#and this is the only time ive really tried to do the honey tree thing

[azidoazide-art]

peekaboo

[soupdeewoop]

favorite lines from "THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: THE ANTHOLOGY"

and it hits me, i just dont understand how you dont miss me, in the black dog

that was intertwined in the magic fabric of our dreaming

and i may never open up the way i did for you

now i want to sell my house and set fire to all my clothes, and hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, even if i die screaming, and i hope you hear it

and i hope its shitty, in the black dog

i still cant believe it, cause old habits die screaming

honey, i can tell when somebody still wants me, come clean

whether im gonna be your wife or, gonna smash up your bike

i hear the whispers in your eyes, ill make you wanna think twice, youll find, that you were never not mine, youre mine

flip the script and leave you like a dumb house party, or i might just love you til the end

whether im gonna flip you off or, pull you into the closet, i haven't decided yet i told my friends i hate you but i love you just the same, pick your poison, babe, im poison either way

a rose by any other name is a scandal

cross your thoughtless heart, only liquor anoints you

locked me up in towers, but id visit in your dreams, and they tried to warn you about me

and when that sky rains fire on you, and youre persona non grata, ill tell you how ive been there too, and that none of it matters

the devil that you know, looks now more like an angelso cross your thoughtless heart, shes the albatross, she is here to destroy you

your hologram stumbled into my apartment, hands in the hair of somebody in darkness named chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

as the decade would play us for fools

if you want to break my cold, cold heart, just say, "i loved you the way that you were", if you want to tear my world apart, just say you've always wondered

you said some things that i cant unabsorb, you turned me into an idea of sorts

i changed into goddesses, villains and fools, changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules

back to the moment i crashed into you, like so many wrecks do, too impaired by my youth, to know what to do

will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon

cause i wonder, will i always, will i always wonder?

and so a touch that was my birthright became foreign

the empathetic hunger descends

we learned the right steps to different dances

soon theyll go home to their husbands, smug cause they know they can trust him, then feverishly calling their cousins

guess who we ran into at the shops, walking in circles like she was lost, didnt you hear they called it all off

say it once again with feeling, how the death rattle breathing, silenced as the soul was leaving, the deflation of our dreaming, leaving me bereft and reeling, my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, d-y-i-n-g

well tell no one except all of our friends, but i still dont know, how did it end?

i wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you

tell me bout the first time you saw me

ill drink what you think, and im high, from smoking your jokes all damn night

your friends are around, so be quiet, im trying to stifle my sighs

are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? (kill me), its just a game, but really (really), im bettin on all three for us two (all three)

no ones ever had me (had me), not like you

truth, dare, spin bottles, you know how to ball, i know aristotle, brand new, full-throttle, touch me while your bros play grand theft auto, its true, swear, scouts honor, you knew what you wanted and boy, you got her, brand new, full-throttle, you already know, babe

do that impression you did of your dad again

im sinking, our fingers entwined, cheeks pink in the twinkling lights, cause i feel so high school (i feel so high school), every time i look at you, but look at you

if comfort is a construct, i dont believe in good luck, now that i know whats what

no mid-sized city hopes and small-town fears, im there most of the year cause i hate it here, i hate it here

everyone would look down cause it wasnt fun now, seems like it was, never even fun back then, nostalgia is a minds trick, if id been there, id hate it, it was freezing in the palace

i hate it here so i will go to lunar valleys in my mind

im lonely, but im good, im bitter, but i swear im fine, ill save all my romanticism for my inner life, and ill get lost on purpose, this place made me feel worthless, lucid dreams like electricity, the current flies through me, and in my fantasies, i rise above it, and way up there, i actually love it

quick, quick, tell me something awful, like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy

and it was always the same searing pain, but i dreamed that one day, i could say all that time you were throwing punches, i was building something

and it wasnt a fair fight, or a clean kill, each time that aimee stomped across my grave

screamed, "fuck you, aimee" to the night sky, as the blood was gushing, but i cant forget the way you made me heal everyone knows that my mother is a saintly woman, but she used to say she wished that you were dead wrote a thousand songs that you find uncool, i built a legacy that you cant undo

and so i changed your name and any real defining clues, and one day, your kid comes home singing, a song that only us two is gonna know is about you cause

screamed, "thank you, aimee" to the night sky, and the stars are stunning

i had died the tiniest death, i spied the catch in your breath, out, out, out, out, out, out

i look in peoples windows, in case youre at their table, what if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time

what are the chances youd be downtown, downtown, downtown

im addicted to the if only

so i look in peoples windows, like im some deranged weirdo, i attend christmas parties from outside, i look in peoples windows, in case youre at their table, what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time

hand on the throttle, thought i caught lightning in a bottle

pad around when i get home, i guess a lesser woman wouldve lost hope, a greater woman wouldnt beg, but i looked to the sky and said

please, ive been on my knees, change the prophecy, dont want money, just someone who wants my company, let it once be me, who do i have to speak to, about if they can redo the prophecy?

poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand, oh, still i dream of him

and i sound like an infant, feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen, a greater woman stays cool, but i howl like a wolf at the moon, and i look unstable but even statues crumble if theyre made to wait, im so afraid i sealed my fate, no sign of soulmates, im just a paperweight in shades of greige, spending my last coin so someone will tell me itll be okay

i was in my new house placing daydreams, patching up the crack along the wall

so they killed cassandra first, cause she feared the worst

i was in my tower weaving nightmares, twisting all my smiles into snarls

bloods thick but nothing like a payroll, bet they never spared a prayer for my soul, you can mark my words that i said it first, in a mourning warning no one heard

when the first stones thrown theres screaming, in the streets theres a raging riot, when its burn the bitch, theyre shrieking, when the truth comes out its quiet, its so quiet

forgive me peter, my lost fearless leader, in closets like cedar, preserved from when we were just kids, is it something i did?

are you still a mind reader?, a natural scene stealer, ive heard great things peter, but life was always easier on you, than it was on me

we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon, in different galaxies, and i didnt want to hang around, we said it was just goodbye for now

and i wont confess that i waited, but i let the lamp burn

cause loves never lost when perspective is earned

forgive me peter, please know that i tried, to hold onto the days when you were mine, but the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light

you said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me, you said you were gonna grow up

you said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me, said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me, said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me, words from the mouths of babes, promises oceans deep, but never to keep, never to keep

a curious child, ever reviled, by everyone except her own father

excellent fun til you get to know her, then she runs like its a race

"oh, we must stop meeting like this"

ended with the slam of a door, then hell call her a whore, wish he wouldnt be sore

but as she was leaving, it felt like breathing

all her fuckin lives, flashed before her eyes, it feels like the time, she fell through the ice, then came out alive

and at first blush, this is fate, when its all roses, portrait poses, central park lake in tiny rowboats, what a charming saturday!

and she just knows. she must bolt.

theres escape in escaping

ended with the slam of a door, but shes got the best stories, you can be sure, that as she was leaving. it felt like freedom.

out window panes talking utter nonsense, you have no idea

way to go, tiger, higher and higher, wilder and lighter, for you

long may you roar, at your dinosaurs, youre a just ruler, covered in mud, you look ridiculous, and you have no idea

buried down deep and out of your reach, the secret we all vowed, to keep it from you in sweetness

you got the dragonflies above your bed, you have a favorite spot on the swing set, you have no room in your dreams for regrets

now and then she rereads the manuscript, of the entire torrid affair

he said that if the sex was half as good as the conversation was soon theyd be pushin strollers, but soon it was over

she thought about how he said since she was so wise beyond her years, everything had been above board, she wasnt sure

and the years passed, like scenes of a show, the professor said to write what you know, lookin backwards might be the only way to move forward, then the actors were hitting their marks, and the slow dance was alight with the sparks, and the tears fell in synchronicity with the score, and at last, she knew what the agony had been for

now and then i reread the manuscript, but the story isnt mine anymore

[indigo-corvus]

Banana Splits Christmas Headcanons, GO! Spew em’ out! Even if it’s the eve of christmas- but oh well- I’ll reblog your respose with my silly ol’ headcanons in return in the tags.

*CRACKS KNUCKLES* Here we go!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

- The Splits always decorate the clubhouse a day or two after Thanksgiving (depending on how full they are)

-Fleegle, (naturally) takes the lead in decorating, deciding where and when things should be hung.

-Fleegle and Snorky make sure no corner goes undecorated! There's tinsel and garlands everywhere, bows above every window, etc.

-Snorky loves all of the lights, and will sometimes sleep in the main room of the clubhouse to watch them blink as he drifts off to sleep.

-Bingo on the other hand, loves the decorations, but Hates being the one to put them up. He just likes putting the star up on the tree and then marveling at "all his hard work".

-The caroling begins literally the second the star lights up, and doesn't stop until January.

-It's mostly Snorky, Drooper, and Fleegle that do it All Day Every Day, but if he is in the room, Bingo will often be persuaded to join in. Their harmony is amazing, since they're so used to singing/recording together!

-Fleegle likes to read The Night Before Christmas to everyone on the 24th. He sits in the armchair and they all gather 'round.

-Bingo watches The Nightmare Before Christmas every year, even though Fleegle INSISTS it's a Halloween movie only. This "fight" happens Every Year. (It's more like a silly back and forth)

-Snorky goes Full Baking Mode, and pumps out 2 dozen cookies every other day. (He knows that the gang can't resist his famous snickerdoodles and decorated sugar cookies)

- Sometimes the boys help him out with the cookie decorating and turn it into a party! (It's always a good time with the Splits around!)

-Drooper is always extra careful with his tail this time of year! He doesn't want it to be confused for a garland, or to mess up any of the decorations they worked so hard on.

-Bingo makes The Best eggnog ever! (Family recipe!) It's spiced and creamy, and it's always gone the same day he makes it. (Sometimes he adds a little bit of rum to his nog when nobody's looking!)

-Drooper loves the old school Rankin Bass Christmas specials! His favorite is the Rudolph and he likes the Burl Ives snowman.

-Snorky loves hosting ugly Christmas sweater parties! He makes his own sweater every year. :)

-Fleegle is a very practical gift giver! He will gift something he knows will be useful, that is related to the gang's interests. (Paintbrush sets, cameras, etc)

-Snorky is a sentimental gifter! He will give a picture of everyone hanging out in a really pretty frame, a scrapbook, or something else that has a lot of meaning behind it, with a very heartfelt letter of friendship.

-Bingo is a silly gift giver, and will often get gag gifts followed by an actual gift. Snakes in a fake peanut brittle can with a nice quality sweater, 6 individually wrapped copies of Space Jam with a movie that one of them actually wants to see, one soap that smells like buttered popcorn and one that smells like honey or whatever.

-Drooper is all about the music, and will gift an instrument that the other hasn't tried to play yet. (Hard to do, since they are all fabulous musicians and try new instruments all the time!)

-Snorky and Drooper are the gift wrappers. Fleegle and Bingo are just terrible at it lol. Fleegle over complicates the wrapping, and Bingo is a very messy present wrapper lol.

-Every year they leave out a plate of milk and cookies, and every year, Ogre sneaks out and eats them. The gang always thinks it's Santa.

Happy holidays everyone! Happy Yule, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, etc!

May your next year be merry and bright!

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

It's late saturday afternoon. I'm laying on my couch reading and my phone rings. I see the E in the colored circle before anything else and my body lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Hey!" I say softly

Without missing a beat he replies "What are you wearing?"

"Want me to lie to you? cause it's nothing exciting"

He laughs his adorable breathy laugh.

"No, that's ok. Do you have plans tonight?"

"Want to see for yourself, huh?"

"Maybe"

"Well, right now my plans include reading this book and eating leftover meatloaf over my sink for dinner later"

That laugh again, but louder.

"Man, that sounds exciting. But I have a better idea"

"Whatcha got for me?

"Dinner and then whatever" the whatever makes my body twitch.

Especially since I have been seeing Evan for a few weeks and we've been taking things slow. We kiss and hold hands. Cuddle up to each other. But, that's as far as our intimacy has gone. In the beginning he told me he really likes me, but feels like he still needs a little space to clear his mind. I told him absolutely, because I really liked him too. I was worried he wouldn't be serious about taking things further but, so far he has been consistent about wanting to hang out. I'm patient with him, but impatient on the inside. I would never say that to him.

He's very kind to everyone, respectful and sweet. He has a perverted sense of humor, but so do I and I love it about him. I don't offend easily and his jokes are not overly aggressive. We make each other laugh. We have deep, meaningful conversations and also lighter ones. He listens to me and retains the important things. It feels good. I do the same when I can. He smiles a lot around me. I hope it's because he feels comfortable and happy. But, he doesn't open up to me much. Which is something I don't want to push.

He picks me up and takes me out to dinner at a nice restaurant. I tried to protest and tell him I don't expect fancy. He says that's why I want to take you there. We get back to my house and I invite him in.

We sit down and turn the TV on. He puts his arm around me and I lean into him. We both sigh and I say "man, this feels good". He agrees. I tell him he smells good. He said I smell wonderful and he's been wanting to tell me that all night. I ask him why he didn't? He looks at me and shrugs.

Evan...

What? He says softly

You don't have to be afraid to tell me how you feel. I mean , I know you have been a little here and there. But...

It's hard for me. Vulnerability is not something I deal well with.

Can I do anything to ease your anxieties? Because my goal here is for you to feel safe with me. And that you can talk to me. I know you're trying. I'm not trying to push you.

I know. I want to.

Listen, what's the reason we haven't been..together yet? I don't see you being shy about sex. Taking it slow is fine. But, I feel like there's more to it than that.

He kisses me softly. He says he's just in his own head about things. I don't want to disappoint you. In the past ive been berated for things I have no control over. Made me feel like I was doing something wrong.

Like what? I take his hand. He's reliving something.

One time I drank too much and couldn't get it up. I'm not usually...fast but if I was it would be the end of the world.

Well, I have dealt with all that before and have never gotten shitty about it. I think thats the cruelest thing you can do is make someone feel like shit in an intimate setting. I brush his adorable curls out of his face. I kiss his forehead. Twice.

I care about you. I want to be close to you. I want to feel the weight of your body on mine.....

He kisses me fast and hard. Its urgent and needy. I touch his face. He's caressing my arms. He pulls away and looks me right in the eyes. I... He doesn't know what to say.

Wanna go upstairs? I ask. Only if you want to. I say.

The look he's giving me. Sweet, but eager. He nods yes.

I stand up and put my hand out. "Come with me honey. It's ok"

He stands up and takes my hand. I lead him up the stairs to my room. It feels like eternity before we are standing next to my bed.

To be continued......

*anon getting us emotionally invested*

[actualbird]

You can’t just shove an Alice au in my head like that it’s going to be the next thing I think about for weeks- ghost

i aim to fill all yalls' brains with thoughts and concepts, MWAHAHAHA!!! anyway, ghost, sending this ask is just gonna make this worse because i must elaborate now (despite not knowing much about alice in wonderland kJBKJS)

tot alice in wonderland au where...

wc: 1.3k

...where mc is alice

once upon a time, a rose of a woman falls asleep under a tree. upon waking, she blearily sees a little white rabbit hopping around, looking at her with its bright blue eyes. enraptured, she reaches out for it only for the rabbit to stiffen in shock, to hop away. she gives chase, wanting to give it a treat as an apology for scaring it, and falls into a crack in the earth, falling and falling and falling and---

...where marius is the cheshire cat

dressed in a very fancy beautiful gorgeous purple suit, he slithers into every conversation as a plume of purple smoke, making mc cough and sneeze before he snickers, fully materializing with a wide, delighted grin.

"are you lost, miss?" he says, his teeth sharp and glinting, an odd contrast to the fluffy cat ears twitching on his head, the fluffy tail contentedly swishing back and forth behind. marius swirls back into smoke, curling around her body like before materializing once more, his body looming over her back, his head on her shoulder, his mischievous voice right at her ear "i can show you around."

"yeah, no, i dont think so," mc huffs, ignoring her warm face. she trudges forward and away from him, into the strange forest. and she tries to remember why this odd violet cat is so familiar to her. marius the cat. marius the cat..... she shakes her head. "i can find my own way back home."

"ahhhh, but what is "home", really?" marius laughs, reclining on his back and floating next to mc, moving forward with her in the air. "you know, miss, im the coolest creature around these parts. the other guys? total killjoys. really, you'll have a lot more fun if you hang out with me.

he floats towards her, his face so close to her own. with a wink, marius says, "i can show you how a real dream can feel like~"

mc is about to flick marius in the forehead but somebody else briskwalks from the trees, crashing right into marius, and---

...where artem is the white rabbit

"marius," artem grits out as he picks himself up off from the ground. when they collided, marius had simply become smoke again and artem had tripped into the dirt. artem dusts his own suit off---black with red accents, a long tailcoat behind him and, oh. oh, a little tuft of white fur, an adorable little bunny tail. mc blinks, tearing her eyes away from the tail (and also artem's uh...the general vicinity where tails are located) and looks up to the twitching, snow white, floppy ears atop his head. artem, having removed all the dirt from his clothes, turns to marius. "can you please stop floating in the middle of paths. i have a schedule, i need to be places, and when im on the way to those places i need to walk quickly and this is the 3rd time this week ive---"

"artem, honey, i keep doing it because you seem to enjoy falling for me," marius snickers, floating circles around a very flustered artem. the bunny ears are twitching a lot now, but mc is focused on something else. artem's eyes. a striking, beautiful blue.

"are you the bunny?" mc asks, catching both marius' and artem's attention. "the uh. the bunny. i think i scared you, earlier. im sorry."

"oh, uh," artem's face goes even redder. "no worries, it was. it was my fault. i shouldnt have stared at you i was just. taken aback."

"by what?"

artem looks away and mumbles his answer, too soft for mc to hear but marius hears it and overdramatically puts the back of his hand to his face.

"artem wing, the most uptight workaholic rabbit in all of wonderland, a romantic at heart!" marius announces before curling into smoke once more, circling them so they stumble closer together. he materialises between them, putting his arms over both their shoulders. "now this is a date im really interested in being a part of."

"not a date," mc mumbles.

"marius, it is quite rude to keep imposing yourself on those clearly uninterested," a voice croons from the shadows and---

...where vyn is the caterpillar (or, well, i made him a butterfly bc hes very very pretty)

"ugh, it's vyn." marius says.

"ugh, it's vyn." artem says.

"ugh, it's vyn?" mc says, looking upon the newcomer. golden eyes behind golden rimmed glasses and at his back, glittering golden wings. he steps forth from the treeline. also dressed in a suit---is there a magical tailor here????---the man smiles elegantly before taking a drag off of the long, ornate smoking pipe he's holding.

"good day, my lady," vyn bows like a prince, looking up through his silver lashes. mc is enraptured by the wings on his back, see-through and iridescent, they flutter slightly as he speaks. "i do hope these two idiots---"

"hey!" says both of the supposed idiots

"---have not spoiled your impression of wonderland," vyn says, taking her hand and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckle. mc cant help but blush at the action.

"okay, now whos rude?" marius hisses, the fur on his ears and tail standing on end. "you cant just waltz in here and woo somebody we were obviously already wooing"

"i was. not. wooing," artem chokes out and he has not stopped blushing since he got here. "i was simply---"

"see, look what youve done, doc!" marius whines, gesturing to artem. "youve made artem stupid!"

artem's ears go flat against his head, upset. "excuse me?"

"honestly, it is a miracle i can still live here," vyn says, his voice icy. "with you two bringing down the amount of intellect in this plane of existence, i would have expected the idiocy to kill me in my sleep."

and off they go, hurling insults at each other while mc watches. shes feeling a slight mix of annoyance and awe. shes been here for like, 10 minutes, and the three of them managed to find something to argue about.

sighing, mc steps back and leans against a tree, watching them bicker and trying to remember why all the men seem so familiar. a confident cat, a stressed workaholic, a golden eyed doctor. she cant think anymore past that because somebody from the shadows takes her hand and---

...and where luke is the mad hatter

"hello, watson," the man on top of her smiles. she was shocked from being grabbed and had pushed the other person, the both of them falling to the ground in a heap, and now there's a young man in a green top hat is smiling down at her, the expression somehow both gentle and manic. he's dressed as if he used to be wearing a suit but lost many layers, the only thing remaining being his trousers, his dress shirt, a loose bowtie, and a key hanging from his neck. "would you like to hear a riddle?"

"what kind of riddle?" mc asks breathlessly.

"or maybe a poem?" he changes his question. then he starts laughing. "or maybe what you really want is an answer?"

"i know you," she says, reaching up to touch his face. he shuts his eyes and leans into her palm, sighing happily. "i know all of you. you're---"

"i think it's time for you to wake up now, don't you think?" he says, moving closer. his body is so close to hers now that she can feel his warmth. "and in all bedtime stories, do you know what wakes up the lady?"

he doesnt wait for her answer. he simply leans down and presses his lips against hers and---

what a strange, strange dream that all was, wasnt it?

[clickbaitcas]

The Truth

Dean has a special present for his boyfriend. Dean rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. He wasn’t sure what Cas was going to think. He looked at hiagain, and almost tore it apart to start over. It was a care package of sorts. It was really just a box of knick knacks that made Dean think of his boyfriend over the years. There were some cheesy ties that reminded him of Cas, a little jar of honey he picked up at a local shop after a hunt one day, and at the bottom, a silver wedding band. God he was nervous. He’d been carrying the ring around for months, but didn’t have the guts to bring it out in front of Cas. They were planning a huge party for Christmas Eve, and they all agreed everyone would open presents together. Jody, Donna and the girls, Charlie and Stevie, Bobby, Rowena, Eileen, Becky and her family, Garth, Bess and the kids, Ketch, and some hunters who don’t hate their guts. Dean thought that if he was going to propose, he may as well do it in front of all their family.

That didn’t make him any less nervous. He decided to just wrap it and forget about it before he over thought it too much. He wrote “Cas” on it in his best handwriting and went to go set it under the giant tree they put in the library. The bunker was full of noise. People were chatting and laughing, Jack was playing ‘Sorry’ with some of the kids, Claire and Alex were arguing over who got the last snickerdoodle, and there was Christmas music playing faintly from a corner. Dean was talking to Jody with a glass of sparkling… apple cider in his hand, but really he was nervously glancing over at Cas who was talking with Charlie. “Alright, you haven’t listened to a word I just said, what’s up.” “Hm? Oh, nothing,” Dean said quickly. “I’m a mom, I know when someone’s not listening to me,” Jody admonished. Dean sighed, “I’m just… nervous to give Cas his present.” Jody’s face shifted into a soft smile. “I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll love it.” He flashed a quick smile, “yea, ‘course.” “Dean, you look like you’re going to puke. What the hell are you so nervous about giving Cas?” Jody put a hand on Dean’s elbow. Dean cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’m going to,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I’m proposing to him.” Jody squealed with delight and then immediately clamped a hand over her mouth when Dean glared at her. “Sorry,” she said in a hushed voice before returning to her normal volume. “Dean, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!” Dean chuckled, “Can’t congratulate me til he says ‘yes’” “Oh but he will,” she gave his shoulder a light punch. “He loves you, Dean, anyone with a brain can see that.” They both turned around to see Cas trying very hard to understand something Charlie was saying, probably about LARPing. Dean relaxed a little looking at his boyfriend. “Well, I’m gonna get us some more punch,” Jody grabbed Dean’s glass and left for the kitchen with a wink. Dean sat down at the table and was soon wrapped into a discussion on the intricacies of Led Zeppelin with one of Donna’s hunter friends. After dinner, it was time to open presents. They all sat in a big semi circle around the tree. The kids got to open their presents first. Garth gave them all socks so that Mr Fizzles could have some friends. Jody and Donna gave everyone a tin of cookies with a cute note on each. Sam gave Dean an exercise book with a DVD. “Really, Sam? You know I’m never gonna use this,” Dean had said with a dubious look at his brother. Sam shrugged with a glint in his eye, “just open it.” Dean rolled his eyes before opening the cover. It was full of assorted chocolates, and closer inspection of the DVD revealed that it was actually a copy of Star Trek IV. They all laughed at that. Finally, it was Dean’s turn. He handed out a couple things to Sam, Charlie, and Bobby before picking up Cas’s present and gingerly handing it to him. Cas smiled up at his boyfriend before gently ripping open the wrapping paper and looking through the items in the box in turn. When he got to the little velvet box at the bottom, Dean slowly sank to one knee.

He picked up the box and opened it to reveal the band. The room slowly stopped talking.

“Cas- Castiel. You have been… the best part of my life. You have taught me so much. You taught me how to never give up, you’ve always been stronger than me. Ever since we first met, well actually, I tried to kill you, I don’t know when I started loving you, but I know that I’ll never stop. You’re the one thing I’ve been sure of. I love you so much, will you- I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it’s the truth. Cas, will you make me the happiest man alive, will you marry me?”

Dean’s eyes were shining as he looked up at his boyfriend’s face. Cas didn’t say anything for the longest time, at least it felt like that to Dean. Then his face cracked into a wide smile.

“Yes, Dean. Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

The whole room erupted in applause but the only thing that Dean was aware of was Cas’s lips on his. When they pulled apart Dean realized he had been crying and moved to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, but Cas used the pad of his thumb to swipe them away before kissing where each one had been. Both men were grinning wildly as they stood in each other’s arms, the rest of their family surrounding them.

-Ugh this took me so frickin long to write... sorry it's so late...

Ask to be tagged if you want:

@jellydeans @galaxycastiel @rambleoncas

[juyeoniemyhoney]

the simple things

Your country is physically incapable of snowing, much to your dismay. The closest thing you can get to snow is a copious amount of downpours. But as long as Jungkook is your boyfriend, snow in a country cursed with endless summer is not impossible anymore. 

-pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader 

-genre: fluff, established relationship

-warnings: a few vulgarities, may be a little stupid

-word count: 2103 words 

-A/N: hey guys it’s been a while since i posted. my exams ended like two weeks ago but ive been super inactive. ive just been in this really weird place creatively. but i hope this story makes up for it. i promise im trying to be more regular with posting fics. its only november but im already in a christmas mood! HAHA but anyways, hope you like it and my requests are open! 

--------

Something that you still have yet to comprehend is why your country still refuses to snow. Living close to the equator is all sorts of disappointing, especially for a hopeless romantic like you. But seriously, living in a country that only knows how to be hot means that most of the knowledge you know about winter romances are from sappy Christmas movies and the books you seem to like more than real people. You have complained about this topic to a multitude of people, as if your excessive, outspoken frustration will miraculously make it snow, and it does not help when these people, mostly your friends, reply back every single time with, “In December, it rains more, at least it’s more cool like that.” 

New friends seem more reasonable than having to hear that sentence again. 

At least Jungkook seems to agree with you. 

Indeed, the only good thing that comes out of your country’s insufferable refusal to just fucking snow is that Jungkook, your sweet, sweet, boyfriend, has always gone out of his way to make rainy days more special than they actually are. 

Jungkook usually doesn’t have time for you. As depressing as that sounds, it is mostly true. He is crazy devoted to his job as a video director and therefore, is mostly out and about, travelling all around the country and the world to film. But on rainy days, provided he is free from his jam-packed schedule, he has made it a habit to stay at home all day and shower you with all of his pent up affection, following you around your shared apartment like a lost puppy and endlessly pressing his lips to your skin, each one as if you are water and Jungkook is a man deprived. 

Today is a little different. 

You do not wake up early much, but it seems that every time you do, you are met with all sorts of unmistakably prejudiced misfortune. Like today, you had awoken early to head to the grocer for groceries that you were running low on. However, on your way home, the clouds had darkened with impending rain, seeming to look swollen, rather than fluffy. You had tried your best to reach home before it started to rain, but of course, you didn’t make it, rain falling from the sky, the downpour gradually getting heavier and you, gradually getting more and more wet, as if the universe was flashing the biggest middle finger to your face. 

You do not expect to see Jungkook waiting for you in the lobby of your apartment complex. 

“Kook?” you ask, a little breathless and drenched from head to toe. Jungkook, still in his pyjamas, stops his anxious pacing and looks up to you with heart-wrenchingly concerned eyes as he approaches you quickly. 

“Why do you always leave the house without an umbrella?” he scolds, though his concern outweighs his anger as he swaps the towel in his hand with the three bags of groceries you are holding. 

“Don’t you have work today?” you ask, unravelling the folded towel and wrapping it around your shoulders as the two of you head towards the elevators. Jungkook’s hair is unruly and tousled, the soft strands sticking up in different areas. His eyes are barely open, as if the purple half-moons under the glittering orbs are forcing them close, desperate for just a few more minutes of sleep. And it seems like he had left the house in a hurry, because his feet are clad in his bedroom slippers. Your heart swells at the sight. 

Jungkook frowns at you as the both of you step into the elevator, saying, “What do you mean? It’s raining today.”

“Yeah, but Kook, you can’t cancel work just because it’s raining. You’re a director,” you tell him with a raise of your eyebrows. He just flashes you a grin before stepping out of the elevator and making his way to your front door, waiting patiently in front of it for you to unlock it with your free hands. 

“Relax, all I have to do today is help with editing and thanks to the amazing invention of the email, I can do it at home.” 

You want to rejoice when you hear that he will be staying at home but you are too busy studying the fluffy white that litters the entrance of your home and seems to form a trail that leads further inside. You distractedly remove your shoes and haphazardly leave them by the door as you approach the substance, quickly bending down to pick it up, only for it to crumble from between your fingers. 

Distractedly, you gesture to Jungkook behind you, flailing your free hand to garner his attention. You start speaking when he lets out a soft hum of acknowledgement. “Kook, what is this?” 

Jungkook doesn’t answer you immediately but instead makes his way further into your apartment with the groceries in one hand and your wet shoes in the other (bless his benevolence), a secret smile turning the corners of his lips up as you trail behind him. 

“What the fuck,” is your reaction when the living room reveals itself. Your tone is not one of disbelief but one of awe because your living room is filled with the fluffy, white foam and there is a now a big Christmas tree right smack in the middle of your living room. The carpet has been rolled up and put away in the corner of the room and the sofa has been pushed flush against the wall opposite the television to make room for the white foam. 

“It’s fake snow,” you hear Jungkook answer from the kitchen, the rustling of plastic muffling his voice as he puts the groceries in their respective places. You see that the dryer is now running, you suppose, with your wet shoes inside it. Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness and as you turn around to look at Jungkook, you notice a big box of Christmas ornaments, ready for the both of you to decorate your new tree with. 

“Jungkook,” you call, flashing a pout in his direction, though he doesn’t see it, too busy putting away the ramen you bought into his precious ramen drawer to spare you a glance. He just hums again, to let you know he is listening, but he doesn’t have to listen because you do not say anything. Instead, you are creeping up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his warm back. He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that you are still damp from the rain and just continues to pack the drawer with ramen, humming again to let you know that his attention is still on you. You feel the vibration of the hum against your cheek and the feeling warms your insides up like hot chocolate.

“When did you do this?” you ask, changing your position so that instead of your cheek, your chin rests on his back, allowing you to look at him, even though all you can see is the back of his head; the sight still elicits an adoring smile from you. 

“Well, I started after you left and I was going to make some hot chocolate but then it started raining,” he tells you, turning around a little to glance down at you, flashing you a sweet smile that causes your heart to leap in your chest. 

“Why did you do this,” you continue to interrogate him as Jungkook shuts the drawer, turning around in your arms to face you, his own arms coming around your shoulders. You rest your chin on his chest and Jungkook smiles down at you with a smile that could end world wars. 

“I know I’ve been isolating myself in my office recently. And I know how much you love snow. Plus, it’s November and I’m excited for Christmas,” Jungkook explains. He keeps his voice soft, lips stretching into an easy grin as he looks at you, gaze soft and apologetic and sweet, like his eyes are oozing with honey. You feel like your insides are a meadow in spring, flowers in full bloom, green grass, with bees and butterflies, and a warm spring breeze to finish it off. 

You flash him a grateful smile, tiptoeing so that your foreheads meet, noses brushing each other. At first, you both just simply look at each other, gazes loving and soft. “I love you so much,” is what you mutter before your lips finally meet, no hesitation, but instead, sure, with a practiced familiarity. Jungkook’s lips are as you remember, soft yet firm and he kisses you like he always seems to do on rainy days, desperate and taking, as if he is slowly drawing your heart out of your chest, before it finally falls and lands in his hands. And you allow him to take it. 

“I love you so much too,” Jungkook mutters between kisses, decidedly planting a loving peck to your nose, and then your forehead, and then both your cheeks, before finishing it off with a searing kiss to your lips. Your affection for him multiplies by a thousand and the sheer amount of it seems to shove your heart out of your chest; you can feel it in the way it strains against your ribcage with each thud and in the way it pumps hot blood to your cheeks, red, like a warning that it is choosing to jump ship and surrender itself to Jungkook. 

“Let’s go and decorate the Christmas tree,” you suggest to Jungkook, taking tentative steps backwards and in the direction of the living room. You expect Jungkook to let go of you but he holds you close to him and stays planted to the ground, unwavering. You flash him a look of confusion that elicits a small chuckle from him. 

“You have to take a warm bath first, sweetheart. Or you’ll catch a cold,” he explains, pulling you in the direction of the bathroom. He proceeds to draw you a bath, occasionally feeling the temperature of the water, not too hot and not too cold, but warm enough to rid your body of any cold symptoms. When he is satisfied, he is pressing a kiss to your lips and exiting the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him and leaving you in silence that your thoughts invade immediately.

You rid your body of your damp clothes and lower yourself into the tub, the sudden warm water and change of temperature eliciting goosebumps to the surface of your skin and you allow your thoughts to run. 

Now that you think about it, when you had first met Jungkook, he seemed standoffish and closed off, like you’d had to try for a thousand years before you could earn his trust and loyalty. For some reason, to you, Jungkook seemed too caught up with himself to care about other people, too busy to notice the small things. But when you started dating him, he was the exact opposite. Like you said, Jungkook doesn’t always have time for you. Even then, when he was still a student, he was always nose-deep in assignments and projects and his internship. But despite the fact that you don’t spend as much time with him as you’d like, Jungkook has always managed to remember the little things. Like how he know that you love winter and snow, how he knows your exact order from Starbucks and bubble tea, how he knows your favourite movies to watch, and how he always clears time to read anything new you’ve written. You know that there are a multitude of things that sustain your relationship, but you like to think that Jungkook’s unadulterated benevolence and thoughtfulness is one of the main reasons why you love him so much. 

When you emerge from the steamy bathroom, you are smelling more of lavender and vanilla and less of rainwater. Jungkook is getting ready to decorate the Christmas tree, pulling the box so that it is just under the tree and opening it to reveal the distinctive colours that are always associated with Christmas, green, red and white. 

You two immediately begin dressing the tree, and soon enough, the tree is sparkling and twinkling and beautiful. And as Jungkook places the golden star right at the top of the tree, he looks down at you and flashes you a blinding grin that you’re positive can outshine the sun every single time. And you think that even if you wanted winter to be snowy and cold, as long as Jungkook is with you, you’ll always be warm. 

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track one

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Six. There were six different lines, tiny plastic tubes that hung down from the side of the bed, making the shape of a U in the air. Too many, but still, one less than yesterday.

“Is it alive?”

“No.”

“Is it a vegetable?”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“But is it a vegetable though?”

“No.”

“Aw shit.”

Indiana looked up from her hands then, brows furrowing at the small figure who had huddled herself under the thin cotton covers. You’d think, with how expensive hospital bills were that they could at least afford a real fucking blanket for their patients. Especially the kids.  

“C’mon now, watch the language.” She said. It was a half-hearted reprimand at best.

“You told me I could curse!”

“I told you that you could curse about your meds, there’s a difference.”

“Bullshit. I should be able to curse about anything I want to.”

“Bekah.” It was her mom voice – an instinct.

“Indiana.” The younger girl mimicked the tone as best she could.

There was a beat of silence then – well, as silent as a hospital room ever could get, that is. The monotonous song of machinery beeps, the muffled car horns outside on the streets, and nurses footsteps outside never truly faded.

“If the nurses hear you cursing in here they’re gonna say I’m a bad influence.” It was almost time for rounds and meds, 7pm on the dot - they’d be there any minute.

“Speak of the devil,” Bekah grumbled, eyes flitting to the door that was swinging open, the nurse bumping against it, her cart hitting the walls right on schedule.

“Hi miss Bekah, how’re we feeling this evening?”

“Shi-“

Indiana threw her a look, the kind she imagined her mom would give if she were there. Bekah sunk back into the pillow, rolling her eyes.

“-very. Shivery. It’s cold in here.”

She earned a thumbs up for that one and a wink that made her smile.

The nurse – Jennifer, Indiana realized – was as sweet as ever. She was one of the nicer ones, always let things slide, always let her stay 30 minutes after visiting hours if she really wanted to.

“That’s probably just the meds from earlier darling, they always make you a bit chilly.”

“Can’t wait to take more.” Bekah sighed, wiggling up in the bed and moving her shirt down, her collarbone prominent under her dark skin. Next to it sat a small bulge, surrounded by medical tape, two small tubes peeking out from underneath. They’d done a good job at making it subtle, unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it – Indiana’s mom’s port had never looked like that. She wondered if it was because the technology had improved in four years, or if they were just more careful about it when the patient was young.

Because it’s okay for an adult to have cancer, but a kid? That’s where we draw the fuckin’ line.

“Is it food?”

“What?” Jennifer asked, quirking an eyebrow as she continued to hang the bags on the IV pole.

“None of your business. Indiana, is it a food?”

“Now now,” Jennifer tutted.

“No, it’s not a food.” Indiana sighed, knowing better than to try and keep Bekah’s attitude in check. That was a battle she’d lose before it began. “Keep trying.”

She paused while the nurse took her time in getting her meds set and ready, attaching them to her port. She didn’t even flinch at the needle, the brown skin of her forehead as smooth and perfect as ever, not a worry line in sight. The game picked up as soon as Jennifer walked back out of the room.

“Is it something you- something you wear?” That was always the first sign that the meds entered her system – the ‘brain fog’ as she called it. Bekah sucked in a deep breath, her seemingly tiny chest rising up as she tried to settle herself. 

Indiana’s eyes flickered over to the IV bag – the clear liquid looked harmless enough as it dripped down. She knew it was anything but – just Bekah’s hair was enough to attest to that. She wore it in a wrap mostly these days, but she’d seen what was underneath. Her beautiful curls had started to fall out only a few weeks prior, and it was only a matter of time before they were gone completely. If she had to guess from what she’d seen when she fixed the knot of her wrap, the last of it would be gone after today.

“Yes, it’s something you wear.”

“So it’s clothes.”

“Not necessarily. You wear other things,” she explained, scooting her chair a bit closer to the bedside, reaching a hand out.

In the three years that Indiana had known Bekah, she was always amazed at how strong she was. It had impressed her from the first time she’d mustered up the courage to sign up for the volunteer program at the hospital two blocks away from her college apartment. Bekah was twelve then, a spunky young girl with big headphones over her ears and thick rubber bracelets on her thin wrists.

“Stop looking at me like that,” was what she’d chosen as an introduction. She’d looked up at Indiana with accusatory eyes, wide and dark and annoyed in the middle of the overly colorful pediatric wing hallway.

“Like what?”

“Like I have cancer. Don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it. Capeesh?”

She’d only been able to swallow and nod, somewhat embarrassed but mostly just in awe.

So, when Indiana got matched with her as her ‘buddy’, she tried her hardest to do as she’d agreed to. Or at least, she did her best to be subtle about it. She could sneak in her moments of worry at times like this, when Bekah’s eyes were scrunched closed and she didn’t bat away the hand holding hers.

“Damn. The BBJ is not making me feel very BB esque today,” she grumbled, breathing deep in through her nose. Indiana’s other hand inched towards the bedpan resting on the table – the nausea usually kicked in right about now, and her deep breathing was always a tell that her stomach was churning. BBJ stood for ‘Bad Bitch Juice’ which was just the fun term for chemo that Bekah had come up with during one of her rotations a few years back. The nurses hated it, gave Indiana dirty looks when she let her say it around them.

“Bed pan at the ready,” Indiana reassured her, making sure it was in reach in case it got to be too much.

“Just keep playing the game, it’ll distract me. What do I know so far?”

“It’s not alive, it’s not a vegetable or a food, you can wear it but it’s not clothes.”

“Makeup?”

Indiana shook her head, doing everything to avoid reacting to the way Bekah was squeezing her hand. It was so tight that she felt her bones were probably touching each other in a way they weren’t meant to.

“Shoes?”

“No.”

“Do you wear it on your head?”

“I mean… technically?”

“That’s a cop out answer.”

“Don’t dwell on it, just keep going.”

She saw it coming before it happened – the turn of Bekah’s face, the way her body jolted just barely. It’s a good thing it wasn’t her first time, or she wouldn’t have gotten the bedpan under her fast enough to catch her vomit. She held her breath, tried not to listen to the sounds of retching so she didn’t get sick herself, holding steady until Bekah’s stomach was empty and she’s laid back against the pillows, exhausted. Indiana followed the motions, got up and walked to the bathroom, dumped the contents down the toilet and flushed it, left the plastic basin on the floor for the nurses to get later and washed her hands. By the time she made it back to the side of the bed, Bekah’s eyes were closed.

There were three marked stages of a chemo session with Bekah: the ‘this doesn’t affect me’ phase, the puke phase, and finally, the sleep phase, which seemed to be fast approaching. Even with her eyes closed she felt Indiana join her at her bedside, and she sighed in defeat.

“What was it? I don’t wanna ask more questions.”

“Earrings.”

“That’s two things, you cheated.”

She could have argued, but you just don’t argue with a kid with cancer if you don’t have to. It’s an unspoken rule.

“You’re right. You win.”

Bekah seemed content enough with that, but her eyebrows scrunched up again like they always did when she was focusing.

“Where do you get earrings in your teeth?”

“Huh?”

“Earrings in teeth… there was a guy… yesterday… earrings.”

Indiana just held her hand as she rambled, drifting off as she turned her head into her pillow. Not that she knew personally, but she’d never seen anyone be comfortable during a chemo treatment. But there was a peace that took over when their body decided that it was too much to handle in the realm of consciousness and they drifted off into their dreams.

So she was happy to look at the bed after she picked up her backpack and see that Bekah’s was asleep. She closed the door on her way out, moved to the nurse’s desk to sign out like she always did. The nurses always smiled at her, sitting back there in their colorful scrubs and big headbands. This time, it was Valentina who beamed up at her.

“Indiana, honey, how’s school going?”

“It’s going.” It’s killing me. “Just one semester left to go!”

“Don’t you overwork yourself now, we need you around here,” she threw a wink with her long lashes, opening her mouth to say something else before her phone rang. “You have a good one honey, we’ll see you next week.” Valentina picked it up, another call to another room for another sick kid.

 With as many times as Indiana had made the walk, she was pretty sure she could do it with her eyes closed. Straight, past the forest murals, press the button on the left to open the doors. Then it was the ocean hallway on the left- the blues were peaceful, little sea turtles and fish floating on the walls. At the end, by the jellyfish, was the last door of the pediatric wing. Somehow, it always felt colder past that point, inside the ‘real hospital’. The nurse’s scrubs were plain blue there, the walls taupe and bland with paintings of trees and lakes instead of Winnie the Pooh and Dory. Indiana’s shoes squeaked against the polished floor on her way to the elevator, picking up her pace. She didn’t like this part. It was too familiar, too many memories of walking down the same hallway for much different reasons. Past that it was down two floors, out and to the right to get to the front doors.

As soon as she walked out into the New York city street, it was a breath of fresh air; if you could ever consider city air fresh. Still, she always preferred the smell of exhaust and cigarettes over the bleach that stung her nose inside the hospital. And if she sniffed hard enough and the wind was right, she swore she could smell Jet’s Coffee all the way from the small store that resided three blocks down the road. 

Want anything from Jet’s? She texted Charlie, hoping for a quick response from her sister as she hurried down the sidewalk, pulling her shirt sleeves down over her hands in a bid to ward off the brisk late September air.

Nah, Devin’s making dinner. Should be done by the time you get here. 

Also, where tf is your strainer?

Bottom cabinet by the oven, she answered, shaking her head.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her sister. She did, with her whole heart. The same went for her sweet almost-brother-in-law Devin- they were both supportive pillars in her life, always there with a listening ear, a warm hug, or life advice.

But god damn did she miss having her apartment to herself sometimes. The peace that came over her when she walked into her cozy apartment, saw the rest of Chelsea through the high windows, her view over the river? Unmatched. It was still there - the fog over the river in the cool autumn mornings, the bustling streets of people wrapped up in their coats - but now, her sister was there too, catching her at the door with the latest story of the day before she could even let out a breath. Charlie could never understand how her younger sister wanted to live alone in college, wanted a place to herself ever since she even knew it was an option. Indiana was the opposite of her in a lot of ways- the older of the two was a social butterfly of sorts who always surrounded herself with people, with loud voices and louder personalities that could keep up with her. She was wild - dropped out of college after her first semester, spent her last dime on a camera so she could grow a photography business from the ground up.

Their mom always said that Indiana was the calm to Charlie’s storm, her little angel who hardly ever cried, who just fit into the family like a perfect final puzzle piece, completing the picture. The puzzle was long forgotten now, disassembled in a box in the attic somewhere collecting dust over the last five years. She didn’t have to wonder if it would make her mom sad - she knew that it would be devastating for her if she were still there to see what had become of the Cross clan.

“There she is, the myth, the legend, thee Indiana Jamie Cross!” 

Caught up in her mind, Indiana didn’t even realize that her autopilot route home had taken her all the way into the door of Jet’s, and she found herself in the familiar lobby when she came to. The walls were charcoal gray, with the delicate little single-line white flowers painted on them that she remembered them putting up a few years ago, back when she worked there. Her old manager, Patrick, beamed at her from behind the counter, wide smile framed out by his ever growing hair.

“What’s she gonna get today, wait don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Today is a… caramel macchiato with one less pump of vanilla? Hot?” He mused, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Oatmilk, then yes, you got it.”

��Of course I was gonna give you oatmilk, what do I look like, an amateur?” He scoffed, shaking his head as she went to reach for her wallet. “It’s on the house today.”

“You can’t give me my coffee on the house every time Patrick, it’s bad for business.” 

“It’s my business, so shush and go wait at the end of the bar like a good customer,” he rolled his eyes, sending the scribbled cup down the line. She rolled her eyes and dropped a few one’s in the tip jar before she went over to her favorite chair, the big blue one by the windows where she could people watch while she waited. She always wondered what people did in small towns while they waited for things, without the bustling streets outside full of people in their own little worlds. 

Her phone buzzed in her lap. Marty. 

Hey girlie, are you busy tomorrow? We’ve got a new orientee who needs the run down, and nobody does it better than you! 

Marty’s speciality was buttering people up. Which explained why Buddies had over 200 volunteers like Indiana - with Marty in charge, it was hard to say no, even if she had planned on spending a chilled out day tomorrow with her sister and Devin.

Fine by me, just let me know what time

Awesome. He didn’t give me a specific time so I’ll just give him your number if you’re good with that.

She sent back a thumbs up as her name was called at the counter, got her coffee and headed out the door.  It was another block to get to her apartment, and when she got there the elevator ride up to the 18th floor was almost as long as the walk. She didn’t mind though. It was her own little welcome home ritual that she’d grown fond of over the last few years of living there. 

As she predicted earlier, when she opened the door, her usually peaceful space was in a bit of chaos. There were four bowls out on the counter, measuring cups everywhere, two pans out in addition to whatever smelled so good in the oven.

“Don’t start Indy, I’m gonna clean it, I promise.” Charlie appeared around the corner, already on the defense of the look she knew she was going to get. It felt a lot like Indiana was the older sister despite the three years that Charlie had on her. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Indiana mumbled under her breath, clearing a small spot on the counter and hopping up.

“It’s all in your face,” Devin teased from in front of the oven. “Scootch, unless you want me to burn you with this casserole dish.” 

She grumbled and hopped down from her much too temporary spot so that he could open the oven, deciding it was probably best to leave the kitchen until everything was done. 

Her kitchen was the only ‘small’ part of her apartment. The rest was plenty big, and she was proud of all she had done over the years to make it her own. The living room was cozy, with a dark gray couch and a reasonable (Charlie would say excessive) amount of decorative pillows and blankets. The shelves on the wall had a few house plants - fake ones, of course, and picture frames that had moved with her each time she called a new place home. The white frame that contained an old picture of her and Charlie as babies, white-blonde hair wispy as they played on the swings in their backyard. The most recent addition was the rose gold frame, a picture of her, Devin and Charlie at their engagement last July in Zion National Park - she could practically feel the heat of the sun every time she looked at it. The last frame stood alone on the smaller shelf, a wooden frame with a small heart carved in the corner. Inside, a black and white picture of her and her mom. She was about one in it, in a little crewneck sweatshirt and tennis shoes, holding onto her mom’s hands as she walked, both of them beaming. She’d been told by so many people over the years that she had “Nicole’s smile”, and she tried her hardest to not cry nowadays if anyone ever mentioned it. 

“You know, our parents weren’t glassmakers, I can’t see through you,” Charlie grumbled from her spot on the couch, gesturing to the TV that her sister was blocking.

“You know, this is my house, you could just leave,” she countered, offering her fakest of smiles.

“You know, Dad pays the rent so it’s not technically yours.”

“Alright, dinner is ready, dinner is ready,” Devin called out, knowing that Charlie had already stepped one toe over the line, desperately trying to keep her from throwing herself fully over the edge.

Charlie popped up to her feet, unfazed by the glare that followed her all the way to the island as she went on to scoop out her pasta. 

Indiana didn’t have the energy to even think about her dad, much less talk about him. Kenneth Cross was a good father when she was little. He was attentive, taught her how to play basketball, how to ride her bike without training wheels. On a paper list, he checked off most of the dad boxes. And then his wife died, and he decided the time was nigh to abandon ship with very little regard for his 16 and 19 year old daughters. But if you asked him, he’d be sure to let you know that he took very good care of his kids, even put up his youngest in a nice New York apartment so she could go to school and not have to work a job. Taking care of things meant throwing money at them, whether it was at work or at home. His best, and only, sign of affection was the direct deposit that hit Indiana’s bank account on the 31st of every month. 

Needless to say, he was a sensitive subject.

She bit back the words she really wanted to spit out and made her way into the kitchen, grabbing her bowl a bit more aggressively than she needed to. As soon as she found her spot back on the counter she stabbed into the soft noodles and shoved them in her mouth, proceeding to burn the shit out of her tongue. 

Lovely.

Devin made small talk as best he could around the awkward tension - he was an only child, and anytime the two sisters fought he tried to fill in the void with anything he could. It always baffled him how the two of them could be pissed one moment, and then back to normal a few seconds later.

“Wanna go shopping tomorrow? And don’t say you have school shit, it’s a Sunday.” Charlie asked.

“A, I always have school shit, and B, I can’t anyways, I’ve got an orientation to do for Buddies.” 

“There’s no way you actually have that much school work to do, I think you’re just trying to avoid us,” she countered. 

“CJ she’s gonna be a doctor, that shit ain’t easy,” Devin piped up, eager to boost his almost sister-in-law up. Indy tried to ignore the little pang of jealousy she always felt when he called her sister that. Charlie Jo. CJ. She’d had her own fair share of nicknames over the years, shortened little versions of her name that everyone liked to use. But Devin was the only one who was allowed to call Charlie CJ, and there was something about the intimacy of it that had Indiana wishing someone was there to give her a cute nickname, just for them.

She held out until Charlie started in on the dishes that she promised to do and then she was headed to her room, social battery depleted. Despite her sister’s doubts, she did always have some form of school work that she could be working on, slowly chipping away at the constant stream of assignments and notes.  She liked to break it down into sections, tackling a certain class each night of the week. Saturdays were her ‘easy’ nights, reserved for reviewing her medical terminology notes and quizzing herself on new terms.

As nerdy as it seemed to anyone else, she actually found it fun. 10 year old her would have thought it was the coolest thing that she actually knew what choleodechojunostomy meant, though she was pretty sure she was never going to actually need to know. 

She was halfway through the abbreviations portion, stuck on the ‘G’ of esophagogastroduodenoscopy when her phone buzzed against her leg. She expected to see a text from Charlie asking her to join in on whatever movie they were watching in the living room, but instead she was met with a new number and an unfamiliar area code - 818. 

Probably spam. She left it alone, moving back to her cards, flipping between as she mumbled them quietly to herself.

“PRN. Pro re nata.”

Buzz

“EEG. Electroencephalography. TIA”

Buzz

“TIA. Transient-”

Buzz

“Jesus,” she huffed, grabbing her phone and swiping it open to her texts, all from that same 818 number.

Hey, Marty gave me your number, I’m your new orientee :)

My name is Grayson btw, probably should have started with that 

She told me to figure out a time with you but I’m p flexible so just let me know

And idk how to get to the pediatric part of the hosp so if you could meet me somewhere else and show me how to get there that would be awesome

Why he couldn’t have sent it all in one text she had no idea, but at least he was nice. She typed back quickly.

Hey! I’m Indiana. We can meet by the front doors if that’s easier, how about 9:30?

She didn’t even have time to pick up her next flashcard before the typing bubble popped back up.

Early riser, I like it. 9:30 is chill, I’ll see you then. Have a good night :)

You too :), she answered, quickly saving his contact as ‘Grayson’ before putting her phone back down on her comforter and diving back into her flashcards. She had 200 more to get through by the end of the night, and all she really wanted to do was get under her covers and go to sleep. By the time she reached the end of the stack, the definitions were just as hard to understand as their latin based counterparts. As soon as she flipped over arthralgia to reveal joint pain, she was moving the pile to her desk, pulling on a t-shirt and curling up in bed.

..............................................................................................................................

Indiana had never been a breakfast eater. She was always too eager to get to school, occasionally running out the door with a granola bar in hand at most at her mom’s request. The trend continued as she got older, though now she used her morning coffee as sustenance for the first few hours of the day. Which was why she found herself walking right back through the glass doors of Jet’s again, a mere 12 hours after her last visit. It smelled like fresh beans and vanilla soy as soon as she made in over the threshold - a comforting smell, familiar and warm. Patrick beamed at her from behind the espresso bar. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a day off.

“I’m paying today, no arguing,” she called out, giving him a serious look until he mouthed ‘fine’ at her over the bar. Satisfied, she pulled out her phone, surprised to see a text. Grayson.

I’m by the front doors on the left. I know im early so no rush :)

She checked the time at the top of her phone. 9:10.

I’m getting coffee and then I’ll be there

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, contemplating. Was it weird to buy coffee for someone you’d never met? She sent another text anyway.

Want anything?

The bubbles popped back up as she stepped up in line.

Biggest cup of the strongest stuff they’ve got please. I’ll shoot you a Venmo for it

She liked his response and slid her phone back in her pocket before she stepped up to the counter. The barista was a new face, someone that had been hired after she had left.

“What can I get started for you?”

“Can I do a 16 ounce vanilla oat milk latte and a 20 ounce dark roast please?”

“Absolutely, that’ll be-”

“Give her the drip for free,” Patrick interjected. “We don’t charge past employees for drip coffee.”

The barista looked a bit flustered but took the dark roast off anyways, quickly spouting off the total and taking the cash that Indiana handed her. She turned around and poured the dark roast, passing it over with a smile. An older man was sitting in the blue chair when Indiana made her way to the other end of the store, so she settled by the bar instead, watching Patrick pump syrup and steam milk in a bit of a sequenced dance. She missed being behind the bar sometimes, but not enough to justify going back and getting talked down to by shitty customers. 

He finished her latte in record time, only having a spare moment to blow her a kiss before he was right back to the next drink. She didn’t mind - the thought of Grayson waiting on her made her nervous. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t running late. It wasn’t her fault that he liked to show up twenty minutes early to things and she only liked to show up ten minutes early. Ten minutes was reasonable and showed dedication - twenty was a bit excessive. 

The cups kept her hands warm for the three blocks to the hospital, her pace a bit quicker than usual. She kept her eyes peeled for someone who looked like a Grayson once she made it. A tall, lanky man passed by her, headed towards the doors, but he didn’t seem like he was looking for anyone. She remembered the text. Front doors, to the left.

Sure enough, there was someone sitting alone.

He took up about half of the bench, his shoulders broad under a charcoal gray sweater that went well with the olive green of his pants. He looked well put together - a bit intimidating, but nice enough to send someone a have a good night text. He looked like he could be a Grayson. He must have felt her watching him, because he lifted his eyes from his phone and looked directly at her, taking in the two coffee cups in her hands with a smile.

“Indiana?”

His voice was deep, a bit commanding. It made her hesitate for some reason, panic just barely. “Uh yeah, that’s me.” Stupid.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Grayson.”

[petersshirts]

Honey / tom holland

summary: a summer day in Greece and you make tom feel some kind of way

words: 1330

A/N: this is something to cheer you up in those dark times, i hope you enjoy.

(i actually wrote something after one year and i’m pretty proud of myself lol)

Sun rays tickled your nose and you slowly opened your eyes and blinked, trying to adjust to the bright light. For a few seconds, you tried to remember where you were, and when you heard the calm breaths next to you with the birds singing outside, you knew exactly where you were.

You looked over to your right where there was a boy sleeping, a slight smile on his lips while his eyes were fluttering. You could only smile, feeling completely at peace in this moment. For once, it felt like you weren’t losing time. For once, everything was just perfect.

You didn’t notice that the chocolate-haired boy next to you had opened his eyes and was now watching you, the smile on his lips growing even bigger than yours, remembering the same thing just as you.

„Morning, beautiful.“ His morning voice pulled you out of your day dream and your eyes fixated on your boyfriend, a grin on your lips.

„Mornin’ sleepyhead. Did you sleep well?“

„Always when I’m next to you.“ He opened his arm so you could cuddle up next to him, a sigh leaving both of your lips.

„I love this so much, Tom.“ You mumbled into his warm skin, closing your eyes to appreciate the moment even more.

„Me too, baby. Nothing to worry about. Nobody to disturb us.“ You hummed in response and cuddled even closer, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend.

It had been a long time since the two of you had felt this free. After six months of work and pure stress for the two of you, there had finally been a slot for your summer getaway. When Tom had mentioned that he had three weeks off a couple months ago, you immediately booked a plane and a little cabin far away from London, far away from work.

And that’s where you were now. On a little island in Greece, with lovely people all around you and a delicious smell of oranges in the air. You never wanted to leave. You had only arrived last night and it already felt like all the pressure had been lifted.

Tom had left his work phone at home, meaning that no work mails could reach him. This was your time together, and no one could take that from you.

„What do you wanna do today?“ Tom murmured in your ear, his raspy morning voice definitely doing things to you. You ignored your heightened senses, knowing that Tom was still exhausted from last night. Plus, you wanted to explore the island.

„We could take the scooter and drive around the island? Find all the good spots for the next weeks?“ Tom grinned at you, loving how you were just as adventurous as him. The two of you had been very spontaneous when you had found this AirBnB on the internet, but you had instantly fallen in love with it and booked it straight away.

Tom couldn’t complain - the house was on a cliff right by the sea, giving you a spectacular view to the other islands, leaving him excited for adventures. He just couldn’t wait to spend all this time with his loved one.

„Come on then, let’s get breakfast.“ And with that, he took your hand and helped you up to find a café around the island to satisfy his need for coffee.

An hour later, you had found a coffee shop right by the sea, that was full of people, laughing and talking, giving you a warm feeling. It had been such a long time since you could finally let go of all the tasks in your head. It had never been easy for you to disconnect yourself from work while at home and Tom was just the same.

You ordered two coffees and sat down on a bench where you could watch the waves crash at the cliffs. The two of you were quiet - it was a comfortable silence. The two just took everything in; the happiness and the care-free mindset settled around you.

When you finished your delicious breakfast, the two of you started your adventure around the island. Before you left for your vacation, you didn’t have a chance to read a travel guide due to work, but at this moment you didn’t care. It was even more exciting to find these places all on your own - somehow, it felt lie a little secret to you even though there were a few other tourists around here.

You spent the morning driving along the coast with a scooter they had at your small house and settled into a restaurant with delicious fish for Lunch. Tom took your hand while you waited for your food, grinning at you.

„This was the best idea ever, babe.“ You grinned back at him, knowing how much he enjoyed to finally spend some time alone with you.

„I know.“ Your grin was cheeky and Tom could only chuckle, loving your care-free attitude.

His work had always been more fun to him than actual work, but he knew how stressful you got while working. For you, it somehow never stopped. He was just happy to finally get away from England to enjoy some time with you in the sun. And maybe do some other things in bed that he had thought about for a long time.

After Lunch, you drove into the up-country. A local had told you at Lunch that there was a beautiful olive grove only thirty minutes away from the sea. You had always wanted to see one (if you haven’t watched Mamma Mia and seen the olive groves, go DO IT), knowing the beautiful tracks through the grove only from pictures.

You squeezed Toms’ waist while the warm wind was blowing through your hair. Tom concentrated on the road while driving, but a smile never left his lips. This must be paradise.

You found the grove on a small hill where you parked the scooter and walked through the olive trees hand in hand. It was completely quiet, you could only hear the wind rattling the trees and a few birds singing. You didn’t even notice that Tom let go of your hand as you continued walking, eyes lit up with happiness.

Tom watched you in awe, his eyes fixated on your figure. He tried to take it all in, but it felt like his heart was gonna burst. You turned around towards him, your eyes meeting his. Honey met chocolate. And in that moment, Tom knew.

He slowly started walking towards you but right before you, he dropped to one knee. Your eyes widened in surprise, trying to process what was going on. But Tom just smiled, knowing that this was the right thing to do. He would always choose you, over everything else. Even in the chaos at home, even at your worst and especially in this beautiful olive grove.

„Y/N, I love you. I didn’t even think about this before today, but there’s just you. It will always be you.“ Toms’ voice was shaking but everything was just so clear at that moment. Everything made sense. And then he realises that he didn’t even have a ring.

You noticed his shocked expression, but before you could say anything, Tom continued his speech.

„I actually don’t have a ring right now because this is really spontaneous but would you please do me the honour and marry me?“

„Yes, a hundred times yes!!“ You croaked the words out and fell into Toms’ arms, soaking his shirt. Tom only pulled you closer, his heart pumping really fast. But you slowly pulled away to press a kiss to his lips, his tongue meeting yours.

Tom moaned into the kiss, knowing that this was right. This was the perfect time. Perfect place. Honey and Chocolate were finally one.

I’M BACK BITCHES

Permanent Taglist and Mutuals:

@peterpumpkinparker​  // @twilightparker​ // @h-osterfield​  //  @holland-peters​ // @fratboievans​ // @spiderrrling​ // @hufflebucky​ // @hollandroos​ // @naturallytom​ // @tomhollandd​ // @keepingupwiththeparkers​

// @ive-got-more-wit​ // @lou-la-lou​ // @loxbbg​ // @seanna313​ // @underoos-shield​ // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980​ // @ixchel-9275​ // @thejourneyneverendsx​ // @sideeffectsofyou​ // @teenwolfbitches2​ // @mywinterwolf​ // @alex--awesome--22​ // @wronglanemendes​ // @keithseabrook27​ // @tomshufflepuff​ // @awkwardfangirl2014​ // @embrace-themagic​ // @ophcelia​ // @nedthegay​ // @xxtomxo​ // @undiadeestos​

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

Won't You Cut Down That Apple Tree For Me?

Peter slept until he was awoken by a painful ache and burning feeling in his stomach, and he curled tighter into himself to try and avoid it.

He distantly remembered his time with Mag, how the few times he got sick, he was treated with a mix of soft comforts and angry lectures about how he was wasting time, how he’d never get anywhere like this.

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TW FOR VOMITING AND IMPLIED CHILD ABUSE

god I love my crime moms

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Peter was an intelligent man.

He had to be, his entire life career depending on it.

His career also depended on him being constantly ready to go, always nimble, and on his feet.

So when he woke up to a chest and head filled with cotton, he knew he had to file it away if he wanted to stay on the Carte Blanche.

He looked into the mirror over the sink, his face was a sickening pale with a violent flush over his cheeks, and dark rings under his eyes.

He sighed, it was gonna be a long day, they had a debrief planned for a heist, not until the next week, which he hoped whatever this was would clear up by then.

It was later than he usually got up, meaning almost everyone was up, Jet was usually already up by now, Vespa and Buddy woke up shortly after him, Rita was up around the same time as he was, and Juno slept the latest, not waking up for an hour or so after Rita, meaning he had about half an hour before his lady woke up.

He quickly got his makeup out, and speedily did it, namely ignoring the slight burning he felt from it, his skin did always get sensitive with fevers.

His body ached, more so than usual, a doctor had once described it as a condition which caused his nerves to fire near constantly, leaving him in constant pain, sometimes worse than other times.

He knew that, realistically, the illness would make the pain worse, meaning it would be harder to hide both conditions from the crew as he had been doing.

Juno had only found his cane, which he refused to use, once, when he was sleeping in Nureyev’s cabin while looking for an extra blanket due to the chilliness of the Carte Blanche, and Peter was able to brush it off as something from an old disguise and a joke about old age.

Juno seemed to believe him, and for that he was thankful.

With his makeup done, he quietly slipped back into his cabin, where Juno laid sleeping sound, to grab his clothing, choosing a comfortable button-down and a pair of loose-fitting dress pants, much more laid back than his usual attire, and he prayed it wouldn’t turn any heads.

Peter ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the heat he felt on his own head, and he stepped out of his room, slowly and painfully making his way to the kitchen.

“Good morning Peter, you’re up later than usual. Is everything alright?”

Buddy didn’t sound worried, probably just assumed he was slacking off.

“My apologies, Captain, I’m doing well.”

He was distantly aware he didn’t make much sense, but the layer of fog between him and everyone else made it a bit difficult to actually care.

Buddy nodded, but Peter noted that Vespa didn’t look convinced, understandable saying she was the ship’s Doctor of sorts.

He felt arms wrap around his stomach, and his lady rest his head against his back, still heavy with sleep.

“Goodmornin Mista Steel and Mista Ransom!”

Rita, energetic as always, bounced into the kitchen and sat on a stool at the table, and Jet placed a coffee before her, overloaded with cream and sugar, just how she liked it.

His beloved groaned into his back and nuzzled his dave further into his back.

“You both seem tired today, have a fun night?”

Juno groaned, and peter laughed softy, not having the energy to formulate a reply, and Juno slipped away quietly, sitting next to Rita as Jet handed him his own coffee, and Peter only mourned the loss of contact momentarily.

He sat next to Juno, and Jet handed him his usual drink of choice, which was a herbal tea with ungodly amounts of honey.

He smiled at the kind man, who nodded back gently, never one for expressions.

A shiver ran through him as he grasped the hot mug, and he hoped that no one saw it, all while the residential doctor was staring bullets through him.

Everyone split up after that, knowing they’d need to remeet for dinner and the debrief and a part of Peter wasn’t sure he’d make it that long.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Juno, who was saying something but it wasn’t really touching his brain.

“Nureyev, what’s wrong with you today?”

Ah, so Juno was perhaps noticing something.

“Nothing, my dear, just a little tired.”

Juno didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it.

Peter excused himself quietly to practice his newest identity for the heist, but realistically he was just planning on sleeping the time until the debrief away.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter slept until he was awoken by a painful ache and burning feeling in his stomach, and he curled tighter into himself to try and avoid it.

He distantly remembered his time with Mag, how the few times he got sick, he was treated with a mix of soft comforts and angry lectures about how he was wasting time, how he’d never get anywhere like this.

He desperately tried to file these thoughts away, but was unable to, the images of Mags disappointed face, shifting into his bloodied body-

Peter whimpered and drew his blanket into his face, trying best he could to ignore the pain and ignore the crying he heard in his head.

The next thing he knew he was hanging over the side of his bed, heaving up a mix of his breakfast and bile, and he cried realizing what was happening.

He knew his attempts to move would make things worse, so he curled into a ball under the light blanket on his bed, and let himself fall into a fitful sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juno knew something was off with Peter, and as a detective, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

He made an internal list, Peter seemed to have woken up later than normal, and when he had hugged him, his skin seemed unnaturally hot.

Nureyev was ill.

Probably very ill, from the looks of it.

Juno sighed and ran his hands through this hair, he was never the best at taking care of people.

When he was young and Ben was ill, he spent most of it worriedly pacing by his bedside and doing what ben did for him, and stealing from stores when he needed something.

The one time Rita was ill, she was predictably good at caring for herself, only needing him to go and get some stuff from the store for her, which he did and possibly went overboard.

And when he was ill, and anyone would take care of him, it was Rita.

Even when he was with Diamond, Rita would always know, he came into work anyway but she’d be sure to take care of him there, and ask if he wanted to stay with her instead of Diamond.

He paced nervously around his room, thinking about what to do.

He could go into Nureyev's room and demand he admits he was ill right now, or he could be strategic, even though that involved letting the thief burn himself out some until he let his guard down.

He painfully decided the ladder might be the best option, and in an attempt to distract himself, he hung out with Rita, watching streams and ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dinner time on the Carte Blanche, and everyone was gathered in the kitchen.

Everyone except Peter.

Juno’s stomach dropped when he realized Peter wasn’t there, and he made eye contact with the rest of the crew, except for Jet who was pointedly avoiding it.

After a few seconds, a loud crash was heard from down the hallway, and within seconds they were all running down the hall to where it was.

Juno wasn’t usually the fastest runner, but when his love may have been involved he was incredibly fast, which is why he and Jet got there first.

Juno’s heart froze when he saw Nureyev, shaking and pale, in a pile of his own sick and covered in it unable to move.

Juno was hard to scare, but this did it for him.

“Fuck”

He crouched next to the ill thief, avoiding the pile of sick, and the ex-detective could feel the heat from him without even touching him.

Juno gathered his boyfriend into his arms as Vespa, Buddy and Rita ran into the room, Rita and Buddy stopping next to Jet, and Vespa joining Juno at Peter’s side.

“Fuck, he’s burning up.”

Vespa growled, as she held Peter’s limp wrist, checking for a pulse and temperature.

“I knew something was off why didn’t the idiot just tell us.”

Vespa was angry, understandably, she was a medic and she had threatened them all in the past if they kept something from her.

“Vespa, dear, why don’t we just take him down to the medbay and yell at him later on.”

Jet carried Peter to the medbay, where he was hooked up to an IV for hydration and given fever reducers, all by a grumbling Vespa, while Juno sat worriedly nearby.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juno sat next to the thief’s bed, him having been moved back into his room after it had been cleaned, mostly due to the more comfortable bed.

It has been a long day and Juno was beyond exhausted, Nureyev was still asleep, not having moved since they found him.

“J’no?”

The ex-detective bolted up from where he was falling asleep, against his will, and looked around before his eye landed on the thief.

“Peter, oh thank god.”

Juno shifted, sitting on the side of the bed and running his hands through his love’s hair, checking his temperature and offering comfort.

“Hi, love, how do you feel?”

The sick man looked around, confused, and tired.

“What happen’d?”

Juno’s heart broke at the confusion and pain his boyfriend was in, a tenderness he didn’t know he was cable of feeling until today washed over him.

“You got sick, baby, we had to take you to the medbay and you have an IV, why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling well?”

Peter leaned into Juno’s hand, which was now on his cheek, and a look of guilt washed over him.

“Di’nt wanna bother you, busy and all that.”

Juno wiped a tear that slipped down Peter’s face, and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Baby, you’re always more important then anything we’re working on, I don’t care if you’re just a little sick, I wanna know so I can help you.”

Peter still looked guilty, and Juno slipped his slippers off, and climbed into the bed with the thief.

“Vespa will probably be by soon to check on you, you gave all of us a scare.”

As if on cue, someone knocked on the door and it opened to reveal Buddy, Vespa, Rita, and Jet standing behind it, Vespa with her medical kit, Buddy holding a tray of tea, Rita with snacks, and Jet with a stack of blankets and pillows.

“Hello darlings, we thought we’d keep you some company, some family time, hm?”

Vespa walked over, angry as always, and looked over the thief, who lay confused and half asleep, after a few moments, her posture eased and she moved to take out the IV.

Jet set the pillows and blankets on the ground, and Rita quickly organized them all into a pile, after safely handing the snacks to Jet, and Buddy set the tea on the nightstand, pouring a cup for everyone and adding honey to Peter’s.

She and her wife then sat in some chairs in the room, and Rita turned on the streams, and Peter fell asleep surrounded by his family.

[youralternantpersonality]

Endless Love

Paul x Reader: Endless love

Part 1: Eternal Love

Part 2: Everlasting Love

Part 3: Endless Love

Part 4: Enduring Love

***

Your POV

The sun came up and it was slightly warm again. I looked around for Snout but couldn’t find him. I get up tirelessly from the ground only to see a figure of a woman in front of me. She is blurry but shaped like a shadow. She was slender and small with an authority like stance. And without a second thought, I ran.

I looked behind me and I saw her just standing there. Looking in my direction. Whoever it was, or whatever it was, wasn’t going to leave. That I was for sure aware of.

Paul’s POV

We pull up to this small cottage in the middle of nowhere (shocking!) and watched as some of the Cullen’s friends step out of the house. My inner wolf is just dying to come out at this point. The Cullen’s, I can handle, but these people…unknown leeches…that’s a different story. Carlisle does his grand gesture and greeting, and we all move inside.

“Come, young Paul, I will show you where she is at. I know the last place you want to be at is here with us.” One of the blondes said. I followed her down a long hallway into a guest bedroom. From the door, I could see her, tubes tied, and machines keeping her alive. Blondie tells me she’ll be outside if I need anything.

I just watch her from the door. Tears forming in my eyes as I watch her from across the room. I somehow find myself walking towards her, ignoring the chair next to her bed and lay down next to her. making sure I move all the tubes around so that I don’t hurt her. Her body isn’t as warm as it used to be. As if she was barely hanging on. As if she was ready to let go. As if she was showing me what she’d feel like when she’s turned. Could I be ready for that?

Your POV

It started raining not too long ago. I ran around looking for protection until I came upon a cave. I had been sitting in here for a while, watching the rainfall endlessly outside. Trying to keep warm, I curl into a ball and try to lock in warmth. Not too long afterward, a rush of heat consumes me, and I do nothing but relax into it.

Not paying attention anymore, I don’t realize that at the entryway of the cave is the woman and Snout. He barks and it echoes through the cave. I turn to look, and I see them. She points at me and Snouts comes running my way. To frightened to move, and too cold to scream, I wait for my ending. But instead, Snout comes up to me and licks my face with his tail wagging and his barking throughout the cave. It’s not until I notice the lady at the cave is now sitting in front of me.

In an instant flash, the cave brightens up and I see her face. She was beautiful. I’ve seen her somewhere, but I can’t remember where. She looks like someone I know, but I keep coming up blank. She smiles at me and starts talking.

“He was right. You are beautiful. It’s ashamed I never got to meet you.” The lady smiles. I look at her confused and respond.

“Who’s he? And what do you mean? Do I know you?” I ask, confused as can be. She shakes her head and smiles.

“No, but I know plentiful of you and have been watching you for a while now. I see you’ve taken great care of my son. I just wanted to say thank you.” She smiles. I take a good look at her. She has clear and bright honey-olive skin with beautiful brown eyes. Her long black hair extenuates the glow around her skin and her smile just brightens the room. There was a calming and motherly feel around her.

“Your son? Who’s your son?” I look at her confused. Her head falls slightly, and the corner of her lips turn downward.

“It’s okay that you don’t remember him. You will eventually. Just remember one thing,” she pauses to look at me and I nod my head.

“Promise me, you’ll at least listen to him. Allow him to speak and to forgive him. It might be hard, lord knows he gets himself into some situations with you, but all I ask is for you to give him one more chance.” She looked at me with pleading eyes. I can’t help but nod at her, not knowing what I was getting myself into.

“Another thing…you’ll be given two choices soon. Make sure you choose the right one. Your life depends on it.” she then reaches over to me and hugs me, kisses my forehead, then walks to the edge of the cave. She looks back and smiles at me before disappearing. I look down at a sleeping Snout curled up to me. I am comfortably warm and decide to join him. I curl next to him and fall asleep too.

Paul’s POV

There’s a knock at the door and I turn to see the Good Doctor Cullen. Letting me know it is time and ask me if I’m 100 percent sure of this. I nod my head and go to sit in the chair next to her and hold her hand. It is only us two, Edward and Carlisle in the room. I watch as the Good Doctor take out eight syringes’—three of them look like clear water and the other five are filled with this silver thick liquid stuff.

“What the fuck is that?” I say looking at this shit. Carlisle chuckles and explains the clear stuff is morphine and the other ones are their venom.

“I always thought you guy’s venom would be, I don’t know, green, or black, or something. Not something like a kids art project where you put a crap tone of glue and add silver glitter and paint mix to it.”

“Are you saying our venom is pretty?” One of the blondes says from behind us. I let out a growl to warn her.

“Okay, okay, I’ll back away. I’ll see you guys in a few.”

“Thank you, Kate. Garrett should be here soon.” I hear the door shut and the front door to the house open and close. Good, we’re alone.

“So how is this going to work? You’re going to put her more to sleep and then put the venom in?”

“Essentially, yes. I don’t want to overdose her, but I want to numb her as much as possible with the morphine so she doesn’t feel nearly as much as she would.” Carlisle said.

“And we also don’t want you freaking out if she starts screaming in pain.” Edward finishes.

“Wait, screaming? In pain?! I thought it would be a little pinch or something. But screaming!?” I start freaking out a little. How bad is this transformation supposed to be?

“The venom reconstructs the bones, organs, tissues, cells, all of it. The body is calcifying itself to stone, which is a painful process even if she wasn’t dying.” I look at both of them in disbelief.

“Are you sure you want to-“ I cut him off,

“Yes. Just…make her as comfortable as possible. I can’t lose her…” I said looking down at her. This may be a selfish thing to do, but its either both of us, or none on earth. Carlisle nods and grab one of the morphine needles and stick it into her IV tube. After a few minutes, her smell heightens a little. Not sure if that’s good or bad.

“The morphine is settling in her.” Edward nods towards Carlisle and grabs the other one and injects it into her IV tube. All I can do is sit there, helplessly, watching her fight. I say a silent prayer to whoever wants to listen to protect her and bring her back. I wonder when she comes back, will she hate me? Resent me? Remember me? Forgive me? Would she love me again? Will I love her?

That last thought scared me. I looked at Edward and Carlisle then think back on everything about their type that irks me and wonder, will my views change just for her or because of her? Will I feel like that to her the way I feel about leeches in general? Or will she be the only one in my heart? I ask all these unanswered questions until one comment stops me.

“Are you ready Paul?” without looking up, I nod my head and allowed the Good Doctor to inject his venom into my love’s veins. ‘Till death do us part.

Your POV

The warmth that consumed me left, but in its place came a rush of drowsiness. I was disoriented and confused. I felt like I was plastered drunk. I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t get up or move without struggling. Every time I tried to move, it’d get worse and worse and I begged it to stop. I wanted, for once, to touch the rain. Maybe it would help the dizziness. But right before I could reach it, it stopped raining. It was sunny instantly and the sun was making it warmer and warmer by the second.

I wanted to stay in the cave, but it was hotter in there than it was outside. I looked around for Snout, but I couldn’t find him again. I was walking from tree to tree, holding on in this heat. I need to get out of the forest before a fire starts. I tried running, but nothing happened. I just fell and screamed against the steaming hot ground. I grabbed onto the equally hot trees and just kept moving. I prayed to whoever is listening, to get me out of this heat before I die. I try to think happy thoughts, thoughts of my friends. Yes! My friends! I remember them! My friends and Snout when he was a puppy. I remember some of my family, but not really. Then I remember someone else. I don’t know who he is, but I know him. And I feel…I feel…hurt? Anger? Happy? I was so caught up in him that I didn’t notice a tree was falling in front of me.

“Ahh!” I scream and tried my best to run, but to no avail, I can’t. I cry more as it gets hotter and hotter as I go. Wishing for it to all stop.

Narrator POV

“I heard her,” Edward said.

“What?” Paul and Carlisle looked at him. Carlisle was injecting the second syringe in when he said it.

“I heard her. This whole time, I haven’t been able to, but now…now I can. I just heard her.”

“What did you see? What is she dreaming of? Is she dreaming?” Paul asked anxiously.

“It was a small glimpse; I just saw her grabbing on a tree, and she screamed. Then her mind shut off again. Something must’ve scared her. I’m not sure what, but something caught her off guard enough to let me see her.” Edward said with slight pride.

“The venom must be working then. She still has a long way to go Paul. But if Edward can read her, that’s a lot of progress.” Carlisle goes around the bed and places a hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“Trust me, she will be okay, as long as Edward can read her.” He goes back to what he was doing by grabbing the third syringe and injecting it into her major artery in her inner thigh. Making sure to inject her in different areas to assure her body takes the venom.

Paul grabs Y/n hand and gently strokes in, occasionally kisses it, but bows his head on it as Carlisle finished the last one. They go to leave and plan on checking her every hour or so. Paul would never admit this out loud—and not when Edwards is in the proximity of him—but he’s grateful for them. Now, is all about playing the waiting game for the next three days.

My Love (for the series)

MasterList

[sikereviewdotcom]

strawberry shortcake s2 ep1 - horse of a different color

this one was suggested by someone who couldnt keep their mouth shut and not sing the strawberry shortcake intro theme in the middle of our economy class

no one wanted to hear that, but they  went ahead and then i actually followed up on that train of thoughts i remembered about the fucking cartoons and i knew it pronto: its a must-see shit its like slightly above the level of magical school bus series, but the final rating is for the fin not the beginning so lets begin this horseshit:

were reviewing “horse of a different color”, it focuses indeed on strawberrys horse, honey pie pony (its her entire damn name, how sweet right? like all of them, i got diabete from this review but its the cost of maintaining this blog anyway, the kids are playing together on a that tree having fun jumping around like chimpanzees hooba hooba but sadly our filly quickly realizes she cant play king kong with them and keep falling on her ass,

yet since theyre all retarded or young (id say its a fifty-fifty case for them kinda normal ig, i mean they ARE literal 6yo) they try several ways of getting her up on that tree, not thinking how to get her down if they ever were to succeed (good for them: aint happening) its child labor too btw, from an horse still same deal what if honey pie fell down on them? crushing them corpses with her mighty pounds? the findus company would be delighted to hear such news, im sure its some quality (sweet ass) horse meat

once it all fails she understands a horse isnt meant to climb a tree, too big too fat its four legged, not even entertaining the relationship giraffes have with trees

but it aint over, then (after a talk with herself) hp hears the laughters of a bunch of kids which catches her attention, it always does who can ignore that sorta noise? although she aint annoyed by it shes just into the idea of riding a bike now, shes even gonna get a go at it oh yea thats it we finally found her human hobby gogdamn shes a backward furry

of course it fails aswell since she has no hand for the handle and shes heavy so i guess its the reason why she rides into w/e and cant stop? because otherwise she couldve also just.. actually it makes no sense does it? i mean she couldve easily stopped the ride actually how is that kid bike even holding her? ive never tried putting a pony on a bike for 6 y/o but i doubt about its capacity in not being crushed aswell as i doubt in the kids bones not being severely damaged after a visit under honey pies horsy buttcheeks

but all of that really makes her sad: she cant play with her human friends and shes the only horse around strawberry land or whatever see me tearing it for her, theres so much emotions in this episode especially after that filly trynna get kids to get into some horseplay horseshit like dude theyre only 6, lets go easy on them, might have a problem with the parents of the kids watching this episode no one even thought how fucked up this one part is? sure horseplay isnt only sexual or w/e but it still is the visual of 6yos on all four jumping around and neighing together with their ass a little bit too exposed wow im going on a dangerous road here? aint i? not gonna sue the writers im sure it was their subconscious speaking probably got issues from their childhood, eventually got them sorted out since 2004 what do i know? aside from me not caring

back on track : after seeing horsey being so sad the kiddos decide to get her a horse friend but where the fuck? they got no idea, they are proud nonetheless and go tell honey the good new until they are like “wait but we have no idea where to find horses!” ofc we get a big reveal, some serious strawberry shortcake lore: actually all the horses, ALL OF THEM FROM THE ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET are on one (1) single island: ice cream themed to diversify it all they are just chilling over there in ponyland and for some reason this one here got lost or idk guys she took the boat and checked the rest of the world out as an even younger filly, found strawberry and her friends and decided now she was a centaur  slash humanrry furry human, idk you get it but shes their friend and so on to introduce the concept of an AWESOME island full of equestrian activity and ofc ice cream but its kinda lame because who cares? everythings already made out of food, also why isnt the ice cream melting? its one water? nevermind for the introduction as i was saying, hp sings an horrendous sounding song it deteriorated my ear drums they got pierced or something  or maybe im exagerrating? either case horses cant sing:

so to the ice cream land they go, huh

of course it wouldnt be a big adventure without an almost broken bridge oh no whatever shall we do? could we possibly cross it safely? lets try it out  guys: yay it worked good for us little stress and suspense it was wack how they got honey pie out of the hole her big ass hoove made im mesmerized by the power of friendship and sugar at this point, just in full awe for the rest of the episode probably over dosed on all the ice cream flavoured horseshit, i got some all over my mouth its dripping on my desk i gotta clean that later

next thing we know: horses its all this episode is about (aside from labor) but you see, so far hp would switch between normal human language and neighing well turns out her other fellow equines can only neigh and so they just neigh together while our english well-spoken mammal translates to the moronic kids who just smile smuggly

of course the animals are having a welcome party then, dancing around while the morons are just bored, harsh one being a cartoon character isnt it guys? w/e theyre gonna ask for honey pie to come back home now, convinced that her natural habit isnt her place and she loves them too much to just leave them and never come back and break any plans they ever had together- oh shit looks like shes leaving forever huh? what a plot twist mark that on the bitch quota for today

the first one to leave is the little boy btw, important thing to note: hes the biggest pussy he cant even face reality: oh no, no more pony back time before sleep thats quite a bummer, downer and man how are they going to survive now they got no animal to watch over them? jesus theyre soon, on the boat (idk where they got it from idk why suddenly theyre on a boat because then theyre once again gonna cross that bridge but ok) anyway yea theyre having a relationship crisis during that ship trip yada yada ah and the bridge, because (see i do not call them morons for now reasons obviously they deserve this title not only because theyre 6 but also because they are just daft:) they proceed, once in the middle of the bridge all 4 of them, to stop and wonder

“will the bridge be able to hold all of us? wont it break? damn i wonder if it will crack” and they talks without moving until vlam: a tree comes and breaks it (dont ask) so now theyre in trouble:

back to ponyland: bitch pie realizes how much she misses her actual friends and that she can speak english which her other horse friends cant do so she is special and probably abnormal, shes a big outcat of the pony society and has no other reason but to escape her incoming death sentence for fraternizing with the humans of course none of the second part is true, she just wants to see the kids again so she says asta la vista baby to the neigher team and runs away see, she hasnt taken the boat and yet also arrive to the bridge? why a boat sequence then? i will skip this for now but it WILL play in the rating, imagine im the parent of the youngster watching this crap and i have to endure it

if it sucks this bad and is this illogical i might just get bored and change the channel, idc my progeny aint gonna be watching this in either case, ill make them watch political debates then interrogate them on what they learned after what but it wasnt actual political debates just random furry youtuber venting with their fursona sprites animated and thats how you make your kids retarded, the kick of this joke is that i aint planning on getting any kids but totally gonna make them watch classics too such as the attack of the killer donuts as soon as they reach 6 so they wont be dumb and probably not getting diabete or w/e in their adulthood

then honey pie saves the kids btw all of them, heavy shit

and they all go back to strawberryland, happily after a big “wow i missed you sm, you are my real friends w/e if you dont look like me i aint speciest guys really!” theyre all vegan too btw so this works for them i havent watched enough strawberry shortcake episodes to know if they ever eat meat but i have doubts seeing how theyre into a very cannibalistic diet which include eating dessert when obviously thats what they are at least half part, this cartoon raises a lot of political questions it may have a deeper value than i first attributed to it

the end: another terrible song plays about horseshit and how tasty it is

thats all folks

so the rating: big 6/10, so you know 5/10 if its a decent kid show where im highly eager to click on the x and get back making jams but nah

surprisingly enough, i only wanted to stop watching half of the episode and not the entirity of it so credits for thats since im an adult and not a kid, imagining kids enjoyed this sweet childish cartooness or w/e now why +1? its because of how many political questions it raised, how it made me think about our society and cakes yknow its more than kids having a conflict with an horse it talks about veganism, specism, handicap, cannibalism, the management of the limited ressources were exploiting and so on yea really makes you think, its subliminal messages to make kids smarter: they watch their dessert-imbecile counterparts doing bs and then get it right irl: good  ah- it also makes it better for you when youre watching this with your kid, you suddenly transcend to another level of spirituality, existential crisis activated or at least reasoning mode or w/e youre willing to name this the point is you arent bored still despite all of this i rated it quite low for such a serious kid cartoon what couldve possibly made me tic? 1) kids are morons and cant understand all of this, not clear enough for the targeted public 2) projection onto the characters/dialogues from the writers of their childhood traumas (the horse play event didnt go unnoticed, karren brown) 3) my little pony ripoff 4) its controversial, our society, especially in 2004 couldnt understand the depth of this shit and finally 5) i got so much ice cream flavoured horseshit all over my desk god help me this is so filthy what a fucking mess i would totally recommand it to anyone who feels like being blown away by the statements made in this work of art 6/10 but really we all know in the future, itll be a 9/10, some ahead-of-its-time-crap

tg, out

[feral--bog--witch]

Alright, Ive got some time between editing and chores where I can sit down and actually explain some discourse I was in a bit ago with a vegan radfem. I stated that animals dont have human emotions and that I lived on a farm and they stated I was not an animal lover if I owned a farm and that yes animals do have human emotions. I wanted to clarify my position.

I am not vegan or vegetarian, first thing out of the gate. I eat meat, eggs, honey, and drink milk. Do I have issues with the over production and handling of major agriculture and livestock centers? Abso-fucking-lutely. Over consumption has created an unsustainable and brutal system that needs to be fixed. I agree with this. However the use of animal products is something I will always disagree with. Specifically because of how I view life and death.

My view of life is that no matter where you go or who or what you are, you require death to sustain you. From the plants that grow to the tigers in the jungle, something must die or decay to feed life. It's a natural and inescapable circle. Fungus and bacteria feed of of decaying bodies, breaking them down to the barest forms. Plants grow while feeding off of those decayed remains, growing off of the nutrients left. Herbivores and omnivores eat the plants to sustain themselves, taking in that life to grow and flourish. Carnivores and omnivores eat the herbivores to sustain themselves, to grow strong and old. Eventually they all die, once again bringing us to the beginning of that cycle. There is no place on this earth where you can live without death. Every living being on this planet is alive because of death because death sustains us.

In a cosmic or spiritual sense I do not hold one living being as superior to another. To me I feel the same reverence towards the plants that I eat as I do to the chickens that lay the eggs I eat as I do to the steer whose flesh I consume. Each one of those creatures is revered to me, their death or work brings me life, sustains me, and each of them is important and none are more important than the other. They do not hold more or less value to me based on who they are. The garden I plant get the same love and affection as the animals I raise. Why should I love and revere one and not the other when both will end up giving their lives for the cycle we live in? I know I will one day die and my body will return to the earth and the cycle will begin again with me being consumed by the very things that I had consumed in life.

We all sustain ourselves on death, the death of a plant or an animal does not matter, it is still death. And each of those deaths has meaning and matters as each of those lives had meaning and mattered.

So now that I've explained that so you have a better understanding of how I view the world, let's discuss animals and emotions. Animals and plants do not have human emotion. They don't and no one can convince me otherwise. Why? Because a dog has dog emotions, a cow has cow emotions, a tree has tree emotions. They each have their own way of perceiving the world and we shouldn't forget that. When we get so intent on seeing ourselves in animals we forget to see them. We look for only ourselves and become blinded to just how special their perception of the world is. I don't want to know which dog emotion mimics human emotion. I want to know exactly how a dog perceives its world and processes it. I don't want to see me in a dog I want to see that dog as a dog, as a life perceiving its world around it in its own unique way. I want to connect with it not because I see humanity but because our perceptions overlap and I can see the world through its eyes, not my own.

I feel the same way about plants. They all perceive the world in unique and vastly different ways and when you look at the world and try to see humanity in it, you ignore and are blinded to the things that are removed from that narrow scope. Plants do have feelings and perceive the world but it's so vastly different from ours we say they have none. But if they did not then the rose would never have grown thorns, the tree would never scar, the grass would never release hormones to warn others when it is cut, the dandelions would not tell others to duck when they are cut either.

Plants have a vast world of communication and feeling that we do not see because we are so blinded by looking for ourselves in nature we refuse to see the perceptions of the things that are just too different to comprehend.

So no. Animals do not have human emotions. Animals have animal emotions, plants have plant emotions,and that's great and wonderful. Each of those perceptions of the world are so important in understanding life and each other. To think otherwise shows the human superiority complex we have. We believe we are the mould in which intelligent life itself is cast from, if it is not like us, if we cannot see ourselves within it, it is not truly living or feeling. It's useless and stupid and is not worth the time to understand because there is nothing there to understand. All because we tried to look for ourselves rather than simply see what each living thing perceives of the world.

Onto my farm and the accusation that if I own a farm I cannot love animals. Im not going to give away too many irl details but we inherited the farm back in 2000 when family died. We moved out here and have been here ever since. I spoke of generations of animals and I was telling the truth. A majority of the animals on our farm can be traced back to rescued animals. We have a great love of finding the poorest, most neglected little beasties and rescuing them and bringing them home. We took care of them, loved them, and let them flourish. Cull sheep, orphaned calves, cage hens, abused cats, neglected goats, meat horses, you name it, we probably rescued it at one point. We even had a few years where we would buy barn pigeons stuffed into tiny boxes simply to let them fly free.

Those first animals became our bedrock and we grew on them. They had babies and their babies had babies and they grew old and they died and their family line lives on. A vast majority of the animals on our farm can be traced back to a rescue we did. We let the animals be animals and that included having babies. Yes we will sell some and you could twist it and say we participate in the corporate industrial meat industry but not really.

We never sell to feedlots or through massive operations. It's farm to freezer. We sell directly to consumers or people who have consumers to sell to (some of our buyers have people who live provinces over so they facilitate the deals we couldn't under normal circumstances). These animals are well loved and taken care of to the moment they are sold and butchered. We dont run 600 head or 1000 head. We run less than 100 and some people prefer it to buying stock from a store. At least with us they have the opportunity to come and see where their meat is from and see how they are treated. (Let me tell you people get really excited when they see you can go through a sheep or goat herd with the animals trying to love on you for scratches because you hand raised most of them and know you always scratch the best.)

A vast majority of our butchering is done locally as well. The one shop we mainly use does on the farm slaughtering meaning you don't stress the animal out by shipping it to a huge plant where it is noisy and quite frankly terrifying or even shipping them all over to a new enviroment. They stay at home and they die at home as painlessly as possible. They arent stressed and they never have to leave the place they were born. I prefer it that way. I don't like my animals to get stressed or scared. Neither do the rest of us here.

Im an animal lover 100%. If owning a farm negates that in some people's eyes I have to ask why? Is it because cows aren't cute enough to love or own? Is it because sheep aren't good enough to be on posters? Is it because I choose to extend my love to the unconventional animals? The non-cuddly ones? Why does living on a farm negate my love of other beings? Should we have left their ancestors to be abused and neglected? Should we have sold off the native prairie pastures we have to be torn up into single crop farms rather than allow our animals to roam free? Should we have left the cage hens in their cages rather than let them have free range on the farm to do as they wish (seriously though. Our ladies eat all the bugs. I haven't had a tick in years. They eat them all)?

Yes we have to sell some for meat but that is how we sustain ourselves so we can continue to survive and buy feed for all those that are left. I dont care what people think about our farm or our animals because nothing will change the fact that we have goats that give you hugs, chickens that treat you like one of the girls and try to feed you, to cows that want to bounce and play with you, horses that think teasing you is the greatest fun in the world, and sheep that will bowl you over trying to get attention and love.

Our animals are happy, healthy, and well loved. And in this world, that's the best thing for them.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

phantom weights chapter five

one, two, three, four

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose.)

note: warning up front for some angst, references to jackson and scully’s past, and the clusterfuck of a motherhood arc they gave scully. i’m also sorry to post this on mother’s day.

---

It hurt like hell to wake up and find their son gone that morning in July. Scully would be lying if she said it didn't. He'd had the courtesy to leave a note, at least, but it was brief and left little comfort. They'd both been shocked by the abruptness of it; when he'd seen the note, Mulder had recoiled from it like he'd been hit.  

Scully tried not to let it bother her. Tried to tell herself she should expect things like this. Of course he was distant, she told herself; he had every right to be, considering what she had done. He needed space, and she was determined to give it to him. (They waited a week and a half to call him, nervous and shooting each other questioning looks. He didn't answer. They left a brief message, trying to sound cheerful and nonchalant. Mulder reached for her hand when they hung up, squeezing it reassuringly. She couldn't look him in the eye.)

She tried to distract herself. She checked more books out of the library. She researched a scientific article she'd wanted to write ever since her research into the so-called Spartan Virus that hopefully would never make an appearance. She read over the scraps of novel Mulder had written, scribbled notes in the margins. She took Daggoo for walks around the property, Mulder joining her as often as he could. They fell asleep on top of the comforter, Mulder holding her close. (He liked to whisper about the baby in her ear, his hand tangled in her hair. He thought the baby would look like her, just like you, Scully. He was going to love her so much.)

The days grew longer and hotter. They only called Jackson once every two weeks. They told each other that they could limit themselves to that.

Finally, somewhere in the middle of August, Mulder had the idea to take a vacation. Drive to the coast for a few days. "I think we could both use some time to relax," he said gently, coaxing.

"Isn't that what we've been doing?"  Scully snapped. She was irritable and disliked that she was irritable, hating the mood swings of the third trimester. "Relaxing? Or trying to?"

"A change of scenery might help with that," said Mulder. "We won't be rattling around this house with reminders of Jackson, and the baby…"

"What if the baby comes while we're gone? What if I go into early labor? What then?" She was eight months along, and terrified of the baby coming prematurely. She didn't know what her chances were if she came this early.

"We could get a place near a hospital. And besides that, your due date is still several weeks out."

She was quiet. She could feel the baby turning over, moving restlessly, and she let her eyes slide shut. She'd been so worried the whole time, ever since she took those pregnancy tests—she was still worried. She worried nearly every day. She knew at the beginning of this all that it'd be hard to lose another baby, but she didn't realize how hard until she got to know her child. Felt her moving inside of her, and realized that it was all real.

(Not that she thought she was going to lose the baby. But it was a possibility that loomed over her like a black cloud, a possibility that frightened her more than anything. Losing Mulder or Jackson or her baby.)

But she realized as Mulder slipped his arms around her that she did want to go. It was impractical, but not necessarily dangerous, and she wanted to go. She hadn't taken a vacation with Mulder in so long. She thought of him by the ocean, on the island where they'd gone after he'd been exonerated. She thought of a few days away from home, not surrounded by reminders, as Mulder had said, that their son was a sporadic and reluctant presence in their life, and they were about to be new parents again at the age of retirement. She kept her eyes shut as Mulder kissed the back of her head. "Honey… if you don't want to…" he whispered into her hair. "It was just a thought, but I completely understand if it's too much…"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He pushed her hair, growing gradually longer, away from her face with gentle fingers. She sniffled a little, giving him a stern look. "I want to be cautious," she said. "I want to plan things out, and be ready if there's an emergency."

"Of course, of course." He put a reassuring hand to her cheek. "Are you sure?" he said softly. "We don't have to go…"

"I want to go," she whispered. She leaned into him, her back aching, her eyes shutting again. "We need to be careful, but I want to go. I think you're right. I need this."

"What was that, Scully?" he teased in a soft voice. "I was what?"

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Mulder," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "You did promise me a vacation back in March, remember?" And he had, right around the time she'd moved back in.

"I did," he said, remembering. He cupped the side of her head, fingers in her hair, smoothing her cheek. "You'll be okay," he whispered. "The both of you. I promise you that."

---

Within the week, they were driving into Delaware. Mulder had found a little house on the coast that was miraculously for rent, which was within a couple hours of home and not far from a hospital. The best possible scenario. It was a nice house, a nice view, a sprawling screened-in porch that looked out over the ocean. Scully loved it on first sight. "Be nice to the owner," she told him sternly that first night, tucked into his side on the porch swing, listening to the crash of the waves. "If he likes us, he might let us come back in the future."

"Hmm," Mulder said, half asleep. "I'll bring you here every year if you want."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she whispered. She was imagining their baby (their daughter) on that beach, running in and out of the water, and halfway thinking it was a bad idea, but fully not wanting to stop. She watched the churning waves meld with the blackening sky.

The house had a huge bathtub, which may have been Scully's favorite part of the house. She and Mulder climbed in together, him behind her, lathering her hair with gentle fingers. He pressed his face into her wet neck and held her tight. She nearly fell asleep in his arms, the baby turning and flipping as if going for a swim. They left the window open so they could hear the ocean, feel the night breeze. It was perhaps the most relaxed she had felt in months. "This was a nice idea," she whispered, hoping desperately that nothing would go long, hoping that they could just stay here for a week and relax and that nothing would go wrong.

---

In the morning, Scully woke long before Mulder—the baby's restless movements kept her up more often than she liked. As the sun rose over the ocean, she slipped downstairs and took Daggoo out into the yard. He puttered around the square of grass, sniffing before peeing on a tree. Scully placed a hand over her stomach and gazed out towards the ocean. There was a nice breeze, cool for the middle of August, nudging at her hair, her face. She couldn't wait for Mulder to get up. She thought that she never wanted to leave here.

The waves crashed, the sound dim because of her distance from them. Behind her, Daggoo burst into frantic, excited barks. She heard a car engine, and turned around just time to see a car rolling up the gravelly driveway. Jackson's car. She knew before she saw him; she could feel him.

Daggoo whimpered, pawing at her leg. When the car door opened, he went running to meet him.

Scully smiled before she even realized she was doing it. Even though she and Mulder had come up to spend some time alone, she was incredibly happy to see him. Her son. "Hi, Jackson," she said.

Jackson cleared his throat, leaning down to greet Daggoo, scratch the top of his head. "Hi, Dana." Daggoo licked his hand, and he grinned a little. He scooped up the wriggling dog and cradled him like a baby. He met Scully's eyes skittishly, like a stray cat. "I, uh," he said, "was wondering if I could stay a couple days."

Scully didn't need to ask how he had found them. She already knew. She still had a hand on her stomach; she took it away in order to motion towards the door. "Come on in," she said.

---

Jackson hadn't intended to go back. He'd intended for the weekend at their house to be the last time, at least for a while. If not forever. He hadn't meant to come back, for their sakes as much as his own. He wanted the night they watched movies together to be the end of it. And he thought it probably would've been, if he hadn't run out of money.

The warehouse job had fired him. About a week ago, they'd fired him. He didn't really know why. Maybe it was his shitty attitude, maybe it was the weed he had in his car. Maybe they'd figured out that his name and age were fake. Who knew at this point. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know. But he'd lost one of his two jobs, and he was running out of money at a rapid pace. Spending recklessly. He was going to have to cut off some of the streaming services, and maybe the WiFi, if he didn't get smart. He was worried about food, worried about making rent and car insurance and all of it. (The warehouse paid substantially more than Burger King.) He didn't know what the hell he was going to do. Even after he'd had the insane idea to go on fucking vacation with them.

He'd sworn he wasn't going to do this anymore. But he was running out of money, and he knew they'd give it. And a few days at the beach was a few days he didn't have to pay for food, even with the heightened gas costs. (And besides that, he kind of wanted to stay somewhere besides his crummy apartment. Kind of wanted to spend a few goddamn days at the beach. He missed the coast. He wanted a break.)

He'd just stay a little while. Charm them out of some money. Give them one last good memory, and maybe not sneak out in the middle of the damn night this time. That was the idea. That was what drove him to Delaware, windows rolled down, following the road map he could see in Ginger's mind.

At least the dog was happy to see him, if nothing else. At least he had that.

(Not that he necessarily thought Dana wasn't happy to see him. But. He knew that she and Mulder had both been hurt when he'd run off in the middle of the night. He'd felt it, and he didn't like thinking about it. It made him feel small and tangled-up inside. It made him not want to come back.)

Inside the beach house, Scully immediately went to the kitchen, offering food. "Mulder's still asleep, but I can make you some breakfast…" she started.

"You don't need to cook," said Jackson. (He was feeling small and embarrassed and he didn't feel like he could ask for that. He could ask for a few hundred dollars, but he wouldn't ask her to make breakfast.) "I can feed myself."

"I don't mind," she said, scooping coffee grounds into the coffeemaker.

"Seriously, let me do it," he insisted, pushing past her towards the refrigerator. "I've already intruded on your vacation. Might as well make my own breakfast." He pulled a packet of bacon out of the fridge and slapped them on a paper towel, and then on a paper plate. He usually made bacon in the microwave because it was quick, and because he hated bending over the crackling pan and risking a grease burn.

"Help yourself to anything," Dana said gently, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee should be ready soon."

"Thank you." He stuck the bacon in the microwave with another slab of paper towel over top before going for the loaf of bread to make toast. He was still avoiding Scully's eyes as he popped slices of bread into the toaster.

Past the kitchen, he heard stairs creaking with footsteps. Daggoo yipped excitedly, prancing out of the kitchen to go and who was presumably Mulder. "Hello, mutt," Jackson heard Mulder say with a dry sort of affection. Scully gave a small chuckle. Jackson didn't turn around, his neck flushed and hot.

More footsteps, and then an abrupt stop in the doorway. A few awkward seconds passed before Mulder said, "Hey, Jackson. Wh-when did you get here?"

He cleared his throat, turning around and offering a sheepish smile. "Just a few minutes ago," he said. "Sorry to intrude." The microwave beeped loudly.

"It's not an intrusion," said Mulder, although he was shooting Scully a questioning look and trying to look like he wasn't. He offered Jackson a broad grin. "You're welcome any time."

"Of course you are," Dana added warmly, and Jackson could practically feel the combination of hope and nerves radiating off of both of them. Hoping that he'd come because he wanted to, and that he'd stay, nervous that he'd run off again. This was why he hadn't wanted to come. He gave a thankful nod, turned towards the microwave and pulled out his plate of bacon. It had nearly burned.

"There's an extra bedroom upstairs. You make yourself at home," Mulder said.

"Thank you, I will," Jackson said. And he would. He would try his best, partially because he wouldn't ask for money right away, unprecedented, but also because he owed them that, at least. Owed them a few nice days where he wasn't being a total ass, especially if this was the last time he'd see them. (And he did intend that, for their sake and for the kid's. He honestly wasn't sure if the danger still existed—all the quiet over the past few months had halfway convinced him it didn't exist—but he didn't want to risk it. Even staying for these few days was stressing him out. Only the fact that he hadn't seen any danger in the past couple months had convinced him that these few days would be okay. This had to be the end.)

Jackson sat down at the table, adjacent to Scully. She and Mulder were discussing breakfast, but he wasn't really listening. He bit off a corner of a slice of toast and looked absently out the window. He saw the house next door, saw the overgrown yard. Saw the two people in sunglasses, standing close together, looking at the beach house and whispering.

---

Jackson stayed quiet. The moody, brooding quiet Mulder recognized from his own teenage years. (Thinking about it, he supposed that he and his son were a lot alike at this stage of their lives. They'd lost a family member, or members, they'd both faded into themselves and the depth of their grief. They'd both had a bad attitude and a martyr complex.) They didn't push him. They wanted to give him space.

(Mulder wasn't upset that Jackson had shown up. He wasn't. He would've loved for him to come along in the first place. The family vacations he'd always wanted to take. But he'd had the idea as a solution to Scully's stress. To give her a chance to relax, take some time for the two of them to rest before their lives were thrown into upheaval. And he was overjoyed to see their son, but he didn't want things to go like last time. It had crushed Scully to find him gone, crushed them both, and he didn't want them to go through that again. He wanted his son to come home and come home for good, wanted the assurance that he would be there every morning.)

They ended up on the beach, the three of them, Jackson sprawled out on a towel with a book on black holes that they'd both smiled a little at. He had sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, and he squinted at the book in the bright sunlight. He didn't look away from the book when he said, "So, how's the kid?"

"Fine," Scully replied. "Restless. I think we'll both be relieved when she gets here."

Jackson was still looking at the book when he said, "It's a girl?" But there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, a hint enough that Mulder caught.

"We think so," he said. "We're not sure yet."

"That's cool." Jackson flipped a page, still not looking at them.

Scully offered, "So, how are your jobs going?"

This made Jackson snap the book closed; he set it on the towel next to him. "Um," he said. "Okay, I guess. I got fired at one."

"Really?" Scully asked, and he nodded, as best as he could nod while lying on the ground. "Oh my god. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Don't think they liked me. Or I wasn't a good employee. Some shit like that."

"Are… are you okay?" Mulder asked, his voice husky with guilt over his initial reaction to Jackson showing up. Of course he'd come; he'd just lost a job, he probably needed help. "Do you need money?"

Jackson bit his lip. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble, I think so."

They didn't even have to look at each other; they both knew they were going to agree before they opened their mouths. "Yes, of course," Scully said quietly, her voice full of a melancholy affection. (They'd both been devastated when he left.) "Whatever you need, sweetie," she said, and he could hear the sincerity. There wasn't a hint of condescension; she meant every word.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He sounded embarrassed. He picked up his book off of the towel and opened it again.

Scully reached for Mulder's hand blindly, found it on the arm of his chair and squeezed it. He squeezed wordlessly back.

After a few moments, the waves pounding the sand and Scully and Jackson turning pages, Jackson asked in the most casual voice possible, "So, you ever had a case about a black hole?"

Mulder grinned. "Not really," he said. "But we met this guy once who thought the secret to alien contact was black holes. He thought it served as some kind of teleportation created by the aliens so that the two cultures could meet without extensive, unrealistic travel times."

Jackson snorted, sitting up on the towel so fast that his sunglasses slipped down and hit the bridge of his nose, his book tumbling into his lap. "Well, that doesn't seem very plausible."

"Thank you," Scully said with a relieved, amused sigh. She was suddenly animated, pushing back the Knicks cap she'd stolen from Mulder and leaning forward to talk to Jackson. "You should've heard the explanations he came up with. It was ridiculous…"

Mulder leaned back, content not to argue very hard. He'd let them gang up on him every day if it meant they could have this.

---

They went inside, later, Jackson and Mulder shouldering the equipment without a word. As they tramped up the path to the beach, Jackson saw the same people from before in the yard next door, leaning together, whispering and pointing. Maybe it was a coincidence, he told himself. He wondered why the goddamn FBI agents hadn't noticed yet, that their neighbors might be watching them.

He tried not to let it phase him. It was probably a coincidence.

After a sparse lunch, Scully promptly fell asleep stretched out on the couch, one arm over her stomach and the other over her eyes. Mulder covered her up with an afghan, tucking it around her. Jackson tried not to watch. He felt awkward around them, like he was intruding.

Mulder smoothed hair off of Dana's forehead and turned to Jackson. "Make yourself at home, kiddo," he said. "Seriously. You want to watch a movie or something?"

"Uh, sure," he said. "Sure, sure. What did you have in mind?"

Mulder shrugged. "I found Back to the Future on the shelf over there. Want to do that?"

Jackson nodded. He used to love those movies; he used to watch them at sleepovers.

When he was little, he used to think that maybe he didn't have a dad, because he never saw him, and because his mom said that single moms were more likely to give up children. He figured he was just gone, that he had left and maybe that was why Ginger had given him up. He'd thought about Ginger more, because he'd been able to feel her, guess that maybe she used to love him, but he used to wonder about his dad. He used to imagine him as a sort of dark romantic hero, someone who loved his mother and him dearly, but had to leave because he had to do something more important. Or maybe to protect them. And he missed them both desperately, but could not risk coming home to find them. But he never knew why he couldn't see him.

Later, he would get visions of that other man, the one who had been manipulating him, and he'd wanted to forget about the idea of a father. He held onto the idea of Ginger right up until the end, but he'd wanted to forget about a birth father.

And then he'd learned the truth. He'd met Mulder. And as much as he didn't want to think of Mulder and Scully as his parents, he was glad that Mulder was his birth father instead of that smoking fucker.

The funniest part of it all seemed to be that the stupid little childhood fantasy seemed to be true, as far as he could tell. He didn't know if Mulder was necessarily a romantic hero or any of that bullshit, but it was clear he'd loved them both, him and Ginger. And he'd left to protect them. Fucking ironic.

Mulder sat at the end of the couch, Scully's feet in his lap. Jackson sprawled out on the floor. The movie was as good as he remembered, but he found it hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about time travel, what he wouldn't give for a DeLorean time machine. He wouldn't go back in time for anything other than saving his parents. And he would give anything for that opportunity. Anything at all.

Midway through the movie, Mulder got up to make popcorn. "Butter?" he asked, and Jackson nodded. He chuckled, pouring kernels into a pot. "You know, your mom believes in time travel," he said.  

It took Jackson a minute to make the connection, but when he did, he was genuinely shocked. From what he'd seen about the two of them, he'd figured Dana was usually the skeptical one. "Really?" he said in response.

"Yeah. Well. The theoretical possibility of it." He grinned absently. "She wrote about it in her senior thesis."

"Wow." Jackson propped himself up on the couch, eyes back on the TV. "Didn't know Dana had it in her."

"She believes in more than you'd expect," he said. "Or that she herself would admit."

"Hmm." Jackson flopped back against the carpet, watching Marty McFly skateboarding through the streets. He could hear Dana breathing sleepily behind him, and it was still strange, strange as hell: to hear her there when she'd only existed in his head for so long.

Mulder walked back over to the couch, his feet squeaking on the floorboards. "She really loves you, you know," he said quietly. "Dana. She loves you so much."

Jackson swallowed hard. Part of him was a little relieved to know these things, that they cared about him, but part of him wished they wouldn't say these things every single time. Part of him wished they didn't have to. "I know," he whispered, though he didn't. He hadn't been sure for a long time.

He couldn't remember the first time he'd seen her, it'd been happening so long. He usually saw her when he was scared or in pain. When he seized. After nightmares. When he was in the hospital, hooked up to machines or choking on gas, curled up in a ball behind a couch in the main room; he'd see her helping children, being the type of doctor that he never ever had, a good doctor instead of an evil one. It had been comforting. He'd held onto that image for so long: Ginger's a good doctor, Ginger would never do this to me. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly imaginative and hopeless: Ginger will come and save me. Ginger will take me home. And she never did. But it was an emotion that he held onto for so long that when he saw her when he was seizing, almost two years ago—when he saw the future, the pandemic and everyone dying and Ginger saying that she needed to find him—he'd thought that maybe it was true. Maybe she could save him, and his parents. That was why he'd sent her dreams after what happened with Bri and Sarah; he'd been hoping that she could help him. Be the Ginger he always saw in his dreams.

She'd let him down in that regard; she hadn't been able to save him or his parents. It had taken ages for him to forgive her for that. But she wasn't necessarily different from the woman he had seen all his life. Not really.

He remembered seeing her once when he was about three or four, asleep, curled into a protective sort of ball around a small, ratty stuffed animal. At the time, he'd thought it was strange for an adult to sleep with a toy the way that he did, but now he understood why. It was his, that rabbit they'd shown him the last time. She had been missing him, so she'd held onto his rabbit to create some kind of connection with him. She'd missed him, the way he'd always hoped she had.

That was how he knew that Mulder was telling the truth. He thought a part of him might've always known. He just wasn't sure whether or not to believe it.

He lay flat on the carpet, eating the popcorn Mulder made and watching Marty McFly manipulate his parents together, trying not to imagine a universe where his entire life went differently.

---

After Scully woke up, she and Mulder played several games of Scrabble at the table while Jackson read his book on the couch, Daggoo's head resting on his thigh. He was tense for reasons he couldn't exactly explain, jumping at sharp noises, eyes darting over to the window or door constantly. He thought it might've had something to do with the people he'd spotted watching them twice today, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. They were probably just nosy neighbors. Mulder and Scully didn't seem worried at all; they were teasing each other, and bickering over what qualified as a word or not, and they didn't seem to be on edge.

Jackson was probably just imagining it. He told himself again and again that he was just imagining it.

Later that afternoon, Mulder offered to go and pick up some food for dinner. "So neither of us have to cook and you don't have to bother with going out," he said to Scully, smoothing hair away from her face.

"You're sweet," she said in a dry voice that landed somewhere between authenticity and sarcasm. "But you don't have to go pick something up, Mulder…"

"Don't be ridiculous. I know you've been craving crab since before we got here." He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, and she made a face at him. "You sit tight, I'll be back in a little bit," he said, before turning to Jackson, who'd been trying very hard to ignore them on the other side of the room. It was even more uncomfortable than usual to be around them when they were being like this. His parents had loved each other and everything, but they'd never been so overtly fucking affectionate.

"Jack? You want to ride along?" Mulder asked, his face a mask of casualness.

He weighed his options—going with Mulder or staying back with Dana—and decided that Mulder was actively the better choice. "Sure," he said, getting to his feet and grabbing his phone.

"Make sure to get some calamari," said Dana, unphased, picking her book up off the couch. "Drive safe."

"Says the horrible driver," Mulder said, kissing the top of her head. "Be back in a few."

Jackson, already halfway towards the door, felt as if he should say something, at least. He turned around and offered an awkward little wave. "Bye, Dana."

She gave him a huge smile over the top of his book that made him feel guilty and like a five-year-old all over again. Trying not to squirm, he gave her a trembly smile back. He wasn't sure how sincere it was; he felt like he owed it for her, but he also felt a little bit like he meant it.

---

The drive was mostly uneventful. Jackson looked up the menu of the restaurant on his phone so he could pick out his order. Mulder asked him questions about sports teams, basketball and baseball, and this was an easy topic; Jackson could talk about meaningless things like sports for hours. It was easy to fall into these kinds of conversations, as long as it didn't get too emotional.

It wasn't until they got home that the feeling of unease settled back into Jackson's gut. He saw the neighbors again, huddled at the fence between the two houses, their phones raised like they were taking photos of the house.

His heart was beating too fast, a lump in his throat, and he clutched the bags of takeout so hard they left red imprints on his palm. He stared at the neighbors, a man and a woman, until one of them turned towards him. The distance and the dark lenses of the sunglasses they were wearing made it difficult to discern their expression, but Jackson knew he was looking at him.

"Mulder," he said quietly, not wanting to break eye contact, but when Mulder didn't respond, he turned towards the car and said, "Mulder," more pointedly.

Mulder, who'd been rummaging through the glove compartment, stood up straight. "Sorry, I just realized I forgot napkins, and I wanted to see if we had any stashed in here," he said. "What's up?"

"D-do you see those people over there?" Jackson said in a rush, turning in that direction. "The people in the next ya—" But when he turned, he only saw an empty fence. They were gone.

Mulder squinted in that direction, his hand shielding his eyes. "I don't see anyone," he said. "Why?"

Jackson gritted his teeth together. He was scared, and he didn't know what to do, and he didn't want to go, and he was afraid that these people were exactly what he thought. And he needed the money, and he didn't want to leave, didn't want to hurt them unnecessarily, but he had seen these people all day. They were watching the house. They weren't dressed like assassins, like the people who had killed his parents or came after him, but maybe they'd improved in covertness. Maybe they were trying to lull the goddamn FBI agents into a false sense of security. They were after him, and he was putting them in danger, and he didn't think they'd gone after Scully yet, if they were only taking pictures of the house, but Jesus Christ, what if they had? What if they were going to come later? What the hell could he do? He couldn't let this happen again.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked. His hand landed gently on Jackson's shoulder, probably meant to comfort or to get his attention, but Jackson still jumped a mile. Mulder snatched his hand away, but he didn't move away; his eyes were still full of worry. "Are you okay?"

He bit down on his lip so hard it bled. "Fine," he said, nearly spitting. "Fine, fine. I…" He put the takeout bags down on the seat abruptly. "I'm going for a run." Let them come after me, he thought. Fucking chase me if they want. But not them. Not the kid.

"R-right now?" Mulder said with a nervous little laugh. "What about your food?"

"Whatever, I'll eat later." His heart was thumping too fast; he felt like he was going to vomit.

Mulder's eyes were wide and full of worry; he reached out to touch his shoulder, but drew back immediately. "Buddy, why don't you come inside?" he said softly. "If something's wrong… we can talk about it."

"No," he snapped. Couldn't go in, couldn't lead the assassins there, couldn't find out whether or not Ginger was already hurt or dead… He had to believe she was fine, that they wouldn't have made a move when he wasn't there. "I gotta go, I gotta go," he said, and then he turned and took off running. Went towards the beach, even though he knew it'd be a pain in the ass to run on, because he figured that if they were going to try to kill him, he should try to fight them off somewhere semi-private. So that nobody else would get hurt, not the people who were uninvolved and didn't deserve to get tangled up in the middle.

Mulder called his name, his voice full of concern, but Jackson didn't look back.

---

He ran for nearly half an hour before he figured out they weren't pursuing him. He fell to the sand with exhaustion, blood pulsing through him, panting and gasping for air. It took forever for him to catch his breath. He lay on the cool sand, eyes shut, the waves crashing behind him.

He might question why the assassins hadn't come after him already, but then again, he might think of the fact that the assassins could have gone in the house, that they could have Mulder and Scully and were holding them captive to lure him back. Maybe he shouldn't have left so hastily. Maybe that wouldn't help a damn thing.

The thing was that he had to protect him. They weren't his parents, but they were his parents, and he couldn't let anything happen to them. Them or the baby, which might be a girl, and he'd already lost a sister that he'd never known he had. Dana had already lost two children, even if one was of her own doing. He couldn't let anything happen to them. Not for money, not for selfish reasons, not for anything.

The thing was that he'd made a promise, once, to protect his parents. As a child, he'd wanted to be protected, but he wanted to protect his family, too. When his mom and dad had gotten him out of the hospital, before they moved to Norfolk, they'd slept all in one bed because Jackson hated being alone then, he was so, so scared. They didn't think the doctors would come and get him back—"If they did," his dad had growled under his breath, "I'd sue the fucking pants off that place"—but Jackson had been afraid they would. He'd lain in the middle of his parents' bed, one of his favorite places in the whole wide world, and he'd curled into his mom and was so relieved not to be back in that place, where they'd hurt him, and he said in a small voice, "Thanks for saving me."

His mom kissed the top of his head. "Of course, honey. Of course," she whispered. "I never ever ever would've left you in there. Never. We're family, and we look out for each other."

"You protect me, I protect you?" he asked meekly.

His dad laughed a little, tousling his hair. "Sure, buddy. Sure. Although we don't want you to worry about protecting us just yet. That's our job."

But despite his father's words, Jackson had taken it seriously. He'd made a silent promise to protect his parents, all those years ago, and he'd included Ginger, the small, comforting presence at the back of his skull, in that promise. As a child, he really thought he could do it; he wanted to believe he could do it. And he'd forgotten about that promise, even though as he grew stronger and more in control,, it really was something he could do.

But he'd failed. He'd failed his parents, he'd broken his promise, even if it had been a childhood promise, and now they were dead. He could've prevented it if he'd seen the assassins coming, if he'd been ready, but he hadn't. He hadn't. And now they were gone. He couldn't break that promise again.

The longer he lay on the beach, thinking of that promise and of his parents, dead in an ambulance beside him, and of Mulder and Dana and his little sister, who deserved to have a life, the more he knew he had to go back. Not permanently. Not permanently. Only to make sure that they were okay, that they weren't being held captive. And then he had to end it, end it for good this time. Had to make sure he couldn't go back for money, or for nostalgia, or because they missed him. It was too dangerous, too risky. He couldn't have that option there because he would use it, and he would put them in danger all over again. He had to burn his bridges, had to make sure they wouldn't come after him. Had to break their hearts.

---

Scully hadn't touched her food yet. She'd been hungry all day, but she'd found herself unable to eat when Mulder had come in alone, his face split with worry. When he explained that Jackson was upset for some reason, and that he'd run off.

She had insisted on trying to go after him, but Mulder had talked her down. We have no idea where he's gone or how far ahead of us he is, he'd said. And he left because he wants time to himself. I know how scary it is to have him gone, but he doesn't need us to be there every second. He'll probably come back because his car is here, he can't get far without his car or wallet or… She could hear the worry in his voice, and knew that he was trying to reassure himself just as much as her. And she knew it probably wasn't a good idea to run around out there at eight months pregnant, and she knew Mulder wouldn't leave her. Knew that he was right about Jackson needing space. And so they waited, shoulder to shoulder together on the couch like parents waiting for a child who skipped curfew. Mulder held her hand in his, and the food went untouched where it sat on the counter.

The sky was streaked with purple darkness when Jackson finally came back, after what seemed like hours had passed. He burst through the door in an angry sort of way, hunched down and not meeting their eyes. His hair was mussed and he was covered in sand. His entire posture betrayed his emotions: strong, dark, upset.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked, his voice hopeful. He got no answer. Jackson headed straight to the counter, passing the food piled up and heading for the keys he'd left on the counter this morning.

"Jackson, sweetie?" Scully asked, her voice breaking. "Are you… is everything okay?"

"Yeah." His voice was rough, furious. "Yeah, sure, fine."

Scully swallowed hard, and felt Mulder squeeze her hand. "We… we were so worried—"

She was cut off by her son's harsh, mocking laughter. "Really?" he said, throwing his hands out in disbelief, his keys jangling.  He grabbed his wallet and shoved it in his pocket. "You were worried? Worried about the son you threw away? Well, that's fucking rich."

If he'd intended to leave her speechless, it had worked. Scully was frozen on the couch, her fingers tangled limply in Mulder's. She had no idea what to say to that; it wasn't exactly untrue. "Jackson… we didn't…" Mulder started uncertainly.

"Oh, you didn't? I'm not sure about that. The way I see it, it seems like you kept me around for about nine months before you got tired of me and gave me up for adoption. And then, you never came looking for me, not once, until it was convenient for you. Until you needed me to make some fucking antidote."

This time, Mulder seemed to be rendered speechless. Scully still couldn't speak; her throat was thick with the onslaught of incoming tears. She had so many things to apologize for, but she couldn't jar the words loose.

Jackson laughed, his voice breaking. "I-I spent six goddamn months in a hospital being poked and prodded and treated like a lab rat… I got saddled with powers I never asked for or understood for some fucked up reason… they murdered my parents, and they tried to kill me for months, and it all fucking started from the moment you gave me up. You wanna pretend we can play house, and be some happy goddamn family? Bullshit. You're only keeping me around in case the world ends, and you need a little lab rat to make your life easier."

That wasn't true. Scully felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sudden need to make things right. "That's not true," she said, and began to sit up, thinking that she would get to her feet and go to her baby and tell him she was sorry and that she loved him and she'd do anything in the world for him, thinking it would all be okay…

But Jackson was still talking. "And I'd hate to see what you're going to do to this new kid. I wonder how long you'll keep her around before disaster strikes. You gonna throw her away, too, when things get tough? What do you think will happen when somebody comes to make her a lab rat?" Mulder made a hurt, defensive sound, and Scully fell back against the couch, weak. All the fight beat out of her. She muffled a sob behind her palm as Jackson finished: "You should just give the kid to me, because as fucked up as I am, I'd probably do a better fucking job at raising it than you two."

Scully shut her eyes. Every single word was one that she deserved, but it still hurt so badly to hear it. It was all of her fears, her guilt, spilled out onto the floor. She should've known that he would say these things eventually, but it still gutted her to the core.

She heard a whimper next to her, and knew that Mulder was crying. She opened her eyes, wiping them with her thumb, just as Jackson said, "I've got to go. I'm leaving now." He had his keys in his hand, and that was when Scully realized he hadn't actually brought in anything from his car. He'd been here less than twenty-four hours; it was like he hadn't even wanted to stay.

He'd turned towards the door, his movements those of an unstoppable freight train, but it didn't stop Scully from trying to stop him. "Jackson..." she whispered, just before the door slammed shut, and she realized then that she didn't know what she would say. She could say I'm sorry, but she'd already said that so many times.

She heard a sniffle from beside her, and then Mulder was wrapping his arms around her, his head leaning on her shoulder. She could feel his tears soaking into her shirt. She bit back tears of her own and wrapped her hands around his, their arms aligned. She held on tight. They sat there for a long time.

---

"It's not going to go that way," he told her later, his arms around her. They were in bed now, him wrapped around her, his chin on her shoulder. She sniffled and said nothing. He kissed her hair. "It's not," he murmured. "We… we're going to do better this time. We're going to be good parents for her."

She didn't have the strength to reply, so she just nodded. She could feel the baby moving under her hand.

"And all those things he said…" he started hesitantly. "You know they're not—"

"No, I know that they are," she whispered. "All of it. All of it was true except the intent."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. He squeezed her tight, his face buried in her shoulder blade. She could feel his heartbeat against her back. They lay still.

"He told me something," she said after a while, "before… before Spender died. He told me that he knew I love him. And I… I thought he was you. I asked how he could know that. And tonight…" She bit back a shudder. "It just makes me wonder if he really knows, if he'll ever really know. Or understand. If… if any of my children will ever know." She was thinking about Emily, as she often had over the course of this pregnancy, and about William, and about her baby, and she didn't know if she could do this again. She loved them all so much but she didn't know how to do this. How to not fuck it up again.

"You know," Mulder whispered in her ear, "he told me the same thing. Today. While you were napping. I told him you loved him, and he said he knew."

She flinched a little at that; she was wondering what had changed. She'd been thinking that a lot, all day: they'd been having what seemed like a pleasant time, if not a little awkward, he had come to spend time at a beach house with them, and then something had changed in him, and then this. And then the horribleness of this.

"I hope that he knows," she said, because that seemed to be all there was to say. If she had nothing else with him, she could hopefully have that. Even if he resented her, she wanted him to know how much she loved him, and how terribly, terribly sorry she was. "I want him to—" she began, and her voice broke. She couldn't finish.

She could feel the tests welling up, and she pressed her face into Mulder's forearm. "Shhhh," he whispered, nose in her hair, hugging her tight. "It's okay. It's okay. He knows that you love him. And so will she. I… I don't see how they couldn't."

---

The next morning, Scully woke up long before Mulder again, even though she'd fallen asleep very late last night to the gentle sound of Mulder's reassurances. She had to pee, and so she got up to do that, repeating to herself the reassurances Mulder had given her last night. They'd stay the rest of the week, provided she felt well. They deserved some time to themselves. The baby would come in a few weeks, and she would be perfect. They already had the room ready, and everything else ready, and they loved her so much. And maybe someday Jackson would come back. Maybe.

It was cold comfort, all things considered, and she wanted to get her mind off of it. Think about something else. She could hear Daggoo's toenails at the front door, and so she went down to let him out, standing on the front step while he puttered around the yard. Shielding her eyes from the sunrise, she scanned the horizon until her eyes fell on two people standing on the sidewalk behind their house. People she recognized from yesterday; she'd seen them in the yard next door when they were coming back in from the beach. They were looking at her expectantly, like they wanted her to do something, sunglasses pushed up on their heads.

Unsettled, she crossed her arms over herself and called out, "Can I help you?" They didn't seem particularly dangerous, but she didn't want to risk it.

Something like excitement passed over their faces. The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled back, "Are you Dana Scully? From Tad O'Malley's show?"

Annoyance prickled at Scully's spine. She could be grateful to Tad O'Malley for getting her back on the X-Files, or for spreading the rumor of the pandemic, but she sure as hell wasn't grateful for the multiple times he'd referred to her by name. Even if he'd left her out of it the last time, though she probably should've been cited there over Mulder. Despite the favors O'Malley had done for her, she was still a bit disgusted at his ridiculous show. She wasn't sure the last time she'd been mentioned on the show, but she figured it had been a long time ago, and she had no idea why these people remembered it. Nor did she particularly want to spend time in their company.

"Your husband is Fox Mulder?" the man was yelling. "He knows about conspiracies? A global conta—"

"I'm not who you think I am," Scully shouted back irritably, not in the mood for any of this. "Now please get off my property."

Daggoo clambered up on the doorstep beside her and she shooed him inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.

It hurt like hell to wake up and find their son gone that morning in July. Scully would be lying if she said it didn't. He'd had the courtesy to leave a note, at least, but it was brief and left little comfort. They'd both been shocked by the abruptness of it; when he'd seen the note, Mulder had recoiled from it like he'd been hit.  

Scully tried not to let it bother her. Tried to tell herself she should expect things like this. Of course he was distant, she told herself; he had every right to be, considering what she had done. He needed space, and she was determined to give it to him. (They waited a week and a half to call him, nervous and shooting each other questioning looks. He didn't answer. They left a brief message, trying to sound cheerful and nonchalant. Mulder reached for her hand when they hung up, squeezing it reassuringly. She couldn't look him in the eye.)

She tried to distract herself. She checked more books out of the library. She researched a scientific article she'd wanted to write ever since her research into the so-called Spartan Virus that hopefully would never make an appearance. She read over the scraps of novel Mulder had written, scribbled notes in the margins. She took Daggoo for walks around the property, Mulder joining her as often as he could. They fell asleep on top of the comforter, Mulder holding her close. (He liked to whisper about the baby in her ear, his hand tangled in her hair. He thought the baby would look like her, just like you, Scully. He was going to love her so much.)

The days grew longer and hotter. They only called Jackson once every two weeks. They told each other that they could limit themselves to that.

Finally, somewhere in the middle of August, Mulder had the idea to take a vacation. Drive to the coast for a few days. "I think we could both use some time to relax," he said gently, coaxing.

"Isn't that what we've been doing?"  Scully snapped. She was irritable and disliked that she was irritable, hating the mood swings of the third trimester. "Relaxing? Or trying to?"

"A change of scenery might help with that," said Mulder. "We won't be rattling around this house with reminders of Jackson, and the baby…"

"What if the baby comes while we're gone? What if I go into early labor? What then?" She was eight months along, and terrified of the baby coming prematurely. She didn't know what her chances were if she came this early.

"We could get a place near a hospital. And besides that, your due date is still several weeks out."

She was quiet. She could feel the baby turning over, moving restlessly, and she let her eyes slide shut. She'd been so worried the whole time, ever since she took those pregnancy tests—she was still worried. She worried nearly every day. She knew at the beginning of this all that it'd be hard to lose another baby, but she didn't realize how hard until she got to know her child. Felt her moving inside of her, and realized that it was all real.

(Not that she thought she was going to lose the baby. But it was a possibility that loomed over her like a black cloud, a possibility that frightened her more than anything. Losing Mulder or Jackson or her baby.)

But she realized as Mulder slipped his arms around her that she did want to go. It was impractical, but not necessarily dangerous, and she wanted to go. She hadn't taken a vacation with Mulder in so long. She thought of him by the ocean, on the island where they'd gone after he'd been exonerated. She thought of a few days away from home, not surrounded by reminders, as Mulder had said, that their son was a sporadic and reluctant presence in their life, and they were about to be new parents again at the age of retirement. She kept her eyes shut as Mulder kissed the back of her head. "Honey… if you don't want to…" he whispered into her hair. "It was just a thought, but I completely understand if it's too much…"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He pushed her hair, growing gradually longer, away from her face with gentle fingers. She sniffled a little, giving him a stern look. "I want to be cautious," she said. "I want to plan things out, and be ready if there's an emergency."

"Of course, of course." He put a reassuring hand to her cheek. "Are you sure?" he said softly. "We don't have to go…"

"I want to go," she whispered. She leaned into him, her back aching, her eyes shutting again. "We need to be careful, but I want to go. I think you're right. I need this."

"What was that, Scully?" he teased in a soft voice. "I was what?"

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Mulder," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "You did promise me a vacation back in March, remember?" And he had, right around the time she'd moved back in.

"I did," he said, remembering. He cupped the side of her head, fingers in her hair, smoothing her cheek. "You'll be okay," he whispered. "The both of you. I promise you that."

---

Within the week, they were driving into Delaware. Mulder had found a little house on the coast that was miraculously for rent, which was within a couple hours of home and not far from a hospital. The best possible scenario. It was a nice house, a nice view, a sprawling screened-in porch that looked out over the ocean. Scully loved it on first sight. "Be nice to the owner," she told him sternly that first night, tucked into his side on the porch swing, listening to the crash of the waves. "If he likes us, he might let us come back in the future."

"Hmm," Mulder said, half asleep. "I'll bring you here every year if you want."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she whispered. She was imagining their baby (their daughter) on that beach, running in and out of the water, and halfway thinking it was a bad idea, but fully not wanting to stop. She watched the churning waves meld with the blackening sky.

The house had a huge bathtub, which may have been Scully's favorite part of the house. She and Mulder climbed in together, him behind her, lathering her hair with gentle fingers. He pressed his face into her wet neck and held her tight. She nearly fell asleep in his arms, the baby turning and flipping as if going for a swim. They left the window open so they could hear the ocean, feel the night breeze. It was perhaps the most relaxed she had felt in months. "This was a nice idea," she whispered, hoping desperately that nothing would go long, hoping that they could just stay here for a week and relax and that nothing would go wrong.

---

In the morning, Scully woke long before Mulder—the baby's restless movements kept her up more often than she liked. As the sun rose over the ocean, she slipped downstairs and took Daggoo out into the yard. He puttered around the square of grass, sniffing before peeing on a tree. Scully placed a hand over her stomach and gazed out towards the ocean. There was a nice breeze, cool for the middle of August, nudging at her hair, her face. She couldn't wait for Mulder to get up. She thought that she never wanted to leave here.

The waves crashed, the sound dim because of her distance from them. Behind her, Daggoo burst into frantic, excited barks. She heard a car engine, and turned around just time to see a car rolling up the gravelly driveway. Jackson's car. She knew before she saw him; she could feel him.

Daggoo whimpered, pawing at her leg. When the car door opened, he went running to meet him.

Scully smiled before she even realized she was doing it. Even though she and Mulder had come up to spend some time alone, she was incredibly happy to see him. Her son. "Hi, Jackson," she said.

Jackson cleared his throat, leaning down to greet Daggoo, scratch the top of his head. "Hi, Dana." Daggoo licked his hand, and he grinned a little. He scooped up the wriggling dog and cradled him like a baby. He met Scully's eyes skittishly, like a stray cat. "I, uh," he said, "was wondering if I could stay a couple days."

Scully didn't need to ask how he had found them. She already knew. She still had a hand on her stomach; she took it away in order to motion towards the door. "Come on in," she said.

---

Jackson hadn't intended to go back. He'd intended for the weekend at their house to be the last time, at least for a while. If not forever. He hadn't meant to come back, for their sakes as much as his own. He wanted the night they watched movies together to be the end of it. And he thought it probably would've been, if he hadn't run out of money.

The warehouse job had fired him. About a week ago, they'd fired him. He didn't really know why. Maybe it was his shitty attitude, maybe it was the weed he had in his car. Maybe they'd figured out that his name and age were fake. Who knew at this point. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know. But he'd lost one of his two jobs, and he was running out of money at a rapid pace. Spending recklessly. He was going to have to cut off some of the streaming services, and maybe the WiFi, if he didn't get smart. He was worried about food, worried about making rent and car insurance and all of it. (The warehouse paid substantially more than Burger King.) He didn't know what the hell he was going to do. Even after he'd had the insane idea to go on fucking vacation with them.

He'd sworn he wasn't going to do this anymore. But he was running out of money, and he knew they'd give it. And a few days at the beach was a few days he didn't have to pay for food, even with the heightened gas costs. (And besides that, he kind of wanted to stay somewhere besides his crummy apartment. Kind of wanted to spend a few goddamn days at the beach. He missed the coast. He wanted a break.)

He'd just stay a little while. Charm them out of some money. Give them one last good memory, and maybe not sneak out in the middle of the damn night this time. That was the idea. That was what drove him to Delaware, windows rolled down, following the road map he could see in Ginger's mind.

At least the dog was happy to see him, if nothing else. At least he had that.

(Not that he necessarily thought Dana wasn't happy to see him. But. He knew that she and Mulder had both been hurt when he'd run off in the middle of the night. He'd felt it, and he didn't like thinking about it. It made him feel small and tangled-up inside. It made him not want to come back.)

Inside the beach house, Scully immediately went to the kitchen, offering food. "Mulder's still asleep, but I can make you some breakfast…" she started.

"You don't need to cook," said Jackson. (He was feeling small and embarrassed and he didn't feel like he could ask for that. He could ask for a few hundred dollars, but he wouldn't ask her to make breakfast.) "I can feed myself."

"I don't mind," she said, scooping coffee grounds into the coffeemaker.

"Seriously, let me do it," he insisted, pushing past her towards the refrigerator. "I've already intruded on your vacation. Might as well make my own breakfast." He pulled a packet of bacon out of the fridge and slapped them on a paper towel, and then on a paper plate. He usually made bacon in the microwave because it was quick, and because he hated bending over the crackling pan and risking a grease burn.

"Help yourself to anything," Dana said gently, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee should be ready soon."

"Thank you." He stuck the bacon in the microwave with another slab of paper towel over top before going for the loaf of bread to make toast. He was still avoiding Scully's eyes as he popped slices of bread into the toaster.

Past the kitchen, he heard stairs creaking with footsteps. Daggoo yipped excitedly, prancing out of the kitchen to go and who was presumably Mulder. "Hello, mutt," Jackson heard Mulder say with a dry sort of affection. Scully gave a small chuckle. Jackson didn't turn around, his neck flushed and hot.

More footsteps, and then an abrupt stop in the doorway. A few awkward seconds passed before Mulder said, "Hey, Jackson. Wh-when did you get here?"

He cleared his throat, turning around and offering a sheepish smile. "Just a few minutes ago," he said. "Sorry to intrude." The microwave beeped loudly.

"It's not an intrusion," said Mulder, although he was shooting Scully a questioning look and trying to look like he wasn't. He offered Jackson a broad grin. "You're welcome any time."

"Of course you are," Dana added warmly, and Jackson could practically feel the combination of hope and nerves radiating off of both of them. Hoping that he'd come because he wanted to, and that he'd stay, nervous that he'd run off again. This was why he hadn't wanted to come. He gave a thankful nod, turned towards the microwave and pulled out his plate of bacon. It had nearly burned.

"There's an extra bedroom upstairs. You make yourself at home," Mulder said.

"Thank you, I will," Jackson said. And he would. He would try his best, partially because he wouldn't ask for money right away, unprecedented, but also because he owed them that, at least. Owed them a few nice days where he wasn't being a total ass, especially if this was the last time he'd see them. (And he did intend that, for their sake and for the kid's. He honestly wasn't sure if the danger still existed—all the quiet over the past few months had halfway convinced him it didn't exist—but he didn't want to risk it. Even staying for these few days was stressing him out. Only the fact that he hadn't seen any danger in the past couple months had convinced him that these few days would be okay. This had to be the end.)

Jackson sat down at the table, adjacent to Scully. She and Mulder were discussing breakfast, but he wasn't really listening. He bit off a corner of a slice of toast and looked absently out the window. He saw the house next door, saw the overgrown yard. Saw the two people in sunglasses, standing close together, looking at the beach house and whispering.

---

Jackson stayed quiet. The moody, brooding quiet Mulder recognized from his own teenage years. (Thinking about it, he supposed that he and his son were a lot alike at this stage of their lives. They'd lost a family member, or members, they'd both faded into themselves and the depth of their grief. They'd both had a bad attitude and a martyr complex.) They didn't push him. They wanted to give him space.

(Mulder wasn't upset that Jackson had shown up. He wasn't. He would've loved for him to come along in the first place. The family vacations he'd always wanted to take. But he'd had the idea as a solution to Scully's stress. To give her a chance to relax, take some time for the two of them to rest before their lives were thrown into upheaval. And he was overjoyed to see their son, but he didn't want things to go like last time. It had crushed Scully to find him gone, crushed them both, and he didn't want them to go through that again. He wanted his son to come home and come home for good, wanted the assurance that he would be there every morning.)

They ended up on the beach, the three of them, Jackson sprawled out on a towel with a book on black holes that they'd both smiled a little at. He had sunglasses pushed up on his forehead, and he squinted at the book in the bright sunlight. He didn't look away from the book when he said, "So, how's the kid?"

"Fine," Scully replied. "Restless. I think we'll both be relieved when she gets here."

Jackson was still looking at the book when he said, "It's a girl?" But there was a hint of curiosity in his voice, a hint enough that Mulder caught.

"We think so," he said. "We're not sure yet."

"That's cool." Jackson flipped a page, still not looking at them.

Scully offered, "So, how are your jobs going?"

This made Jackson snap the book closed; he set it on the towel next to him. "Um," he said. "Okay, I guess. I got fired at one."

"Really?" Scully asked, and he nodded, as best as he could nod while lying on the ground. "Oh my god. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Don't think they liked me. Or I wasn't a good employee. Some shit like that."

"Are… are you okay?" Mulder asked, his voice husky with guilt over his initial reaction to Jackson showing up. Of course he'd come; he'd just lost a job, he probably needed help. "Do you need money?"

Jackson bit his lip. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble, I think so."

They didn't even have to look at each other; they both knew they were going to agree before they opened their mouths. "Yes, of course," Scully said quietly, her voice full of a melancholy affection. (They'd both been devastated when he left.) "Whatever you need, sweetie," she said, and he could hear the sincerity. There wasn't a hint of condescension; she meant every word.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He sounded embarrassed. He picked up his book off of the towel and opened it again.

Scully reached for Mulder's hand blindly, found it on the arm of his chair and squeezed it. He squeezed wordlessly back.

After a few moments, the waves pounding the sand and Scully and Jackson turning pages, Jackson asked in the most casual voice possible, "So, you ever had a case about a black hole?"

Mulder grinned. "Not really," he said. "But we met this guy once who thought the secret to alien contact was black holes. He thought it served as some kind of teleportation created by the aliens so that the two cultures could meet without extensive, unrealistic travel times."

Jackson snorted, sitting up on the towel so fast that his sunglasses slipped down and hit the bridge of his nose, his book tumbling into his lap. "Well, that doesn't seem very plausible."

"Thank you," Scully said with a relieved, amused sigh. She was suddenly animated, pushing back the Knicks cap she'd stolen from Mulder and leaning forward to talk to Jackson. "You should've heard the explanations he came up with. It was ridiculous…"

Mulder leaned back, content not to argue very hard. He'd let them gang up on him every day if it meant they could have this.

---

They went inside, later, Jackson and Mulder shouldering the equipment without a word. As they tramped up the path to the beach, Jackson saw the same people from before in the yard next door, leaning together, whispering and pointing. Maybe it was a coincidence, he told himself. He wondered why the goddamn FBI agents hadn't noticed yet, that their neighbors might be watching them.

He tried not to let it phase him. It was probably a coincidence.

After a sparse lunch, Scully promptly fell asleep stretched out on the couch, one arm over her stomach and the other over her eyes. Mulder covered her up with an afghan, tucking it around her. Jackson tried not to watch. He felt awkward around them, like he was intruding.

Mulder smoothed hair off of Dana's forehead and turned to Jackson. "Make yourself at home, kiddo," he said. "Seriously. You want to watch a movie or something?"

"Uh, sure," he said. "Sure, sure. What did you have in mind?"

Mulder shrugged. "I found Back to the Future on the shelf over there. Want to do that?"

Jackson nodded. He used to love those movies; he used to watch them at sleepovers.

When he was little, he used to think that maybe he didn't have a dad, because he never saw him, and because his mom said that single moms were more likely to give up children. He figured he was just gone, that he had left and maybe that was why Ginger had given him up. He'd thought about Ginger more, because he'd been able to feel her, guess that maybe she used to love him, but he used to wonder about his dad. He used to imagine him as a sort of dark romantic hero, someone who loved his mother and him dearly, but had to leave because he had to do something more important. Or maybe to protect them. And he missed them both desperately, but could not risk coming home to find them. But he never knew why he couldn't see him.

Later, he would get visions of that other man, the one who had been manipulating him, and he'd wanted to forget about the idea of a father. He held onto the idea of Ginger right up until the end, but he'd wanted to forget about a birth father.

And then he'd learned the truth. He'd met Mulder. And as much as he didn't want to think of Mulder and Scully as his parents, he was glad that Mulder was his birth father instead of that smoking fucker.

The funniest part of it all seemed to be that the stupid little childhood fantasy seemed to be true, as far as he could tell. He didn't know if Mulder was necessarily a romantic hero or any of that bullshit, but it was clear he'd loved them both, him and Ginger. And he'd left to protect them. Fucking ironic.

Mulder sat at the end of the couch, Scully's feet in his lap. Jackson sprawled out on the floor. The movie was as good as he remembered, but he found it hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about time travel, what he wouldn't give for a DeLorean time machine. He wouldn't go back in time for anything other than saving his parents. And he would give anything for that opportunity. Anything at all.

Midway through the movie, Mulder got up to make popcorn. "Butter?" he asked, and Jackson nodded. He chuckled, pouring kernels into a pot. "You know, your mom believes in time travel," he said.  

It took Jackson a minute to make the connection, but when he did, he was genuinely shocked. From what he'd seen about the two of them, he'd figured Dana was usually the skeptical one. "Really?" he said in response.

"Yeah. Well. The theoretical possibility of it." He grinned absently. "She wrote about it in her senior thesis."

"Wow." Jackson propped himself up on the couch, eyes back on the TV. "Didn't know Dana had it in her."

"She believes in more than you'd expect," he said. "Or that she herself would admit."

"Hmm." Jackson flopped back against the carpet, watching Marty McFly skateboarding through the streets. He could hear Dana breathing sleepily behind him, and it was still strange, strange as hell: to hear her there when she'd only existed in his head for so long.

Mulder walked back over to the couch, his feet squeaking on the floorboards. "She really loves you, you know," he said quietly. "Dana. She loves you so much."

Jackson swallowed hard. Part of him was a little relieved to know these things, that they cared about him, but part of him wished they wouldn't say these things every single time. Part of him wished they didn't have to. "I know," he whispered, though he didn't. He hadn't been sure for a long time.

He couldn't remember the first time he'd seen her, it'd been happening so long. He usually saw her when he was scared or in pain. When he seized. After nightmares. When he was in the hospital, hooked up to machines or choking on gas, curled up in a ball behind a couch in the main room; he'd see her helping children, being the type of doctor that he never ever had, a good doctor instead of an evil one. It had been comforting. He'd held onto that image for so long: Ginger's a good doctor, Ginger would never do this to me. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly imaginative and hopeless: Ginger will come and save me. Ginger will take me home. And she never did. But it was an emotion that he held onto for so long that when he saw her when he was seizing, almost two years ago—when he saw the future, the pandemic and everyone dying and Ginger saying that she needed to find him—he'd thought that maybe it was true. Maybe she could save him, and his parents. That was why he'd sent her dreams after what happened with Bri and Sarah; he'd been hoping that she could help him. Be the Ginger he always saw in his dreams.

She'd let him down in that regard; she hadn't been able to save him or his parents. It had taken ages for him to forgive her for that. But she wasn't necessarily different from the woman he had seen all his life. Not really.

He remembered seeing her once when he was about three or four, asleep, curled into a protective sort of ball around a small, ratty stuffed animal. At the time, he'd thought it was strange for an adult to sleep with a toy the way that he did, but now he understood why. It was his, that rabbit they'd shown him the last time. She had been missing him, so she'd held onto his rabbit to create some kind of connection with him. She'd missed him, the way he'd always hoped she had.

That was how he knew that Mulder was telling the truth. He thought a part of him might've always known. He just wasn't sure whether or not to believe it.

He lay flat on the carpet, eating the popcorn Mulder made and watching Marty McFly manipulate his parents together, trying not to imagine a universe where his entire life went differently.

---

After Scully woke up, she and Mulder played several games of Scrabble at the table while Jackson read his book on the couch, Daggoo's head resting on his thigh. He was tense for reasons he couldn't exactly explain, jumping at sharp noises, eyes darting over to the window or door constantly. He thought it might've had something to do with the people he'd spotted watching them twice today, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. They were probably just nosy neighbors. Mulder and Scully didn't seem worried at all; they were teasing each other, and bickering over what qualified as a word or not, and they didn't seem to be on edge.

Jackson was probably just imagining it. He told himself again and again that he was just imagining it.

Later that afternoon, Mulder offered to go and pick up some food for dinner. "So neither of us have to cook and you don't have to bother with going out," he said to Scully, smoothing hair away from her face.

"You're sweet," she said in a dry voice that landed somewhere between authenticity and sarcasm. "But you don't have to go pick something up, Mulder…"

"Don't be ridiculous. I know you've been craving crab since before we got here." He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, and she made a face at him. "You sit tight, I'll be back in a little bit," he said, before turning to Jackson, who'd been trying very hard to ignore them on the other side of the room. It was even more uncomfortable than usual to be around them when they were being like this. His parents had loved each other and everything, but they'd never been so overtly fucking affectionate.

"Jack? You want to ride along?" Mulder asked, his face a mask of casualness.

He weighed his options—going with Mulder or staying back with Dana—and decided that Mulder was actively the better choice. "Sure," he said, getting to his feet and grabbing his phone.

"Make sure to get some calamari," said Dana, unphased, picking her book up off the couch. "Drive safe."

"Says the horrible driver," Mulder said, kissing the top of her head. "Be back in a few."

Jackson, already halfway towards the door, felt as if he should say something, at least. He turned around and offered an awkward little wave. "Bye, Dana."

She gave him a huge smile over the top of his book that made him feel guilty and like a five-year-old all over again. Trying not to squirm, he gave her a trembly smile back. He wasn't sure how sincere it was; he felt like he owed it for her, but he also felt a little bit like he meant it.

---

The drive was mostly uneventful. Jackson looked up the menu of the restaurant on his phone so he could pick out his order. Mulder asked him questions about sports teams, basketball and baseball, and this was an easy topic; Jackson could talk about meaningless things like sports for hours. It was easy to fall into these kinds of conversations, as long as it didn't get too emotional.

It wasn't until they got home that the feeling of unease settled back into Jackson's gut. He saw the neighbors again, huddled at the fence between the two houses, their phones raised like they were taking photos of the house.

His heart was beating too fast, a lump in his throat, and he clutched the bags of takeout so hard they left red imprints on his palm. He stared at the neighbors, a man and a woman, until one of them turned towards him. The distance and the dark lenses of the sunglasses they were wearing made it difficult to discern their expression, but Jackson knew he was looking at him.

"Mulder," he said quietly, not wanting to break eye contact, but when Mulder didn't respond, he turned towards the car and said, "Mulder," more pointedly.

Mulder, who'd been rummaging through the glove compartment, stood up straight. "Sorry, I just realized I forgot napkins, and I wanted to see if we had any stashed in here," he said. "What's up?"

"D-do you see those people over there?" Jackson said in a rush, turning in that direction. "The people in the next ya—" But when he turned, he only saw an empty fence. They were gone.

Mulder squinted in that direction, his hand shielding his eyes. "I don't see anyone," he said. "Why?"

Jackson gritted his teeth together. He was scared, and he didn't know what to do, and he didn't want to go, and he was afraid that these people were exactly what he thought. And he needed the money, and he didn't want to leave, didn't want to hurt them unnecessarily, but he had seen these people all day. They were watching the house. They weren't dressed like assassins, like the people who had killed his parents or came after him, but maybe they'd improved in covertness. Maybe they were trying to lull the goddamn FBI agents into a false sense of security. They were after him, and he was putting them in danger, and he didn't think they'd gone after Scully yet, if they were only taking pictures of the house, but Jesus Christ, what if they had? What if they were going to come later? What the hell could he do? He couldn't let this happen again.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked. His hand landed gently on Jackson's shoulder, probably meant to comfort or to get his attention, but Jackson still jumped a mile. Mulder snatched his hand away, but he didn't move away; his eyes were still full of worry. "Are you okay?"

He bit down on his lip so hard it bled. "Fine," he said, nearly spitting. "Fine, fine. I…" He put the takeout bags down on the seat abruptly. "I'm going for a run." Let them come after me, he thought. Fucking chase me if they want. But not them. Not the kid.

"R-right now?" Mulder said with a nervous little laugh. "What about your food?"

"Whatever, I'll eat later." His heart was thumping too fast; he felt like he was going to vomit.

Mulder's eyes were wide and full of worry; he reached out to touch his shoulder, but drew back immediately. "Buddy, why don't you come inside?" he said softly. "If something's wrong… we can talk about it."

"No," he snapped. Couldn't go in, couldn't lead the assassins there, couldn't find out whether or not Ginger was already hurt or dead… He had to believe she was fine, that they wouldn't have made a move when he wasn't there. "I gotta go, I gotta go," he said, and then he turned and took off running. Went towards the beach, even though he knew it'd be a pain in the ass to run on, because he figured that if they were going to try to kill him, he should try to fight them off somewhere semi-private. So that nobody else would get hurt, not the people who were uninvolved and didn't deserve to get tangled up in the middle.

Mulder called his name, his voice full of concern, but Jackson didn't look back.

---

He ran for nearly half an hour before he figured out they weren't pursuing him. He fell to the sand with exhaustion, blood pulsing through him, panting and gasping for air. It took forever for him to catch his breath. He lay on the cool sand, eyes shut, the waves crashing behind him.

He might question why the assassins hadn't come after him already, but then again, he might think of the fact that the assassins could have gone in the house, that they could have Mulder and Scully and were holding them captive to lure him back. Maybe he shouldn't have left so hastily. Maybe that wouldn't help a damn thing.

The thing was that he had to protect him. They weren't his parents, but they were his parents, and he couldn't let anything happen to them. Them or the baby, which might be a girl, and he'd already lost a sister that he'd never known he had. Dana had already lost two children, even if one was of her own doing. He couldn't let anything happen to them. Not for money, not for selfish reasons, not for anything.

The thing was that he'd made a promise, once, to protect his parents. As a child, he'd wanted to be protected, but he wanted to protect his family, too. When his mom and dad had gotten him out of the hospital, before they moved to Norfolk, they'd slept all in one bed because Jackson hated being alone then, he was so, so scared. They didn't think the doctors would come and get him back—"If they did," his dad had growled under his breath, "I'd sue the fucking pants off that place"—but Jackson had been afraid they would. He'd lain in the middle of his parents' bed, one of his favorite places in the whole wide world, and he'd curled into his mom and was so relieved not to be back in that place, where they'd hurt him, and he said in a small voice, "Thanks for saving me."

His mom kissed the top of his head. "Of course, honey. Of course," she whispered. "I never ever ever would've left you in there. Never. We're family, and we look out for each other."

"You protect me, I protect you?" he asked meekly.

His dad laughed a little, tousling his hair. "Sure, buddy. Sure. Although we don't want you to worry about protecting us just yet. That's our job."

But despite his father's words, Jackson had taken it seriously. He'd made a silent promise to protect his parents, all those years ago, and he'd included Ginger, the small, comforting presence at the back of his skull, in that promise. As a child, he really thought he could do it; he wanted to believe he could do it. And he'd forgotten about that promise, even though as he grew stronger and more in control,, it really was something he could do.

But he'd failed. He'd failed his parents, he'd broken his promise, even if it had been a childhood promise, and now they were dead. He could've prevented it if he'd seen the assassins coming, if he'd been ready, but he hadn't. He hadn't. And now they were gone. He couldn't break that promise again.

The longer he lay on the beach, thinking of that promise and of his parents, dead in an ambulance beside him, and of Mulder and Dana and his little sister, who deserved to have a life, the more he knew he had to go back. Not permanently. Not permanently. Only to make sure that they were okay, that they weren't being held captive. And then he had to end it, end it for good this time. Had to make sure he couldn't go back for money, or for nostalgia, or because they missed him. It was too dangerous, too risky. He couldn't have that option there because he would use it, and he would put them in danger all over again. He had to burn his bridges, had to make sure they wouldn't come after him. Had to break their hearts.

---

Scully hadn't touched her food yet. She'd been hungry all day, but she'd found herself unable to eat when Mulder had come in alone, his face split with worry. When he explained that Jackson was upset for some reason, and that he'd run off.

She had insisted on trying to go after him, but Mulder had talked her down. We have no idea where he's gone or how far ahead of us he is, he'd said. And he left because he wants time to himself. I know how scary it is to have him gone, but he doesn't need us to be there every second. He'll probably come back because his car is here, he can't get far without his car or wallet or… She could hear the worry in his voice, and knew that he was trying to reassure himself just as much as her. And she knew it probably wasn't a good idea to run around out there at eight months pregnant, and she knew Mulder wouldn't leave her. Knew that he was right about Jackson needing space. And so they waited, shoulder to shoulder together on the couch like parents waiting for a child who skipped curfew. Mulder held her hand in his, and the food went untouched where it sat on the counter.

The sky was streaked with purple darkness when Jackson finally came back, after what seemed like hours had passed. He burst through the door in an angry sort of way, hunched down and not meeting their eyes. His hair was mussed and he was covered in sand. His entire posture betrayed his emotions: strong, dark, upset.

"Jackson?" Mulder asked, his voice hopeful. He got no answer. Jackson headed straight to the counter, passing the food piled up and heading for the keys he'd left on the counter this morning.

"Jackson, sweetie?" Scully asked, her voice breaking. "Are you… is everything okay?"

"Yeah." His voice was rough, furious. "Yeah, sure, fine."

Scully swallowed hard, and felt Mulder squeeze her hand. "We… we were so worried—"

She was cut off by her son's harsh, mocking laughter. "Really?" he said, throwing his hands out in disbelief, his keys jangling.  He grabbed his wallet and shoved it in his pocket. "You were worried? Worried about the son you threw away? Well, that's fucking rich."

If he'd intended to leave her speechless, it had worked. Scully was frozen on the couch, her fingers tangled limply in Mulder's. She had no idea what to say to that; it wasn't exactly untrue. "Jackson… we didn't…" Mulder started uncertainly.

"Oh, you didn't? I'm not sure about that. The way I see it, it seems like you kept me around for about nine months before you got tired of me and gave me up for adoption. And then, you never came looking for me, not once, until it was convenient for you. Until you needed me to make some fucking antidote."

This time, Mulder seemed to be rendered speechless. Scully still couldn't speak; her throat was thick with the onslaught of incoming tears. She had so many things to apologize for, but she couldn't jar the words loose.

Jackson laughed, his voice breaking. "I-I spent six goddamn months in a hospital being poked and prodded and treated like a lab rat… I got saddled with powers I never asked for or understood for some fucked up reason… they murdered my parents, and they tried to kill me for months, and it all fucking started from the moment you gave me up. You wanna pretend we can play house, and be some happy goddamn family? Bullshit. You're only keeping me around in case the world ends, and you need a little lab rat to make your life easier."

That wasn't true. Scully felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sudden need to make things right. "That's not true," she said, and began to sit up, thinking that she would get to her feet and go to her baby and tell him she was sorry and that she loved him and she'd do anything in the world for him, thinking it would all be okay…

But Jackson was still talking. "And I'd hate to see what you're going to do to this new kid. I wonder how long you'll keep her around before disaster strikes. You gonna throw her away, too, when things get tough? What do you think will happen when somebody comes to make her a lab rat?" Mulder made a hurt, defensive sound, and Scully fell back against the couch, weak. All the fight beat out of her. She muffled a sob behind her palm as Jackson finished: "You should just give the kid to me, because as fucked up as I am, I'd probably do a better fucking job at raising it than you two."

Scully shut her eyes. Every single word was one that she deserved, but it still hurt so badly to hear it. It was all of her fears, her guilt, spilled out onto the floor. She should've known that he would say these things eventually, but it still gutted her to the core.

She heard a whimper next to her, and knew that Mulder was crying. She opened her eyes, wiping them with her thumb, just as Jackson said, "I've got to go. I'm leaving now." He had his keys in his hand, and that was when Scully realized he hadn't actually brought in anything from his car. He'd been here less than twenty-four hours; it was like he hadn't even wanted to stay.

He'd turned towards the door, his movements those of an unstoppable freight train, but it didn't stop Scully from trying to stop him. "Jackson..." she whispered, just before the door slammed shut, and she realized then that she didn't know what she would say. She could say I'm sorry, but she'd already said that so many times.

She heard a sniffle from beside her, and then Mulder was wrapping his arms around her, his head leaning on her shoulder. She could feel his tears soaking into her shirt. She bit back tears of her own and wrapped her hands around his, their arms aligned. She held on tight. They sat there for a long time.

---

"It's not going to go that way," he told her later, his arms around her. They were in bed now, him wrapped around her, his chin on her shoulder. She sniffled and said nothing. He kissed her hair. "It's not," he murmured. "We… we're going to do better this time. We're going to be good parents for her."

She didn't have the strength to reply, so she just nodded. She could feel the baby moving under her hand.

"And all those things he said…" he started hesitantly. "You know they're not—"

"No, I know that they are," she whispered. "All of it. All of it was true except the intent."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that. He squeezed her tight, his face buried in her shoulder blade. She could feel his heartbeat against her back. They lay still.

"He told me something," she said after a while, "before… before Spender died. He told me that he knew I love him. And I… I thought he was you. I asked how he could know that. And tonight…" She bit back a shudder. "It just makes me wonder if he really knows, if he'll ever really know. Or understand. If… if any of my children will ever know." She was thinking about Emily, as she often had over the course of this pregnancy, and about William, and about her baby, and she didn't know if she could do this again. She loved them all so much but she didn't know how to do this. How to not fuck it up again.

"You know," Mulder whispered in her ear, "he told me the same thing. Today. While you were napping. I told him you loved him, and he said he knew."

She flinched a little at that; she was wondering what had changed. She'd been thinking that a lot, all day: they'd been having what seemed like a pleasant time, if not a little awkward, he had come to spend time at a beach house with them, and then something had changed in him, and then this. And then the horribleness of this.

"I hope that he knows," she said, because that seemed to be all there was to say. If she had nothing else with him, she could hopefully have that. Even if he resented her, she wanted him to know how much she loved him, and how terribly, terribly sorry she was. "I want him to—" she began, and her voice broke. She couldn't finish.

She could feel the tests welling up, and she pressed her face into Mulder's forearm. "Shhhh," he whispered, nose in her hair, hugging her tight. "It's okay. It's okay. He knows that you love him. And so will she. I… I don't see how they couldn't."

---

The next morning, Scully woke up long before Mulder again, even though she'd fallen asleep very late last night to the gentle sound of Mulder's reassurances. She had to pee, and so she got up to do that, repeating to herself the reassurances Mulder had given her last night. They'd stay the rest of the week, provided she felt well. They deserved some time to themselves. The baby would come in a few weeks, and she would be perfect. They already had the room ready, and everything else ready, and they loved her so much. And maybe someday Jackson would come back. Maybe.

It was cold comfort, all things considered, and she wanted to get her mind off of it. Think about something else. She could hear Daggoo's toenails at the front door, and so she went down to let him out, standing on the front step while he puttered around the yard. Shielding her eyes from the sunrise, she scanned the horizon until her eyes fell on two people standing on the sidewalk behind their house. People she recognized from yesterday; she'd seen them in the yard next door when they were coming back in from the beach. They were looking at her expectantly, like they wanted her to do something, sunglasses pushed up on their heads.

Unsettled, she crossed her arms over herself and called out, "Can I help you?" They didn't seem particularly dangerous, but she didn't want to risk it.

Something like excitement passed over their faces. The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled back, "Are you Dana Scully? From Tad O'Malley's show?"

Annoyance prickled at Scully's spine. She could be grateful to Tad O'Malley for getting her back on the X-Files, or for spreading the rumor of the pandemic, but she sure as hell wasn't grateful for the multiple times he'd referred to her by name. Even if he'd left her out of it the last time, though she probably should've been cited there over Mulder. Despite the favors O'Malley had done for her, she was still a bit disgusted at his ridiculous show. She wasn't sure the last time she'd been mentioned on the show, but she figured it had been a long time ago, and she had no idea why these people remembered it. Nor did she particularly want to spend time in their company.

"Your husband is Fox Mulder?" the man was yelling. "He knows about conspiracies? A global conta—"

"I'm not who you think I am," Scully shouted back irritably, not in the mood for any of this. "Now please get off my property."

Daggoo clambered up on the doorstep beside her and she shooed him inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.

[brooklynislandgirl]

A ship you say? Have a star ship. Some Anikeni. {Not that you couldn't do one with Beth, but a. I didn't want to call Beth out like that and b. I couldn't think of anything ridiculous to open this with}

All Hands || -

I. who wakes up first in the morning

It is not often that she wakes before he does. Anakin’s body and his spirit or some combination of the two has an internal clock that one could set as a galactic clock. Perhaps it is because they cannot risk being found together in her cell or his. Perhaps it was his childhood before he came to Coruscant. Perhaps it is his connection to the Force. She doesn’t really know why, but he is almost always the first one to wake.But this time she has a few moments of luxury. Wrapped around him, he slumbers in the curve of her arms. She brushes back the stray wisps of hair from his face though leaves his braid to cut across his cheek and leans in to breath him in. These moments are so rarely precious that she has to take full advantage of them. To daydream of their lives beyond the Temple walls if they had met any other time or place. What it would be like back home with soft cushions and rich covers, given the luxury of sleeping as late as they liked, days if need be, before his eventual restlessness would have them pouring between star-maps and freshly brewed caff, deciding where in the universe they would go. Where best to make a real difference. Or even more simply to let him sleep without his plague of dreams which come more frequently as the days pass.Perhaps a bit selfishly, she nuzzles the back of his neck and very carefully tightens her hold. He is supposed to leave today, an assignment with Master Kenobi that will keep him in Galactic City but away from the Temple. There are worse things, but… she has a bad feeling about all of this.“Be careful,” she whispers into his shoulder. One time for each of her moons. Blue a prayer hope for his eyes, a wish of happiness from the green for hers. The protection of violet for her sabre even in the dark, and the last unseen for when he is far away from her. It’s her charm, her silliest superstition. “Be safe. Be smart.”Be mine.“I heard that.”He smiles without opening his eyes.

II. who’s the first to fall asleep at night

He’s asleep before he actually hits his mattress. He doesn’t mean to be but weariness might as well have been his middle name. He doesn’t stir even the slightest as she sets on his bench the small treasure trove of a sandwich and some berries that make a lush wine when fermented properly. A bota of fresh tea, cold and crisp. Hints of honey and mint leaves. All because she knows he never stopped by the cafeteria.Clever fingers work at his buckles and one by one she pulls each boot off with, followed by the socks. She tucks both his robes and his coverlets around him not so bold as to strip him down to his unmentionables. That would be…improper as it was rude. For half a minute she debates silently to herself if she should bother with his glove but Anakin is very particular about that, even with her and eventually she decides that it’s better if she leaves it on. Even asleep he looks… she doesn’t care for the heavy shadows under his eyes and how starkly his bones brush against his skin. If he could look at her somehow and still remain asleep she would be willing to bet his eyes would be fever-bright.They are running him ragged, as if he were the only knight the Jedi had at their disposal and they don’t see how it’s etching him away. She has half a mind to march into the Council Chambers and ~There’s a dark indescribable feeling that drifts down her spine like the softest of touches that almost buckles her knees.Her Master is waiting.She leans down and brushes a kiss to his temple, gives a lock of his hair a tug and goes quickly before she is summoned a second time.

III. what they playfully tease each other over

Her eyes are closed, her head cushioned in his lap. She doesn’t peek even as her fingers reach up and latch around his throat. Not tight enough to cut off his breath, but enough that won’t be able to brush off the feel of her for hours.“And of course, I would import some of the finest of my trees from home, to build your pyre. And once you’re nothing but ashes, I would take them and have them compressed until they became a beautiful jewel, maybe the colour of your eyes, and then I will flounce around the galaxy with your remains hanging always in the hollow of my throat. And once you’re one with the Force, you will be so grateful that you shine against my skin like starlight.”

A variable of their Impending Doom game, this time she has poisoned him with something fast-acting and likely incubated in her own body ~not that she mentioned that last part, but she’s getting better at it, becoming less and less sick each time, which pleases her Master.He’s making that noise again, the faint whine that might be a moan, and it makes the muscles in her belly contract with the sharp ache to respond to it, and his throat rises and falls beneath her skin. Her nails have a mind of their own and want to dig in. They don’t. She tries very hard to never leave a mark on him in a place that can be seen.“That would be really nice,” he breathes out. “But unfortunately you let your guard down and I’ve managed to double-cross you.”His voice is tense. It’s low and dark, a whisper. His hand splays out against her waist before closing again, fingertips tightening against the ridge of her hip bone.She quirks a brow and tilts her head up. “How foolish of me. I suppose I deserved it. But… in that case…you must tell me of course, how even in death you manage to betray and murder me. In the greatest detail.”

IV. what they do when the other’s having a bad dayHe finds her in her room. Face buried in her arms, body shaking from the tears she should not be crying. If her patient could not be saved, then it must be the Will of the Force, but the platitude rings hollow in her ears. The woman had children, had a husband. What would they do now without her? Especially the youngest, newly born into her hands, just days ago before the sickness set in.She is supposed to be sleeping but grief can do nothing but pour out of her in wracking sobs. And though he is a universe away out on the rim, he comes. She can feel his arms around her. His cheek pressed to her hair. Little softly spoken things she can’t quite hear though she feels the rumble of his voice. The warmth of his presence like real sunshine she hasn’t felt in years.

And she pours herself into his presence. Lets him lift that sorrow as only he can but when he starts to pull at it, unravelling it and taking it into himself she pulls back from their connection, making herself lesser established in the Force. She can’t let him do that, can’t let him put more sadness into his already full soul.A flicker of displeasure at her resistance, the confusion that comes from wondering why she retreats, though maybe he knows and understands. She isn’t quite sure how to read him, not so far away. And as much as she misses him, she urges him to go back. To live in his moment before anyone notices he’s…gone.~*~

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s face darkens as he watches his former apprentice. Though his eyes are open they are storm-tossed and shimmering with unshed wetness, his jaw tense. He is both there and not, slipped off into some recess of his mind. A habit Anakin has taken up more and more these terrible days. He doesn’t like it. Wants to say something but what could it be beyond baseless accusation. He frowns but after a moment, the boy’s nostrils flare and he looks over. His voice is tight, grim.Pained.“I’m sorry, Master. What were you saying?”V. how they say ‘i’m sorry’ after arguments

The vase goes hurtling past his head. Shatters into a thousand fragments behind him. For all that his reflexes had always been faster than hers, faster than anyone’s, there is anger that fuels her use of the Force. The book he catches and sets down before it hits his chest, and his jaw tightens. “Get out.” She isn’t asking him.“Why are you so-”“I SAID GET OUT!”Despite the furrow of his brows, the wetness around his eyes, the tremble of his lower lip, she makes a strangled sound of actual anger in her throat and looks for something else to throw, they have very little between the two of them. “This is my room!”

“Fine!” She stalks forward despite him being between her and the door. She will go through him if she has to.He smells like her. His precious senator.“FINE.”The door rocks on its casters as it slams shut behind her, biting off the small echo of her slippered feet.~*~It is interminable days before she can bring herself to look at him. Guilt has eaten her alive and what is normally so vibrant about her feels withered and yellowish. She knows better than to think she has sneaked up on him and his body stills mid-kata, the swing bringing his blade within an inch of her skin. His blade wooshes off. She doesn’t look up into his face, doesn’t flinch.Her eyes close and she takes a breath. “I….owe you an apology for my behaviour the other night. It was dramatic and stupid and it should never have happened. Please…forgive me that indiscretion.”The words are stiff, but informal. What she is saying though is that she is sorry, and if he doesn’t forgive her, she will die here. Now. At his very feet.Because she will. She can no more live without him than she can exist without the sun on her skin and the air in her lungs.It feels like eternity, staring down at the ground. Trying to feel him, hesitantly, through the Force as she cannot bring herself to look up. To let him see the raggedness of her feelings on full display.

It is an eternity, before just as slowly, just as carefully, she feels his hands take hold of her upper arms. How they tighten around her, fingertips touching.Before he pulls her in close and buries his face in the side of her neck.I’m sorry, too. And just maybe that breath he takes is the first since he’s gotten back.

VI. which one’s more ticklish”Could….could you just not….you know. Do…that?”She lifts her face from the water where she floats like a dead man. Woman. Plant. Whatever. It’s endearing that it disturbs him, for all they tease about being the cause of one another’s demise. She drags her lower lip across both sets of her teeth then grins. “Swim? I mean, I suppose I could get out. Or just let myself be pulled under. If you’d prefer.”

For all that Anakin is acutely sensitive to the Force, the subtle innuendo goes right past him and right into the next star system. Its so very sweet, she can’t help but commit the look on his face to memory.”Not what I meant, and you know it.””Yes.” She does. So she dips down. Below the surface of the water, holding her breath. Comes at him like a very fast thing with a mouthful of teeth, which of course she is, just not built for it. Breaking the surface, she’s right in front of him and it takes very little to ruffle her fingers against his side. His weakness, one she’s known about for years.

He grabs her shoulders, thrashing even though she knows the water actually impedes some of the sensation. Pushes her down. Lets her slip through his grasp. And she’s so tempted, so very tempted to bite at him. And maybe he knows that too because before she can shake her hair out of the way, he’s pulling her up again.

There is the smallest of moments, they are breathing each other. Lips parted and almost touching. She is absolutely certain, beyond any shadow of doubt, that some stranger in wild space could feel a sudden heat boiling their blood with the sensations rising up through her, looking at him, this very second.And then as Anakin thinks about moving, she closes her eyes.And almost drowns on the water sucked into her throat as he tucks an arm around her waist and dips her so that he can reach one of her feet. Proceeds to tickle it as he brings it above the surface.”You should know by now, Keni. I know all of your secrets.”Well, maybe, she agrees soundlessly once they are laying side by side in the glow of their cave flowers. Most of them.But not all.VII. their favourite rainy day activities

He tinkers. But the word is insufficient for what it actually is. The closest thing she can equate it to is watching a master artist at his craft, whether it is painting or sculpting, some unbearably exquisite mastery it takes a lifetime to achieve. She watches every twitch of his fingers, the way his face becomes so serious the deeper into his passion he delves.She could lay there on his bed, on her stomach, and spend a century alone just watching him. And like the shadow of a cloud passing across the sun, she has to accept that maybe he doesn’t have that. Anakin is impulsive. Restless. A danger to himself and others if you believed everything you heard, which she of course doesn’t…but still. His like as a Knight, his life as a human… She pushes the thought away like the vile and uncouth thing that it is. Won’t admit that it scares her sometimes, especially with how he comes back to her. A new scar here, a little piece of him missing there. He isn’t a stranger to the bacta tanks, though she wishes he absolutely was.

She drags her gaze away and closes her eyes. Tries to focus the sound of the rain. The sound he makes which is ever so quiet. Anything but the inconceivable idea that some day she will look back at these, the happiest days of their lives, and know that he’s really…gone.And the only way to comfort herself is deciding, then and there, that if he dies, she will too. Together in the Force then as they are now.She doesn’t see him looking over, that same focus and concentration she was admiring a moment ago, and beginning the first rough sketch outline of her face.VIII. how they surprise each other

She can feel it. A thrum of energy in the Force. It stalks her steps throughout the infirmary as she administers medicine and healing energy to the patients. She talks to them of things no more taxing than if they’ve gotten rest, if this or that is feeling better. The answers, in most cases, are invariably the same. Of course they would be, nothing changes that dramatically overnight, even with the best of care.It whispers through her mind driving her nearly to distraction when she sits at her Master’s side, trying to meditate one one of the lesser known Mysteries. Which becomes a lesson in hand to hand combat that she is almost grateful for as it bleeds a little tension out of her even if she gains a few bruises when her reflexes lag.It is still there when she uses the refresher to wash the day off herself, when she picks at her salad and gives half of it to the Guardian she thinks is Tazu. Always so hard to tell with the masks, which is entirely the point, she supposes.Each step toward her room is an exercise in control.The robes stripped away. Replaced by a thin shift. Her hands rise up to unbind her braids and suddenly a hand comes over her mouth. Stifles the scream that is raw and blood-curdling behind the right pressure that crushes her lips to her teeth to the point that she can taste her own blood sweet on her tongue.Anakin’s breath is hot on the edge of her ear.“Gotcha! Owe me one!”She relaxes then, which is lucky for him, otherwise he would have sailed over her shoulder and flat onto his back when she stepped back and elbowed the air out of him. Instead she holds up both hands in the air, a sign of surrender.Because he is right. She does owe him for managing to scare her. But the prize is hers when he lets go and she narrows her eyes.“Did…did you actually just watch me change?”IX. their most sickening shows of public affectionThe curve of the niche is cold on his back, despite the layers of his robes. Under which her hand has found purchase, petting and caressing him, and it feels like his skin is on fire, but smooth as marble. Her lips affixed to his throat, biting deeper, drinking at the slick coppery tang so very different than her own sap. His arms pinned to his side by a judicious application of the Force. He can squirm all he likes, whimper as loudly as he dares, but she isn’t letting go. Not this time. One delicate fingertip traces the shape of his mouth, the full softness of his lips.Let yourself go. For me. Trust me to catch you when you fall. Words that flicker through his mind as softly as she can make a command, unable to be heard by anyone else. All that can be spied is a beatific look of serenity on her face, and the throes of concentration on his as all around them pairs of Jedi concentrate on their own meditations.Anakin has been gone too long. She cannot waist another second without a proper welcome, a glimpse of unspoken desires between them. Let him wonder if it’s accidental or on purpose that the imagery in her head is projected at him as strongly as their connection will allow.~*~

“They always seem much more tranquil when they are here.” “Almost disturbing this is, this attachment. A trouble it is for young Skywalker.”“His breathing still needs work, though.”“More like Ivers he should be. Agree with you I do. Young they are yet, wisdom will come in time.”~*~

If it was possible to die from mortification alone, Anakin would be thrice over. But they can’t meditate forever….

[sarkastically]

Fondly

(Some more Kakagai for you guys. With likely glaring canon inaccuracies. But I’m mostly here for the feels so. Enjoy? Mentions of sexual situations. Set after the Eighth Gate so warnings for that. Ish. I mean, I probably don’t know enough about it. Just pretend it’s an AU.)

Kakashi is perched on a tree, watching, when he finally completely understands the full meaning of the Gates. He’s a genius, and it shouldn’t have taken him this long but maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t wanted to know. You idiot, he thinks, angrier at Gai than he has ever managed to be, needing to be my rival in everything. Even death wishes, apparently.

Only, no, that’s not quite it, because Kakashi knows that Maito Gai is not rushing headlong into hopeless things seeking oblivion, seeking absolution. Gai doesn’t need that. Gai doesn’t have the same list of failures staring him down from the darkness behind his eyes the way that Kakashi does. Gai doesn’t need a death wish because it is a death wish. Gai has the Gates so that he can die valiantly. A hero.

Kakashi hates heroes, hates self-sacrifice in other people, but can’t bring himself to hate Gai. He just adds to it the list of “things I love Gai in spite of” (and not because of he tells himself even if it might be a lie some of the time, never because of). The list includes the green jumpsuit, the boisterous voice, the nice guy poses, the teeth, the hair, the laughter, the bravado that never, ever fades even when it should, even when Gai should be terrified. It’s a long list, really. Anyone else might think that it’s long enough nothing could outweigh it.

Except.

The list for “things I love about Gai” has only one entry. It only needs one entry. It only ever did need one.

Gai.

An entry that outweighs everything.

***

Eight is supposed to be the last number. Eight is supposed to be the end.

Only it’s not, and Kakashi isn’t sure how to reconcile that fact when he wakes every single day on the verge of a panic attack because what if Gai being alive is the dream and the reality will be the nightmare of Gai having finally left him. Like everyone else. And without him ever even having said the truth.

He startles awake, time after time, in Gai’s hospital room with the incessant beeping. He brandishes kunai that the hospital staff knows better than to try and take away. He yells himself awake and then has to turn away from the soft, sympathetic stares that meet his worried gaze. Everyone knows better than to talk to him about what he’s doing. Everyone knows better than to say a word other than to reassure him that Gai is still there; he might not be awake yet, but he is still there, and his heart is strong and he is breathing and his body just needs a little more time.

Kakashi sits in the chair he pulled right up next to the side of the bed so close he can prop his head on the edge of it when no one is looking and wonders whether Gai is with his tortoises, wandering through some haze, having some adventure. He wonders if Gai misses him wherever he is while he isn’t really here.

“You could talk to him,” Sakura says.

Kakashi doesn’t even look at her.

“He can probably hear you.”

What she doesn’t say but what Kakashi can hear in her tone is, it might help you even if it can’t heal him.

Other than the screaming himself awake, Kakashi hasn’t really spoken since they brought Gai in here. Shock, some of the hospital staff have said, but Kakashi is afraid of speaking something into existence so he keeps his mouth closed. If he’s in charge of speaking Gai back into existence, he’ll fuck it up. He’ll call him back wrong. He’ll call him back as something other than Gai, and that is. Not what Kakashi wants or needs. And. Well.

He doesn’t know Gai needs. He should, but he can’t quite seem to figure it out. Turns out, when it’s needed the most, he’s no genius at all.

So, he just shuts up and sits there and doesn’t touch Gai’s skin because it looks like every single bit of flesh probably hurts him. Kakashi has seen him open Gates before. Kakashi has steered him home and forced him to drink tea and watched Gai seem to shrink his body away from his own clothing, from the air around him, and Kakashi had winced inwardly and pretended not to look. Then he had swirled aloe across Gai’s body with fingers soft and careful like feathers and neither of them talked about the quiet kisses they would place against each other’s cheeks. Those were lesser Gates. Kakashi cannot imagine what Gai might be feeling now if he can feel anything at all. He watches the pain medication drip through the IV into Gai’s veins. It’s not just that he’s sleeping; it’s also that he’s sedated until they’ve healed him enough to pour him back into whatever is left of his body.

Kakashi has heard Gai cry over many things, but he’s not sure how he could stand to see Gai reduced to weeping over pain. He’s not sure Gai would want him to see that, either, but he’s not leaving so. Eventually, it’s going to happen. Maybe. If they ever slacken the dosage, if the tortoises ever bring him back.

Is there anyone else with a tortoise pact? How could he locate them? Could they even tell him anything at all?

He props his arms on the side of Gai’s bed and lays his head on them and breathes in and tries not to think about how he thinks he can smell burned flesh under the insurmountably large amounts of antiseptic.

Closing his eyes, he thinks about them in Gai’s bathroom, Gai’s clothing a puddle at their feet, Kakashi’s fingers tender with the aloe, the intake of Gai’s breathe not just from pain, the sound Gai makes when Kakashi nuzzles his masked lips against his hardness, Gai’s fingers gentle in his hair until Kakashi himself reached up to remind them to grip harder.

***

They scale the pain meds down finally, and Gai struggles to the surface not even twenty minutes later. Like he was waiting. Like he is indomitable. He comes to coughing and groaning with none of his flash and pizzaz; he comes back to life like any other man.

And Kakashi is so mad that he cannot even speak, cannot even look at him, just sits in the corner and glares. Sakura looks at him the way that people look at blights on the face of humanity, and, oh, Kakashi agrees, but he cannot manage anything else.

If it hurts Gai, he doesn’t make a sign, but then Kakashi knows that Maito Gai has always been good at suffering true pain in silence. They’re both adept at that.

It takes three days for Kakashi to speak. Three days of him sitting there, arms folded, still right on the edge of Gai’s orbit, held there, unable to move, unable to do anything save doze off and then jerk himself awake, still positive that he’ll open his eyes and find the bed empty, Gai gone, laid out in a morgue or, worse, already burned and scattered, leaving Kakashi’s hands empty, cold, once again.

He startles himself awake, breathing hard, unable to make the room come to focus, and the only thing that keeps him from attacking when the fingers come to brush through his hair is the fact that he recognizes the chakra signature. Gai. Something inside of him bursts like a pipe.

“What the fuck were you doing?” It’s out, and it’s hard, and it’s cold, and it is so angry that Kakashi barely recognizes his own voice. He certainly doesn’t recognize the way it wavers as though it hurts.

Gai doesn’t stop touching him because Gai has always been foolhardy. “What needed doing. For the world.”

Kakashi’s head is swimming with the sort of corny lines he’d chuckle at in his books, but which feel true at this moment even if he doesn’t think he can get them out. You’re worth more than the world. The world doesn’t deserve your sacrifice. I don’t deserve you. I don’t want to do this without you.

Stay with me.

Instead, he says nothing, and Gai’s fingers are slow through his hair and down the nape of his neck. They move like they are caught in something heavy like honey, so much slower than Kakashi is used to Gai moving. Maybe it’s just the medication. Maybe it’s the injuries. Or maybe this is just how Gai will be now. After.

“What were you hoping for?” Kakashi lifts his head now, to look. The room is dark, it’s the middle of the night, but he doesn’t modulate his voice. He’s not being loud, really, it just feels like he’s yelling. His voice sounds rough from disuse.

Gai looks rough from misuse.

Neither of them are men who can be gentle to themselves.

Gai if you let me, Kakashi thinks but cannot say, I will be gentle to you now and however long is left. This, too, is sentimental crap that gets swallowed down rather than bubbling out and up to where, maybe, it could soothe them.

Perhaps there is rather a lot of the pain meds left in Gai’s system because he does not strike a nice guy pose or grin or wax poetic about eternal youth. He runs a thumb over Kakashi’s mask where his lower lip is in a way that twists like a kunai in Kakashi’s gut. “To be remembered fondly.”

Kakashi wonders, sometimes,  whether the Sharingan ruined his tear ducts, whether his actions in life have destroyed his soul, but there is a haze of tears across his vision, and his throat feels like it’s closing with something. He thinks of Gai as a child, looked over, scorned. He thinks of Dai, the village joke. But Gai is not his father, and neither is he that boy that no one thought would amount to anything. He is Maito Gai, and he has saved them from destruction time and again with his body as the last stop-gap measure, always.

Both of them live in the shadows of men they are not.

Neither of them are their fathers. Both of them have proven, time and again, that they are stronger than that.

Kakashi catches Gai’s hand and pulls it toward him carefully, gently, watching for any sign of discomfort. Gai offers it as openly as he has ever offered anything, which is everything. Gai has always offered him everything; it’s Kakashi who been too afraid to take anything except the barest scraps of affection.

He places a kiss on Gai’s hand for each Gate that has tried to take him away. He lingers long on the eighth one, feels the tears leak out to trail over Gai’s hand, which squeezes into his own because even just barely back from the brink of death Gai is focused on comforting him. Was there ever a man like this in all the world before? Will there ever be one again?

Then he kisses once more, a ninth, a new gate. A gate that he opens, one of his own, the one that Gai has been waiting beside for more years than Kakashi feels comfortable counting.

Grabbing the healing salve for Gai’s skin from the side table, Kakashi crowds his way into the bed and begins to methodically rub the ointment in bit by bit on patches of uncovered skin. He doesn’t flinch from any of the devastations; he’s already seen it, after all, and none of it matters. Gai will not be held back by any of it. His spirit is indomitable.

“I remember this,” Kakashi says as each bit of skin is revealed, as his fingers massage the gel in, as Gai releases soft sighs. “I remember this,” fingers under the curve of his knee. “I remember this,” feather-light caresses against his inner thighs and higher, where he presses a kiss and Gai moans his name in a way that Kakashi will endeavor to reclaim again and again and again until neither of them has breath anymore. “And this,” fingertips on the expanse of Gai’s abdomen. “I remember this,” he curls his hands over Gai’s chest, feels his heart shuddering away below, so strong and yet almost lost, sacred, “fondly.”

Kakashi doesn’t know when he starts crying again, but he knows that his sorrow turns to something like shaky, newborn joy when Gai turns his face up and kisses him over the mask.

When he fights his own hands to push the fabric aside, to claim kisses that are skin to skin, Gai’s tentative fingers on his cheek, touching as though he is the one battered, almost dead, make his breath stick in his throat.

“I remember this,” Gai says, and there is wonder and awe in his voice.

Kakashi cannot count how many years it’s been since he showed Gai his face. Even when they’ve been intimate a handful of times, he’s kept that boundary, kept up that gate. It’s shattered now, the bricks are all around him. He feels shaken, naked, vulnerable; it’s nothing near as cataclysmic as the way he felt when he saw the energy that heralded Gai’s Eighth Gate, though. Nothing in the world has shaken him as much as that did.

“I remember you,” Gai says, thumb tracing Kakashi’s lips now, not the mask, not the facsimile of his face, but the actual one, which he nearly ducks away because how can one man hold so many emotions in his eyes, in his body; how can Kakashi be expected to face it and not drown in it.

“Fondly?” Kakashi asks because he doesn’t know what else to do, what else to say. This isn’t normal for him, emoting, knowing that something precious is in his hands and not walking away from it because that’s the easiest way to protect it.

“Oh, sometimes,” Gai says and winks.

Kakashi laughs as only Gai can make him laugh until Gai’s lips catch his own and swallow the sound, and then Kakashi kisses back, presses in, devours all of Gai’s noises, sweet and hot and just for him, lets them fill him with something warm.