drives, as the sun sinks low in the sky, as the traffic slows to the point where he is very nearly the last person on the road. He drives until he begins to see signs for the exit, the one that whoever sent him the map—Bremer, he assumes—had started. His hands almost unnaturally steady, he exits at the appropriate moment. He is thinking of whoever has done this to Scully. He is thinking of gunpowder; he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue. He exits the highway smoothly, merging onto the quiet country road. He is gritting his teeth. He is trying not to cry. He is thinking about the map and about silly revenge that Scully would undoubtedly advise him against or scold him for, and he is thinking about Scully, and his eyes are burning. He has the address memorized, lodged solidly in the back of his head, and he scans the mailboxes for it until it lands on the correct one. He checks the map again just to be sure; he's in the right place.

He parks on the side of the road and climbs out of the car. He checks for his gun in his holster, a lump beneath the tail of his shirt. He thinks of Scully once again.

He begins to trudge up the dirt road winding up past the mailbox into the woods.

---

It's a long walk, through a surprisingly murky heat. It's heavy and cloaking in the air, and all uphill. His back is coated in sweat. He is exhausted and grieving, his eyes wet, his limbs loose, his mind back on Scully. He thinks this is why he doesn't hear the man coming up behind him, the dead leaves and twigs underfoot, until there's a click behind his head. The click of the safety being taken off a gun. Mulder freezes in place.

“Special Agent Fox Mulder,” a voice that is a little familiar—not too terribly familiar, but a little bit—intones from behind him. “I didn't think I'd hear from you again, after you killed my friend and ran off like a yellow coward to rat us out.”

The gimp, Mulder remembers, that bastard that Bremer shot. He must've told them that Mulder was the one who killed the guy, to maintain his cover. This guy must've been one of the men they robbed the bank with. Which means that he is in the right place.

Thoughts shoot through his mind of the innocent man that died in that bank, and of that gun to his head, and of Scully, Scully gone because of them. He moves on instinct, his hand shooting towards his gun, and the man grabs his arm and shoves him forward, pushing him into a tree. He grunts in pain as the bark bites into his cheek, as his head spins. The guy twists his arm behind his back, pulling it up sharply until Mulder is whimpering in pain, and snatches the gun from his holster, tossing it into the wood where it lands with a dull thump. The guy's gun presses against the back of Mulder's head as he yanks his arm up harder. “I am very glad you came back,” he breathes in Mulder's ear, pressing the muzzle of the gun hard against his skull. “I've been waiting for this for a long time.”

Mulder tries to steady his breath, bites back another whimper. “Was… was it you?” he growls. “Are you the one that made that bomb?’

The guy laughs, yanking him away from the tree and giving him a hard shove. “Walk that way, FBI man.”

“Did you make the goddamn bomb?” Mulder snarls, trying to turn around to look at the man. He shoves Mulder again, so hard he almost falls this time. He catches himself roughly on a tree trunk. “Are you the one who fucking killed her?” he nearly bellows.

“You fucking rat,” the guy growls, grabbing Mulder's shirt in his fists and pushing him along at a slogging pace. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“There was a bomb,” Mulder says slowly, unsteadily, “that went off at a warehouse in Philadelphia yesterday. A woman was in there. Was that you, you goddamn bastard?”

He is smacked with the muzzle of the gun, on the side of his scraped, bleeding face, so hard that his head spins and he sees a rush of stars. “You got a smart mouth, you know that?” the guy snaps. “I dunno how we didn't see right fucking through you from day one.”

“Was it you?” Mulder shouts, twisting in the guy's grasp, and he gets smacked across the face again. He stumbles forward dizzily, groaning, as the guy forces him to his knees, presses the gun against his head once more, and Mulder really is going to be sick again, he doesn't want to die this way but he doesn't know what he's going to do without her. He's nearly crying, shaking with fury, and he tries to turn around to face the asshole, but he's shoved around to face forward again.

“Whether it was or it wasn't,” the guy whispers with a sort of sick fucking glee, “it feels a little fair, doesn't it? You murdered my friend. You killed him in cold blood. So if I killed your little friend… that feels a little appropriate, doesn't it?”

Mulder takes a tremulous, furious breath. He hates this man with a burning passion, and he's angry and frightened and missing Scully so much, and he tries to get to his feet again, but he's shoved back down. The knees of his jeans are brown with mud. “I'll finish what Bremer shoulda finished two years ago,” the man mutters disapprovingly. “I'll show you what we do to rats around here, Special Agent Mulder.”

Mulder shuts his eyes, shaking and shaking, thinking that he should've fucking ignored those postcards, should've ignored the recruiter who came looking for him two years ago. Here he is again with a gun to his head, just like he was two years ago. All he wants is to see Scully again, and he thinks that maybe if that gun goes off, he will. But he doesn't want her to be dead, and he doesn't think he wants to die. He shuts his eyes and bites back a sob. He never should've gotten involved. All he wants is another chance.

For a moment, he thinks he is hallucinating, because he thinks he hears Scully's voice. And then he realizes that he is hearing Scully's voice—a high, panicked, “Mulder!” echoing through the trees. He opens his eyes and jerks his head to see two dark figures standing above them on a small ridge.

The guy with the gun mutters, “What the…” just as a gunshot is fired. Not by the asshole beside him. By one of the figures up on the hill. It hits the guy beside Mulder, who hits the ground with the same dull thump as the gun, and Mulder winces, scrambling away from the body without standing, without taking his eyes off of the figures on the hill. He's still quivering in place, tears in his eyes.

One is moving towards him, footsteps thudding over the dead leaves and sliding through the mud, stumbling as she approaches. As she draws closer, he can see who it is, and it's impossible, it's impossible. But he's always believed in impossibilities, and he sure as hell wants to believe this one.

Scully lands on her knees before him, her hands cuffed before her, reaching up awkwardly to touch his face. “Mulder?” she whispers nervously, her fingers hovering over the scrapes and bruises on the side of his face. “Are you okay?”

He can't breathe. His ribs have shrunk, everything is too tight. He cannot believe she's here. “Scully?” he murmurs, and she nods, her eyes full of tears. She lifts her cuffed hands and loops them around his neck in a makeshift hug; he wraps his arms around her tightly, tugging her into his lap, and presses his face into the side of her neck. “Oh my god,” he gasps, biting back sobs, his nose pressed to her pulse point. “Oh my god.” She is alive, she is alive. He presses a tender kiss to the side of her neck, under her jaw.

“I'm so sorry,” she chokes out. He draws back in astonishment and looks at her; her face is sheet-white and full of guilt.

“Sorry?” He ducks out of the circle of her arms, reaching out to push hair behind her ear. His vision is blurry with tears; he smiles shakily, pressing a hand to her cheek. “Scully, what the hell do you—”

“This is all very touching, Agent Mulder,” a voice says solemnly from behind them, “but I'm afraid we have some business.” The second figure has approached them, and Mulder can tell who it is now: August Bremer. He is standing over the two of them, his hands folded over his chest, and Mulder is suddenly reminded of the moment when he killed the gimp, just like this. Just like now. Scully is tense next to him, poised protectively on the ground.

“Did you do this?” Mulder snaps, a hand on Scully's shoulder. “Did you do—what the fuck is this, why the fuck do you have her cuffed?”

“You should be grateful, Agent Mulder,” he says solemnly, taking Scully by the arm and pulling her to her feet.

She swipes at her eyes, her face taking on a stony expression as she stumbles in place; Mulder gets to his feet and draws close to her in an instinctive, protective manner, a hand on her elbow as they step back from Bremer nearly in unison. His voice tinged with anger, still quivering with the tumult of emotions, he replies stiffly, “And why is that?”

“I've very likely saved both of your lives,” Bremer says, his expression blank.

It's tempting to trust him, considering the fact that he's saved Mulder's life twice now and apparently has kept Scully safe, but Mulder isn't ready to be that kind of trusting, not with Bremer. He's killed before without hesitation—the civilian in the bank, two of his own men, Haley and probably the people at the movie theater in Ohio. He told Haley that Mulder was working for the Feds without a second thought, even though they were apparently on the same side, and whatever's happening with Scully, she doesn't exactly seem to be with Bremer of her own free will. He's not very trusting of Bremer at the moment, all things considered. He draws closer to Scully and snaps, “How the hell have you saved our lives? From what it looks like to me, you put a bomb at the location you tried to lure me to and almost killed my partner! And now you've lured me here only to have a fucking gun put to my head?”

“Mulder…” Scully murmurs cautiously.

“If you'll remember, I just shot the man who was trying to kill you,” Bremer says coldly. “And I never intended for you to die in the bombing. Others certainly did, but I didn't. That was why I took your partner from the site. I desperately needed to talk to you, and I believed that was the best way to get your attention, by making your partner go missing.”

“You motherfucking bastard,” Mulder hisses.

“There is a hit out on you, Mr. Mulder. Many people who want you dead for trying to expose our activity. For the same reason those people died in a government lab.” Bremer's eyes narrow, looking them both over. “Our work has shifted in the past few years, Mr. Mulder, but our goal is essentially the same. We've been attempting to mobilize the biotoxin I know you're familiar with. To weaponize it further, essentially, and learn how to make it airborne. We'd been testing it, as I'm sure you guessed, in small waves up and down the East Coast. But one of the drones employed in the labs doing our work in changed his mind. Decided the work wasn't moral enough for him.” Bremer smiles wolfishly. “Do you understand what happened next, Mr. Mulder?”

He understands all too well. He squeezes Scully's elbow, her shoulder bumping against the side of his chest. His heart is pounding too fast, his head aching with fury.

“Once that was over with,” Bremer continues, “my superiors decided on damage control. And considering the whispers about a certain former member who was recognizing our activity and making reports to the FBI… your name made the short list, Mr. Mulder.”

Scully seems to stiffen at this, going rigid next to him. He still can't believe she's here, that she's okay, and all he wants is to get her out of here. To get out of here himself. He's annoyed with the entire thing, his anger thick in his throat. “Guess I win a medal then, huh?” he snaps. “So why am I not dead yet?”

“Mulder,” Scully whispers chidingly, taking a wobbling step closer to him. He rubs a thumb over her arm, resists the urge to hug her again. His eyes are still hurting from all of the crying he has done; his heart is still pounding too hard.

“You're not dead yet, Mr. Mulder, because I believe you might be an asset to us,” Bremer says simply. “The same way you were an asset earlier, even unintentionally.”

“How the hell could I have been a goddamn asset? I was a mole!”

“Put in place by one of my superiors.” Bremer grins dryly. “You weren't a mole, you were a pawn. And I believed you were more valuable alive than dead, whether it was a willing usefulness or not.”

“Go to hell,” Scully snaps, squaring her shoulders, standing nearly in front of him.

Bremer shrugs. “My intention was to fake your death in the bombing, but I think saving your partner gave me an even greater advantage. It got you here.”

“You're insane if you think I'll help you, after everything,” he says coldly. “My partner and I are going home.”

“You're insane,” Bremer says slowly, and lifts the corner of his shirt to reveal the butt of his gun, “if you think I'm giving you a choice.”

Scully's elbow presses into mulder's stomach as she steps even closer to him, her jaw set in a hard line. Bremer lets his shirt drop, crossing his arms. “We're at war, Mr. Mulder. I am giving you the chance to save yourself, and to save your partner. With what she knows, there is no way they will let her live.”

Mulder winces on instinct at that. He's already lost her so many times; last night, he'd thought he had lost her for good. He won't risk losing her again. She is standing right there, stiff and determined and protective despite the handcuffs, the bruises on her wrists and the small burns on her arms and face, the way she'd looked after Ruskin Dam. She must have been close to the explosion. He thinks that he would do anything for her, to keep her safe; he had thought he would never see her again.

He says, unflinchingly, “I'll stay.” Scully turns to him in astonishment, but he doesn't look at her. He's looking at Bremer. “I'll stay,” he says slowly, “if you let Scully go.”

“Mulder,” Scully hisses, shaking her head.

“You heard me before, didn't you?” Bremer says with amusement. “They'll kill her, too. They'll kill her if they find out she's alive.”

“You can't keep her here!” Mulder shouts, his fingers cradling the delicate bones of her elbow.

“I can keep her here.”

“Mulder, don't do this,” Scully whispers. “Please. Please don't do this.”

“Let her go,” Mulder says again. “If you want anything from me, you need to let her go. She has a life, and people think she is dead. Do you know what this is doing to her family?” His voice breaks as he speaks. Scully shakes her head, turning slightly to look at him. Her eyes are wide and pleading.

“Do you think I care?” Bremer asks coldly. “You're not in a position to be making requests. I've saved your life twice now, Mr. Mulder. You owe me. The both of you do.”

“Look, I am not going to let you…” he starts, but breaks it off when he sees someone moving through the trees. Someone standing on the ridge above them, moving through the woods. He freezes immediately, his heart pounding; Bremer clearly doesn't want him or Scully dead, but there is no indication that the other people here don't. He steps even closer to Scully, her shoulder bumping against his chest again. She looks at him again, nervousness and anger, meant for Bremer, mixing in her eyes.

“What… what the hell is going on?” Bremer snaps, noticing his uneasiness. “Is there someone…” He starts to turn around.

“Freeze!” a voice bellows from the ridge, and Mulder sees the figure on the hill raise a gun. “Hands in the air. August Bremer, you're under arrest.”

Mulder gasps out a sigh of relief, his hands on Scully's shoulders now as the agent stumbles down the hall towards Bremer, his gun aimed. Bremer is looking at him with something like admiration or shock. “So you really were a mole this time,” he says softly, as if impressed. “You realize that this will put an even bigger target on your back.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Scully says fiercely over her shoulder.

Mulder hadn't been involved in this, actually, he has no idea what they're doing here, but he doesn't care. “Handcuff key, he has a handcuff key,” he blurts to the agent cuffing Bremer and taking his weapon. He grabs Scully's hands almost earnestly. “We need that over here!”

“Mulder…” Scully whispers, her eyes watery and wide. He wraps his arms tightly around her, and she clutches at his shirt tightly. “Mulder, I'm so sorry,” she whispers, and he draws back to look at her in astonishment.

The agent tosses him the keys to the cuffs, and he fumbles to unlock them. “Scully,” he whispers, nearly stammering, “Scully, what are you talking about? What are you sorry for?”

She clenches her jaw to steady her chin, shakes her wrists hard as they're freed. “I tried to call you,” she says, “to… to tell you I was okay. I really wanted to call you.”

Her words hit him straight in the chest as he realizes what she is saying. That she is harkening back to an argument they had months ago, over her trip with the smoker, and he is so astonished he sways a little on his feet. “Scully…” he whispers.

“Bremer wouldn't let me. I swear, I insisted I needed to call you as soon as I figured out what happened… when I knew that you probably thought I was dead…”

As soon as he sees the agent turned away from them, moving Bremer down the road, he leans down and kisses Scully hard, fiercely. He's crying again, tears dripping down his face, and he kisses her again and again, rests his forehead against hers. “I don't care,” he breathes, cupping her face in his hands. “I don't care that you couldn't call me… Scully, you're here. I thought I'd lost you.”

She sniffles. She leans up to kiss his forehead, her hands clutching at his hair, his shirt. “I didn't want you to have to go through that,” she whispers. “I wanted you to know I was okay.”

“It's okay,” he whispers back. “It doesn't matter now.” He brushes a thumb over her lower lip, wipes a tear out of her eye. Smiles at her, kisses her cheek again, her temple, and presses his nose to her hair. He doesn't ever want to let her go.

“You could've gotten yourself killed,” she mutters furiously, cinching her arms tight around his waist, her cheek to his chest. “Jesus Christ, Mulder, that man had a gun to your head… and you were trying to bargain with Bremer to let me go…”

“Didn't have a choice.” He buries his fingers in her hair, holding her tight.

“You're an idiot, Mulder,” she says, and it sounds like she's about to cry, too.

They stand there for a long time, until Skinner finds them and guides them back to a car. He gives Scully a hug before letting them into the backseat. He doesn't say a word to Mulder about why he's here, or the fact that he probably tracked him here, but whatever Skinner is feeling about this whole situation, Mulder isn't going to complain. Skinner keeping tabs on him has probably saved them both.

They sit together in the back, silently. Scully uses a small first aid kit to put ointment and Band-Aids on his scraped cheek, her fingers cool on his cheek. When she's finished, she sags into his side, her head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her. They curl together in a desperate sort of way, their bodies weak with relief.

---

Skinner takes them to a motel near Philadelphia. “We're going to sort things out,” he tells them, “think about getting you two to somewhere safe until things calm down, but I want you two to get some rest. You've been through a lot.”

They don't argue. Of course they don't argue. They go to the front desk and get one room. Scully clasps his hand in hers and passes the card Skinner had given them across the counter. They get a room quickly and slip down the breezeway to their room, Scully unlocking the door with her free hand. Mulder just holds onto her other hand, his fingers locked with hers. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and he's left with a sense of shock. Of shock and gratefulness and patched grief; he cannot believe she is here, and he's unbelievably thankful, but he feels like grief is still pushed in the back of his throat, like he hasn't shaken off the way he felt curled up on his bathroom floor the night before.

He lifts her hand as they slip into the room, pressing his lips to her bruised knuckles; she turns towards him and meets his eyes, her own wide and somber. He holds her gaze, his nose pressed in the space between her fingers. He feels his eyes growing damp.

She slips closer, rising on tiptoes to slip her arms around his neck. She kisses his cheek gently, clinging to him tight. “Come here,” she whispers, taking his hand.

They fall together onto the bed. She pulls him against her, his head falling to her shoulder, her arms around him. He seizes a handful of her shirt and doesn't let go. He is suddenly embarrassed of the night before, the way he clung to her t-shirt, cried helplessly on the bathroom; the grief was horrible, and he's sure Scully can understand that kind of grief—she’s experienced some form of his death more than once now—but it feels silly now, now that she is here and she was all right the whole time. He feels as if he should've known that she was okay, should've come for her sooner. He bends his head, lifting her hand from where it clutches at his side and kisses her bruised wrist. “I'm sorry, Scully,” he whispers, not for the first time. “They never would've taken you if it hadn't been for me.”

“Mulder, I was deep in the building when Bremer found me. He yanked me out the back just before the bomb went out. If I hadn't run into him, I probably still would've been inside when the bomb went off,” she says, and he shudders. She kisses the top of his head. “It doesn't matter,” she murmurs. “It’s not anyone's fault, okay? It was not your fault.”

“I didn't know what I was going to do,” he says, and he feels like he is going to cry again. “If I lost you… I didn't know what I would do.”

“I know. I know.” She presses her lips to his forehead, her hand heavy on the back of his neck. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes, and presses his face into the side of her neck. She rubs a hand up and down his back. “Mulder,” she whispers, “I… I was worried when I saw you… with that man with the gun to your head… I thought he was going to shoot you. You… Mulder, why were you there?”

“I had to find them,” he mumbles into her skin. “I-I had to, Scully. I didn't have a choice.”

She makes a choked sound, her fingers knotted in his hair. “Oh, Mulder,” she whispers. “Oh, Mulder, I…”

“I'm sorry,” he blurts, interrupting her. He pulls away to meet her eyes, lets her wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I'm sorry, Scully, I just… I didn't know what else to do. I thought they'd killed you, and I-I couldn't stand it.”

“It's okay,” she whispers. “Mulder, I don't know that I would've done much better if I'd been in your place. I-it's just…” She bites her lower lip, wiping tears from his eyes again. “I don't want you to get yourself killed for me, okay?” she says gently. “If… if anything ever happens to me… I don't want you to get killed on some crazed revenge quest, okay?” He squeezes his eyes shut instinctively—the potential reality of everything that has happened is still too fresh, he can still remember what it feels like to lose her—and she presses her forehead to hers. “If anything ever happens to me…” she starts again, unsteady, “I want you to be okay.”

“Scully,” he says with a self-deprecating little chuckle. “Scully, please, don't talk about anything happening to you, okay? I-I can't go through that again.”

“Okay, okay.” She knots her fingers with his and squeezes, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb. “Just… please,” she whispers. “Please, try to promise me, Mulder.”

“I'll try,” he says, sniffling. He wipes his eyes, and then hers. “I'll try to promise, but Scully, I… I don't want to think about losing you. Not after this. I… I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Mulder, listen to me.” She presses a hand to his jaw, making him look at her. “You will never lose me,” she says solemnly. “Not if I can help it. I'm not going anywhere.”

He shuts his eyes again, brimming over with tears. He leans over and kisses her softly, her lips wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers. “So much, Scully. Love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she says, her voice thick. She leans her head against his. “Thanks for coming for me.”

“Always,” he tells her.

She curls up in his arms, and he holds her tight. He never wants to let go.

---

In the morning, Skinner arrives to escort them to some kind of safe house. They go together, their fingers intertwined between them. They're together and they're going to stay together, until this is all over.

#i dont know if i like this but oh well #its done #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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hortascountrysidenotes · 4 years

Text

Friend or Foe

It is always a constant battle in the garden deciding how to deal with the various elements of the natural world that can so easily tip the balance between success and failure. As we all (well not all sadly but more than in the past) move towards being more tolerant of bugs and beasties that back in the day of Percy Thrower were considered THE ENEMY, and we don’t obliterate every wildflower (WEED) in the margins it makes trying to produce quality veg and flowers that little bit more difficult and we must expect a higher degree of failure every now and then due to some critter sneaking about (usually in the night).

As regular readers of Horta will know, there has been an ongoing saga with Moriarty - a mole of considerable substance and intelligence. I am not sure of the lifespan of a mole but for the last eighteen months I have been stalking Moriarty from veg patch, to rose arch, to border under the roses and finally on to the lawn itself. I have set traps, put dog poo down the holes, moved the traps, watched while he digs and plunged in with my spade and every move I have made he has countered with another hill or uprooted plant somewhere else in his maze of underground tunnels. During lockdown therefore I have upped the level - every time he has dug a fresh mound I have traced back from the mound to find “the run” - each time I have set my trap with meticulous care - gloves, a large rhubarb leaf over the top to stop the internal avalanche of soil and a bucket to finish. Every day I have looked out from the bedroom window to see a fresh little hill dug to the side of the bucket, and I have envisaged a flag on top with two fingers pointing straight at me. With my trusty moleteer Scouty I had to up the game yet again and went for the two pronged attack - Scout who is clearly a cousin of Grommit did some quick geometry on her little slate board and we set one trap along the edge of the broad beans and one back on the lawn but further back down “the run”. This said Scout, was a sure fire way to get success as while Moriarty was scuttling away from the broad beans determined to wreak havoc on the lawn, he will not have taken into account that we would move the trap to a completely as yet undisturbed by us, section of “the run”. RIP MORIARTY and bravo to the Moleteer. Now of course the question is, will another one reappear this week - Mrs Moriarty. I did feel rather sad but there is a palpable sense of relief.

The next foe on the horizon, but one that could be deemed a friend like Moriarty if in the right place are ants. Ants can be friends as per the video attached at the end - they do eat aphids in quantity, and they do provide a valuable part of the green woodpeckers diet. However when under newly sown seeds they are a menace as they seem to eat the seeds before they have even had a chance to germinate, and definitely eat the roots of young seedlings - spinach and beetroot being the biggest casualties, so much so that I am now sowing beetroot in modules and transplanting them. They also make huge nests from time to time around the roots of plants and you see the soil piling higher and higher up the stems of plants which eventually die. This makes life difficult so a compromise has to be reached - I am trying ant powder along the drills before sowing seed and will report if it has worked.

The lily beetles are definitely in the category of Foe - but I can report that the soft soap treatment does work and interestingly all lilies sprayed with that a fortnight ago have kept clear, whereas one group I left out are covered in the little blighters who are now cheerfully mating. Its a coffee break activity to see how many I can get before they get suspicious!

The big Foes - deer and rabbit are currently quiet - the siting of two garden chairs with rustly bin liners over them is enough to keep deer away and although there is evidence of rabbit nothing too drastic is happening.

The rains came and the difference has been huge with the borders and trees changing almost visibly. The trees are at that beautiful stage of young leaf colours - copper beech being amongst the most stunning. The perennials in the borders have clumped up and the grass looks much better. The cows are due out on the common in the next fortnight and they will have something to eat! I have put some new bits and pieces in now that the ground is soft again - some Achillea x Schwellenberg, Liatris Floristan white, and Tricyrtis formosana - the toad lily. The Achillea have a soft grey leaf and I have put several along the middle to front section of the hotter of the two borders - yellow flowers all summer which I think will make good pin pricks of brightness. The Liatris is normally found in its mauve form, but is a tall bottle brush type flower and a classic of the prairie planting style. The toad lilies love semi shade and form lovely clumps of mottled foliage above which sprays of small lily type flowers appear late summer - so a useful plant and under used. I have also ordered some replacement grasses - last year I planted five Calamagrostis x acutiflora Overdam which is a beautiful variegated grass with good strong upright flowers late summer . Sadly although they all made it through such a wet winter, only one plant has really thrived, but I have found a new version of this grass through a grower south of Norwich - called Avalanche rather than Overdam it is meant to be much more reliable - I hope they will arrive this week and I shall just plant them alongside the Overdams as they are so similar.

In the veg patch apart from the ant problem all is good - the final lot of broadies went out after the rain, asparagus keeps coming, the old spinach is now bolting but just still usable, and all the new salads are doing very well. The tomato plants are nearly big enough to set into position and the courgette plants are strong and ready once risk of frost has passed. I have emptied the hyacinth bulbs and stored them to be put back in the garden in September. Into those pots I have put back the Salvia Hot Lips and Agapanthus which I used last year. The next thing will be changing the tulip containers to summer bedding - always rather a long job and I think in the nick of time we shall be allowed to go to garden centres. Although I have plenty of homegrown lobelia and Verbenas, I would like a different colour geranium as we have had the same old pink ones for years, and I do love the variegated helichrysums! I am having a slight war on Alliums too, as much as I love both Purple Sensation and christophii they do seed too freely and we have a small forest in places! The leaves do look awful if there are too many so I am reducing them whenever I have another plant to go in their place.

So much going on in the natural world at this time of year, still waiting for swifts, wondering if our house sparrow population has taken a dive due to the upsurge in starlings now nesting in the roof and countless things filling the days of lockdown! So keep cheerful everyone and make sure you can be counted amongst those who as life kicks off again, help to make changes for the better rather than slipping back into some of the bad old ways.

HORTA

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stupendoustrashmagazine · 4 years

Text

A 10-pp. selection of poems

Personage The terrace offers a point. From this point a view. It's only a stop-off; it assumes the motion requisite for temporary stays will continue. The speculative friction required to stop those passing through would require planned extinction; would require war against generations of persistence across biome, suffering & misery magnified it remains threatened always. Building requires digging. Digging creates hollows to be filled. A move past botanicals—it doesn’t exist. A pulse in the web. Walk toward beyond the view: journey’s luck to close in on production. Pace picks up, dusk’s dis- appearing light invites one in: welcome. Prelude Tonight the act of naming fell through the floor. We speak permeable solids inflected by light. Skull’s grid moves units indistinctly: windshield & palette cross paths, hatch an Ovidian shift, difixiones to devotio; the faux-gorithm teases pantheon from closet, traces flotilla’s down, hot air balloons, celebrating you or prairie fair. You’ll learn to kill that hunger for thunderhead drift. I follow shapes of your speech, attend to your syntax, taste your configuration; to keep up I sketch stick figure, code hypertext script cascading in style, the result of which confirms, again: we’re lost. Plot is a plait’d plat, flatland destination & another assemblage? I want aura to invite aural meiosis, aurora splitting into rural roads, for the bassoon quartet to be forgiven for plastic bag reeds on my direction, for aria to, moody, move into a different mode & travel out through spring’s open window; I want the racket splenetic melancholy, for dynamic accompaniment fit for unfashionable passion, the like. That state of exilium you described as a quantum between. Always pain hover triangulated. Frame Matisse with me, guilty stokes both— say the magnolia blooms shall remain & not at the expense of any other but they do not. Creek diverted, river dead: suck’d dry wax & cone though still dragonflies are purple, abdomen metallic sets of curvature & husk. Nearby: field of lightning. We walk through fjords of light forking down, resisting electrocution, naturally. The taste of our nakedness waking in early in your bed, black walnut leaves catching first October light. If I leave the house or library I sit on benches in Walmart or go to the Coralville mall alone, growing frosting in my chest & English ivy in my sinuses, scribble notes with my fork-tongue alone. Walk with me this once, again, into notional forest, ash-grey landscape dotted in umber, newborn beetles radiating, cobalt blue. Skykomish in Summer In Goldbar Washington boys crossed river with driftwood staves feet slick-step between slime & rock, underbelly of serpentine but liquefied, algal nets stretch’d between toes, Like scales without edge—stiffened Cold after crossing they crawl’d up & into caverns allowing in fractions of sun but they felt cradled in a way shielded, intimacies there before they dove into round pools spun by spit current’s swirls, the bank of the cove gritty enough for a grip as they’d climb out out of sorts, alive they’d look at the congregation from which they just emerged tangle of nets, sunken conflagrations their bodies against the wake pressed a force there, quiet, endless, sound moving through medium beckoning, shape taking a form inky jar, turbine spat out from the bottom of an oil well. Grass Cuts Nyanza Street. South Tacoma—we’re on A hill & approach it, tall grass, foreclosure. Blackberry brambles thick on the lawnslope purple, thorns & stickers, irritable touch. Boss climbs roofs with too steep a pitch; Hauls mowers from mud when I mire it Good in a ditch. His daughter today works with us, we weedwhack waist-high grass, rake clippings & tufts long enough to be hay in neat quadrants. They steam mornings we make it out as early as seven. A canopy borders the two-acre lot. I stare – emptying’s substance against nothingness of total inattention’s default setting. Metal asphalt shingles, roof’s pitch steep Low ground valley & everywhere: unhinged Botany thrives. Ivy plaits helices Around five-feet in diameter firs, in follow some twenty feet up when Jamie grabs a pitchfork. See something. It skitters through raked mounds, Goes through tunnels punctured By tines or cleat-roller aerating the lawn She shanks its body up against weed- blocker & brick. A metallic pling rings fades, she scoops it somewhere— this brought up her enjoyment killing, dressing, & cooking fowl. We move more grass I looking for insects, think of meat saws yawning day & night do they Day & night, fumbling—sound like chain saws or Colorado cattle feedlots, cottonwoods standing by during a drought, the sugar factory’s honey-butter burnt hair & soccer cleats left for week in a car. Mulch, juncos, midmorning sun on, sun off, Rake, return, pile, killing rabbits once we snapped their necks wrong, twice partial Breaks, botching it, both shaking we Shared an acute horror in our optics. Then we crushed their skulls with a hammer, But that’s when we lived near the volcano, when the halcyon sensation when standing at the bottom of Nisqually glacier, the sheaves of receding rose-grey gravel in aggregate felt like meteoroid field sent to grave resting place, armatures of old growth First & hemlocks in steep fractals jagged landings in glaciated river so thick with silt it looked an ash-blue sleeve. We take HUSKY 55-gal. trash bags of grass to the organic waste dump. We smell like gasoline & two-cylinder oil & grease. When I get home my house mama says Pew-whee! You smell like Marty; you smell like something that kills. Shards What was it that came out the water in a sled a Wayward gesture young-&-stuffed Mess to common rendition Duchamp’s Pearl Neckless? In his version The sledgehammer fell square to carcass/shard/caress. You wanted/saved like anyone else wanted, A sequence of diadems, diamondic scales on A yellow python’s back. Be-figure, a mole Amongst slag pits, a slog truce from igneous slab. Bats tunnel boroughs, funnel rigmarole We keep one ray or dot of spun molybdenum— Torque at the end of the…—that glint relieves Grog, luster, a clutch lets cable go its single, slackening line. True fundament! come to the party— From up there, from below? Come beat through this bog’s Excrement, creakily swung skew joints, fallen centurions, Carve away gluttony,—an economic model Levels the field of every thistle’s purple demarcation. Remains disappear. Binary caskets Glisten polyurethane on oak grab it… If - you – get – to – the – place To – get – you – the – records: Prefabricated dirt tastes discard bottles, Skittling crevice, crick or face, collections Binding fractures. That which goes unseen. Make & model, blue castes. Signature mummies. Huffing. That kinetic thrill Pushing hammers through Masonite, Bulls snorting horns at a flag The very requiem of the horse’s eye A black so dark it blued the muscle in deafening Postures of grey fog: a way: body: yes, a shard, Blight-bit, a descending distend, steep bends— A weather system approaches Centripetally, a large unformed cat, To distillate—nothing—to pray to the grommet, One ventricle, alas—poor valve, the idea Of the river. The river. Is. Itself. Course vessel in a Losing resonance a tributary vacillation tip-toed beyond A materiality that is, is not, any old trick. Spilling the Flour Began not thrush’s stamp, nor cardinal blue whistle but The sour flack going out, the waist line spilt. Emptying cylinders combed in sheet metal corrugate, Fill another vision, the conveyor belt muscle Persuasion. Sometimes a harvest sits like pheasants Before buckshot, freeze-frame, promise cannon— What will be. Corn stalks chopped at maggot root twist Wind crowing a parade, sans confetti, sans soleil. Platoon the distant mist, forgetting it’s metal multiplied In numbers not quantity. Not fog. That’s fire But the wound continuum in ears splits hair mimics a mime Brown cerumen flax spreads flat lays down in- To a line. Elements bind fetch needle & borrow thread Stitch from denim you see the voices hear. Spiders don’t mean to. Bats garner a wick of light Against normalcy of shadow. When is not Important. Con memory commemorate ingrown toe- Nail sunk into rib-line fleshed out for sake Of sake of being. Forsaken lake: equivalent to constrictor Vine, not theorem. Carpet moves imagined Equestrians run between alder beetles the abandoned Horses heaving in the meadow along the orange Vector. The chemilume incision furcates the dark shells Guarding liquefied innards, the many legs. The Awful Cutlery Traveling by Greyhound between Dominguez- Escalante and Grand Mesa National forest, We’re full enough In the filled up four-wheel lurch on blacktop I-70 elegantly swung across Secluded Rocky Mountain scrag. “This shit’s too country” a woman remarks. You see what she means. The rosaries Of apricot, peach, cherry, and plum disintegrate Vineyard to vineyard to bottle To California, mid-stride Maybe she means. Maybe Damian The off-shore welder tells me about hanging above The water, rigged up, slung out, strapped in, Gluing thousand-degree metal to solid stack Rigs, working twelves till three months pass So he can go—“I go everywhere”—to complicate Home—“Love Alabama but I need to see it all The whole shit.” Dusk is a disk with a predictable arc. I’m here twenty years, this red land. From bottom canyon ditch combs Of bygone eon drag across mesa, leaving scar, Evidence of water, wind, shaggy coats left To bear, bear themselves, on other creatures Pitching, tent-by-tent, a story, a new story, old. The mother tells you, you & me, of Rocky Mountain Flats, the Climax Uranium Mill, A fire beginning with a crack, croaking a Groan to a glow, plutonium then, dizzied in dust, Vapored amoeba flung across the whole Front Range. Cows were the first to show up Without usual parts: eye, ear or triple-tongue. Do I believe anything I say anymore? Set that head against Plexiglas. Feel the chill— A lavender fork makes an albino tarantula Of sky, yet there’s a merge, the speech Corks off. Into each direction, asymmetry Between passengers a music nonetheless, The hiddenness behind tall sediment walls Now, this cutlery mass Stalking hungry movers, clawing at the dirt To reveal the intact pores of a distant femur. Safe/Way Courtesy Clerk In the aisles of nondescription halogen baleen Sifts shop-cart rift-racket & geriatric dances. Old/new toothpick paradigm cues a mist/turn: Old is to new as young is to old, meaning Painting the urn in synthesizer blue still undoes. The unheard chambers are sweeter. Polyethylene is a mon-on- monomer ladder of Chain-stacks, bindings, writes the blurb We’re all in this together. Savings save you From it, from it you’ll be saved the lapse: Western tanager memorizes its own memory Launched in citrus beneath the varied canopy. Really: in this Safeway a woman chutes Hundreds of one-liters into the re/cycle Machine. She leans on cart rail, no wheel. Her child helps he laughed he threw them into The bin, the coins emerged. Someone said Music moves from a fix-point fence post, studded Down into ground. He’s right—what is there to do But do, bag up a customer’s purple cabbage Dreams stuff them sweet potato mush- Room into room, sacked. They’d blister From oxygen’s lack they’d try to make it, try To survive. Wouldn’t it be courteous To curtsy before bags bulge as balloons stuffed With vision? Even in tulip & rose section I Hand out the foxtail elixir, all the loot; were they Bodies turned down, turned into what now, soup? The day is butternut squash but wouldn’t A lizard do today let’s get all the gutter newts Recalling now how Scooby returned From a long drive he threw an iguana On the chopping block on the counter top In the apartment he was making soup He sawed off its head. What was inside The eyes? Nothing much. Eye cones con, resemble The black glass of a tick’s back. You’ll try To reach in & what — find out who looks back Tell yourself that’s you looking back. A gaze. Scooby ran cool water over the head, on it. Its jaw opened and closed again & again. “This is good soup that’s what happens After the head’s cut off.” What would the body Do after, what voice would reclaim itself, Would reconvene re — gather protest against scores Settled, dust made fall silk, unnoticed? What takes when taken back, how’ll things Exactly as they are be exactly as they’d been? What music shapes the marina, the guitar Rustling out a poison ivy arpeggio to become The place and the things of things as they are? How do you bargain or take the lead For the dreaded duet? The mouth opens cilia Tongue juts out pink premonition the sky boom Nitro’s paisley maize radished in the Word-Ward. Blue pollen doesn’t exist but when the man Who looks one-hundred buys the dyed-blue orchid & says “it’s for my” I cut him off & ask but He just laughs & says “it’s just a flower it’s just An empty bag” & walks out, away, toward Automatic sensor doors, glass partitions that open Like megafauna with a belly full of a world on fire.

#poems #poem #poet #poetry #excerpt #poetry ms.#revisions

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frederickwiddowson · 4 years

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Leviticus 11:20-42 comments: dietary restrictions for the ancient Hebrews

Leviticus 11:20 ¶ All fowls that creep, going upon all four, shall be an abomination unto you. 21 Yet these may ye eat of every flying creeping thing that goeth upon all four, which have legs above their feet, to leap withal upon the earth; 22 Even these of them ye may eat; the locust after his kind, and the bald locust after his kind, and the beetle after his kind, and the grasshopper after his kind. 23 But all other flying creeping things, which have four feet, shall be an abomination unto you. 24 And for these ye shall be unclean: whosoever toucheth the carcase of them shall be unclean until the even. 25 And whosoever beareth ought of the carcase of them shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even. 26 The carcases of every beast which divideth the hoof, and is not clovenfooted, nor cheweth the cud, are unclean unto you: every one that toucheth them shall be unclean. 27 And whatsoever goeth upon his paws, among all manner of beasts that go on all four, those are unclean unto you: whoso toucheth their carcase shall be unclean until the even. 28 And he that beareth the carcase of them shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: they are unclean unto you. 29 These also shall be unclean unto you among the creeping things that creep upon the earth; the weasel, and the mouse, and the tortoise after his kind, 30 And the ferret, and the chameleon, and the lizard, and the snail, and the mole. 31 These are unclean to you among all that creep: whosoever doth touch them, when they be dead, shall be unclean until the even. 32 And upon whatsoever any of them, when they are dead, doth fall, it shall be unclean; whether it be any vessel of wood, or raiment, or skin, or sack, whatsoever vessel it be, wherein any work is done, it must be put into water, and it shall be unclean until the even; so it shall be cleansed. 33 And every earthen vessel, whereinto any of them falleth, whatsoever is in it shall be unclean; and ye shall break it. 34 Of all meat which may be eaten, that on which such water cometh shall be unclean: and all drink that may be drunk in every such vessel shall be unclean. 35 And every thing whereupon any part of their carcase falleth shall be unclean; whether it be oven, or ranges for pots, they shall be broken down: for they are unclean, and shall be unclean unto you. 36 Nevertheless a fountain or pit, wherein there is plenty of water, shall be clean: but that which toucheth their carcase shall be unclean. 37 And if any part of their carcase fall upon any sowing seed which is to be sown, it shall be clean. 38 But if any water be put upon the seed, and any part of their carcase fall thereon, it shall be unclean unto you. 39 And if any beast, of which ye may eat, die; he that toucheth the carcase thereof shall be unclean until the even. 40 And he that eateth of the carcase of it shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: he also that beareth the carcase of it shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even. 41 And every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth shall be an abomination; it shall not be eaten. 42 Whatsoever goeth upon the belly, and whatsoever goeth upon all four, or whatsoever hath more feet among all creeping things that creep upon the earth, them ye shall not eat; for they are an abomination.

How we read this passage is important. Flying things, or fowls, that creep, a reference to insects, that move along the ground as if they were walking on all fours like a horse or a cow, were forbidden. This is clear because insects have six legs and both God and Moses would have known that so then we are compelled to understand the reference to four legs as the way they move.

Entomologists report that there are five types of insect legs. One type are cursorial or running legs. Saltatorial legs are for jumping. Raptorial legs are for hunting. Natatorial legs are for swimming. Fossorial legs are for digging burrows. With regard to flying insects, the context, if they have four legs to run on the ground with they cannot be eaten. But, if those insects have distinct legs for jumping, Saltatorial legs, as well, they can be eaten. Other insects cannot be eaten.

Looking at verse 26 I need to review some things and add to my understanding. A hoof is the tip of the toe of an ungulate mammal by today’s classification. Even-toed ungulates like sheep, deer, goats, bison, and pigs are said to be cloven-footed. Odd-toed ungulates would include horses, asses, zebras, and rhinoceroses, called unicorns in the Bible. A unicorn has three toes so it is not called cloven-footed as that is for even-toed ungulates but it does divide the hoof. The divided hoof of an odd-toed ungulate is not clovenfooted.

Verse 29 and onward tends to clear things up for us about the purpose of things being clean or unclean as it appears there is a strong concern for reasons of disease and health. It does then appear that God’s commandments regarding clean and unclean things has to do in part with matters of public health.

Here may be rudimentary rules of sanitation in a world without antibiotics or an understanding of the germ theory of disease. With such a large group of people wandering about such a consideration must have been paramount. While God did promise;

Exodus 15:26 And said, If thou wilt diligently hearken to the voice of the LORD thy God, and wilt do that which is right in his sight, and wilt give ear to his commandments, and keep all his statutes, I will put none of these diseases upon thee, which I have brought upon the Egyptians: for I am the LORD that healeth thee.

Deuteronomy 7:15 And the LORD will take away from thee all sickness, and will put none of the evil diseases of Egypt, which thou knowest, upon thee; but will lay them upon all them that hate thee.

And gave a warning;

Deuteronomy 28:60 Moreover he will bring upon thee all the diseases of Egypt, which thou wast afraid of; and they shall cleave unto thee.

With His withholding diseases from them and also providing prudent restrictions on their diet and the handling of dead animals there appears to be a pattern here. Yes, it can be argued that He did not want them handling or associating with animals that were worshipped by the heathen but virtually every animal was worshipped by someone as man’s religion degraded after the Flood.

Romans 1:22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and

fourfooted beasts, and creeping things.

Weasels were considered bad luck in several cultures. The Greek god, Apollo, was worshipped, among other ways, as a mouse demon who could send a plague of mice when angered. His sacred animals were a wolf, a raven, and a lizard. He was the god of knowledge, music, and prophecy as well. Apollo can easily be viewed as another type of Satan, one of many gods who represent attributes of the adversary. He is the brother of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, known as Diana to the Romans.

The following is a description of Satan in the garden of Eden. A tabret would be a timbrel or a tambourine. Note Satan’s influence over music.

Ezekiel 28:13 Thou hast been in Eden the garden of God; every precious stone was thy covering, the sardius, topaz, and the diamond, the beryl, the onyx, and the jasper, the sapphire, the emerald, and the carbuncle, and gold: the workmanship of thy tabrets and of thy pipes was prepared in thee in the day that thou wast created.

And his promise of enlightened knowledge in Genesis 3.

Genesis 3:5 For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.

Note also the worship of Apollo’s sister, known to the Romans as Diana.

Acts 19:35 And when the townclerk had appeased the people, he said, Ye men of Ephesus, what man is there that knoweth not how that the city of the Ephesians is a worshipper of the great goddess Diana, and of the image which fell down from Jupiter?

I bring this up in the context of Leviticus to underscore the idolatry endemic to the ancient world with regard to animal worship but also I want to emphasize that the public health aspects of the naming of clean and unclean seems more consistent. Still, we will know the whole story behind this in eternity. One argument against the public health theory is that in the episode in Acts where Peter sees a sheet descending from heaven with all sorts of unclean animals in it God tells Peter;

Acts 10:15 And the voice spake unto him again the second time, What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common.

So, clearly this is a reference to ceremonial uncleanness as pigs are still pigs and weasels haven’t changed much in 2,000 years.

One other note, see how the mouse was hinted at as being part of ancient diets and perhaps worship?

Isaiah 66:17 They that sanctify themselves, and purify themselves in the gardens behind one tree in the midst, eating swine’s flesh, and the abomination, and the mouse, shall be consumed together, saith the LORD.

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greenturflawns-blog · 5 years

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When the snow melts and the weather warms you will notice animal activity in the yard. Below is a list of the most common four legged critters I’ve noticed in yards this spring: Voles (pic 1): These are field mice. The years when we get a lot of snow, these guys run trails under the snow pack. Come spring their trails are very evident. Typically the voles go away. But, if they stick around and you need help getting rid of them, send me an email. I will give you some tips on setting a trap to get them. DO NOT USE POISONS! You take on too much of a liability if your or a neighbor pet digs up the poison, eats it, then dies. Moles (pic 2): Moles are predatory animals and they are following their food source: worms, beetles, larva, or anything in the ground small enough for them to eat. When the weather warms, these bugs come to the surface to feed and mate, so the moles follow. I would recommend Tomcat Ready-To-Spray Mole Repellent or the Tomcat Mole Trap. You can buy these two products at Home Depot and instructions on YouTube. DO NOT USE POISONS! Same reason as the vole precaution above. Rabbits (pic 3): They are starting to dig holes and getting ready to have babies. If you find a hole, fill it back up with dirt and spry Liquid Fence on the area (Home Depot). This will make the rabbit move to another area. If you find a hole will tuffs of fur on it, well you have baby rabbits. Just mark the spot so you don’t run it over with the mower and in two weeks they will be grown and gone. If you have any questions, please let me know. Thank you. https://www.instagram.com/p/BvmBCDznt5D/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=m8z4f4wze7in

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nobodyslaughing-blog · 7 years

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TIMBER AGENTS: Adventures in the Overgrowth - aka my fake anime aka Discord RPG Setting Dump 2

Timber Agent was a long running 80s Light Novel series that was adapted for tv in 1996. It was famously what Akira Toriyama worked on in between Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z. Great designs didn’t save the show though and it was canceled after one season, before the main characters ever became the titular Timber Agents.

The show became a cult classic during a short run on Toonami where Steve Blum made his second famous role as Valiant Star. Even though the Toriyama designs weren’t close to the Light Novels description it stayed in the public mind enough to get a reboot in 2016 called Timber Agent: Adventures in the Overgrowth done by Studio Shaft.

After the first season sold gangbusters in both Japan and in the West a second and third season were announced. On top of that the original author is planning for six more chapters and “possibly more”. With nostalgia we might finally see Timber Agent fully animated as it rightly should be.

Obviously this didn’t exist…instead this is my “Shonen Battle Manga Setting” for Mutants and Masterminds. Here’s the setting.

One thousand years ago magic returned with a crash as the Old Gods fought massive beasts in their last battle. Cities flooded, earthquakes ate entire nations, and all electronics were changed. Some were merely broken beyond repair while a few became ingrained with magical power. The robotic armies of man were given free will and the mech suits used by human soldiers were cursed, each with a different curse that affected their users. In the end man retreated from the cities and started a small life.

One thousand years later, the time we play in, society has built itself back up. (Kingdoms will be posted later)

Magic started affecting humans in odd ways. Some were born with magical abilities, usually one single power or several small weak ones. Humans born with these powers are called Gems and their “purity”, aka the level of power they wielded, was measured. From weakest to strongest they are called Stones, Sapphires, Rubies, and Diamonds. The name was adopted due to anyone given the gift having gem eyes, each level named after the eyes that develop.

The Robots ended up having a massive war that lasted a hundred years. Half wanted to help humanity while the others wished to rule them. A few even wanted to eradicate them. In the end the good Robots won but they could not bring themselves to kill their brothers and instead put them to sleep, hoping that when they wake they will understand empathy. Most of the heroic Robots went into a sleep mode also, most for their own reasons. The few that kept awake helped humanity in small ways, keeping their creators alive when they would be dead. Humanity has all but forgotten making Robots and view them as rare powerful gods and revere them as such, though they tend to not enjoy being worshipped.

Mech suits are called Machine Armor and each has its own temperament connected to their curse. Some require bloodshed to run while others need long rituals for daily use. Some have odd weaknesses such as not working in shadows or not being able to harm wood.

Elves - Otherwordly abominations whose beauty is so great a single glance makes you mad.

Talpi/Moles - Small wrinkly men with big claws and bigger whisker mustaches. They use their claws to dig massive underground cities. They eat rocks and metals and live in structured clans waiting for the day that Old Wodd, their creator, comes back. They gain sexual traits for childbirth and lose them whenthey give birth. Child Talpi are small worms and generally number in the hundreds and are kept in shallow pits and given rotten meat, it’s easier for them to chew, for a week before they are considered “children”. Usually only five or so survive to “childhood” and Talpi don’t really consider worm-talpi to be sentient until a week. Talpi also raise and herd giant insects for all parts of life. They use silk strands from spider-cows for their clothes, ride giant beetles up walls, and use giant worms for meat. Surface Talpi use their giant insects as both riding animals and weapons.

Giants - Multi-armed hairless men who stand ten feet tall or even taller. They hate humans because they were given the gift of magic while they were cursed to never be able to use it. They are inherently stronger than most other races and usually are just bandits. Some drink the blood of the sleeping Midgard Serpent to gain horrific powers. Some say they used to be Aesir, the warrior children of old gods, but the blood must have been diluted from a thousand years of breeding. Now they measure their families closeness to deity-hood by the number of arms they have.

Trolls - Big smelly and silly trolls live in swamps and sewers and eat rocks and metals. They aren’t very smart and tend to be kind to travelers. Evil wizards like to warp their minds and use them as monsters.

Draugr - Undead creatures consumed by obsessions, these obsessions usually influence their physical form in some manner. They enjoy causing pain and chaos no matter their obsessions.

Tariaksuq/Shadow-people - A race of people as varied as humanity. They can’t be seen if someone stares straight at them.

Ijiraq/Shape-shifters - Monsters who masquerade in human form. They can change their bodies to suit their needs and are strict carnivores. They enjoy the taste of children most.

Qalupalik/Boogeys - Beautiful women who are always covered in water. They have long nails that can cut stone and are also carnivores. They tend to be less monstrous than Shape-Shifters but a few will go down the darker path and steal children. They love the water and some even have a magical ability to control it.

Blotsno/Frosties - Frosties are a kind race of magical people. They were born when Asgard fell on Earth in the far reaches of Antarctica. Frosties tend to stay to themselves and most only worry about breakfast, lunch, dinner, and tea time. They form large homes in snow drifts and love twinkling lights because they remind them of the stars. They have a long history of artists and will write songs, paint pictures, and create plays all about the Aurora Borealis. The females tend to look like snowmen while the males are look like they are carved out of ice. They are born in tiny ice eggs that the women lay. Their special type of magic allows them to easily move small objects and even boil water and fry meat without heat.

Goblins - Goblins come in hundreds of variations but the most important part is they are carnivorous, treacherous, little imps who delight in torture and are only motivated by an empty belly and inventive ways to kill things.

Languages - Norse: Old Norse with additions of English and Mexico. Farther east it’s mixed with Korean and Chinese. Spoken by everyone but Moles, Frosties, Giants, and Trolls each have their own dialect. Everyone knows a version of it, it’s basically Common. If you take Comprehend Languages you also learn every dialect.

- Coyote: A mystic language held by all animals given to them by the trickster shape-shifter Coyote. Shadow-people, Shape-shifters, and Boogeys all have their own dialect of this. Comprehend Animals gives you all of this.

- Machines all have specific language-like codes. Comprehend Machines give you all of this.

- Rot-Speak: Draugr come in hundreds of variations and many can speak Norse, but the maddening language they share is given with Comprehend Spirits.

The Old Gods were good Gods though not always nice ones. Each race has been touched by one of them. Even dead the Gods are worshipped and the many small magical creatures they had made in their long life respect prayers to their deity.

Old Wodd was their leader and father to most of them. He made the Talpi as a gift to his son Bjorn who loved insects. Wood spirits follow his prayers. All creatures answer prayers for wisdom and leadership when send with his name.

Little Vadr was their trickster and a bit of a bastard. Even then he still fought against the Leviathan when the Last War came. He made the shape shifters, the boogeyman, and shadow-people. Spirits of books and secrets listen to his prayers. Coyote answers his prayers for him but chooses only the most tricky and thieving of them.

Bjorn the Bear was Old Wodds favorite son. He was the strongest and the Giants say they were his children, though nobody believes them. He enjoyed small things and fought to protect them. Old spirits of stone and steel listen to his prayers. Any prayer for strength is answered by spirits if sent with his name.

Holda the Black was the oldest daughter of Old Wodd and enjoyed darker things. She helped Little Vadr make his Shadow People and generally hid until the Last War.

Young Sybil was the youngest daughter of Old Wodd and was the most beautiful by far. She was lost to the Elves, never to come back.

Old Mag is the wife of Old Wodd and mother to all races. She made the Blostsno’s to take care of the world when she would die, though Bjorn gave the men great strength. Most believe she was the reason why humans gained magical abilities. Any prayer for protection is answered by spirits when said in her name and magic items charged with her prayer can tell when Elves are near.

During the Last War the Gods fought Leviathan, a massive continent sized serpents, and his many children. Though they slew his children the body of Leviathan fell on the world and was not dead. He sleeps, wrapped across the north, and it’s blood corrupts anything it touches. This has risen legions of Eldritch horrors and some giants even trek across the planet to drink its caustic blood. Those who survive find themselves filled with dark and horrific strength or mutated into powerful monstrosities.

Leviathan ate the World Tree when the Last War happened but a single mysterious man, known as Father Root, took two seeds and replanted them in the center of the world. These two seeds grew to be the Tree of Life, always in bloom, and the Tree of Death, always bare. These two Trees gained a sapience and created the Order to protect the world if ever the Leviathan woke again. In time every kingdom learned of the Order and took their warriors, called Timber Agents, and their actions as law. One thousand years later they are known as the group of the most powerful mortals in the realm and the treasure from their adventures passed onto the Order itself. In exchange for their service Timber Agents are given riches, are above the law in every but the most dystopian state, and contacts in secret groups that would never speak to a lesser mortal.

Every five years the Gauntlet of Wood is held to find new warriors for the Order. Hundreds of people attempt to pass it but those who pass each year are barely a handful of the contestants. It is deadly, it is cruel, and in the end your death is more likely than your passing.

#timberagents #settingdump

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abenteam · 7 years

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Moley, Moley, Moley

Sourced from http://ift.tt/2oNZg35 The following information on: Moley, Moley, Moley is published from http://ift.tt/29GmYXT

The snow is finally gone! You can actually see your lawn again for the first time since November, such an exciting occasion. However, your joy may have only lasted momentarily, until you noticed that your lawn was showcasing several volcano like holes and had a maze like theme. It can only mean one thing, you probably have a population of grubs, which have attracted moles. It’s time to take action and we’re here to offer some tips & tricks.

Here are some things we have learned about Moles:

Their choice of cuisine consists of insect larvae, earthworms, millipedes and other bug like delicacies. Bet you’re hungry now!

They like the single life of solitude until early spring when they find that special someone to breed with

They are not rodents…who knew! They are in fact insectivore, which translates into a carnivore that only eats insects. See we are learning so much!

As is apparent on your lawn, they are BIG FANS of creating mazes (aka tunnels). Hey, if they weren’t insectivores they could make a killing designing children’s activity books.

They’re big on constantly creating new feeding tunnels and tend to get bored of their newly designed tunnel and may only use it once.

They have a main runway, which they will use repeatedly. The runways are 12-18 inches underground and not usually visible.

They are most active during warm, wet months, although they live in their very own underground world year-round

Not the most attractive little critters. They grow to be 4 to 6 inches long and have gray to black velvety fur, slender hairless snouts, and beady little eyes and ears. They have large front feet with long claws that dig much like a hoe. Not your typical Disney woodland creature.

Their days are numbered and not because you’re trying to be rid of them. If they can outwit & outplay you they’ll only live for 3 years

Here’s the thing, who wants to wait three years? You want your lawn back and you want those moles banished! It’s time to start the great mole attack of 2014! We will assume that you want to be as organic & humane as possible but based on our research we’ve learned that you may have to pull out the big guns to rid your lawn of these unattractive introverted insectivores.

Here’s what we know won’t work so don’t go wasting your time: Lye, Draino, pickle juice, broken glass, cayenne pepper, razor blades, bleach, juicy fruit gum, moth balls, human hair balls, vibrations, gasoline & explosives. Admit it, you want to watch Caddy Shack again, don’t you?

The humane way is to start with an organic method that is harmless to earthworms, ladybugs and plants. For the record, you want earthworms in your lawn, as they are good for the soil.

Get to know these two words: Beneficial Nematodes. What is a nematode? Nematodes are microscopic, whitish to transparent, unsegmented worms. They occupy almost every conceivable habitat on earth and are among the most common multicelled organisms. Beneficial nematodes seek out and kill all stages of harmful soil-dwelling insects. These bad boys control over 200 different types of insects in the soil. It’s like one big 70’s party at Woodstock in your lawn. Beneficial nematodes are parasitic, and invade the bodies of their prey, leaving behind the dead insect carcasses (pause for overall body shiver). They are a very effective organic insect control method and kill most insects before they become adults. This includes lots of common lawn and garden pests such as grubs, fleas, mole crickets, Japanese beetles and weevils. No chemicals are required and they are easy to apply. The other upside is that Beneficial Nematodes are harmless to pets & humans. http://ift.tt/1f0R9XI

Now for the bad news…this isn’t likely to get rid of your unwanted tenants...THE MOLES. Those nasty little critters will start to feed off the earthworms left behind and be happy happy happy.

Resource after resource has indicated that the only guaranteed way to rid your lawn of moles is to use a mole-specific trap that will exterminate the animal. Above and below ground traps are available for getting rid of moles. If you take this route, be sure to move the tunnel traps daily. Word on the street is that the Victor® Brand is the best on the market and are reasonably priced. For more information on their Mole traps check out the Victor® website www.victorpest.com. They ship to Canada. Local retailers such as Wal-Mart, Home Depot & Canadian Tire can also assist with your Mole Trap needs.

Now is the time to make your move, they are most active in the early Spring. Typically only 1 to 2 moles will lay claim on your lawn, as I mentioned previously these critters are not social & don’t live in communities so by removing just one or two moles usually solves the problem.

May the force be with you as you tackle the grubs & moles in your lawn. Before long your lawn will be free of volcano like dirt mounds and will be green and lush.

Please feel free to share your tips and tricks about your success of ridding moles & grubs from your lawn, we would love to hear from you.

Sourced from http://ift.tt/2o3vtGg

#Aben Team

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allcheatscodes · 7 years

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the legend of zelda minish cap gba

http://allcheatscodes.com/the-legend-of-zelda-minish-cap-gba/

the legend of zelda minish cap gba

The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap cheats & more for Game Boy Advance (GBA)

Cheats

Unlockables

Hints

Easter Eggs

Glitches

Guides

Get the updated and latest The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap cheats, unlockables, codes, hints, Easter eggs, glitches, tricks, tips, hacks, downloads, guides, hints, FAQs, walkthroughs, and more for Game Boy Advance (GBA). AllCheatsCodes.com has all the codes you need to win every game you play!

Use the links above or scroll down to see all the Game Boy Advance cheats we have available for The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap.

Also Known As: Minish Cap: The Legend of Zelda and Zelda: Minish Cap

Genre: Action, Adventure Developer: Unknown Publisher: Nintendo ESRB Rating: Everyone Release Date: January 12, 2005

Hints

Unlimited Rupees

First get the mole mitts then go to the door of your house. Dig on the left side of the door and you’ll get 20 rupees, Go inside your house and go back out to repeat this.

Rupee Stash

In the beginning of the game, you will start inyour house. There is a treasure box. Open it toget 20 rupees, although you may want to save ituntil later when you might need it.

Fairy Tree

In North Hyrule Field, there is a lone tree NEXT to the fairy spring. Dash into it and a fairy will pop out. do this as many times as you like.

North Hyrule Fairy

If you go to the tree right next to the fairy fountain and dash into it using the Pegasus Boots,a fairy will appear.

Goram’s Real Estate

Gorman will show up in Hyrule Town when you fuse Kinstones with one of the sisters at the inn. If you talk to him, the shady real estate agent will tell you he’s looking for a tenant. Whichever sister you inform of the vacancy will move into the house and fill one of your empty bottles with a free charm when you visit her. The red sister’s charm will inmcrease your strength, (and change your clothes red) the blue’s will boost your defence, (and change your clothes blue) and the green’s will power up both attributes (though to a lessr extent). If you fuse Kinstones with Bremor (who’s standing next to the post office), the carpenters will build a new house that another one of the sisters can move into.

Wake-Up Gifts

In addition to replenished health, you’ll recive a free Kinstone when you stay at the inn. The cheap room (50 rupees) comes with a green Kinstone. If you decide to splurge on the 200-Rupee room, you’ll get a blue Kinstone. High-society types who spend 400 Rupees on the luxury suite will find a red Kinstone on their pillow. (ok, not LITERALLY on their pillow, but, it’s in the treasure chest, ok?) lol!

Swordsman Newsletters

If you fuse Kinstones with the postman who’s running around Hyrule Town, Marcy will start selling the “Swordsman Newsletter” at the post office. Each issue is packed with helpful tips for aspiring warriors. Additional volumes will become available as you train with the swordmasters.

How To Get Mysterious Shells

If you are in need of mysterious shells all you have to do is go to south Hyrule feild and start cutting grass with your sword. After cutting some grass you should find some mysterious shells.

Bottle Locations

Bottle 1: In the Trilby Highlands, there is a ladder south of where you enter. Go down the ladder and use a bomb on the wall on the right. In the new room is a business scrub who will sell you a bottle for 20 rupees.Bottle 2: Shrink yourself and enter the chimney in Stockwell's shop. Inside the shop, grow back to normal. Stockwell will notice you trying to take the bottle behind him. He's willing to give it to you if you feed his dog at his house in Lake Hylia. Go to the dog dish and press A to pour the dog food. After this, the bottle is yours to keep.Bottle 3: Fuse kinstones with Smith in your house. Then a chest appears at Lon Lon Ranch. Open it to get another bottle.Bottle 4: After you complete the Goron quest, there will be a chest at the end containing a bottle.

Get The Golden Tingle Statue

Complete all kinstone fusions then talk to Tingle.

Get The Carlov Medal

Get all 136 figurines.

Sound Test

Once you got the Carlov Medal, talk to the man sitting at the table outside of the cafe and he’ll give you the key to go into his house which is the house that was locked on one side. Inside, you’ll see a phonograph that can play muisic that you heared throughout the game. Don’t forget to get the heart piece and the three chests.

Directions To Graveyard

When you get to the part where it’s really dark in the Royal Valley, get out your flame lanturn and go in the following directions to the graveyard: up, left, left, up, right and up.

Get The Light Arrows

If you have already beaten the game you cannot get the light arrows. First you need to go to Hyrule Town. Then go to the northwest part of town and you will see a house with a yellow roof. Fuse kinstones with the man inside the house. It will unlock a teleport to a castle in the Cloud Tops. In the castle, you will find an old man plagued by an evil spirit. Then use the gust jar to suck up the ghost. When you come back to the Cloud Tops later in the game, go into the castle and talk to the same old man. Then he’ll give you the light arrows.

Heart Piece In Bell

When you get Roc’s cape, jump through the bell in the middle of Hyrule Town then a heart piece will fall out.

Sleep In Your Bed

When you go to your house, go upstairs to your room. Go infront of your bed and Ezlo will ask you if you want to take a nap. Say yes and you’ll go to sleep. When you wake up, your health will be full. This is an easier way to heal your self without trying to find a fairy.

Get The Magical Boomerang

To get the magical boomerang, fuse kinestones with all four of the tingle brothers. Go inside every tree in North Hyrule Field and hit every switch, then a ladder in the middle will appear. Go down it and open the chest with a magical boomerang in it. The magical boomerang allows you to control its direction when it comes back to you.

Mario References

At Lon Lon Ranch, Talon sort of looks like Mario with the mustach, red shirt and blue overalls. Another are Mario enemies. The Bombite look exactly like Bob-ombs except they have red eyes and feet, the Spiked Beetle looks like Spinys except are blue and there is an enemy that looks like Lakitu but he throws electric balls instead of spinys.

Original Zelda Music

When you go to Royal Crypt in Royal Valley, the music is the same music from the temple levels in The Legend of Zelda.

Get Remote Bombs

To get remote bombs, go back to Minish Village and talk to the elder, then fuse kinstones with him. Then go to where you first got the original bombs from the picori. Talk to him and you’ll get the remote bombs. Just set the bomb wherever you like and press the same button to blow it up.

Consol Zelda Characters

In the game, you night notice some of the same characters you see in the consol versions like the carpenters.

Get The Mirror Sheild

First you must beat the game and complete the Goron quest. Go to the sixth and final Goron and fuse kinstones with him. Then the giant Goron will appear on top of Veil Falls. Go there and let the giant Goron eat your small sheild, come back to him later and he will give you the mirror sheild.

Lots Of Rupees

In Hyrule Town, play the cucco catching game over and over again. Every time you win, you will get rupees and shells.

Break Sparkling Trees

Throughout the game, you will see sparkling trees. Break them open by running into them with your pegasus on. When they open, you can use them to turn small.

Defeat The Boss In The Fortress Of Winds

To beat the boss of the Fortress of Winds first equip the bow and arrow and your sword. Try to shoot the orbs on his hands. He will try to punch you and throw you across the room. When you have shot his hands and stunned then he will fall to the ground.Then shrink down to the minish size by shrinking on the shrink portal in the top of the room. Enter through his mouth quickly and slash the collumn with the eye on it. Then you need to get out quick. When your out redo the process with shooting his hands. Then shrink and go inside him again. This time equip the mole mitts and dig to the correct collumn quickly. Repeat the whole porcess until hes defeated. You will get a heart container but you will not get the wind element until later in the game.

Wind Crest Locations

The location of the wind crests in Hyrule are as follows. South Hyrule Field there is one. Castor Wilds there is one. Viel Falls there is one. Cloud Tops there are two of them. Mt. Crenel there is one. Hyrule Town there is one. You can use wind crests to warp to different areas throughout Hyrule.

Beat Gleeok

To beat Gleeok the boss of The Cave of Flames first equip the cane of pacci and your sword. Try to distract him and get a good aim at his shell. Avoid getting hit by thwe fireballs. When they are on the ground you can slash them and they may have a heart at times. Then when you have a good shot fire a blast from the cane of pacci at him. This will cause his shell to fly up exposing his back and causing him to be stunned. when his head crashes to the ground run across his neck until your on his back. Then hack away at his yellow orb on his back. Be careful because he will submerge in the lava when he wakes up. He will then try to hit you with rocks. Avoid then by rolling when a shadow is on top of you. Repeat the process three or four times to defeat him. You’ll get a heart container and the fire element.

Beat The Giant Green Chu Ju At Deepwood Shrine

To beat the giant green Chu Ju of Deepwood Shrine first equip the gust jar and your sword. Then suck up the goop at the bottom of the chu ju. He will begin to fall. Try not to get smashed by him when he falls. When he’s on the ground hack at him like crazy with the sword. Do this two or three times to beat him. You’ll get a heart container and the earth element when its all over.

Cheats

Currently we have no cheats or codes for The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Unlockables

Currently we have no unlockables for The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Easter eggs

Currently we have no easter eggs for The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Glitches

Currently we have no glitches for The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Guides

Currently no guide available.

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