#Jam Aden

[lgbtqreads]

Most Anticipated LGBTQ+ Young Adult Fiction: January-June 2025

Today’s post is sponsored in honor of the upcoming paperback release of Sydney Taylor Honor book Going Bicoastal, coming May 27th from Wednesday Books! *** The Last Bookstore on Earth by Lily Braun-Arnold (January 7th) The world is about to end. Again. Ever since the first Storm wreaked havoc on civilization as we know it, seventeen-year-old Liz Flannery has been holed up in an abandoned…

[nox-is-simming]

Taking a quick break from Ziggy to have a little domestic moment with the Knutson-Jams.

Their second child, Jaime, has her birthday very close to Aden's so they decided to throw a joint party this year. They didn't do a huge celebration, but Beatrice baked a lovely cake.

[girlactionfigure]

⚪ SAT after Shabbat - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

▪️UN AID TEAM COMPLAINS.. hears gunfire nearby on the humanitarian no-attack route, was IDF attacking gunmen headed towards the aid.

▪️ON THE HOSTAGES.. “political official”: “If we withdraw the forces from Gaza unilaterally, the meaning is clear: most of the hostages will remain in the hands of Hamas. If we go to a deal without exact clauses that oblige Hamas to comply, Hamas will manipulate and not release everyone. We have not let up on the lever of military pressure - this is what we have left.”

▪️ISRAELI KILLED IN KALKILYA.. and car set on fire. Amnon Mokhtar, 67 years old from Petach Tikva comes every Saturday to shop.  IDF entered the city, located and killed terrorist who killed him.  Video shows IDF troops then tied the terrorist body of the terrorist to the vehicle and drove through town - IDF: “The conduct seen in the video is not consistent with the IDF's orders and what is expected of its soldiers, will be investigated and dealt with.”

▪️CHIEF RABBI HOSPITALIZED.. Sephardi Chief Rabbi Yitzchak Yosef taken to hospital over Shabbat.

▪️HEAVY GPS JAMMING.. reported in central Israel through northern Israel, and Eilat. Make sure rocket alert apps are set to specific city instead of location.  Other location based apps (such as lunch ordering!) and map/driving apps might miss your location.

🔹REGIONAL WAR THREAT.. Iran informs the UN:  "Hezbollah can defend itself against Israel easily without our help. But if the US helps Israel, we will help Lebanon.”

🔹US AIRCRAFT CARRIER INBOUND.. US aircraft carrier battle group Eisenhower moving from the Gulf of Aden / Red Sea area to the Eastern Mediterranean (via Suez), while the US aircraft carrier battle group Roosevelt will come from Korea to the Gulf of Aden after exercises in Korea this week.

🔶 LEBANON - HEZBOLLAH

🔸ARAB DESK ANALYSIS:  an escalation and not a surprise... Israel is being dragged into war (with Hezbollah) instead of initiating it.

🔸Videos show Beirut airport loaded with people trying to leave after multiple countries advise their citizens to evacuation.

🔸Canada is preparing to evacuate about 45,000 of its citizens who are in Lebanon.

🔸A US administration official told CNN: The US has pledged to fully support Israel if a full-scale war with Hezbollah breaks out.

🔸IDF attacks Hezbollah observation post, Eyta al-Sha'ab.

🔸IDF airstrike, Hezbollah military structure, Ramiyah.

🔸IDF airstrike, Hezbollah military structure, Yaron.

🔸IDF airstrike, looks like phosphorus bomb, Khula.

🔸IDF assassination, weapons supplier Ayman Ratma, Bekaa.

♦️COUNTER-TERROR - JABARIAT, JENIN.

♦️TARGETED ASSASSINATION - The IDF tried this morning to eliminate Raad Saad, one of the top Hamas officials in Gaza. Believed killed in airstrikes in Gaza City.

♦️US/UK ATTACK HOUTHIS - airstrikes at Hodeidah, Yemen.

⭕ IRAQ SHIA (Iran) MILITIAS - SUICIDE DRONES at US Base in Syria.

⭕ 2 ANTI-TANK MISSILES FIRED - at Metullah by Hezbollah.  Buildings damaged, fires caused.

⭕ ANTI-TANK MISSILES FIRED - Menara.

⭕ HOUTHIS CLAIM.. to have attacked 2 cargo ships AND the US Aircraft Carrier Eisenhower in the Red Sea.

[mariacallous]

In 2023, Tel Aviv celebrated its first ever Jachnun Festival. Celebrity pastry chefs, jachnun joints and hungry crowds gathered at the hip settings of the city’s harbor, enjoying every possible version of the humble star of the party, the Shabbat Yemenite pastry. Alongside classic jachnun, visitors could try stuffed jachnun, spelt flour jachnun and even gluten-free ones. A stand offered Yemenite spicy sauce (zhug) tastings, and another featured a chili pepper eating competition. And to wash it all down, jachnun lovers were offered spiced black coffee, and fig and date arak liquor.

Jachnun is a slightly sweet rolled pastry, made of very thin layers of dough that are brushed with clarified butter. It is the Shabbat dish of the Jews of Aden, in today’s Yemen, and is baked overnight on Friday at a low temperature then eaten for breakfast on Saturday morning. 

Israeli food writers wondered how Tel Aviv hasn’t had a jachnun festival until now, but my question is quite different: How did this unassuming pastry make its way from Aden to the heart of Israeli culinary consensus in just 75 short years? It stands there in pride alongside other classics like shakshuka, schnitzel, hummus and chicken soup. When and how did that happen?

First, to clarify, the famous Yemenite jachnun is actually from Aden, not Yemen. (Aden, which was the capital of South Yemen, became part of the country now known as Yemen only in 1990 after the unification of North Yemen and South Yemen.) The Adenite and Yemenite (mainly from around Sana’a) Jewish communities were separate and had different traditions.

Adenite and Yemenite Jews met for the first time in the Hashed (or Geula, “redemption” in Hebrew) transit camp arranged by The American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee in 1949 ahead of Operation Magic Carpet that brought them to Israel. 

“In Hashed, with ingredients brought by The Joint, is where Yemenites first learned from the Adeni how to make jachnun,” said Moshe David, an Israeli of Adanite roots, a jeweler and author of the cookbook “Disappearing Flavors of the South.”

“More Yemenites learned how to make the dish in the camps in Israel,” where Yemenite and Adenite Jews lived together for years, he told me.

For hundreds of years Aden was a cosmopolitan strategic harbor city. It was ruled by the Ottomans and then by the British. Moshe believes that jachnun originated from an Ottoman pastry called gül böreği (rose-shaped borek). The pastry is made with yufka, a thin dough, thicker than phyllo, that’s used for many Turkish pastries, and is stretched to an almost transparent leaf, then spread with fat, just like jachnun. The original gül böreği, though, is stuffed with meat, while jachnun is only brushed with fat and then rolled.

In the past, jachnun was actually served as a sweet dish, topped with honey (and later, in Israel, with sugar).

“They used to serve it with halva or Turkish delight,” said David. “That’s what convinced me the origin is Ottoman. They would also serve it with quince jam,” a testament of the Adenite connection to the Silk Road and Persian cuisine.

In search for the origins of the dish, I found an unusual version of jachnun in two of Molly Bar-David’s books. Bar-David was a Jewish American who emigrated to Israel in the 1940s and documented Jewish dishes of immigrants that arrived in Israel from all across the Jewish Diaspora. She quotes a recipe for ghihinoon (Yemenite Cakes) from her Yemenite housekeeper, Margalit, who used to sprinkle chopped nuts, jam or cottage cheese on the dough before rolling it and baking. 

I should add that the 1964 book is packed with condescending comments toward the many Mizrahi and Sephardi Jews mentioned in the book. Margalit (last name is not provided) was not spared. In general, this was in line with the way many Ashkenazi Jews at the time viewed Jews from Arab and Muslim countries.

Moshe thinks that Bar-David mistakenly mixed g’hin, “dough” in Yemenite, with ghihinoon. But when I asked a Yemenite-Israeli Facebook group about it, one member said she too spreads the dough with jam before baking. Still, most Yemenite Israelis in the group found that idea amusing, and jokingly suggested serving jachnun with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. 

Jachnun evolved into a savory course, and became nationwide phenomena, fairly recently, in the 1980s when a chain of Yemenite restaurants named Nargila (hookah) took Israel by storm. Nargila offered a limited menu, and jachnun and malawach were the stars. The pastries were served with grated tomatoes mixed with zhug, which became the standard for Yemenites and even for some Adenite Jews.

These days, jachnun is available in the freezer aisle at any supermarket in Israel, offering an inferior but easy option for those daunted by the labor-intense process of making the dish at home. On the weekends, fresh jachnun is readily available at pop-up roadside stands, cafes and even as part of the famous Israeli breakfast buffet in many hotels. This modest dish has officially become an Israeli staple.

[lexa-griffins]

How do Madi, Saige, Willow, Skye, and Aden celebrate Mother's Day in farm clexa?

(Looking at the kids names all in one row its already that really is a lotta babies 😅)

When they're small is usually a day that's stressful for Lexa and Clarke more than anything 😅 their parents come around for lunch and the kids are all small so they can't really help and Anya and Raven usually also come around and get the kids distracted making some cards for Lexa and Clarke while they run around and get stuff ready for mothers day lunch because they also want this to be a nice day for their own moms (who... get along but not too well tbh 😅).

When the kids are a little older, meaning baby Aden should be around 2 or 3 and Madi around 11 so she can wake up her siblings and let their moms sleep in while they get breakfast ready. Dont get me wrong, it's still a little chaotic, but these kids were taught to work around the kitchen. They can make toast and warm the milk and get them jams and all of that. Which means their moms are gonna wake up to a full breakfast on the table.... not before being awoken by those five little baby ducks throwing themselves at their bed and hugging and kissing them 🥰

They get drawings and cards and a new candle Madi asked grandma Abby to buy for Lexa and a new set of brushes for Clarke. Its small things that mean the world to them because its from their kids.

As they grow even older and move out and have kids of their own, mother's day is still a day they all come back home to have lunch, now capable of spoiling their mothers with more extravagant gifts and cooking all the things Lexa in particular taught then when they were smaller.

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There is also a moment where they go visit the little tree that is growing. They are still that babies mom even if the baby never truly was. They don't dwell on it too long, they dont want their children to feel like whatever they did today didn't matter, but they also need a moment there. It gets easier the more the years pass but they still feel like they are moms of 6 and not 5, so that moment there is needed for them to really feel like they celebrated mother's day.

[loudlylovingreview]

Rebecca Gordon: A Personal Meditation on Growing Old In a Catastrophic Age

The Washington Post headline reads: “A big problem for young workers: 70- and 80-year-olds who won’t retire.” For the first time in history, reports Aden Barton, five generations are competing in the same workforce. His article laments a “demographic traffic jam” at the apexes of various employment pyramids, making it ever harder for young people “to launch their careers and get promoted” in…

[reveriescope]

Arial's Pandora Box

Tangan itu mencengkeram pakaian Arial erat. Napas tertahan, rintih kesakitan tertangkap pendengaran. Cengkeram itu berubah menjadi genggam yang diayunkan pada tubuh Arial dengan gemetar. 

Sorot mata Arial bersirobok dengan Arimbi, kemudian terpaku di sana. Nanar tatapan Arial terperangkap pada mata Arimbi yang terbelalak tak percaya dan digenangi air mata. Sinar kehidupan perlahan-lahan mulai pergi, seiring perempuan itu terbatuk darah; nyaris menyembur. 

Arial menarik bilah pisau di tangannya, tubuh Arimbi menegang sebelum akhirnya terdiam. Tusukan baru bersarang pada titik vital di perut Arimbi. Tangan kanan Arial hangat dialiri darah segar. 

“Aku sayang kamu, Rim.” Arial menggumam sembari mendorong pisaunya lebih dalam. 

Arimbi yang kian lunglai di pangkuan Arial tidak lagi berkata-kata. Air mata menetes dari iris gelap yang memantulkan bayangan Arial, di mana kehidupan tidak lagi singgah di sana. Sebelum tubuh Arimbi terjatuh ke belakang, Arial menarik tubuh tak bernyawa itu ke pelukannya. 

Tanpa suara, Arial mengusap tangannya yang bebas pada punggung Arimbi. Perempuan yang dicintainya itu kini berakhir sebagai jasad kaku di atas pangkuan Arial. Butuh beberapa jam sampai akhirnya Arial sadar, Arimbi dan bayinya kini sudah tak lagi menjadi jagal antara hubungan si bungsu Hakim dengan orangtuanya. 

Meski peristiwa itu sudah terlalu lampau, tiada hari Arial berhasil mengenyahkan perasaan saat tarikan napas Arimbi terhenti di usia 17 tahun.

===

Suatu hari, di tahun 2011.

“Den, udah saya bilang jangan ke sini.” Perempuan setengah baya yang akrab disapa Bu Basuki itu menolak memberikan izin untuk Arial masuk. 

“Saya cuma numpang mau istirahat. Bu Basuki ini kayak nggak pernah ngasuh saya aja,” kata Arial dengan nada persuasif. 

“Tapi Tuan larang Aden ke sini. Den Iyal tau kan Bapak gimana kalau marah?”

“Ada apa toh, Bu?” Pak Basuki muncul dari dalam rumah menghampiri istrinya, kemudian segera menunduk saat melihat Tuan Muda ada di ambang pintu,  “Den Arial..”

Sambil tersenyum lebar, Arial berkata, “Permisi, Pak. Saya mau istirahat di sini tapi nggak dikasih masuk.” 

“Bu, uwis. Ben aku sing matur Ndoro.” Pak Basuki menepuk pundak sang istri setelah keduanya saling bertatapan. 

Setelah menarik napas dalam, Bu Basuki membuka pintu gerbang rumahnya untuk Arial. Mantan pengasuh Titan itu bertanya, “Den Arial mau sekalian makan siang?” 

Arial menggeleng. “Saya cuma mau numpang di tidur siang.” 

“Ya sudah, pakai kamarnya Panji aja. Mari. Den.”

Sementara Pak Basuki mengajak Arial masuk ke dalam rumah, menuju kamar yang dimaksud, sang istri undur diri, “Saya buatkan minum dulu.” 

“Panji nggak di rumah, Pak?” tanya Arial.

“Ada les sama kegiatan di sekolah sampai sore, Den. Nanti kalau pulang bisa istirahat di tempat mbaknya,” terang Pak Basuki. 

Percakapan bergulir begitu saja, sebagaimana komunikasi Arial dengan pasangan Basuki selama ini. Daripada ayahnya, Arial lebih sering berkomunikasi dengan keluarga Basuki yang sudah puluhan tahun mengabdi kepada keluarganya. 

Sejak Titan dewasa dan Pak Basuki dianggap terlalu tua untuk menjadi sopir pribadi Zainal Hakim, keluarga ini punya tugas lain. Apapun tugas mereka, semua itu ada hubungannya dengan larangan Arial masuk ke kediaman Basuki. 

Jika tampak dari luar kediaman keluarga Basuki seperti rumah keluarga kelas menengah atas pada umumnya. Selain pasangan Basuki dan kedua anak mereka, Arimbi dan Panji, beberapa perempuan juga tinggal di sana. Pasangan Basuki dikenal sebagai pemilik indekos untuk para siswi yang bersekolah di sekitar sini, mengingat lokasinya dekat dengan sekolah menengah bergengsi (termasuk sekolah Arial).

Tanpa banyak penjelasan, Arial sebenarnya sudah tahu rumah itu dihuni calon simpanan ayahnya. Arial juga mengetahui perempuan-perempuan itu punya rentang usia tak jauh darinya atau hanya setahun-dua tahun lebih tua. Arial dengar mereka sudah dirawat keluarga Basuki sejak masih anak-anak, kemudian dipersiapkan untuk melayani ayahnya. 

“Ari pulang,” seruan perempuan diikuti suara pintu tertutup membuat Arial menoleh. 

“Arimbi?” bibir Arial tanpa sadar melafalkan nama itu. 

Siapa yang akan mengira pertemuan itu akan berujung bencana?

---

Semasa hidupnya, Zainal Hakim dikenal dengan tangan besi.Di antara tiga kepala keluarga Arctics,  Ayah Titan dan Arial Hakim itu berpulang paling awal. 

Sudah jadi rahasia umum Arial sedikit banyak meniru kebiasaan ayahnya memelihara banyak wanita bahkan saat ibu mereka masih ada. Sepanjang hidupnya, Arial hanya mengenal sisi ayahnya yang satu itu; penguasa lalim dan tukang main wanita. 

Zainal Hakim mengadaptasi cara mengangkat selir di keluarga kerajaan tempo dulu. Perempuan-perempuan itu sudah dirawat sejak muda oleh orang terpercaya keluarga. Hingga akhirnya saat cukup umur mereka akan masuk ke harem dan melayani sang tuan. Perempuan-perempuan itu masuk ke rumah mereka dengan cara beragam. 

Dihadapkan pada gaya hidup demikian, Arial sudah mengenal kesenangan sejak masih sangat muda. Bahkan ia tidak bisa mengingat kapan kehilangan perjaka karena ulahnya sendiri. Dengan tampilan serius, eksentrik sekaligus berpendidikan seperti sekarang, tidak banyak orang mengira apa yang terjadi di masa lalunya. 

Karena tergolong nakal, Arial remaja sering kali merasakan cambuk dan pukulan sang ayah. Namun semua kekerasan fisik tidak membuatnya berhenti melakukan apa yang digemarinya. Termasuk ikut merayu calon perempuan ayahnya, terutama Arimbi.

---

Zainal Hakim mengira keputusannya tidak memberikan fasilitas homeschooling untuk Arial adalah benar. Awalnya langkah itu tidak menimbulkan masalah karena Arial belajar tanpa banyak keluhan di sekolah dan bergaul sebagaimana mestinya. 

Namun siapa mengira bahwa kebebasan Arial menjadi tiket malapetaka bagi keluarga Hakim. 

Arial bertemu lagi dengan Arimbi sejak duduk di bangku SMA. Mereka sempat saling mengenal sebelumnya karena anak perempuan itu lahir di tengah keluarga Hakim beberapa bulan lebih awal daripada Arial. 

Kedekatan Arial dengan Arimbi diikuti tumbuhnya perasaan di antara keduanya. Cinta remaja, bahagia, penuh harap, bergejolak, segalanya dirasa Arial dan Arimbi. Hingga pada usia mereka yang ke-17, Arial harus merasakan fase yang belum pernah dialami teman sebayanya. 

“Aku tanggung jawab.” Arial meraih tangan Arimbi, seolah melupakan test-pack bergaris dua yang tadi membuatnya terpaku selama beberapa menit. 

Alih-alih merespons Arial, Arimbi menghindari tatapan pemuda itu. Hela napas berat terdengar setelahnya, mengundang tanya di kepala Arial. Bukankah itu yang harus dilakukan? Pikirnya. 

“Andai segampang itu, Yal,” gumam Arimbi. “Aku… belum bilang sesuatu ke kamu.”

Genggam tangan Arial pada Arimbi kan ketat, sorot matanya mencari mata perempuan di depannya. Asal tahu saja, Arial Hakim belum pernah seyakin ini untuk bertanggung jawab atas tindakannya tanpa keberatan menerima amuk sang ayah. Namun respons Arimbi telak membuatnya kebingungan.

“Apa yang aku nggak tahu?” tanya Arial. 

Arimbi menggigit bibirnya lalu menatap Arial sebelum terbata-bata mengakui tentang Zainal Hakim yang sudah lama memintanya menjadi simpanan begitu akil baligh. Atas negosiasi alot, Arimbi dibiarkan tak tersentuh hingga lulus SMA. 

“...aku minta maaf, Yal,” tutup Arimbi. 

Sebagai refleks atas pengakuan itu, Arial mengendurkan genggamannya pada tangan Arimbi. Sambil membuang napas pendek, Arial menyibakkan rambutnya ke belakang kepala. 

“Orangtua itu pasti murka.” kekeh Arial. “Kita mungkin akan hidup susah, Rim.” 

“Kamu keberatan? Seengaknya, pikirku, kalau aku sama kamu dia bakal batalin niatnya.”

Mendengar penuturan Arimbi, Arial sedikit takjub. Pikirannya yang kusut mulai menyatukan keping asumsi yang tak ia sukai. Arial tidak suka dijadikan alat untuk tujuan yang tidak ia sadari sebelumnya. Apalagi seumur hidup berurusan dengan Zainal Hakim, situasi semacam ini tidak akan lolos dari hukuman berat. Entah, Arial enggan membayangkan.

"Dia bukan Maha Pemberi Ampun. Kita diusir, itu udah pasti,” ujar Arial. “Kamu nggak kenal ayahku, Rim. Aku udah makan sesuatu yang dia tunggu masaknya.”

Hati Arimbi mencelos usai nilainya sebagai manusia diobjektifikasi. Maka dari itu, ia memutuskan, “Apapun keputusan ayah kamu, anak ini harus hidup dengan atau tanpa ayahnya.”

“Oke, aku bilang ke ayah. Kamu jaga diri, jaga bayi kita,” kata Arial sebelum mengecup punggung tangan Arimbi dan pergi.

---

Tebakan Arial sesuai prediksi. Hanya butuh dua kalimat sebelum akhirnya Zainal memukuli Arial habis-habisan. Sesaat usai kepalanya dihantam botol air mineral yang terbuat dari kaca, Arial tidak mampu menopang tubuhnya. Darah mengucur dari luka di kepala, sementara tubuhnya tergeletak di lantai menahan dera kesakitan. 

“Sekarang tinggal pilih. Mending orangnya Ayah atau pakai tangan kamu sendiri?” Zainal Hakim melayangkan ultimatum, kakinya bertumpu pada kepala putranya. 

“Yah….” 

“Jawab!” desis Zainal, yang kemudian menendang ulu hati Arial. 

Kaki pria tua itu kini menginjak selangkangan Arial seraya berkata, “Jadi ini yang udah bisa keluyuran? Anak tak tahu diuntung.” 

Erang keras lolos begitu saja dari mulut Arial, hingga akhirnya terucap, “Aku, Yah… aku yang beresin.”

Zainal melangkah mundur, ditendangnya tubuh putra bungsu yang baru saja berubah meringkuk kesakitan. Arial dalam mode bertahan membiarkan ayahnya melampiaskan emosi. 

“Memang seharusnya gitu. Kamu yang cicipi, kamu juga yang harus habisin.” 

– fin? 

[noisynutcrusade]

Scary accident in Mogadishu, plane shatters in two on the runway: save the passengers

34 people on board In Somalia’s Aden Adde airport in Mogadishu, a plane suffered a breakdown during flight, forcing an emergency landing that led to its skidding on the runway and jamming into the safety barriers. There were 34 people on board the plane. Only one suffered minor injuries. The entire maneuver was documented in a video recorded by a surveillance camera. The accident occurred on…

[fhaden]

Mendengar kisah ayah saat hendak ke sekolah, seakan menginspirasiku bahwa perjalanan menuju sekolah sangat sulit.

"Sekarang kalau pergi sekolah enak ya, kalau ayah dulu..." Ceritanya bisa berlangsung selama berjam-jam.

Fokus mendengar apa yang diucapkannya, hingga sekarang aku sadar bahwa perjalanan menuju sekolah versi ayah dan aku berbeda. Karena itu, menuju sekolah bagiku bukanlah hal sulit seperti yang dikatakan ayah.

Konsisten untuk bisa terus menempah skill merupakan hal sulit versiku. Karena didalamnya aku dipertemukan dengan masalah waktu, masalah kapasitas diri, masalah keluarga, bahkan masalah kesehatan fisik hingga psikis.

Bagi kamu yang mengalami juga, merasa beratkah? jawabannya iya atau tidak.

Tentunya ketika manusia dihadapkan pada masalah, upaya yang dilakukan adalah mengatasi atau menghindar dari masalah itu.

Satu per satu setiap masalah muncul dan tentunya juga terselesaikan. Namun ternyata berkat masalah yang datang silih berganti itu, kini aku merasa lebih kuat.

"Iya, aku merasa kuat!"

Meskipun diawal aku mencoba pura-pura kuat untuk menyakini diri bahwa aku bisa menyelesaikan masalah itu.

Kalau sakit, belajar jadi ga bisa fokus, terganggu. Belum paham materi pembelajaran, coba ditanyakan tapi tetap ga paham, jadi stres. Karena kadang lalai, tugas pelajaran dikerjakan jadi buru-buru, ga optimal. Wahh banyak sekali dramanya kalau mau dibuka semua😄

"Tapi gapapa...sekarang aku kuat!"

"beneran kuat"

Sekarang aku jadi bisa fokus untuk terus menempah skill, yang ku siapkan untuk bekal karirku kelak.

"Meskipun setiap orang punya masalah dan cara menyelesaikannya pun masing-masing. Yang penting, harapannya adalah setelah lepas dari masalah itu, kamu harus merasa bahwa diri kamu menjadi lebih kuat. Mengingat proses dalam menghadapinya kamu telah susah payah hingga merendahkan diri sendiri, tetapi ternyata akhirnya kamu berhasil, kamu menang!"

"Berbanggalah pada diriku sendiri, pada dirimu sendiri, dan pada diri kita yang telah berjuang dan tidak menyerah"

#aden

[theanimationworkshop]

Graphic storyteller Jam Aden’s (@jamarts) graduation comic is a brilliant allegory on school yard alpha males and females and how to break free from their spell!

Read it, why don’t you

Check out the rest of the 2017 Graphic Storytelling grad projects

[nox-is-simming]

Popped quickly over to the Jam household to see baby Aden.

[luminis-infinite]

Okay sooo - Post-Grindelwald Greenie scenario. Percy's gone back to his charming, smartly-dressed, effortlessly seductive self - but this time, all is part of the delightful game he plays with his wife Queenie. He's a knuckle-kisser; she sits on his lap and drives him quietly mad; sometimes, when he suddenly paper-pale at galas, she brushes at his hair and his thoughts, sending off words of soft love. "I'm here, darling. Always and forever, I'm here."

This is ridiculously long and didn’t necessarily go where I intended it to, so it might get a re-write later. But for now, I hope you enjoy. Thank you so very much for the lovely prompt, darling.

“You’d never believe what I heard,” one of the coffee witches – the one whose name O’Brien can never remember, whispers to one of the interns under the guise of pouring coffee and handing him a biscuit. She gets a raised brow and a bemused shrug for her trouble, but she bats not an eyelash and continues on anyway.“So Nancy was takin’ afternoon coffee around the Bullpen, you know, and she always goes to Mr. Graves office after doin’ the bullpen, and when she knocked she thought she heard Graves say ‘come in’, so in she went and then…” Here the coffee witch looks around, dyed strawberry blond too-tight curls bouncing around her heavily powered neck when she looks right then left to make sure the coast is clear. O’Brien remains in her blind spot, just out of sight. “So in she went, like I was saying, and there was Queenie Goldstein sitting in Graves’ lap.”

The intern splutters loudly on the sip of coffee he’s just taken, nearly spraying the coffee witch and his own starch white shirt. The coffee witch dances out of the way in time, leaving the poor intern choking and coughing for a moment before he croaks out, “You can’t be serious.”She nods at him, eyes impassively wide and framed with thick, mascara-black lashes that bat at him. Red lips quirk up, “I am. She was sittin’ on his lap all pretty like and Nacy says he had his hand on her thigh, under her skirt… Can you believe it? It’s all-“O’Brien finally decides she’s had enough, pushing herself into the woman’s line of view and putting on her best frown.“A bunch of bullshit,” she says firmly, glowering at the coffee witch with her ill-fitting blouse and shoes and the makeup that might come off in a perfect imprint on O’Brien’s hand if she were to slap her. The witch gasps, the intern splutters again. He knows well enough to be afraid of O’Brien, she’s already laid into him twice this week for lollygagging. “You, Lysander, know full well that you have two reports due by the end of the day. Your possibility of landing a job at MACUSA after this grows slimmer with every passing second. And you, whoever you are, are not paid to spin the gossip wheel. Now git, before I report you to your supervisor.”They both stare at her like dying fish for a moment, gaping with their eyes bugging out of their heads. O’Brien, the merciful taskmaster that she is, gives them a full minute to get themselves out of their funks. But when they continue to gawk, she loses her patience. “Scram!”Lysander jumps and squeaks, the witch flinches and they’re both all but dashing off in opposite directions, spines stiff and eyes straight ahead like good little soldiers. O’Brien watches them go before huffing and reaching for her cigarette case. As she heads towards the lobby, O’Brien selects one and shoves it between her teeth. Queenie in his lap and Percival’s hand up her skirt in an unlocked office, honestly, she thinks to herself, he has much more tact than that.

—

After the incident with Nancy this afternoon, Queenie is eager to lie low for the rest of the day. She could skip home well enough, but she knows it will simply feed the gossip mill, and there’s already enough flying around about the both of them right now, thank you very much. So she does the reports Picquery’s asked her to complete, about the raids she’s helped with and the statements she’s gotten from some of Grindelwald’s followers, currently residing comfortably in the very highest rafters of the building, where the owls nest. But reports only keep Queenie occupied for so long; she’s a neat writer and a quick one, signing her name off with a flourish and sending the proofed reports directly to Seraphina with a flick of her wrist. And that leaves Queenie with a suspiciously large absence of anything to do. She decides to make herself some tea, and when that’s done she take a cup to Seraphina and bother the president with chatter for a few moments. Maybe get another assignment, or go find Tina. Tina could use a distraction. Queenie finds herself occupied with making her tea in the quiet breakroom of her department, humming a tune to herself while she sets the water to boil in the kettle and goes about selecting one of the many teas in the cabinets.

Queenie’s narrowed her choices down to camomile or honey lemon when a field of magic brushes gently against her own, much like the waves lapping against the shore at Ilvermorny on a misty morning in October. She grins and leans back into him, giving him space to wrap powerful arms around her ribs. Soft and dry lips pepper little kisses along the neckline of her dress, up to her jaw before he speaks, stubble brushing Queenie’s skin.“I’m sorry about earlier,” Percival murmurs and presses his big hands flat against her belly, smoothing down invisible wrinkles in the satin of her dress. Queenie hums, turning her head to accept his kisses properly. He tastes like an orange, the orange she left for him on his desk after hurrying out following Nancy’s shocked and squeaking apologies. “It ain’t your fault, honey,” Queenie replies. She sets one tea box down and reaches behind her to cup his jaw, tugging him in closer. Percival hums now, quiet and contemplative, enjoying Queenie’s touch and attention as much as she enjoys him. The static of his occlumency quiets around her, the sharp edges left by Grindelwald rounding out, sea glass worn smooth by waves and time. They stand in silence for a moment before the camomile tea box falling off the counter shatters the peace. Queenie jumps and Percival rears back with a quiet curse, before they both roll their eyes at their own silliness. Percival stoops to pick up the tea box, and when he offers it to her, his hand doesn’t tremble. Queenie accepts the box with a grin, “Thank you, kind sir.”Percival laughs and collects her other hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. The twinkle in his coffee-dark eyes tells Queenie that he knows full well what it does to her. “You’re welcome, my darling.”He leaves her to make her tea then, meandering out of the breakroom with his hands in his pockets and seemingly no care in the world. Percival makes every space his own, giving his easy confidence to every moment, every stride. But Queenie knows the hitch is there if she looks for it.

—

The thing is, he looks like he’s bounced right back. He returned to work a month before Queenie wanted him to, barely out of the hospital, barely holding himself together with pepper up potions and bone growth serum and glamors for what the makeup couldn’t hide. Percival strode into work that day in his best, double breasted suit with the tiny silver pinstripes and not a single fuck to give to anyone who got in his way. He doesn’t look like he limps, he doesn’t look like his hands shake or he couldn’t hold a coffee cup the day after they found him. He looks perfectly alright, leads his team perfectly alright, handles everything they throw at him perfectly alright. He’s convinced them that he’s fine. Hell, most days he convinces Queenie that he’s alright – flirting with her, playing the little game they have going flawlessly. He looks fine. He sounds fine. He seems fine. But he isn’t fine. He isn’t.

Someone, Queenie can’t remember who, said to her not too long ago that it was amazing, how well he’d recovered, as if the process of healing from out and out torture at the hands of the darkest wizard in modern remembrance was over. As if Queenie didn’t have to hold him at night anymore when he was shaking like he was going to shatter, or force Dreamless Sleep down his throat raw from screaming, or deal with the heartbreaking reality that he had tried to convince her to divorce him. They don’t see that, they don’t hear his words, thick with tears in their heads.

I’m no good, Queenie. You deserve someone better. You deserve someone s-strong… Not a broken, pathetic old man.They see what he wants them to see. They’ve never bothered to look past the veneer. Maybe that’s why they didn’t notice it wasn’t Percival.

—

“We’re staying for Picquery’s speech and then I’m taking him home.”O’Brien sups from her flute of champagne, her only acknowledgement of Queenie’s words being a slight incline of her head to the right. She surveys the crowd, filled with visiting dignitaries and the who’s-who of Wizarding America. It’s the biggest night of the year, aside from Halloween.They’re about half way into the Wizarding Congress Gala, alcohol freely flowing and all acquaintances made or remade by now. It will be acceptable for the Director and his wife to slip off into the night, they’ve done their duty. But Queenie doesn’t need to hear this from O’Brien. She’s done these things before, lighting up halls and lobbies and small back rooms in pubs alike with her bubbly personality that makes even Graves – stern and brooding and mysteriously dark – smile and laugh. So O’Brien keeps silent, watching as Queenie floats back over to her husband, O’Brien’s one-time protégé (the son she never had, nor wanted until Graves came along). He is wan under the gently glowing enchanted lantern orbs. Soft golden light reflects strangely on his skin, giving him a dewy appearance that is no doubt reflexive of a sheen of sudden sweat. It isn’t that warm in here. O’Brien was part of the setup team and helped weave powerful cooling charms into the tapestries and walls of MACUSA’s grand foyer. So whatever it is that’s causing him to sweat isn’t that. She sets her empty glass on the tray of a nearby house elf, tucking her hands in the pockets of her pantsuit and slowly begins to meander her way over to Graves and Queenie, keeping her eyes roving, searching for whatever’s set Graves off. A subtle extended hearing charm cast through the material of her trousers gleans nothing. Her scanning gets nothing either until she turns about fifteen degrees left and spots it. Blond hair in a rather unfortunate style. Ah.

Percival swallows, passing his hand over his face in a way that makes it look like he’s rubbing his jaw, but O’Brien notices how the shiny texture leaves his skin. But there’s nothing short of a glamour that will restore the colour to his cheeks. Queenie leans in, whispering something to Graves, unaware or uncaring of O’Brien approaching them. The extended hearing charm catches strains of what she’s saying.“I’m here, baby. You’re safe. I’m here always and forever, Percy. Always and forever.”She squeezes his hand and Percival nods, short and choppy before he spots O’Brien at last. The glassy expression in those dark eyes breaks, and he manages a weak smile for her. Just then, Picquery takes the stage in a magnificent cream satin dress that rustles around her feet like doves’ wings and an equally elegant head wrap. O’Brien doesn’t get a chance to say anything to Graves or Queenie following Seraphina’s speech. They slip away into the night like a ship leaving harbour when the moon is new, silent and quick. But that’s alright. Graves has everything he needs in Queenie.

[talktomeinclexa]

Mend The Heart You Broke (Heal The Wounds You Caused)

By: TalktomeinClexa

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Panic Attack

Status: WIP (2/9)

Summary:

Clarke and Lexa led the perfect life. Married, two children, a big house, a group of reliable friends. Until Lexa cheated on her wife and the idyllic picture was smashed to bits. Three months later, Clarke is still trying to put the pieces of her heart together when Lexa slowly comes back into her life. The path to forgiveness will force the artist onto a self-introspection journey that won't leave anyone unscathed. But isn't true love worth the fight?

***

Chapter 2: Panic

Years of caring for young children have Clarke well trained, and her biological clock wakes her up without the need for any blaring alarm. Blue eyes flutter open, double-checking from the luminosity piercing through the curtains that it is morning, and she rubs them with a groan. A yawn achieves to dissipate the fog of sleep clouding her mind, and she grabs her phone to look at the time.

8:16 A.M. Odd. Aden and Madi are usually awake and demanding to be fed by 7:30, no matter how many times she has tried to explain the concept of the weekend to them. If anything, she could swear that they wake up even earlier on Saturdays and Sundays, the little devils. The silence reigning in the house is suspicious enough that she rolls out of bed and goes to investigate.

The twins aren’t in their room, the futon is rolled back where it should be, and Clarke remembers they didn’t spend the night alone. Where on earth is Lexa now?

As life has taught her, the simplest explanation is often the right one. The artist finds her children sitting at the kitchen table, their little dangling legs impatiently swinging under the chairs.

“Hi, Mama,” Madi greets her with a toothy grin. The little girl hadn’t smiled like that in weeks, and Clarke feels her guilt return with a vengeance. They have to find a way to make it work. If not for themselves, then for the kids. She will be civil to Lexa even if it kills her.

“Hello, babies.”

She places a peck on her daughter’s forehead and one on Aden’s. The boy is giving her his best puppy eyes as if the action can magically make breakfast appear on the table, making her chuckle.

“Everything okay in there?” she asks Lexa, who’s seemingly not moving in the kitchen, her back to the three of them.

When she hears nothing but a sniffle, she comes to stand by her side. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Lexa shakes her head and stares at the ceiling, doing her best to contain her sobs. Two fat tears escape despite her best efforts, and Clarke rucks her top with her fists, stopping herself from reaching out.

“Do you want me to take over?” she asks instead.

Her wife lets out another sob, halfway between despair and frustration, and nods once. Whatever has her in such distress will have to wait. The twins will soon rebel if they aren’t fed, and neither woman wants them to see Lexa cry in the kitchen.

With practiced gestures, Clarke rushes to prepare breakfast before the situation gets more out of hand. Cereals and milk for Aden, toast with jam for Madi. Lexa passes her things when she asks, otherwise doing her best to stay out of her way. At least, she manages to get her emotions under control, and by the time they all sit and eat, no one but Clarke is aware of her little crisis.

Keep Reading

[asktrainerzoroark]

(@ask-trainer-pichu) Aden@Fuku The odd pichu looked at the zoroark, "Hey, are you alright? What scared you so badly?" He asked, clearly concerned

“It was that Mimikyu, they were covered in so much goddamn berry jam that it made me think they were some blood-soaked monster.”

“It didn’t help I had the worst nightmare I’ve had in two years over the worst day in my life.  When my older sister passed.”

@ask-trainer-pichu

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[heartofether]

Episode 13 - Dog with a Bone TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[INCREASINGLY SLOWLY] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. AGENTS MAY AND JUNES’ COMPANY VEHICLE, DRIVING INTO DAUGHTLER, WASHINGTON, MIDDAY.]

[THE TWO ARE HEARD DRIVING THROUGH THE TOWN.]

AGENT MAY

This is the audio log of Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Investigation taking place in Daughtler, Washington, 2019. Set to last for two months minimum. This is day one. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are legal property of the Harper Foundation. Any unauthorized access to these recordings will result in—

AGENT JUNE

[OVERLAPPING] Does Daughtler know no God? That church is crumbling like a communion wafer!

AGENT MAY

Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

I’m just saying! You’d think for a place of worship, they’d take better care of it. Basic maintenance, maybe a new paint job.

AGENT MAY

Well, I guess the people of Daughtler aren’t particularly religious.

AGENT JUNE

Oh, not that I care. I’m an atheist. Raised in a Catholic household, which went about as well as—

AGENT MAY

Look, in the future, could you please avoid speaking over me when we’re recording important information?

AGENT JUNE

What important information? We just got here.

AGENT MAY

Well, if we’re going to be constantly on the record, I would like to maintain some level of professionalism.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh. Hate to break it to you, bud, but if you expect me to shut up for this whole mission, I think you will be greatly disappointed. I am, you see, constantly burdened by great ideas—trust me, it’s exhausting.

AGENT MAY

[SARCASTIC] I’m sure it is.

AGENT JUNE

[AFTER A BRIEF PAUSE, HE SNORTS A LAUGH.] DVD rentals? Dude, who’s renting DVDs in the digital era of pirating—I mean, uh, legally buying and streaming everything online?

AGENT MAY

[DEADPAN] Nice catch.

AGENT JUNE

Anyways, where are we heading first? I’m guessing the motel?

AGENT MAY

Actually, we’re going to make a quick detour. Stop somewhere for a quick interview.

AGENT JUNE

[HE GROANS.] Seriously, dude? We have so much time to do that kind of stuff. Can’t we just, you know, relax for our first day? Settle into Weird Town, USA?

AGENT MAY

I’d like to start this mission off on a good foot. It would be valuable to meet some of the residents, see what they’re like. Besides, this particular individual is important enough that by establishing a relationship early on, it may be beneficial in the long run.

AGENT JUNE

Ugh, fine. Who is our person of the hour, then?

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s less about the person and more about where they’re living.

[A BEAT.]

AGENT JUNE

Yeah, dude. Obviously. They’re living in Daughtler, Washington. You know, the place we’re investigating?

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING] I mean their house.

Agent June, please, please tell me you know who Bernard Kelly Valencia is.

AGENT JUNE

Obviously, dude! That’s like asking a chemistry student if they know what an electron is. [THEN, UNDER HIS BREATH] Actually, I failed chemistry, so maybe that isn’t the best analogy.

But yeah. Bernard Kelly Valencia. Super weird dude that the entire town was kinda freaked by. Supposedly was well-known among the Ether community for his vast range of research conducted with Dorothy Wood. Nobody actually knows where all that work went after he and Dorothy died, though.

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s possible some of it was left behind in his own house.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, seriously? Didn’t all of his belongings go to his son afterwards?

AGENT MAY

According to the original house plans, there’s an attic. His son, after leaving the house once and for all, never mentioned there being anything in the attic. This could mean it was just empty, but that fact would have to have been noted at some point. His son was thorough in his complaints about clearing his father’s house, from what we could find. It’s possible nobody ever even bothered to look up there.

AGENT JUNE

So you think he had something in his attic that just never got found?

AGENT MAY

That’s what the Foundation believes.

AGENT JUNE

Alrighty, then. That’s not too bad. We just break into a dead guy’s house and pillage through his attic. I mean, how hard can that be?

AGENT MAY

It’s not that simple. There’s a new tenant living there.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh, I see. Do you think they know?

AGENT MAY

Perhaps. There was a recent missing person report linked to the house—an inspector who the landlord sent out to investigate a supposed mold problem.

AGENT JUNE

Classic.

AGENT MAY

Which leads us to believe that the new tenant is at least familiar with Ether—assuming the mold problem was of supernatural origin, which is probable due to the house’s location and the report filed by the landlord describing the mold: yellow, with an odd scent.

AGENT JUNE

So, what’s our plan? Are we just going to go and ask to search the house?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, the Foundation couldn’t acquire a formal search warrant. We’ll have to convince the new tenant to let us in of their own free will.

AGENT JUNE

Who is this person, anyways?

AGENT MAY

Her name is Irene Gray. She’s twenty-one years old. Works as forestry aid.

AGENT JUNE

Do we know anything else about her?

AGENT MAY

Let’s just say the mold inspector isn’t the only missing persons case she’s connected to. Four years ago, an 18-year-old girl named Rosemary Quinn went missing. Officials think it’s likely she ran away. Irene Gray was Rosemary’s girlfriend. The police’s interview with Irene states that the two of them had planned on running away together not long after the date Rosemary had gone missing.

AGENT JUNE

Way to rat your girlfriend out like that.

AGENT MAY

She could have been desperate for any sort of lead, even if that meant getting herself and Rosemary in trouble. And she did get in trouble, I believe, though not with the law, per say. Irene couldn’t have known where Rosemary had gone, though. She was so emotionally devastated after the event, there was little chance she was faking it or lying to cover for Rosemary. She actually started therapy not long after.

AGENT JUNE

So, why does it matter? Did they ever find Rosemary?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, no. The official record states that the last place she was potentially seen was a local animal shelter, where she dropped off her cat, whose name she said was Sage. This, however, does not sync up with reports from her family claiming the cat’s name was Sir Griffin the Third, which led to some uncertainty. They had a difficult time tracking her after that, though. All they had to go off of was one potential gas station siting, but all that resulted in was another dead end.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, you still haven’t explained why any of this matters.

AGENT MAY

[FRUSTRATED] Could you just be patient for one— [HE HUFFS A SIGH.]

Look, it’s important because it’s unlikely Irene Gray will let us explore her house if we just ask nicely.

AGENT JUNE

So, we have to use bait?

AGENT MAY

It could be a mutually beneficial relationship, is what I’m saying. We both have something the other wants.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, does the Foundation, like, know what happened to that girl?

AGENT MAY

Not quite, but, potentially. I’ll show you what we have once we stop the car.

AGENT JUNE

Great! This should be interesting.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] I’m sure it will be.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE GRAY’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

[IRENE IS ON A PHONE CALL WITH ADEN. ON HIS END OF THE LINE, THERE IS THE LOOPING SOUND OF A BROKEN FAX MACHINE ATTEMPTING, BUT FAILING, TO PROCESS PAPER.]

IRENE

It’s a fax machine. How do you not know how to use a fax machine? I’ve literally watched you do it before.

ADEN

Well, I thought I knew! And I mean, come on, how come you get to judge me when you can’t even use your phone properly?

IRENE

Oh, my god—Aden, it’s my day off. Can’t you just look it up?

ADEN

I don’t know how to describe the problem in a way a search engine will understand. It’s too—you know—specific.

IRENE

Ask someone there, then. Carol and Julia probably know better than I do.

ADEN

Julia’s sick, and Carol’s on some important phone call. Look, I just—if we have to replace this thing and it’s my fault, I’m going to freak out—

IRENE

Okay, wait until Carol gets off the phone and then—

ADEN

[WORRIED] What if it sets on fire or something?

IRENE

[FRUSTRATED] It won’t! It’s probably just jammed.

ADEN

But what if it does?

IRENE

[SNAPPING] Jeez, dude, just go find the manual! Why are you calling me?

ADEN

[PANICKED, STUTTERING] Because I’m panicking, alright? Look, ever, ever since the mold incident, I’ve been so scared constantly of everything. Every tiny thing that happens feels like it’s the end of the world, especially because that dude’s van went missing and it’s like you guys are just constantly waiting for the police to just show up at your door—

IRENE

[HER TONE SOFTENS, GROWING SYMPATHETIC] Oh, Aden—

ADEN

[CONT.] —and you and Carol almost died, and I did nothing. Okay? I sat in my office and talked to the knitted cat on my desk while I had a panic attack and did nothing.

I just want to find some way to, to do good, to fix something, but instead I think I ruined the fax machine and now I’m just failing you and Carol, again.

IRENE

[CHOOSING HER WORDS CAREFULLY] Hey. Look, I—I’m sorry I snapped. It’s not…it’s not that big of a deal.

ADEN

[COMING DOWN, GUILTILY] No, no, you’re right. I shouldn’t have called you on your day off.

IRENE

It’s fine. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Do you need me to go down there and look at it?

ADEN

No, don’t. I’m kinda starting to calm down, and I think if I can’t find the manual, I’ll just wait until Carol gets off the phone.

IRENE

That’s a good idea.

[A BEAT.] Um, if you need a distraction or anything, we can still talk for a bit. I know how anxiety can be.

ADEN

[SINCERE] That means a lot, Irene. Thank you.

IRENE

Of course.

Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?

ADEN

[A BEAT, THEN, HESITANT] I actually have a question. I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, but if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.

IRENE

I mean, I think you’ve already seen me at some pretty low points, so…

ADEN

[HE CHUCKLES.] Alright.

[CAREFULLY] You said you had a girlfriend who went missing.

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yup.

ADEN

What was her name?

IRENE

[A HESITANT BEAT.] Rose. Er, you may have seen the name Rosemary Quinn at some point, but it was years ago.

ADEN

Yeah, I don’t remember. Sorry.

IRENE

It’s fine.

ADEN

What happened to her?

[THERE’S A PAUSE.]

IRENE

[GRIM] We never found out.

For a long time, I’ve thought that she just decided she was sick of her life as it was. Ran away to start a new one without telling anyone where she went. It would have made sense—she had planned on doing it for a while. Even took cash from her savings out in chunks so nobody would be able to track her card when she did. Her mother simply wrote this off as poorly thought-out impulse purchases.

We had planned our entire future together, though, and for her to just throw it out didn’t make sense, it—well… [SHE TRAILS OFF.]

ADEN

I’m sorry.

IRENE

I thought it was her mom at first, though. Grace Quinn. [SHE SAYS THE NAME WITH VENOM.]

They investigated Grace for domestic abuse. Believed Rose ran away to escape a dangerous situation. Upon Rose not answering her bedroom door, Grace, well…broke it down. Rose had locked it before she went out the window, and her mother just—decimated the doorknob to get in. At least, that’s what the police report says.

ADEN

Jeez.

IRENE

Without the child there, however, it was difficult to prove any abuse. I had some texts. Her aunts had a couple of anecdotes. That was all, though. Grace refused to admit to anything, of course.

ADEN

[HESITANT] Was there? Um, was there abuse?

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yeah.

ADEN

I’m so sorry.

IRENE

It was rarely ever physical, but it definitely happened.

ADEN

I mean, if Rose was trying to escape something, I hope she was safe in the end.

IRENE

[PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY, ALMOST SAD] I do, too.

[A BEAT.] That wasn’t all, though. Grace acted really strange afterwards. When police asked what had happened the night before, she said she couldn’t remember. Seriously, she didn’t have any concrete details. She said she had just woken up that morning and Rose was gone, but her story kept changing in little ways. It was disorienting.

She seemed…paranoid. Jumpy. Confused, even. Angry, but her anger wasn’t directed anywhere. I might have felt bad for her if just the thought of her hadn’t made my blood boil. I mean, I imagine your daughter going missing has gotta have some sort of effect on you, even if you’re not on good terms with her.

Grace wasn’t entirely there, though. Looking back, it’s a lot more clear. I…know some things, I didn’t know back then. I just, I wonder what was really wrong with her. I haven’t talked to her in years. Certainly not about to start now.

ADEN

I mean, I kinda sympathize with her, but also, she doesn’t sound like a great person.

IRENE

Oh no, she’s horrible. I know I should feel some remorse for all the awful things I’ve said about her, but I don’t. Not really.

When Rose first went missing, I became blinded by rage. I screamed at Grace when I saw her. Cursed in her face. Said it was all her fault, because I was—well, I was scared, and I had no other explanation. My dad had to drag me away before I attacked her.

ADEN

Jeez, Irene.

IRENE

I’m obviously better about my anger management now. Therapy at least did that for me.

ADEN

I mean, I get it. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.

IRENE

Yeah. Um, yeah. [IT SOUNDS LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE SHE WANTS TO SAY.]

Thanks, Aden.

ADEN

Of course. If you…I mean, I know it’s been a while, but you can always talk to me about it. I’ve said that before, but, y’know.

IRENE

I appreciate it.

[A PAUSE.]

ADEN

I think Carol’s call ended.

IRENE

[TEASING] And did the fax machine catch on fire?

ADEN

[HE LAUGHS.] No. No, it did not.

[IRENE LAUGHS. ANOTHER PAUSE.]

IRENE

[MORE SERIOUS] Aden?

ADEN

Yeah?

IRENE

I’m…I’m working on something. It’s a personal project.

ADEN

[CAUGHT OFF GUARD] Oh. Okay.

IRENE

I don’t think I can tell you what it’s about, but…just so you know. I mean, I trust you, so.

ADEN

That’s—um, that’s fine. Uh, let me know if I can help at all?

IRENE

Sure. I’ll talk to you later.

[AS THEY SPEAK, THERE’S APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS ON ADEN’S END OF THE LINE.]

ADEN

You, too. Thank you again for talking.

IRENE

Not a problem. Bye.

ADEN

Talk to you soon!

CAROL

[IN THE DISTANCE] What did you do to the damn—?

[PHONE BEEP AS ADEN HANGS UP. IRENE SIGHS.]

IRENE

[CONFUSED] Oh, uh. Didn’t realize my phone was recording. [MUTTERS] When did that start? Guess I turned it on at some point.

[A BEAT.] Well, Rose. I’m talking to you now. Not just some figment of you in my head, but, you.

I know you’re going to hear these. I don’t know when, but you will. Of course you will.

[A BEAT.] Only problem is, I’m kind of at a dead end. My only lead so far is a mysterious recording that popped up on my laptop with no explanation. I have no idea how any of those files got there. Do I just have to wait until whatever weird force that gives them to me decides to throw one my way?

It’s like gambling at that point. I don’t know when I’ll get something or if what I find will be helpful or not. I mean, hell, I could get a new file on my computer and it’ll just be some voicemail I sent you sophomore year about baking brownies. Who knows what I’ll find or when I’ll find it?

I have to figure out something more reliable. Maybe figure out where the recordings are coming from, and if I can use whatever it is to my advantage. Or, I don’t know, Phoebe is coming over at some point to look in my attic. Maybe I should just—

[THERE’S A KNOCK AT THE FRONT DOOR.]

IRENE

…huh. Wasn’t expecting anyone.

[IRENE IS HEARD GETTING UP AND WALKING TOWARDS THE DOOR. AS SHE APPROACHES, THE AGENT'S MUFFLED ARGUING IS HEARD, GROWING LOUDER AS SHE GROWS NEAR.]

AGENT JUNE

[MUFFLED] I'm just saying, it could be pretty cool, you know? I'm all like, "Ooh, ahh, no, tell us what we wanna know, and you're like—"

AGENT MAY

[MUFFLED, OVERLAPPING ] June, you're too impressionable by all of these movies that you watch.

[IRENE OPENS THE DOOR, BUT THEY CONTINUE AS IF SHE ISN'T THERE.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] No, no, listen. It could be great, it could be great! We could like, stand back to back, and like, ooh, finger guns—

AGENT MAY

No, I'm not doing finger guns!

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING] Um, can I help you?

AGENT JUNE

[TO AGENT MAY] Okay, but just try it—

AGENT MAY

[HARSHLY CUTTING HIM OFF.] Yes, actually. Is this the residence of Irene Gray?

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] Who’s asking?

[AGENT MAY IS HEARD FLASHING HIS BADGE.]

AGENT MAY

We’re Agents May and June of The Harper Foundation. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.

IRENE

The hell is that?

AGENT JUNE

Ah, see, that’s the point: you’re not supposed to know. [A BEAT.] I mean, well, we do leave kind of cryptic ads in the local paper sometimes, but, still.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

What? I don’t choose to put those weird ads there!

IRENE

[UNIMPRESSED] …so, what, you’re secret agents?

AGENT MAY

If you’d like to call us that. May we come in?

IRENE

Why?

AGENT MAY

We just need to ask you about a few things. I promise it won’t be long.

IRENE

…are you going to, what, search my house?

AGENT JUNE

You got something to hide?

IRENE

[DEFENSIVE] No! I’m sorry that I value my privacy.

AGENT MAY

We’re not searching your house right now. This will be much easier for all of us if you comply, Ms. Gray.

IRENE

[SHE THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN, DISGRUNTLED] Fine.

AGENT MAY

Thank you.

[IRENE IS HEARD LEADING THE AGENTS INTO HER HOUSE, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND THEM. THEIR FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD AS THEY ENTER.]

AGENT JUNE

It’s a nice place you got here. Oh, wow, did you paint that yourself?

IRENE

It was a gift.

AGENT JUNE

Ah, gotcha, gotcha.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY STOP WALKING.]

IRENE

Well? Take a seat. Be my guest.

[AGENTS MAY AND JUNE ARE HEARD SITTING AT THE TABLE. THERE ARE TWO LOUD THUNKING NOISES, AS IF SOMEONE IS HITTING THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

Agent June, take your feet off the table.

AGENT JUNE

Sorry, sorry.

[SHUFFLING NOISES AS AGENT JUNE MOVES HIS FEET.]

IRENE

Can I get you both anything to drink?

AGENT JUNE

There are your manners!

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] You’re one to talk.

AGENT JUNE

Whatcha got?

IRENE

Um, water? I could make coffee? I also have lemonade in the fridge, but that’s for emergencies.

[A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

I think I’m in the mood for an emergency lemonade. You, Agent May?

AGENT MAY

I’m fine, thanks.

[AS THEY CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION, IRENE IS HEARD GRABBING THE LEMONADE OUT OF THE FRIDGE, TAKING A GLASS FROM THE CUPBOARD, AND POURING JUNE'S DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

How long have you lived here, Ms. Gray?

IRENE

Not long. I moved here for work.

AGENT MAY

And what do you do?

IRENE

[HASTILY] I’m an engineer.

AGENT JUNE

Mm! Enjoying the area so far?

IRENE

It’s nice. The people are friendly.

[SHE SETS AGENT JUNE’S LEMONADE DOWN ON THE TABLE.]

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged.

[HE TAKES A DRINK LOUDLY. IRENE SITS DOWN ACROSS FROM THE TWO OF THEM.]

IRENE

…well? You said you had questions.

AGENT MAY

We’re here to ask you about a missing person.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

IRENE

Which one?

AGENT MAY

Which one are you thinking of?

IRENE

[SHE PAUSES.] Are you talking about Rosemary Quinn?

AGENT MAY

[A TENTATIVE PAUSE.] You and Rosemary were close, correct?

IRENE

Why do you care?

AGENT MAY

I’m asking a question. An answer would be nice.

IRENE

[HESITANT] I knew Rose, yeah.

AGENT MAY

When was the last time you saw her?

IRENE

Um, it was two days before her disappearance, I believe?

Look, this should all be on her file. I don’t see the need to recount this all to you unless they’ve opened the case again. Hell, you’re not even cops, are you?

AGENT JUNE

Oh, don’t be that way, Irene. I know this case isn’t as recent as the other one you’re involved with, but you should be able to remember, right?

IRENE

The—

[THERE'S A LOW, EERIE INSTRUMENTAL AS IRENE'S BLOOD RUNS COLD.]

IRENE

[BLUFFING] What other case?

[AGENT MAY SLIDES A PIECE OF PAPER ACROSS THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

You were the last person to see this man, correct?

IRENE

I, um, I don’t know him, no.

AGENT JUNE

You’re not as good at lying as you think you are, you know.

[HE'S HEARD FLIPPING OVER A PIECE OF PAPER TO EXAMINE IT.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] I mean, why lie to us about your job, anyways? There’s no shame in being a forestry aid. I’m sure it’s a lovely profession.

IRENE

Who the hell are you people?

AGENT MAY

Relax, Irene. The Harper Foundation has already taken care of his vehicle and rerouted the case so it doesn’t trace back to you. Investigators will come up with a dead-end soon enough, and nobody will know what you did.

AGENT JUNE

You’re welcome for that.

IRENE

I— [THEN, GUILTILY] I didn’t kill him.

AGENT MAY

I’m sure you didn’t. That’s not important right now. We’re just trying to give you a nudge in the right direction so maybe then you’ll be inclined to tell us the truth.

IRENE

Why? What do you want from me?

AGENT MAY

If you’d give me a moment to speak, then I can explain.

[IRENE HUFFS A SIGH, BUT LETS AGENT MAY SPEAK. HE FLIPS OPEN A FOLDER.]

AGENT MAY

Are you aware of this house’s previous tenant?

IRENE

You mean Bernard Kelly Valencia? His reputation precedes him, but I never knew the guy.

AGENT MAY

That’s correct. We believe he left something behind after he died, however. Something that could be incredibly beneficial for the Foundation. Have you found anything like that?

[IRENE STAYS SILENT.]

AGENT JUNE

[WHISPERS TO AGENT MAY] I think she’s trying to plead the fifth.

AGENT MAY

We expected such stubbornness. We’re not asking you for this for free, you know. We believe we may also have something that would be beneficial for you.

IRENE

And, what is that, exactly?

AGENT MAY

I’m glad you asked.

[HE'S HEARD HANDING A PAPER TO IRENE. MYSTERIOUS MUSIC BEGINS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

AGENT MAY

Sometime in July, the same year Rosemary Quinn disappeared, a dusty yellow bicycle was found in the middle of nowhere in Oregon. It appeared to have had a broken piece in the front where a basket was supposed to be attached. It was never brought to the police, so unfortunately, it could never be examined as possible evidence.

AGENT JUNE

Hiker who found it posted about it on Twitter, though. The guy didn’t have many followers, so it never got traction.

AGENT MAY

This photo was taken not too far from Bent. If this is Rosemary’s bicycle, it could mean that we have a possible travel path for her after her disappearance.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, that was quite the shift in your expression, Irene. Have we struck a nerve? [MELODRAMATIC] I guess young love tends to leave such sore, open wounds, doesn’t it?

AGENT MAY

If you let us look at whatever it is Mr. Valencia left behind, we can help you find Rosemary Quinn. It may take some time, but we believe we can determine what happened to her. We just need your help.

[THE MUSIC STOPS. THERE'S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

Get out.

[SHE'S HEARD GETTING OUT OF HER CHAIR.]

AGENT JUNE

Wh—hey!

IRENE

[GROWING MORE UPSET] Get out, I said. Get out!

[AS SHE SPEAKS, SHE'S HEARD PHYSICALLY GRABBING THE AGENTS AND PUSHING THEM OUT OF HER HOUSE. WHILE SHE'S AT IT, SHE GRABS THEIR FOLDERS AS WELL, THOUGH ONE PAPER STAYS BEHIND.]

AGENT JUNE

Hey, no, stop! You can't just grab our things like that! Please.

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING, STUTTERING] Hey—!

[BOTH AGENTS STUMBLE OUTSIDE. IRENE IS HEARD THROWING THEIR PAPERS OUT THE DOOR.]

AGENT JUNE

Woah!

AGENT MAY

That's confidential information, you can't keep that in your house—

[SHE CUTS HIM OFF BY SLAMMING THE DOOR. THERE'S A PAUSE AS SHE BEGINS PACING THE FLOOR.]

IRENE

Who the hell do they think they are? Do they think I’m just some sort of—some sort of tool for them to use? Do they think they can dangle Rose over my head like I’m a dog with a bone, all over some—

[SHE PICKS THE PICTURE UP OFF THE TABLE, STOPPING HER PACING]

IRENE

Some picture of a bicycle?

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS IRENE STARES AT THE PHOTO, BEGINNING TO CALM DOWN.]

IRENE

[CAUTIOUS HOPE.] Is this really your bike, Rose? Why would you tear the basket off? You loved that basket. [WANDERING INTO DAYDREAM TERRITORY] You’d put flowers I got you in it and then ride around your block. Said it made you feel like you were in a painting.

[A BEAT.] Maybe I shouldn’t have kicked them—

[THERE’S ANOTHER KNOCK AT THE DOOR. IRENE STORMS BACK OVER TO IT.]

IRENE

[YELLING] I told you to get out! I’m not some stupid—

[SHE OPENS THE DOOR, AND REALIZES IT'S NOT THE AGENTS.]

IRENE

[EMBARRASSED] …dog.

TEEN

Well, I sure hope you’re not.

IRENE

[AWKWARDLY] Um, hi. Sorry, it’s just, someone else was just over and—

TEEN

Those two dudes? Yeah, they didn’t look very happy. That one guy, the one who had his tie undone for some reason, he had to chase one of the papers down the street. It was really funny.

IRENE

You were watching?

TEEN

Well, I didn’t realize you had a line going out your door of people waiting to talk to you.

IRENE

[DEADPAN] I’m new to the famous life.

TEEN

You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.

IRENE

Well, are you here to interview me and talk about my darkest secrets?

TEEN

That would be cool, wouldn’t it?

IRENE

[DISGRUNTLED] Not after the day I’ve had.

TEEN

Well, you see, I’ve actually been dying to meet you. My mom told me about you, said she met you at the store. I don’t know if you remember her, but from what she told me, it sounds like maybe you could use a bit of help.

IRENE

Your m— [IN SHOCKED AWE] Oh my god, are you the meat lady’s kid?

AVERY

Actually, my name is Avery.

Wanna grab lunch sometime?

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: "Most of the people are homesick anyway, and a little lonely, and they hide themselves in their hair and are turned into flowers."

Tove Jansson in Sculptor's Daughter, 1968.

[A PAUSE AS A HOLLOW NOISE BEGINS TO GROW IN THE BACKGROUND, FOLLOWED BY STATIC.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[SLOWLY, AS IF STRAINED] Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel it—

[THE VOICE IS CUT OFF BY STATIC.]

[OUTRO MUSIC & CREDITS PLAY.]

[AN EXTENDED PIANO VERSION OF THE NIGHT POST’S OPENING THEME PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND.]

NIGHT POST PROMO

Hello there, citizen. You’ve lived in Gilt City for a while now. Maybe you’ve wondered, when you wake in the morning and retrieve the letters tucked neatly into your postbox, just where your mail comes from. It comes from the Night Post, of course. Those faithful couriers deliver it while you’re sleeping--all the better that they stay out of sight, and keep the unseemly strangeness that follows them out of our city, in the Skelter, where it belongs.

Ahem. If, for some reason, you’d like to know more about Gilt City’s conscripted couriers and the burden that chose them, their secret hopes and fears, the ancient, untamed threats that hound them on their nocturnal journeys--you have only to listen. The Night Post is a supernatural audio drama by an all-LGBT team, delivered weekly, in dead of night, to wherever you listen to podcasts.

Find answers at nightpostpod.com.