#is it cockroaches in your mind? preventing you from considering the people you could be keeping awake?

[orcelito]

The upstairs thumping started again around midnight, right when I started trying to sleep. It's even more infuriating when I have to be up at 7 am. I've been getting absolute dogshit sleep this week, and it's largely because of them. It's been 4 nights in a row, and I am So Fucking Tired.

I'm going to leave a note on their door tomorrow asking them to stop. And if they do it again tomorrow, I'm submitting a noise complaint. I don't fucking care.

[chuluoyi]

everything, but not anything

- gojo satoru x reader

you were his last remainder of the happiest blue spring in his life, until your untimely demise. and on the death's door, he finally found you again.

genre/warnings: angsty wangsty, consolation towards the end

notes: i said i can't create gojo fics without feeling depressed, so here i present to you, angst. it's inspired from a thread in twitter i read about how gojo was given everything but he couldn't do anything and my heart just incredibly hurts and―this happened. it's unedited because the idea popped into my mind at 1 in the morning

i wrote this while listening to this wonderful song. consider it the theme song for this piece. i highly recommend you to read this and listen to it!

[update] sequel -> found you

general masterlist

You were so pretty. So really pretty, in fact. And he likes pretty things. Perhaps that was what spurred him to spontaneously ask you out.

You declined him at first―after all, he was a special grade weirdo. And you half-expected him to give up soon enough, only that he didn't. He persisted like a cockroach, smothering you with his very being. Then like a sweet romance novel, you too finally fell for him, melting at his clumsy attempts to woo you.

And by God, you were happy together. To Satoru, it was the brightest, most vibrant page in his life. And with his very being, he would do everything he could to protect you. After all, he was blessed with the best, he had all means to protect you.

He should've known better.

It started with his failed star plasma vessel mission. Riko was dead, and at that time he was just numb. Later, he made excuses. He couldn't have foreseen that a sorcerer killer would join the fray and made a mess of things.

But then his best friend, Suguru, left. Satoru couldn't make excuses any longer. For that, he was wholly responsible. From then, he realized that just being strong wasn't enough. And throughout those dark days, you were with him, consoling him as you brought his head to your chest, letting him sleep in your arms.

"Don't ever leave me, okay?" he whispered at the dead of the night with hoarse voice. It made your heart sting. You nodded and ran your fingers throughout his hair, mumbling a soft "of course."

And you never did. You were always by his side.

Satoru was really grateful for that. To have the last years of your life by his side. Looking back, it was like a beautiful mirage.

He had hidden himself behind the facade of the strongest. The unreachable. Untouchable. It felt nice, still is. Before he had known it, he had drawn this line between himself and other people. Between him and you. He wasn't lonely, but he was at the very same time.

And perhaps he had gotten way too arrogant, and thus the heavens decided to humble him.

He couldn't prevent the Shibuya Incident from happening. Worse, he fell into the enemy's hand and got sealed, and just before he was trapped inside that accursed box, he saw you die. And even after the most excruciating 19 days of his life afterwards, he couldn't do anything about it.

Your face haunted him. The tears you shed for him still lingered at the tips of his fingertips. The blood from your mouth still soaked his vision.

"Satoru..." you croaked. You were afraid. Afraid of dying, but most of all, afraid of leaving him. You had promised him once, on the bunkbed of your dorms back in Jujutsu High, that you wouldn't leave him. Tears wouldn't stop falling from your beautiful eyes.

Satoru burned that image on his mind. He wanted to hate himself with every fiber of his being, but then you said the most damnable thing possible.

"Thank you... for everything..."

And you had a smile on your face. In your last moments, you decided to convey how much he meant to you in this life. How much you cherished him. You prayed with all your heart that it would reach him.

And once again, just like the first day he saw you at the training grounds of Jujutsu High, Satoru found you to be really breathtaking. You were beautiful even as you laid dying. Even as his visions were obscured as he fell into the darkness.

Inside the prison realm where time passed long and uncertain, he made himself numb once again.

You were his most cherished figment of the most precious memory held in his heart―the three years of his youth. He wouldn't have changed anything about it. He was devastated, severely so, but so did the sweetness aftertaste he felt.

Your feelings reached him, and because of that, even if the road ahead was long and hard and painful, he would stay on that road.

If it meant he could meet you again on the other side of this dream... he'd stay and move towards tomorrow, no matter how bleak it was.

When his comrades freed him from the prison realm, he gained knowledge that most people he knew were also dead during his absence. Nanami. Yaga. The students.

Perhaps it was his curse. To be blessed with everything, but not being able to do anything about it.

He had nothing more to lose when he fought against Sukuna. He gave it his all. Everything his life had led him to―he put it all on the line.

And suddenly―suddenly, he was back to the happiest chapter of his youth. Everyone was there. Suguru was there. Nanami, Haibara, even Riko.

And you.

On the other side of that dream, you were once again standing before him, in your old uniform, just like when you’d get ready for a class so many years ago, and with the smile he fell in love with. The smile he would gladly fight the world for.

"Satoru," you called, breathless, but just like before you left him the first time, you frowned and your eyes suddenly glistened with tears. "Why... are you here? How did you―"

But you choked back your tears when he ran to you and pulled you into his arms so tightly. You heard him grunt, and then to your surprise, slightly sob.

Now he is no longer Gojo Satoru, the strongest. He is back to a young sorcerer wanting so badly to live his youth to the fullest, happiest.

"You lied to me," he reprimanded you amidst his weeping. "You left. You freaking left―"

Your vision blurred. "I'm sorry..."

Satoru let you go to have a good look at you. You were no longer bleeding. Your insides were intact. Just a little crying because you couldn't help it.

"I love you, you know that right?" he blurted with the most sullen expression he could muster. He turned back into the child-boy you somehow fell in love with.

"Satoru," you breathed out, anxious. "You shouldn't be here―"

"I should," he cut you with a firm tone. "I have no regrets. I have done what I can, and now―"

"But the others―they need you! They need you, Satoru."

He drooped his head. He had thought it over too, but he had come to a final conclusion. "No. They don't."

Maybe it was finally the time to let go of it. It was time to just... pass it over. No more interventions. No more tipping the balance of the world itself.

Immediately, you understand what he means. Gojo Satoru has served his purpose. There was nothing left that he must and could do.

"You waited long, huh?" you whispered with tears, yet a smile bloomed on your face.

"I did."

"Then... now that you're here," you offered your hand towards him, and then looked at the faces of your friends. They were all beaming at you and him, waiting for this exact moment.

You stared at him fondly, lovingly.

"Would you... walk this road with me once again?"

Satoru snapped his head. He nodded at you with pure certainty, zero hesitation. "Yes."

He took your hand, grasping it tightly in his.

"Even when there's a possibility that you have to walk to the other side of a nightmare again?”

"I would," Satoru resolutely replied.

Because it's you, he would. He'd willingly and gladly cross the throes of hell and set out on this lonely yet hopeful journey, just to meet you.

You chuckled at him heartily, and Satoru felt the immense love he held for you as the two of you walked towards tomorrow, without regrets.

It may be his curse, to have everything yet nothing at the same time. But each time he would be faced with this decision, he'd remember that feeling and let go of everything just for this very chance to live a life with you again.

[pestfreezoneae]

WHY PROFESSIONAL PEST CONTROL IS IMPORTANT?

WHY PROFESSIONAL PEST CONTROL IS IMPORTANT?

Before knowing why let me give you a brief introduction of PEST AND PEST CONTROL

WHAT IS PEST?

Any organism dangerous to people or their concerns is considered a pest. The phrase is specifically used to describe animals that harm livestock, crops, forests, or people, especially in their houses. Because they have altered the environment to suit their needs, humans are intolerant of other animals sharing space with them if their actions negatively affect our goals. Elephants are therefore OK in their native habitat but undesirable when they trample crops.

WHAT IS PEST CONTROL?

The technique of managing and stopping pests, such as insects, rodents, and other animals from harming crops, structures, and other areas is known as pest control. Numerous techniques exist for controlling pests, encompassing chemical and physical approaches such using pesticides and setting up barriers and traps.

Professional pest control is Important because You and your family should feel safe and secure in your property, but that sense is destroyed when pests break in. In addition to being an annoyance, pests pose a risk to your family's health and safety. Because infestations can spread illnesses and cause damage to property, it's best to leave professional pest treatment to the professionals when it comes to your property. Professional pest control services are vital for a number of reasons, including the maintenance of a secure, comfortable, and healthy home or workplace. Here is the list of WHY PROFESSIONAL PEST CONTROL IS IMPORTANT?

Safety and Health:

For both people and pets, pests can be extremely dangerous to their health. There are several pests that can spread bacteria, viruses, and parasites to people. To give just two examples, ticks and mosquitoes can spread Lyme disease and the West Nile virus, respectively, while rodents can carry infections like the Hantavirus.

Eco-Friendly Resolutions:

A lot of pest control businesses provide low-toxicity and environmentally friendly pest control solutions. In order to safeguard the ecosystem and reduce harm to non-target species, they place a higher priority on the use of safer techniques and chemicals.

Peace of Mind: 

It gives you peace of mind to know that skilled pest control services are protecting your property. You don't have to worry about the presence of pests or the possible health hazards they may cause to carry out your everyday activities.

Allergies and Respiratory Problems:

Pest infestations can trigger allergies and respiratory problems, particularly in individuals who are sensitive to allergens like cockroach droppings, dust mites, and pet dander. Professional Pest Control Services helps reduce allergen exposure.

Safeguarding Property:

Professional pest control safeguard your property.In addition to eating through wires, insulation, wood, and fabrics, pests can seriously harm property. For example, unmanaged termites can seriously harm building integrity. Professional pest management shields against such harm.

Food Security:

Food sources in residences and commercial buildings can become contaminated by pests. Foodborne infections may result from this contamination. By preventing infestations in kitchens, pantries, and storage spaces, professional pest control 

Dubai may help protect food safety.

Keeping Out Secondary Pests:

Using do-it-yourself pest control techniques could unintentionally result in further infestations of pests. For example, getting rid of one kind of bug with insecticides could lead to another pest issue. By locating and addressing the underlying cause of infestations, professionals can lower the likelihood of developing secondary pests.

Knowledge and Experience:

Professionals in pest control have the skills, background, and education necessary to recognise various pest species, comprehend their habits, and implement efficient removal methods. They are able to customise solutions for specific pest issues.

Time and Money Saved:

Do-it-yourself pest control techniques can be labor-intensive and may not work well. Proffesional pest control experts can handle insect issues more quickly, which could ultimately save you time and money.

Observance of Regulations:

Businesses must follow rules for pest control, particularly those in the food and hospitality sectors. Professional pest management services support adherence to these rules.

Prolonged Prevention:

Professional pest control services prioritise long-term prevention in addition to quick elimination. By recognising and addressing pest-attracting environments, they lessen the chance of additional infestations.

Tailored Solutions:

Pest control professionals customise their approaches to address the particular problems with pests and the particular requirements of every property, offering efficient and customised solutions. 

To sum up, Professional pest control services are necessary to keep a space safe, healthy, and free of pests. In order to shield residential and commercial premises from the damaging consequences of pest infestations, they provide knowledge, experience, and a variety of practical solutions.

At Pestfreezone.ae. We will help you to get rid of all the pest from your indoor,outdoor and warehouses in DUBAI, SHARJAH and ABU DHABI.

[alsafeerblog]

Common Pests Found in UAE Homes and Advice to Prevent Them

It is a well-known fact that the UAE is a prosperous country and mind-blowing tourist destination. It projects an image of luxury and high quality of living. Regardless of this glittering image of opulence homes in the UAE face the daunting challenge of pest infestations. A range of pests from dust mites to rodents pose a threat to the health and wellbeing of its occupants. Moreover, the property damage caused by these infestations is yet another concern. 

One of the reasons given for this wide spreading of pests in UAE is the warm climate that facilitates a conducive environment for their growth. A better understanding of such reasons specific to pest varieties and pests in general is the basic tool of pest control services UAE. If hiring a professional pest control service is not your option you will find the following sections dedicated to pest varieties and preventive strategies as a helpful guide. 

1. Dust Mites

These microscopic pests that grow in warm and humid conditions find the UAE climate conducive for growth. The result is an infestation that causes allergic reactions, skin irritations, and respiratory conditions. It can even trigger people with asthmatic conditions. 

Preventive strategies suggested by disinfection services Abu Dhabi against dust mites include the choice of dust mite-proof covers in bedding, weekly washing of bedding in hot water, the use of dehumidifier and the choice of hard floors instead of carpets that facilitate dust mite breeding. 

 2. Cockroaches 

Cockroach infestations are hard to tackle due to the resilience of these pests. Since they are vectors of diseases and cause unpleasant odors it is necessary to prevent them from infesting homes. 

 Effective strategies for their prevention include the maintenance of clean indoor spaces without food remnants and the sealing of cracks and crevices in doors and windows. This will deny them food sources as well as hiding spots that are required for them to survive. 

 3. Ants

Even though ants are generally considered only as a nuisance they are potential agents that could contaminate food. As a preventive strategy pest control services in Abu Dhabi recommend avoiding open food sources by keeping them in airtight containers. Sealing the cracks and other entry points is also preferable for ant prevention. 

 4. Bed Bugs 

The itchy bites of bed bugs are a nightmare for many. It can be avoided to some extent by regular cleaning of bedding with hot water and the usage of mattress encasements that prevent their infestations. 

 5. Termites 

Considered as silent eaters of wood materials termites pose significant financial losses to household properties. Regular termite inspections and treatments and the maintenance of proper ventilation that reduces indoor moisture levels are the recommended solutions by pest control services UAE to tackle this infestation. 

These are some of the common pests found in the UAE homes. Other pests like flies, mosquitos, and rodents also pose some serious impacts on the health of its occupants or the integrity of properties. Here are some general insights that could be delineated from the above sections that will help to handle these pests in general. 

Regular Cleaning: This ensures clutter-free spaces taking away the hiding spaces for these insects. 

Proper Waste Management: Cleanliness in kitchens, storage spaces, and dining areas takes away food that these pests are likely to feed on. 

Sealing Entry Points: Sealing gaps, cracks, and openings around doors, windows, and utility pipes will block their entry points. 

Keep in mind that these preventive strategies are limited in effectiveness. That is they are not guaranteed to completely prevent or repel pest infestations. If you feel that a particular infestation is getting out of hand it is better to hire a professional pest control services in UAE who have expertise in ensuring complete extermination of the pest. Al Safeer Building Cleaning & Pest Control Services is an ideal choice in this direction. 

[pestcontrolservicesmelbourneau]

Pre Purchase Building Inspection in Melbourne: Make Your Real Estate Investing Confident

Employing experts who perform pre purchase building inspection in Melbourne is the best way to avoid all of this hassle and cost. Most people view it as a major investment; therefore, prospective homeowners always want to make sure the house they are considering is in good condition and free of obvious flaws. You will be faced with more hassles and costs if these flaws are discovered after you have already bought a house.

Make Sure Everyone Is Safe and Healthy With Pest Protection

Household pest inspection in Melbourne presents a significant health and safety hazard that is frequently disregarded. Certain pests, especially rats, can spread disease through their urine and excrement. The health of your family may suffer as a result of this.

In addition to causing structural damage to your home, new build termite protection at Locations: Thornhill Park, Mt Atkinson, Melton South, Strathtulloh, Taylors Lake raise the risk of harm to your family members. Aside from bed bugs, mites, cockroaches, mosquitoes, and other pests, humans may become allergic or itchy to these things.

You Can Prevent Termite Destruction That Could Expense a Lot of Money

Owing to the phrase's negative connotations, termites immediately evoke unpleasant thoughts in people's minds. This pest may assault your house in a number of ways, resulting in significant financial losses and property damage. It is estimated that one in three Australian homes would experience a termite infestation at some point in their lives. It accurately illustrates the potentially fatal danger that these insects represent to your property.

A Pre-Purchase Construction Examination: What Is It?

It entails a thorough evaluation and report on the property's condition from an impartial, licenced building inspector. By using this service, prospective purchasers can feel secure knowing that before signing a contract to buy the house, they are informed of any significant structural flaws or required home repairs.

Pre-purchase inspections and analyses of properties can give vendors and buyers some peace of mind. When purchasing a house, purchasers can feel secure in the knowledge that their interests are completely safeguarded against any potential structural alterations or safety concerns with the home's construction.

Source

[idigitizellp21]

Answering Common Cockroach Faq’s

While cockroaches can be found worldwide, they are especially upsetting when found in your home or office. They require only three things to thrive: food, water, and shelter. Since all homes contain these three things, anyone is susceptible to a cockroach infestation.

The best way to prevent or beat a cockroach infestation is to know your enemy.

So Here Are Some Answers To Common Questions People Ask Us Related To Cockroaches.

Q1: How Many Kinds of Cockroaches Are There?

There are about 4,000 species of cockroaches in the world. Fortunately, we often have to deal with just these 4 kinds usually: the American cockroach, the German cockroach, the Oriental cockroach, and the Brown-banded cockroach. The most common cockroach is the German cockroach.

Q2: What Is the Average Cockroach Lifespan?

The average lifespan of a cockroach depends on its species. For example, the brown-banded cockroach can live for about four to ten months, while the Oriental cockroach can live for four to six months. The German cockroach lives for 100–200 days, and the American cockroach can live for up to a year. During their lifetime, they will lay up to 200 eggs, ensuring the species multiply and thrive.

Q3: What Do Cockroaches Eat?

Cockroaches are omnivores and will eat both animal and plant life. They are opportunistic eaters and not picky, but they like starches, sweets, greasy foods, and meat the most.

Q4: How Long Can Cockroaches Live Without Food?

Cockroaches can live for up to a month without eating. However, they have evolved to be able to eat just about anything. When nothing tastier is available, they will eat cardboard, glue from book bindings, hair, and any other organic materials they can find. It’s nearly impossible to starve out a cockroach.

Q5: How Long Can Cockroaches Live Without Water?

Like most animals, cockroaches can survive much longer without food than without water. Cockroaches will die of dehydration after just one week without water. This is why they tend to be found in damp and humid places like under sinks, in basements, and in bathrooms. However, they can get some moisture from the food they eat, so replacing leaky pipes won’t fix the whole problem.

Q6: Can Cockroaches Survive a Nuclear Blast?

Having been around for about 300 million years, cockroaches are quite resilient. It is believed that they might survive a nuclear blast because they have a much higher resistance to radiation than most other creatures — especially humans. That said, while cockroaches as a species could survive a nuclear blast, individual roaches will die if exposed to high levels of radiation. They are prolific breeders, so even if a nuclear blast killed off most of them, some could survive and quickly replenish their population.

Prevent Future Infestations

It is imperative to know why periodic cockroach pest control prevents future infestations. Professional pest control companies like Ultima Search uses a blended approach where both effective products and services are applied to prevent their return. Regular pest control can provide peace of mind for homeowners as well as businesses. Knowing that their asset is protected from cockroach infestations not only reduce stress and anxiety but also contribute to a pest-free safe environment.

Kokron On toh Cockroach Gone

Cockroach pest control and the best cockroach killers are available all across the market but to truly find one that you can trust ensuring no return, you need to settle for legacy and effectiveness. Cockroaches are usually considered to be the strongest species on earth even capable of surviving nuclear radiation but they won’t survive Kokron products from Ultima Search. Kokron is available in many forms including sprays, gels, pastes, and powders with a single-point agenda to rid your area of cockroaches.

To get the best cockroach pest control products and services at the click of a button visit us at www.ultimasearch.com or call toll-free at 1800 120 6258. We will have the best possible solution ready at your doorstep.

[eisukevint]

Always You

Eisuke Ichinomiya

This one’s for you @leoamber66 - i should be ashamed of myself for taking this long but here we are! your graduation and your birthday gift. and a massive thank you to @cupidocherie for major help bec idek where i would be without her😭😭 anyways enjoyyy, i love you <3

»»»»

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean when you tripped and almost fell in front of everyone on your first day in elementary school?”

“No! oh my god, I told you to forget that!”

“Pftt, how can anyone ever forget that? I’m sure soryu and luke remember too”

“I hope they don’t haha, but really, we’ve come so far” Yuki commented, reminiscing about one certain day.

Eisuke’s POV

“So children, today a new student will be joining us. This is Yuki Freya. I hope all of you will be nice to her and welcome her warmly!” The teacher, Miss Hale as she introduced herself, addressed the class.

“Yuki, you’re going to sit with Eisuke. Please raise your hand so she can know where you are, Eisuke!” Miss Hale announced.

The clumsy girl, Yuki, made her way over to me earning several stares from both girls and boys present in the classroom.

“Hi, i’m Yuki!” She enthusiastically said extending her hand towards me.

I shook her hand, “Eisuke”

“Nice to meet you!” She said and then turned towards the teacher as she started her lesson, not giving me a chance to reply.

At least her smile is cute.

»»»»

Yuki didn’t follow me around like the other girls in my class did. Instead, she became friends with Luke and Soryu who happened to be my best friends. They seemed to like her a lot. Now that was rare.

It was P.E. and the teacher partnered me with Yuki despite the other girls begging him to partner them up with me. I didn’t complain considering she wasn’t annoying like the others.

“Are you ready?” She asked me tying up her left leg with my right one, preparing for the three legged race. Why is this even a thing? Couldn’t we just race like normal people?

“Of course I am” Eisuke Ichinomiya is always ready.

It didn’t take long for me to come off my high horse when Yuki couldn’t keep up with my fast pace and fell down, twisting her ankle.

Yuki groaned in pain and tried to get up but failed. The P.E. teacher came forth and asked me to carry her on my back to the infirmary as a punishment which was just across the field.

“But it’s not my fault that she fell!” I retorted back despite knowing it was partly my fault she fell since I was moving too fast for her.

“She was your partner Ichinomiya, it’s your responsibility.”

“Fine” I said when I realised there was no getting out if it. With that, i asked her to get on my back and carried her to the infirmary.

As the nurse tended to her injury, she turned towards me with that same cute smile “Thank you, Eisuke”

I instantly felt a stab of guilt.

“Hmph, I didn’t do it for you” I didn’t notice the blush that crept on my cheeks but I did notice the way my heart flipped. Just as she was about to say something, Soryu and Luke came looking for her.

“Are you alright?” Luke asked to which she replied with a grin and swinging her leg back and forth.

“Never better!”

Seriously how can someone be so cute.

»»»»

high school

The murderous intent was evident in my eyes as I gazed at Yuki laughing at something the principal’s cockroach son said.

In the beginning, Frank tried to befriend me but I felt something was off and eventually it became very clear to me that he only wanted me to be a handy tool in his pocket ready for emergencies, so I shook him off pretty quickly. Somehow, Frank’s always lingering around me. He’s always loved to single me out whenever I express disinterest in something, in hopes that others would join in. Instead, the girls that fawn over me often tell him to shut up and then they’re confronted by his fangirls and in the end, it’s just a massive cat fight.

He’s nothing but trouble. As the principal’s son, he’s quite popular, almost as popular as me, and he can pretty much get away with anything. Luckily for him, he’s very sly. Hiding behind his minions, he’s never once flat out done anything. Good with underhanded remarks, letting other people take all of the blame, coercing them into doing what he wants. His little groupies pay no heed to any of this, all because he’s handsome. But there’s a large group of people who don’t like him, but nobody has ever said anything straight to his face, thanks to his feared status.

There were rumours earlier this year that on Valentine’s Day, Frank asked Yuki out but she told him that she wanted to focus on school. I’m surprised Frank didn’t get angry at her and punch a wall or something. That sounds like something he would usually do. While I’m proud of Yuki for turning him down, part of me hopes that what she said was just a lie she made up so she could just get away from him. But now, Frank and Yuki are partners on this project, I’m convinced this teacher is trying to set those two up. Soryu, who was partnered with this over-zealous girl looked as if he would smash either his own head or the girl’s if she didn’t stop with her chattering. I’ve been paired up with Luke, unfortunately I’ve been neglecting our work because keeping an eye on Yuki has become too much of a priority. I hate how he gets too close to her, the way he continues to flirt with her and the smug look that’s plastered on his face when he realises that I’m watching. All Luke can do is sigh and shake his head at me.

“I’d gladly switch with Yuki if I didn’t have to put up with him, Eisuke...”

“Hey watch out, you’ll hurt yourself!” Yuki yells, pushing him away before she yelps in pain, drawing her hand back.

For a split second, it’s like I can only see red. I march right up to their desk, in close proximity to the two only to see a red mark across Yuki’s hand. It looks painful. If Frank hadn’t been so careless then Yuki wouldn’t have gotten hurt. What were you thinking!? Why do you need to care so much about everyone else!?

“Oops, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“No, I’ll take her.”, I sternly tell Frank. Yuki insists it’s not too big of a deal and that she’s fine.

“Hmph, alright. I’ll make it up to you another way then, Yuki.”

“You don’t need to. Stay away from my girl.” I felt Yuki tense up beside me the moment those words left my mouth. Thinking nothing of it, I took her dainty uninjured hand in my right one and pulled her along with me towards the infirmary. Yuki, being the obedient and polite girl she was followed without a hint of refusal.

Upon our arrival to the medical department of the school, the nurse immediately treated Yuki’s injury. As I gazed at the familiar scene before my eyes, a certain memory played in my head.

“What’s with you and infirmaries?” Were the words that came out of my mouth the very second the school nurse disappeared, probably went back to her office.

She whipped her head towards me, a tiny smile adorning her graceful features. Adorable giggles escaped from her mouth indicating that Yuki too was reminiscing about that particular day.

“You’re too amiable for your own good.” I chuckled, moving to sit into the chair where the nurse was not long ago and grabbing her hand with the nasty burn on it.

“How dare he ruin your precious soft skin like this” Placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, I held onto it as I stared deep into her gorgeous blue eyes.

“Is it true you rejected him?” She stared back, cocking her head a little bit to her left at the question, confusion etched on her face.

“On Valentine’s Day, I heard he confessed to you but you turned him down, saying you wanted to focus on your studies. Is that true?” Her face lit up upon remembrance but an almost gloomy expression took over right after.

“Ah...yes, now that you mention it” I squeezed her hand a little tighter but not tight to enough to hurt her as I waited for her to continue.

“That’s only half true though..”

What?

“I also told him I like someone else.”

Oh.

I immediately loosened my grip on her hand.

So that’s why. Heh, what were you even thinking Ichinomiya?

Yuki glanced over to me, fidgeting in her seat with nervousness.

“Won’t you ask who it is?” This time, she grabbed my hand and lightly tug on it preventing me from standing up, causing her to hiss in pain.

“Does it even matter?” I sighed, patting her hand lightly with that flicker of hope in my heart slowly diminishing. As I was about to get on my feet a second time, she said those words which haltered my every movement, completely catching me off guard. Words i’ve wanted to hear for the longest time now from a certain girl I adored more than anything.

“It’s you, Eisuke.”

Good Lord.

“It’s always been you.”

Will I survive if my heart continues to beat this fast every time i’m around her? I’ll have to ask Luke later.

“Eisuke?” Yuki peered at my astounded face snapping me out of my daze. When I look back at her, I thought I could resist just pulling her into my arms and claiming her as mine but boy, was I wrong. I immediately grabbed her chin and captured her silky lips in a somewhat soft and gentle kiss. Laying every emotion bare into our first kiss, Yuki loosely wrapped her arms around my shoulders as she kissed me back with equal passion. We parted and just sat there basking in the pleasure of being in each other’s arms until I decided to break the comfortable silence since a significant amount of time had passed and we needed to go back to the lab.

“You’re mine and I won’t allow you to leave me.” She hummed in response and with a little peck on her lips, I pulled her up with me and exited the infirmary.

Our fingers intertwined perfectly as we walked back to the class feeling oddly at peace - mind, body and soul.

»»»»

“And Soryu teased us so much when we went back to class! But no one was surprised, I mean we were kind of inseparable...” Yuki said bashfully, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The diamond of her engagement ring caught the light of the setting sun.

“It’s because they knew you were mine.” Professing my undying love for her, I place a fierce kiss on her lips imagining a bright future with my one and only,

“Always have been and always will be.”

•••

[leam1983]

It’s the end of the work week and, well...

I’m having thoughts on labor culture.

My father was born in 1958. He lived as the son of an absent father of five children who had no ability to truthfully express his love and care, and who instead chose to bury himself in work as a means to display his commitment. My paternal grandfather made and sold mattressees and died quite young of a cancer strain that today would’ve seemed benign. He was described as a hard worker, either up to his neck in his business or wanting just a scant few hours per day to himself. It made an aloof lover out of him and a distant father - who still loved his wife and children to bits but who felt emotionally castrated in a sense, as were men of the era.

The family consensus is that his work killed him.

My father is now 65 and survived a bout of Non-Hodgkinian Lymphoma. The oncologist and anyone with half a brain agreed that stress was the culprit. Early on, Dad had the family as an excuse for his tendency to overwork. He had to provide for us, after all, and garnish my mother’s meagre savings. All she has is her government-issued pension plan, while my father does have his own pension as a retiree of the City of Montreal’s Real-Estate Appraisal service. Considering, he felt obligated to pull a heavier load to bring in more, so they’d have better investment opportunities. Later on, he kept working out of a sense of fealty and attachment to his division, breaking out of retirement during the pandemic to join the work-from-home team. He wanted to help techs and city officials find ways to bring more of the traditionally snail-mail-based parts of the system online so the city’s Land Management service wouldn’t be paralyzed by COVID-19. What was supposed to be a single month turned into four, which turned into twelve.

By the end, they were begging him to stay on the team and to pull longer hours. We’re talking twenty hours per day, in some particularly grueling stretches. That means being logged in by breakfast and scarfing bagels down with Urban Design techs on Zoom instead of your own family, or having supper with your boss because she needs a play-by-play of the situation to stave off her executive anxiety.

Long story short, I didn’t see Dad much during the first wave. His reasoning was that he’d eventually stop, pool all this cash, and chuck it into his and Mom’s Registered Retirement Savings Account - with maybe an extra two thou or so in case the country reopened enough for their postponed trip to Cuba to take place.

Guess what? His zona flared up and he ended up with odd, shingly bumps along his scalp which to this day the local dermatologist grimaces at and tentatively has us dab with cortisone cream.

Mom, though? She’s a retired and registered nurse with a self-negating streak and a chronic propensity to undervalue her own physical ailments. Someone who quite literally understands the pain of busted hips on a clinical level because she was trained in Gerontology - and also someone who refuses to schedule an appointment with her GP and who inexplicably self-medicates with white wine.

As for me, I’m a 37 year-old man with a paycheck I consider massive with its meagre six bucks above the minimum-wage threshold - someone who chose to shack in with his folks until the current crisis ends and who therefore has a history of a single, willingly terminated apartment lease that originally began in the Planned Housing market. The apartment I want is basically a Barbie doll house for adults, a gleaming fantasy I’ll never have enough capital to touch unless I feel like trying my hand with criminal applications of my skills. The apartment I can get right now is a shithole, and I have the audacity to think I deserve a shithole that at least wasn’t someone’s former cockroach den.

Now here’s the kicker: I value my sanity and my health. I know my mental stamina levels and I know from experience that after working seven-point-five hours per day with the occasionally shorter Friday, I’ve found my limit. I could invest more if I worked more, yes, and I’m already in a better position than my parents, retirement-wise. I’ll never be rich, but I’m already set to be comfortable, provided I don’t spend my golden years trying to make it as an unsponsored TechTuber or anything else that’s equally ludicrous.

Where that’s a problem is in the toxicity this is generating. See, I have the gall to slide my daily schedule later so I can start at an hour that fits my biological clock and ends at an hour where I’m at my most creative. That means the folks saw me spending my pandemic mornings on Animal Crossing while Dad was trying to wrangle Excel spreadsheets for non-tech-savvy fellow Boomers while preventing the dog from eating his meeting notes. That means they guzzled vinho verde like it was Kool-Aid after seven while I made sure to find more concrete means to distance myself from work - ideally ones that didn’t involve functional alcoholism.

Naturally, what was bound to happen, happened: Dad soon spent his evenings calling me shiftless or “unwilling to commit”, while I was stuck watching him miss all the cues his stressed-out body were sending him. We already had Trump’s last desperate months and a global plague to handle, I really didn’t want my work to turn into more of a nuisance than it already is. I already love the people I work for and hate what I do (repeating the family cycle, it seems), but I’ve at least decided to give myself ample Me time every single day. 

I’ve paired that with smaller, if consistent portfolio investments, along with a few new habits I wanted to get into to stay saner. Dad pulls crosswords or plays competitive chess in the wee hours, while I usually lay down to meditate around midnight and fall asleep by 1 AM at the latest. I’m half-expecting my father to pull a Tyler Durden and to sneer at me, at some point. “Self-care is masturbation,” he’d probably say.

Looking at classifieds for rentals, it’s obvious that the entire system is predicated on abuse. Work yourself down to the therapist’s office, right down to the fucking bone, and you just might earn a half-decent retirement because nobody’s taught you to invest incrementally. Nope, Society seems to say, you’re supposed to buy, buy and buy some more, until you realize you have ten years left to start from scratch!

I remember Dad’s face on my eighteenth birthday. “Why would you want a Disability Care Savings Account, Brain? You just turned into a legal adult by Canadian standards - you’re in no rush, right?”

I told him the real gift I wanted for my birthday, that day, was a ride to the family’s Financial Investments counsel. I pulled up the PDFs I’d printed out and filled and brought them over. From then on, if I dropped a penny in my nest-egg, Ottawa would drop another one. If my share grew, so did the government’s. In the twenty-odd years since, it’s expanded exponentially.

Dad thought I’d done this to have a big cushion by the time I’d retire. Mom thought I’d done this in case my disability worsened and I started requiring equipment or physical assistance. Honestly, my dumb, if slightly prescient eighteen year-old self figured I’d rather spend my time reading or playing video games than working. I knew I’d need something to help cushion my admittedly low career-related ambitions. I might throw several thousands at a new computer every seven to eight years, but that’s because I’ve saved them up for just as long, little by little. I have no vices beyond what sillicon offers and what you’d find in the pages of a book and don’t exactly need a big ‘ol, stonkin’ humidor stuffed with conoisseur stogies.

I have a shoebox with a poked-out Ziploc bag and a sponge, with a handful of joints and a few Santa Anas I got off of a buyer’s pool from work. Five of us occasional chair-bar goons pooled cash together on Cigar Chief and cushioned prices with a single, shared and massive order. I’m nowhere near rich, but assuming the housing market can catch its breath eventually, I’ll be able to live modestly - with one or two markers of occasional luxury I’ll have chosen.

I have a shittier job than my father has had and I’ve chosen to be happier than him. It’s just sad that the usual response elevates overwork as the supposedly one, true way to leave a mark in society.

No, Dad. I don’t want to die while my own cells eat me alive, I want to die blazed out of my fucking mind, happy because I’ll have had time to enjoy my friends’ company and to finally make some sense out of Kerouac’s Subterraneans or to figure out what the fuck is going on in Joyce’s Illiad. I’ll die crusty as shit and fulfilled as a Pop Culture jockey, because I’ll have either finished Persona 5: Golden in my lifetime or I’ll have watched the entirety of the MCU’s output before Disney finally manages to kill their golden goose.

I want to die decades from now, feeling like I at least owned my choices and didn’t spend my time tethered to someone else’s professional expectations of me.

[beeblebrox-be-damned]

Silohuette (Part 6: Preventative Measures 2/2)

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Steve cursed under his breath as he slammed the heel of his hand down on the horn, joining the cacophony of irritated New York drivers. Of course, they were irritated for a much less pressing reason than him. Bucky would be in hot pursuit of him by now.

Finally, the traffic began moving again in slow, faltering spurts. He turned down a side street as soon as possible, wanting to get as far from the police station as fast as he could. The side street was relatively empty, giving him room to speed for just a few moments. Steve was loathe to break laws, but it seemed necessary given the situation.

The side street opened upon another main street, this one less crowded than the last. He wove in and out between slow-moving cars, receiving several angry honks from multiple drivers. He flinched each time, mentally apologizing to those he disturbed. 

Just as he passed another vehicle, there was the screeching of breaks behind him. He glanced back briefly, hoping he hadn’t been the cause. Nobody had crashed, so he kept moving.

Something hit the top of his car, hard. He froze, then floored it, weaving erratically as he sped down the street trying to shake off what had landed. A fist broke through the window, and Steve knew he was beat. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled over to the sidewalk and parked. The fist withdrew and the owner of it jumped off the roof of the vehicle. He glared at Steve, rage dancing in his eyes.  Steve switched the car off and shoved the keys in his pocket.

“Out of the car, Steve,” Bucky said coldly. His voice was muffled slightly by the mask he wore, the one he’d used as the Winter Soldier.

Steve opened the door and held up his hands. Bucky shoved past him and began to search the car. “She’s not in there, Buck.”

Bucky withdrew and glared at Steve wordlessly before turning and checking the back of the vehicle. True to Steve’s word, it was empty. He slammed the hatch shut angrily and marched back over to Steve, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back against the car. Bits of glass poked his shoulders.

“Where,” he growled savagely, “is she?” His eyes were sharp as chips of ice.

Steve kept his face straight, a poker face. “I don’t know. She ran off once we were out the door.”

Bucky yanked Steve forward and then slammed him back. Steve’s breath faltered as air was forced from his lungs. He coughed for a moment before he regained his breath.

Bucky stared at him fiercely. “Bull. You wouldn’t have been driving like that if that were true.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you where she’s at.” He met his friend’s gaze steadfast. “You can’t just take someone from their home, Bucky, it isn’t right. Not at all.” His voice was firm.

Bucky let go of Steve and shoved him away from the car. He swung open the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, not bothering to brush away the shards of glass that littered the cushion. He slammed the door shut and yanked the mask off his face. 

“Get in the car,” he barked at Steve. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off. “Now, Steve.”

Steve slid into the passenger side without a word.

The apartment was worse than Bucky had remembered, which served his purpose well. he pulled to the curb and led Steve up the sidewalk. His friend was silent as they crossed the expanse of broken concrete.

The doorknob was nearly hanging of the door. The gutters above, which had been busted before, were now resting across the tiny patch of dead grass in front of the building. A slur and a lewd picture had been spray-painted on the mildewed wall. Bucky heard Steve shift uncomfortable beside him as they stood and surveyed the damage.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Bucky scoffed. 

“I- I had no idea. I just called a few people to clean up, but I didn’t know…” Steve trailed off.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Bucky sighed gruffly. He nudged open the door, which creaked but fell open easily. He led Steve inside.

The carpet was patchy at best, the couch soiled. Someone had come in and wrecked the place. Bucky was feverishly glad his girl hadn’t been there when it happened. The tiny kitchen to the side was in shambles, water puddles warping the floor. The bathroom reeked, several rats lying dead around the small shower stall.

“How can someone live like this?” murmured Steve. “I can’t even imagine…” He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging a piece of broken plaster with his shoe. A cockroach skittered out from under it. “Anyone could’ve gotten in through that door.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. He trudged through the kitchen, testing the water faucet. A small spurt of dirty water shot forth then slowed to a stop. “Pipes must’ve burst during that cold snap,” he muttered. Considering the state of the place, he’d wager that the landlord- whoever the sorry bastard was- wouldn’t get it fixed. His girl would’ve been living without water.

Steve swallowed, his heart sinking to his stomach. “And this-” he said grimly “-was all she could afford?” He looked at Bucky, face fallen. Bucky nodded, his mouth set in a grim frown.

“I understand now.”

Someone’s hand rested on your shoulder, shaking you gently. You grunted and opened your eyes, the bright lights of the station blaring. Your neck ached from how you’d fallen asleep, head resting on the wall as you leaned against it.

The kind officer who’d taken you in, gave you a gentle smile as she pulled her hand away. “Feeling better?”

Your brow furrowed. Had you seemed sick when you came in? Perhaps she meant the anxiety you’d had. “Yes, thank you.”

She nodded. “Good. Up and at ‘em. then. Someones here to get you, take you to a safe place.” You raised your eyebrow, looking at her skeptically. 

“Who is it?” you asked cautiously. She stepped back out of the room and waved someone over. Steve Rogers ducked in the door, smiling. You gave a relieved sigh. Maybe he’d set you up a safe-house until Bucky forgot about you.

“Ready to go?” he asked. You nodded, following the lady officer and Steve out of the small room. The officer handed you a pair of flip-flops. 

“Had these in unclaimed goods. Figured you’d need at least a little somethin’ to wear home.” You blushed and looked down at your bare feet, slipping the shoes on quickly. They were slightly large, but you’d make do until you could buy some suitable shoes.

“Thank you, really,” you said, looking back up at the officer. “I know I must’ve seemed a bit… overwhelmed. But thank you for listening to me and keeping me safe.”

An odd expression flashed over her face before she nodded. “No problem, hun.” She looked up at Steve. “There’s no paperwork or anything, you two are free to go.”

He nodded appreciatively and shook her hand. “Thank you.” He turned to you and put his hand gently on your shoulder. “C’mon, the car is waiting outside.” He led you out of the station and to the SUV.

He opened the back door and nodded towards the seat. “I need you to sit back there, okay? It’s safer.”

Your stomach dropped. Was Bucky still looking for you? You climbed in the back seat obediently. Steve shut the door and walked around to the other side to the driver’s seat. You fastened your seatbelt, rubbing your fingers over the rough material nervously.

Steve glanced back at you and gave you a reassuring smile, noticing your nervousness. “Don’t worry, I’ve got somewhere safe lined out. Just sit back and relax, it isn’t terribly far.”

You nodded, leaning back in the seat as Steve pulled into the bustling morning traffic. You gazed out the window idly, wondering where you’d end up and how you’d support yourself. It’d be impossible for you to get your old job back after so long.

You rested your forehead against the window. Steve turned a corner, and your brow furrowed. “So where are we going, exactly?” you asked, curious. Surely your safe place wouldn’t be so close to the suburbs where your former captor lurked.

Steve looked back briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. A hand clamped over your mouth, metallic and cold. It muffled your screams. In the back of your mind as your eyes settled on the broken driver’s side window, you could hear the shattering sound of the cab driver barrier. A rag settled over your nose.

You sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. Bucky lowered his hands and slid over the back of the seats settling beside you. He pressed a kiss to your temple. TAGLIST: @the-soulofdevil @imaginedreamwrite@divinepurp1evoid @kennedysbrainpiece

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG175!

- Once again, I really loved how it felt like the sound effects were giving their own “statement” of the domain, by telling us (a bit in advance!) what the words were saying. You could remove Jon’s words, and it would still have been a horrifying dive into that desolated landscape, the surroundings themselves threatening you – it came to the point that the occasional clatter was inspiring dread since the noises felt like they might attract the native creature, and you really didn’t want it to come closer?

(I’m not absolutely sure about the Air Raid Siren in the background, but I thiiiink their cycles were regular, with a new round of them coming every 2 minutes or so? Really eerie to think that it had not stopped, while it wasn’t able to protect anyone from the incoming disasters since they were already there; and at the same time, they kept going… because, precisely, it was still an extinguished domain that kept extinguishing itself, that Leah was still there at this point so it could still get worse and even emptier? The signal is supposed to stop when the threat is over – it made sense that it would keep going since The Extinction was there and accomplished.)

- Things in common with previous statements dealing with cases suspected to be Extinction: the “Inheritors” as natives from this world.

(MAG134, Adelard Dekker) “Every single shrivelled ashened face was contorted in a scream of agony, every sharp and jutting jaw cracked and twisted in an expression of horror – of understanding not just of their death, but the end of everything they knew. It was clear that they had been this way for years, if not decades. Bernadette says she was sure that nothing had moved in that dead city for a hundred years. She was mistaken. I have never envied you your position, Gertrude. I have never coveted your gifts, as I know the terrible costs that come with them. But honestly, trying to get a description of these… things, these “Inheritors” from Bernadette Delcour made me wish I could just pull the image from her lips, like you would have been able to. In the end, she would say nothing of them, except that [STATIC]: “There is nothing done in the history of humanity that deserves the things that come after us.” […] It used to be part of The End, perhaps, when The End of humanity was to be the end of all things; but now, the fear is not of a rapture or a revelation; it is of catastrophic change. A change in our world that will wipe out what it means to be “us”, and leave something else in its place.”

(MAG149, Judith O’Neill) “There were no people in there, but… that’s not the same thing as it being empty. Instead, there were… figures. From a distance, they looked like human beings, standing impossibly still. But getting closer… quickly revealed the lie. It was just the rough shapes, cobbled together out of a hundred different pieces of garbage: a broken metal clotheshorse for a ribcage; a… plastic chair leg for an arm; rusted screws for teeth. In some cases, it looked like someone had gone through a lot of effort to match anatomy with construction. I saw one with a broken water-cooler where its stomach would be, and another had a pair of oxygen tanks standing in for lungs. They were completely still, but there was something about them that made my mouth dry up, and my mind scream to run. [STATIC] It didn’t feel like they were statues. It felt like they were choosing not to move.”

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: “Fauna: the thing that lives. Something lives in the Anthropocene age: [METALLIC GROAN] not a twisted reflection of a natural world, [RUMMAGING CLATTER] not a parasite or a scavenger or a cockroach, but a native. [SNAKE-LIKE HISSING] Something born in the sloping shells of sagging concrete towers, that tastes the tang of rusted iron in the air and knows that it is home. [RUMMAGING IN SMALL ITEMS] Something that does not know or care what a human is, any more than mankind thought of the creatures that once lived in the shells they found on the beach. [SCUTTLING] It moves through the stacks of garbage like a beetle through filth, and its smile is all-too familiar, though its eyes are dark and empty. [SNAKE-LIKE HISSING] It cannot be seen in its entirety, for it keeps itself covered, [SCUTTLING] but its long, unfurling tongue may be seen emerging, pink and bristling with long, hair-like taste buds, [CLATTER] hunting for something old enough to eat. [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] [SNAKE-LIKE HISSING] [METALLIC GROAN] It whispers to itself in the dark, and sounds like snippets of old toothpaste commercials, and adverts to join the army. It is hard to tell if there is more than one, [METALLIC GROAN] but either there are several of them of different sizes, or there is just the one, and it is getting bigger. [RUMMAGING, SCUTTLING] [SNAKE-LIKE HISSING] It is our replacement, and it is welcome to the world. […] [Leah] ignores the burning pain in her forearm, where the thing’s rough tongue has torn a section of her skin clean off.”

… Technically, there was something facepalm-worthy to the fact that one of the last living things from the old world was a seagull, but also:

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: “Fauna: a mouldering seagull. [BIRD CRYING IN THE DISTANCE] Larger than any related specimen to be found before the Anthropocene age, this bird has been rendered flightless by the tightly woven plastic netting, [CLATTER] that winds around and around its torso, digging into the skin beneath the feathers, and bulging over the strange lumps and tumours that cover it. Its feathers have turned an oily black, and its vestigial eyes are pale and sightless, [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] relying instead on the sounds its prey makes as they traverse the noisy junkpiles of discarded landscape. Its beak has become hard and its edges are serrated, allowing it to tear apart the tin cans and hard plastics that shield its food with ease. Its legs are long, and many-jointed, allowing it to move across the uneven ground, and its throat is blocked with concrete – preventing it from crying and letting it move amongst the ruins in complete silence. It nests in the rusted-out hollows of fleeing cars, constructing intricate shelters for its young, out of corpse-hair and wiring. Its eggs are rusty, covered in slime, and its chicks are born with plastic rings around their necks. They smell like ammonia and salt, and their name is meaningless, as there is no longer such a thing as the sea.”

… AOUCH for 1°) what happened to it, how it… “transformed” as a species due to everything human-related that had been inflicted to it, 2°) especially with the chicks “born with plastic rings around their necks” – that was a terrifying image, indeed.

(So, were the cries of birds we could hear in the background belonging to the Inheritors, or other birds, since the seagull had concrete in its throat “preventing it from crying”?)

- There was something absolutely haunting to the statement in the rhythm itself: the professionalism of the catalogue vs. the slight despair of the parts dedicated to Leah, between the sections she was writing. And the part with the rib!! Jon’s narration slowed down, dragged, sounded captivated by the rib, and really made you feel like there was a big mystery with that bone, something important?

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: “Item: [SQUELCH] a forgotten bone. … Whooose is this…? Pale white and… stained with thick black tar. A human bone, that much is… clear, too big to be a child’s, at least. Can a bone seem familiar…? The shape of it echoing through your mind, like a… face seen only in dreams…? [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] It may be followed up to a ribcage, still sticky in places with soapy cadaver fat, and closing around a crumpled beer can where the heart should be. There’s a skull as well, yellowing in the thick dust of the open air. Strange… Everything here is either bone-dry from relentless heat, or damp through from decomposition and stagnant decay. Lifeless yet decaying. The world we’ve left behind… Leah considers the bones for some time. Does she know them…? Are they hers? If she had been quicker, more forceful in her warnings, might they still be alive? Her pencil is broken, but her notes, her warnings from this new world are far from complete. She snaps off another rib, [STATIC RISES] and continues writing.”

Was it reminding Jon of his own discarded rib (and was it a nudge/an attack on him from The Extinction)? Was it Leah’s own ribcage, as she had transformed without noticing? Was it the reminder of the death of other people? Was it the “beginning” of an Inheritor? No idea, but the picture of Leah ultimately discarding the questions to snap a bone and use it as a new pen to keep up her work was very striking.

- Also haunting: the fact that Leah’s catalogue almost “humanised” inanimate objects, since they were described with their illogical aspects (the bulb still emitting light) and… almost told the story of what has happened by themselves, and at the same time didn’t at all? But the statement was about a present situation (an Extinct world) with remnants of what used to be – we could recognise the human activities which had caused some of these disasters, we were told of the purpose these items used to serve… and it was all senseless in that new world. It was really chilling that the “Anthropocene era”, here, wasn’t described by what was living and prospering in it, but with the death, decay and annihilation that had resulted from it.

- Obligatory HEAVY SNICKER because of the umbrella:

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: “Item: [FAINT METALLIC CLINK] a laughable umbrella. Look at it! [FAINT METALLIC CLINKING] What does it think it’s doing here, lying there, broken, skeletal? [FAINT METALLIC CLINK] There hasn’t been rain in fifty years. […] Stupid umbrella…! Does it think there is a monsoon coming? Does it even remember what a cloud of water vapor looks like? [FAINT METALLIC CLINKING] The clouds that pass now are oily, and stink of sulphur, waiting for you to stop paying attention before they climb down your throat and settle in your lungs. Perhaps this idiot apparatus thinks it can protect from the relentless heat of the sun! But its fabric is torn and ruined, hanging from the snapped metal limbs, desperate for a breeze to stir it from its… complete stillness. [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] Take a moment to sneer at this corpse of an umbrella, [FAINT METALLIC CLINK] and wish for a moment you had water enough within you to spit on it.”

… Did an umbrella hurt you in your childhood, Jonny.

Hilariousness aside (it really worked with Jon focusing all of his hatred on that item, you know Jon would be the kind to have a visceral negative opinion over something mundane), it… really worked as an allegory both for Leah’s work and for Jon’s journey. It’s about a damaged item which has lost its purpose in a new world, which can’t serve its initial purpose anymore, which exists but can’t do anything anymore. Just like Leah, writing the state of the new world in her “report on everything for nobody” (it’s too late, The Extinction has already happened), and Jon, only able to describe the horrors of the new world.

- Leah sticking to her catalogue even though the disaster already happened really reminded me of Jon in his function as Archivist (Jonah had called him “a living chronicle of terror” in MAG160, for example). Why is Jon compelled to “pour out” the domains’ statements? We still don’t know why and what that does exactly: is he creating more terror through the tapes, in the same way that Leah’s catalogue could technically be used to spread the terror of the Extinction world?

- ;_; I really really wasn’t expecting an Extinction domain, big surprise!

I really like how the question of it being “real” or not real enough was handled: when Adelard first described it in MAG134, it made a lot of sense as a Fear, and even more as a Fear strengthened by contemporary feelings (with the growing awareness of the destruction of humans being caused by humans themselves).

(MAG175) MARTIN: What was it like? ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: This place’s… [INHALE] Its statement. ARCHIVIST: Nothing too surprising. It’s a domain designed to eke fear out of those afraid of a world… [INHALE] destroyed by human hands, it, uh… It dwells on it. MARTIN: Hm. [SILENCE] [WET SQUEAK] … So it was real, then? The Extinction. ARCHIVIST: Of course it was real…! A–at least in the sense that… it was a thing people feared. Whether it was strong enough in its own right to be considered at a level with Smirke’s Fourteen or… whether it was on its way to getting there, I… [SHUFFLING] Maybe. This sort of thing is always… muddy.

And I really like how Jon was nuanced about it: acknowledging that it’s a real thing since it’s a real fear, but that it’s harder to evaluate whether it was on the same level as Smirke’s Fourteen when The Change happened: in a lot of ways, it feels like Smirke’s taxonomy had arbitrarily shaped the divisions in Fourteen for UK-based people and that for the next two centuries, monsters and avatars mostly referred to that division to organise themselves. The major difference, maybe, is that we never really met a human who decided to serve a fear they identified as “The Extinction” and turned into a servant of it, terrorising people through it to feed it in turn, and trying to shape the world in that image: Adelard had mentioned that he wasn’t sure that The Extinction was hiring avatars yet (MAG113: “I don’t know if my little ‘theoretical’ is strong enough yet to start taking avatars, but this one, as you’ve no doubt guessed, turned out to be Terminus.”), but it didn’t mean a lot – maybe there were already avatars out there and he hadn’t met them, and maybe if Adelard had written and propagated his ideas about The Extinction, a few people would have decided to serve it because they feared and reveled in it in turn.

Anyway, I like how Jon’s words didn’t exactly feel like a big “reveal”, more like a confirmation, since… a lot of these interrogations and hypotheses had been brushed upon by Adelard, Peter and Simon in season 4:

(MAG134, Adelard Dekker) “This Fear is new. This is a fear of extinction. Of change. It used to be part of The End, perhaps, when The End of humanity was to be the end of all things; but now, the fear is not of a rapture or a revelation; it is of catastrophic change. A change in our world that will wipe out what it means to be “us”, and leave something else in its place. Mankind will warp the world so much it kills us all, and leaves only a thousand years of plastic behind. Technology will strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien, and cold. We will press a button, that in a moment, will destroy everything we have ever been. Animals are witnessing the end of their entire species within a single generation. These are new fears, Gertrude, and a new Power is rising to consume them. The Extinction. The Terrible Change. The-Future-Without-Us.”

(MAG144) MARTIN: Another… statement. Another side to… Peter’s “Extinction”. I think. I… Y– I�� [HUFF] I, I couldn’t follow some of his reasoning, but I think it was about… nuclear weapons, or… or maybe doomsday’s weapons…? In keeping with the theme, I suppose.

(MAG149) MARTIN: Looks like Gertrude’s handwriting? Start of a letter to… Dekker, thanking him for sending Judith to her, though… it doesn’t look like it was ever finished or sent. [PAPER RUSTLING] “I assume this is another one he was trying to use to prove The Extinction? It… certainly has something in it. Mankind’s trash giving rise to something terrible. And again, fear of the other, inanimate humanoid figures. That’s all very… Stranger, isn’t it?” [SIGH] [LOW]… It’s never simple, is it…?

(MAG151) SIMON: “When is a new Power born?” Well; when does it feel like its birth would be right? When enough creatures suffer a terror of it that feels distinct, that feels truly its own… then it would probably feel right for it to emerge into its own. Or perhaps there’s a ritual, if it feels right to enact some sort of birthing ceremony, some… apocalyptic midwifery. MARTIN: And how close is it, do you think? SIMON: Can’t be sure! Peter thinks very close indeed, what with all the current “hubbub”, and I’m inclined to agree. […] Peter seems convinced that The Extinction is different. That its actual birth will be as bad or worse as another power fully manifesting. He believes its advent will be heralded by all sorts of disasters and catastrophes, and global upheavals, and whatnot. That kind of things. MARTIN: Sounds like a rich feeding ground. SIMON: Well, exactly! Peter, however, seems to think that it will upset the balance that we all have an awful lot invested in. And he’s not at all certain the world as we understand will come out the other side.

(MAG156, Adelard Dekker) “My first assumption would have been The Flesh, based on the cannibalism and strangeness of the bodies involved, but… something about this idea of some sort of “famine world”, its location within a made-man ruin, the whole… societal aspect of it… I’d be inclined to chalk this up as a genuine Extinction manifestation. But I don’t know. Am I drawing wild conclusions, trying to fit the account into my own preconceptions? Keen to know your feelings on the matter.”

(MAG157, Adelard Dekker) “so… perhaps you were right about The Extinction. I’ve been hunting it for decades now, and… while I have seen evidence of its influence in other Powers, I have never found anything to genuinely prove its emergence as a true Power of its own. Perhaps it is an existential fear that flows through the others like a vein of ore; or perhaps the birth of such things is longer and more complicated than I believed. For all that though, I cannot regret the time I have spent seeking it. I have done my duty; and none may ask more of me. I am proud of the work we have done, and it has been an honour to do it alongside you.”

(MAG159) PETER: Maybe that’s why, when I crossed paths with Adelard Dekker, we ended up talking, and he told me his theory of The Extinction – something that stayed with me even after he died pursuing it. The thing is: the Loneliness I crave, that fills my heart with that… reassuring unease, relies on distance from other people. But a world without people at all, or at least anything I would recognise as people… it is meaningless. Without the lighted window in the distance, how am I to see myself apart from it? No. Such a world would be terribly dull, and scares me in a very different way. A fear I am happy to offer up, of course, but one that I would prefer not come to pass. My instinct was much like the others: I thought that if I could complete my ritual first, then the potential birth of the Dreadful Change would be meaningless.”

So ;w; Adelard was right and wrong at the same time. There was such a thing as a “Fear Of The Extinction”, strong enough to become some people’s living nightmares. But at the same time, the division into Fourteen or Fifteen didn’t really work anyway, so it was doomed to be “muddy”, as Jon said.

… What is interesting is that:

* … “Beholding” is still all-powerful in that world – granting Jon, its “pupil”, way more powers than any other, and ruling over the domains and the fears.

* Jon is still sticking to the 14+1 division. He described domains with the names from Smirke’s taxonomy during the journey – he’s aware that the blob of terror is multi-facetted, yet still clings to the categorisation.

* Due to Jon being confident when he was describing the domains as belonging to x or y Dread Power, I thought that Jonah’s invocation in MAG160 had shaped the world with these neat categories:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Bring all that is fear, and all that is terror, and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!”

So, the other Thirteen Fears, under Beholding’s reign (“All under The Eye’s auspices, of course – we mustn’t forget our roots.”), and Jonah specifically schemed to get Jon marked by the Fears following the list of Fourteen to prepare that ritual, in the hope of avoiding the Fifteenth (“All Fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new Powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge.”).

… Yet, at least one out-of-the-box Fear managed to still sneak in through. Which means that:

1°) Jonah didn’t exactly create what he wanted! The Extinction is there with the others anyway. As Jon had told Martin in MAG160:

(MAG160) MARTIN: I, I don’t know if it’s just here, or if it– ARCHIVIST: No. … No, it’s everywhere… They’re all here, now. I can feel… all of it.

They’re “all here now”.

2°) Jonah’s ritual didn’t really work on Jonah’s terms. Was it really necessary for Jon to get marked by the Fourteen Fears, would like, ten have been enough anyway, as long as there was a sufficient amount of aspects, to get all the fears into our world? Did the ritual “accidentally” count as an Extinction mark on Jon, allowing it to get brought through too? Was the ritual actually dependent on Jon’s own feelings, and The Extinction got pulled in because he still thought it could be a genuine threat? (Jon began to doubt about it while receiving MAG157’s letter, with Adelard confessing that he might have misunderstood, and Jon feeling like Martin had been lied to; but Peter admitted to him that he was genuinely afraid of The Extinction in MAG159, thus confirming to Jon that he had been honest on that part.)

(But damnit, I was “hoping” (that’s a strong word) for The-Extinction-not-being-invoked being a potential way to reverse the equilibrium and undo the apocalypse in a way or another… And nope, not an option if it’s already there with the others, uh.)

- Wow, Jon felt mercilessly right about the state of the world / whether The Extinction was a legitimate fear as something that could have become concrete without supernatural interferences:

(MAG175) MARTIN: But what about the real world, were they right? ARCHIVIST: … I–I’m not sure I follow. [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] MARTIN: I mean… Right, if none, if none of this had happened, if the world had just… carried on? [WET SQUEAK] What would have happened, was… was all that fear justified? [SHUFFLING] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I can’t know the future, Martin, not even a hypothetical one. MARTIN: But… you know what was going on, what was happening. [WET SQUEAK, SHUFFLING] O–out of everyone, you’re the best place, you–you’ve got the info to make a pretty damn educated guess…! ARCHIVIST: … I, I don’t know what you want me to say, Martin. Yes, i–it was bad, worse than most people thought and [INHALE] things were only going to deteriorate. Was the end of humanity actually imminent? I… Probably not? But we were well on the way and… it would have been the end of an awful lot of things.

It’s a bit of a change for Martin to ask about what-could-have-been this season: Jon has usually been the one to dwell on that, with Martin stopping him from spiralling (MAG161: “Can you imagine…? If we’d had this…” “But we didn’t, though, did we.”). It makes sense, though, since The Extinction was closer to Martin’s own storyline and the time he spent researching it in season 4, and the fact that, both in MAG174 and MAG175, we’ve seen he still had frustrations regarding that whole arc of his:

(MAG174) SIMON: But I’m not one to tell you how to live your eternity. MARTIN: … No. You’re not. Because I’m done listening to you! SIMON: I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow. MARTIN: All those lies you told me… You helped to do this, you turned the world into your… your playground! SIMON: Hum… Not to be a pedant, but if you recall, I was actually doing a favour for Peter. And if Peter had won, none of this would have happened. Also, not to make excuses but they weren’t exactly lies, just… oversimplifications of complicated truths! And guesses. … A lot of guesses. [FOOTSTEPS] … A–almost all guesses really, now I come to think about it. MARTIN: Shut up! I don’t care. SIMON: Goodness! We’re rather tetchy, aren’t we?

(MAG175) MARTIN: [TINY SIGH] So Peter was lying. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] To a degree. But, mostly, he was just like anyone else who tried to take the scope of human terror and… package it neatly into little theories. All his talk of “emergence” and “birthing a new power”… it’s just people being scared.

… Mainly: Martin feeling cheated, feeling like he had been manipulated and lied to both by Peter and Simon. I’m glad that his own feelings are resurfacing a bit lately, because he has reasons to feel angry of his own…

(- There is also Elias, in the list of people who lied/misled him: Martin had gone to ask him whether or not Peter was telling the truth in MAG138, and Elias had pushed him in that direction. Martin doesn’t have to hate Elias “only” for the pain he inflicted on Jon and for destroying the world – Elias made Martin a cog in his scheme to bring forth the apocalypse, and that’s enough to warrant Martin’s wrath. In that exchange:

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: … I don’t know how kindly any god would look upon what we’ve done. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … Thanks for that. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … Sorry.

I wonder whether Martin felt attacked because he was seeking comfort in the idea of a benevolent divinity (and was denied it, because humanity as a whole has done… too many awful things), or because he personally felt that “we” as including (Jon and) him specifically – as an unwilling participant in the mechanism that ended up bringing the apocalypse, separating the Archives Team and preventing them to deal with Peter&Elias together and ultimately used to lure Jon into The Lonely?)

- Overall, I really liked the talk about religion:

(MAG175) MARTIN: … Jon. ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: … Do you know if… like… gods, religion, the afterlife, all that stuff. Do you know if any of that was real? ARCHIVIST: … Really rolling out the big questions today! MARTIN: [CHUCKLING] Sorry! It’s just… [WET SQUEAK] This place just brings it out in me, I guess. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: … If there is a god, or gods, or an existence beyond this world… The Eye can’t see it. It sees the fear of it, but… nothing of its truth. [SILENCE] MARTIN: So… is that a no…? ARCHIVIST: It’s an “I don’t know” – although… [INHALE] People’s faith… [EXHALE] It hasn’t saved them. Not here. MARTIN: … True. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Why do you ask? Didn’t think you were at all religious. MARTIN: Oh, I’m not. [WET SQUEAK] Mum was, but I… I–I don’t know. With everything going on, it… certainly feels less far-fetched…! Besides, at this point, I’d take any help we can get. ARCHIVIST: … I don’t know how kindly any god would look upon what we’ve done.

Because it didn’t exclude the idea that any god(s) existed – the show is not claiming prerogative to answer that question – and provided an explanation for Jon not knowing that in a way that made sense in-universe. Jon deals in information linked to fears, not in absolute and metaphysical truths, and so he only has hypotheses to provide in that area.

I also love how ;; It really fits for Martin’s mom to have been religious but him being less categorical. Goes well with his overall sense of guilt, especially when it comes to his mother, uh?

Also, SOB that Adelard was probably in Martin’s mind since:

(MAG157) “This is the last time you will hear from me. You must trust me on that and not come looking. Not that you would; I know you’re too smart for sentimentality, especially after what I have to tell you, but I feel it worth saying nonetheless. Perhaps I’m simply prevaricating, trying to cling on to a few more precious minutes of life – but that’s not me. I know what awaits me, and must have no hesitation in going to my reward. [SCOFF] I know you’ve never had much patience for my faith, but perhaps it will provide you some small peace knowing I face my death gladly, knowing I have done my duty before God.”

We don’t know whether Martin was made aware of this statement (it was sent to Jon), but Martin had read MAG156’s statement in which Adelard had referred to his faith, so he knew Adelard was religious. Setting-wise: they were crossing an Extinction domain, and the previous Extinction “specialist” had ultimately died with the conviction and peace of mind that he would join the afterlife with his God… so I’m guessing that case was probably dwelling in Martin’s mind. (And potentially: whether his mother was also likely to have reached peace.)

- Jon reaaally tried to answer that question about religion, since he used his powers – we could hear static:

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: If I try, [STATIC RISES] I can… see the edges of reality, but… I can’t hold its full scope in my mind. [STATIC DECREASES] MARTIN: And beyond it? ARCHIVIST: Beyond what? Reality? [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] MARTIN: … Yeah. [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I don’t know! Maybe nothing. [STATIC FADES] [WET SQUEAK] MARTIN: … Jon. ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: … Do you know if… like… gods, religion, the afterlife, all that stuff. Do you know if any of that was real? ARCHIVIST: … Really rolling out the big questions today! MARTIN: [CHUCKLING] Sorry! It’s just… [WET SQUEAK] This place just brings it out in me, I guess. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: … If there is a god, or gods, or an existence beyond this world… The Eye can’t see it. It sees the fear of it, but… nothing of its truth. [STATIC FADES] [SILENCE] MARTIN: So… is that a no…?

It also came with a few reminders regarding his powers. Jon had already pointed out multiple times that he can’t see the future:

(MAG164) MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see.

(MAG169) MARTIN: Oh, it’s not just your revenge though, is it? Destroying her… it would help all those people in there, wouldn’t it? ARCHIVIST: … Maybe? It’s… [INHALE] Like I said, I can’t see the future. It wouldn’t free them, if that’s what you’re asking. “Free” doesn’t really exist in this place.

(MAG175) MARTIN: What would have happened, was… was all that fear justified? [SHUFFLING] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I can’t know the future, Martin, not even a hypothetical one.

And that The Eye’s powers are limited and fundamentally biased:

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: … Why am I always the last to know about these things? BASIRA: By this point, I just assume the Eyeball tells you. ARCHIVIST: That would imply it tells me anything useful. But no, I’m stuck knowing [STATIC] how your year eight PE teacher died.

(MAG154) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Hm. [SIGH] I’ve, uh… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, after what happened with Daisy last week. About… what I can do. What I am. What feels… right. I’ve found a– [SIGH] I went back to Eli– er, Peter’s office. To that box of tapes; started rifling through. And I started to try and pay attention to the ones I… wasn’t drawn to. The tapes I instinctively wanted to discard. [SIGH] There was one, this one, that my hand… pulled back from. I–I dropped it, twice, when I went to pick it up. Even now, I’m… [AUDIBLE FORCED SMILE] struggling to press play…! I am the avatar of Awful Knowledge And Revealed Secrets… so what does it not want me to know…? [LONG SIGH]

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: Martin, I have the whole scope of human knowledge available to me and… [SIGH] I’d struggle to give you a simple answer to most of this stuff. And even if I am omniscient, I’m starting to realise that… doesn’t mean objective. [WET SQUEAK] MARTIN: Hm. … [SIGH] I guess it’s hard not to bring your own baggage to this sort of thing. ARCHIVIST: I don’t know if it could even exist without the baggage…! You want to talk about psychological projection, try viewing the metaphysical world through the lens of a being that is, by its very nature, a reflection of your own obsessions and fears.

So mmmm… Are we heading towards a confirmation that Jon feeling like he can’t do anything “positive” or “better” is directly caused by The Eye limiting the perception he has of his own options, like The Eye had tried to prevent him from listening to Eric’s tape which informed of a way to cut ties with The Eye?

- … I do disagree with Martin that Jon was beginning to sound like Simon, because REALLY, he sounded a LOT like Oliver:

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “You know, of course, where I am. But know that, even you, will all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All – things – end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose… only brings you closer to it.”

(MAG175) MARTIN: So you don’t think it would have been the end of the world? ARCHIVIST: “The end of the world”…! Now there’s a concept. Everything ends, I suppose. [SHUFFLING] Even this place. Can’t last forever. Eventually… it will die as well. MARTIN: … You’re starting to sound like Simon.

For someone who can’t see the future, Jon really seems to have ingrained Oliver’s ideas of The End: that it would win, that it would catch up on everyone, that it had to happen to exist as a fear. As soon as the end of MAG168, Jon had accepted Oliver’s idea that the victims of his domains would indeed die as announced (“I feel badly for those that exist in his domain, o–of course, I do, but… At least, their suffering will be over, eventually.”) although… it had not been demonstrated?

So if we’re talking about biases: did Oliver’s conviction contaminate Jon and is it currently making Jon believe his stance? Because Oliver was convinced that The End would kill… but he’s an avatar of his patron. Of course he’ll believe in its all-powerfulness. It doesn’t mean it’s true.

- Amongst the lighter stuff, I’m laughing that Martin has now learned to weaponise the fact that distances and the laws of time&space escape him — which was usually played against him, and Jon even teased him about his difficulty understanding…

(MAG163) MARTIN: … Oh, I’m knackered. ARCHIVIST: Are you? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] MARTIN: I– … Hm. … Well. Okay, well, no, no, I suppose not; but, I–I think I should be. ARCHIVIST: Yup! MARTIN: How long have we been walking? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Fourteen hours and… twenty-three minutes. MARTIN: What, seriously? ARCHIVIST: Yes. I… don’t think it means much out here, though. MARTIN: We should… probably rest. ARCHIVIST: Maybe. I… I don’t know, I– … I don’t know if we can – “rest”. It feels more like… hm, “waiting”. MARTIN: [SIGH] […] ARCHIVIST: [DISTANT] Try to keep up! MARTIN: Yeah, yeah…

(MAG164) MARTIN: How much further do we still need to go? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: A long way. Through many dark and awful places…

(MAG167) MARTIN: Anyway, my “flesh prison” [CHUCKLE] would like to stop for a bit. How far until the next… “domain”? ARCHIVIST: A while. If you want to stop, it’s as good a place as any. MARTIN: Nah, I just… need a moment. [SIGH] One where I’m not just… relentlessly pushing forward. ARCHIVIST: [LONG EXHALE] Alright. We can stop.

(MAG174) MARTIN: [SIGH] … [BAG JOSTLING] Is it much further? ARCHIVIST: [SMALL CHUCKLE] Yes. MARTIN: Urgh…! ARCHIVIST: I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, it’s The Vast. The clue is in the name! MARTIN: Yes, alright…! ARCHIVIST: Just be glad that this is one of the domains that actually has ground to walk on. MARTIN: Whatever. [DISTANT LOW-PITCHED IMPACT, FOLLOWED BY GUSTS OF WIND] S–so how far are we from the other side? And–and don’t say time and space don’t work here, that’s a cop-out and you know it. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Fine! Three days. MARTIN: Thank you. [SILENCE] … Wait. Wait, what counts as a day? ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLING] What an excellent question! MARTIN: Oh my go–! You can be infuriating sometimes, you know that?

… — to take his well-deserved break this time:

(MAG175) MARTIN: You know what? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] I am sitting down. ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLE] Are you… sure, that thing is… That’s not in great shape. MARTIN: Neither am I. I have been on my feet for a literally uncountable amount of time.

He’s right! He has learned! They’ve indeed been walking for a “literally uncountable amount of time” <3

- Loved the couch, loved the scene overall:

(MAG175) [FOOTSTEPS] [BAG JOSTLING] [SHUFFLING] [CREAKING, WITH DAMP SPLOSHES] MARTIN: Mmhph… ARCHIVIST: [CLIPPED] How is it? MARTIN: … Great…! It’s great. [WET SQUEAK] Lovely couch. ARCHIVIST: Right. Well. Rest up, I suppose…! [SILENCE] MARTIN: It’s two-seater…! ARCHIVIST: Yes it is! [WET SQUEAK] … Hard pass. Thank you. [AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] [SILENCE] [WET SQUEAK]

* You could SEE Martin’s blank face, dying inside, regretting his choice with his “great”.

* The “splosh” sounds whenever Martin was moving were absolutely AWFUL =D

* Jon probably knew exactly what that couch was made of.

* Jon, you COWARD, you could have sat in his lap!! (I thought it was the case since there was some shuffling and their voices sounded closer afterwards, but no, Anil-confirmed that Jon stayed standing, aww.)

- Iiiiii wonder whether Jon being keen to give Martin his break had to do with him already knowing that Daisy&Basira were close. ;;

- Okay, so. It’s coming. We already know that Daisy’s case was… not good, Jon already knew that it had gotten worse and that Basira had been pulled into it:

(MAG160) MARTIN: Some–somehow, I don’t think Daisy will be worried about “jurisdictions”…! ARCHIVIST: I– [SIGH] I don’t think she’d come here. [RATTLING SOUND] Doesn’t look like this place has been used for years. MARTIN: [POINTEDLY] And if she does? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … Well. At least, we’ll know where she is. MARTIN: Wh…! [NERVOUS CHUCKLE] ARCHIVIST: Besides, I’m more worried about the other Hunters. Or the… “Sasha”-thing. Last I heard, they still hadn’t found any bodies. [INHALE] A lot of destruction, a lot of blood… [EXHALE] But that’s it. [MORE WOOD SOUNDS] MARTIN: … You think they’re still out there. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Hopefully a long way out there. … But I think we’re okay.

(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay – okay, okay, ‘kay, let’s… let’s try something a little bigger, then. ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE] Alright. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Is Basira alive? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Is she… in… o–one of these places? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s alive. Out there, not… trapped in a–a hellscape, but… moving. [STATIC DECREASES] Hunting. She’s… she’s looking for Daisy. She’s a few steps behind. MARTIN: And Daisy? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: Bestial. Brutal. [STATIC DECREASES] [INHALE] Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood. … Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry… MARTIN: What’s Basira going to do? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted. MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see. MARTIN: O–kay. Good to know.

(MAG175) MARTIN: [SIGH] Let’s get out of here. This place is making me a bit too… existential. [WET SQUEAK] [SHUFFLING] ARCHIVIST: Wait. MARTIN: What? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Where we’re going, the, uh… the next “domain”, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you, but it’s… well… [NEW ROUND OF AIR RAID SIREN IN THE BACKGROUND] MARTIN: Spit it out, Jon. ARCHIVIST: Basira and Daisy. We’re close. MARTIN: Wait, what? Wait, really? B– Th–that’s brilliant! What are we waiting for, let’s go! ARCHIVIST: Uh, y–yeah, i–it’s… It’s not… it’s not going to be easy, things aren’t… good. MARTIN: Oh my goodness, really? And here was me thinking the apocalypse was going oh-so-swimmingly! ARCHIVIST: Yes, alright, I just meant… MARTIN: I–I know what you meant! I can still be keen to see our friends! ARCHIVIST: … True. MARTIN: Besides, we can help them now. [SHUFFLING] [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Yeah. [SILENCE] [BAG JOSTLING] … Yeah.

* I’m having both fluffy feelings and sigh-worthy feelings regarding Martin saying he has “friends” because:

(MAG170) MARTIN: You, you are Martin Blackwood; yes. You–you didn’t choose to be here. Jon is coming. I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore, I am not lonely anymore! [SHAKY BREATHING] I want to have friends, I… no, I have friends. I’m… I’m in love, eh! I am in love, and I will not forget that, I will – not – forget.

;; Are you sure, honey.

Though, technically: Melanie had listened to him and calmed down in MAG118, following his plan. Basira trusted him a bit towards the end of season 4 and had been a bit softer towards him with the death of his mother. Daisy and him managed to talk in MAG142 (although Martin had to reject her and deny that they were getting along due to Peter’s presence two episodes later). There were embryos of something, I… kinda hope we could see that flourish?

- My hypothesis regarding Daisy&Basira would be: Daisy still a savage beast (like we heard during The Unknowing, pre-Coffin, and when she turned back into one again in MAG158). She might still be after Julia and/or Trevor, depending if they were still alive (we know, at least, that their bodies weren’t found by the police and since the Not!Them was still Not!Sasha, it hadn’t taken either of them). Basira’s degree of “freedom” is a big question: is she able to not be tied to a domain thanks to her connection to The Eye? Or is the pursuit of Daisy, never-ending, torturing her with the promise she made to Daisy to kill her, a Hunt domain by itself? The Hunt is about the chase, and the “innocent” pursuit turning people into Hunters has been a reoccurring thing, so… Basira could have been taken over / “imprisoned” by and in Daisy’s hunt?

- Whether someone dies soon (there… are huge red flags for Daisy, she asked to be killed when she lost herself 18 episodes ago and she had an arc about her own choice and accountability in season 4), I can’t help but think that we’re getting Team Archive members soon? It’s been established that Jon is limited by his own perceptions, and Martin has been considering and clinging to the idea of help:

(MAG164) MARTIN: But I actually meant the whole… being friends thing? I mean, I don’t see why– ARCHIVIST: Martin, she’s… a cruel… vicious monster! MARTIN: Yes. Yes, she is. But who else is there? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH]

(MAG166) MARTIN: Just, what do you want? ANNABELLE: I want to help you, of course. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … No. Thank you. ANNABELLE: It’s a hard place to find yourself in, maybe I can be of some… assistance…! MARTIN: You can assist me by giving the… “creepy phone” thing a rest…! ANNABELLE: He is more powerful here than he’s ever been, isn’t he? [PAUSE] And you’re not sure what that means for you. MARTIN: [INHALE] I’m hanging up now.

What Jon and Martin would need is probably… other perspectives. There is still Helen running around (and she has the means to follow Basira too, the same way she can follow Jon&Martin, since Basira also traversed the Distortion’s corridors to return to the Institute after MAG135); Melanie&Georgie are somewhere (at the Panopticon already? On the other side of the crack at Hill Top Road? Hidden within Helen’s corridors?); and now Basira&Daisy’s hunt might come to a close. Daisy doesn’t have a lot of chances to survive, but I don’t think we’re done with Basira, given how she got the worst of it during season 4 (she wasn’t the only one getting manipulated by Elias, but unlike Jon, she didn’t achieve any small victories; she didn’t manage to protect anyone at all).

There is only The Spiral and The Hunt left when it comes to domains, both could get crammed into MAG176 since some of their agents are roaming around a bit more freely and we’re entering the hiatus afterwards (it could be a way to make Arc I the journey through the domains, and reaching the Panopticon starting Act II), so… we’ll see. Arc I could end with Daisy’s death, with a reunion, or with Helen pulling someone into her corridors by force ;;

We have currently a big opposition between Jon’s cautiousness, slight despair, and conviction that he can’t help anyone; and Martin’s hope (sometimes expressing itself as frustration) that they could do something positive, that Jon’s powers could help them. So far, it feels like Jon’s stance has been winning, as he demonstrated to Martin that there was “no better”.

But: it’s also true that Martin managed to pull himself out of the Lonely House’s influence with the tape recorder’s and Jon’s combined help. Jon has been revealed to be able to eradicate avatars/monsters with his ability to turn the Fearful into the Afraid. Jon had previously managed to use his compulsion as a way to free someone from a Fear’s influence: he compelled Tim to centre him and made him aware of reality in MAG119, and he made Martin see him in MAG159. So… there is still a tiny tiny hope that he could do something positive regarding Daisy (even if Basira still has to kill her afterwards).

I LIKED DAISY POST-COFFIN, I’ve never been expecting her to Live Forever with the crimes and abominations she committed, I still don’t expect her to survive for long anyway, but I’m not ready to see her goooo ;___;

- … last point is “????” and “!!!!” and I wanted to put emphasis on it, because.

THERE WAS A SOUND BETWEEN THE TWO TAPE-SEQUENCES IN THIS EP???

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Right…! [CLICK.] [TINY SHUFFLING] [CLICK–] [FOOTSTEPS, PUNCTUATED BY SOME JINGLING AND CLATTER] MARTIN: You know what? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] I am sitting down.

That’s new and ???? – usually, there is only the… void? A bass sound, but nothing else.

But there was definitely some shuffling in-between, and WHAT WAS IT?? I’m not excluding that it could be an editing mistake (Jon&Martin’s footsteps beginning a few seconds earlier, for example, without the crunch of the ground), but if it’s not and it was intentional… is this confirming that we-the-listener are listening alongside someone listening to the tape after the recordings, and not during the recordings themselves? The beginning of MAG079 had hinted at that, with Martin’s pre-recorded poem getting written over by Tim&Martin’s recording (+ the overall fact that we hear the [CLICK] of the tapes: if we were only listening to the sound of the tapes, we wouldn’t hear the tape recorders clicking on and off, since that is not a sound that we can hear on the magnetic band itself). Who is listening? Why would we hear them now? Are we coming closer to an answer or a big hint about that…?

  … MAG176’s title definitely puts Daisy, Hunters and/or more generally The Hunt to mind, and Daisy’s struggle during the second half of season 4. Regarding the more “classic” meaning, though: is it about Daisy&Basira’s relationship? Is it about the “statement” of the domain (if there is one), in a biological meaning?

[pennywisesbarbie]

Nothing left [1/3]

A/N: So this was written while I was very very sleepy. You may agree or not witth Reader´s behavior/ideology but keep in mind this is fiction. 

The manager name is written as “M/N” because I didn’t remember his name.

Words: 1.6 k

Summary: Reader has lost her house due to a fire. She is the owner of “Jajas” and meets Arthur when she comes to the manager of the shop to ask for his help. Her luxurious world suffers a sudden collision against the clown´s one. 

Warnings: mention of tragedy related to fire, wealth/poverty, rudeness, angst & funny at the same time.

Arthur is the last person left at the agency. Well, with the exception of the manager and you who are at the back office. It´s been a very long day, only alleviated by the cool weather typical of coming winter that doesn´t make the streets a hot oven anymore. He is leaving the green wig and the white uniform he used for the hospital inside his locker while hearing your loud argument:

-Honestly, M/N? What are you trying to tell me?

-Nothing, Y/N. What you are understanding right now. I can´t give you any money.

-Well I have rights over this. This is my business. I own this fucking place. And you are technically under my commands, my friend.

-Yes, my dear. But you opened this place a long time ago just like you take a candy out of your pocket. You didn´t even came here once. And that´s why now you find out we are in no position to give you money. There is none – he speaks slowly word by word trying to set the fact into your brain. We run this day by day.

-Well, what am I supposed to do then? How am I going to rent something?

-I don´t know.

-You can´t do this to me. My fucking house is burnt down! I need a place to go.

-Oh no, don´t even look at me like that. My wife would kill me.

-It´s just till my lawyers solve this with the insurance company.

-Oh yeah? From what I´ve heard they don´t  want to pay you anything, dear, because they say the accident was your fault.

-Please, M/N, you can´t leave me alone in here. It´s night time. You know what Gotham has become.

-Yes, and that´s why you shouldn´t stay here with all the thieves and crazies out there.

-But, M/N! You are saying it yourself! Please help me! I wasn´t even able to grab anything when the firefighters came!

-Good night, Y/N. Do whatever you want but again, I suggest you not to stay here. There´s the key of the shop – the manager greets you and leaves through the back door.

You breathe heavily for a few seconds, panic rushing through you. You look at the key and grab it, pressing it tightly inside your palm. When you walk out of the office and go to the frontal part, the image of Arthur taking off his make-up causes you to jump scared.

-Oh my God! I thought everyone left.

Arthur clears his throat eyeing your from your expensive shoes you were lucky to have on when the fire started to the now messy silk neck of your blouse.

-          Sorry, Miss, didn´t mean to scare you – he replies watching you balance back and forth on your spot trying to see if you could sleep in one of the benches – Is everything alright?

-          Mind your own business – you bark at him and go to the table at the corner that has a telephone on it – Mary? Hi, it´s me, Y/N – you say when you hear a voice on the other side of the line – Listen, I had an accident. M-my house burned, something with the gas, I-I´m okay, but I have nowhere to go. No money, nothing. I was thinking… Oh your family is at home oh… okay. Thank you – you dial another number – Stephanie…, oh yeah, M/N told you. Yeah… would you mind if I stay at your house for the night? Oh, your husband is with a lot of work. I won´t bother you… Oh, I see. Thank you – you put the phone aside and rest your weight on your hands against the table to not collapse right there. Then you hear the locker door closing so you turn around slowly – What are you looking at?

-          Nothing, Miss, I was just listening to…

-          Nobody invited you to hear my conversations.

-          Sorry, Miss. Have a good night – Arthur replies and starts walking the corridor to the back door while you look around the dark place that resembles a wolf mouth under the night.

-          Excuse me – you call him back – I´m sorry if I was being rude. I´m sure you´ve heard the chaotic nightmare I´ve been through – you explain yourself as he turns around to contemplate you with shiny eyes – I was wondering… maybe I can borrow some money from you. I assure you I´m going to give it back to you as soon as I can. I´m the owner of this place but it just happened to be that M/N didn´t want to give me access to the cash register. I-I don´t need much. Just sixty dollars would be enough.

-          Sixty dollars? – Arthur starts laughing genuinely pinching the space of his nose between his eyebrows – Oh you Misss are clearly from another planet. Where do you think a street clown could get sixty dollars from? – he talks as you watch him with clenched jaw due to his laugh.

-          Well, that´s what a hotel room costs for the night.

-          Oh, yeah, the hotels you visit. But no, Miss, I´m afraid I don´t even have money for a cheap low ending hotel.

-          Fine. Thank you – you reply and give your back at him to sit on the bench near you.

-          Why don´t you come with me?

-          Are you kidding? – you chuckle sad – A woman spending the night with an unknown man?

-          I´m technically not unknown. I´ve been working here for years now. I mean I can be all the nosy you want but I assure you I won´t disrespect you in any way.

-          No, thank you.

-          As you wish, Miss – he walks to the door and exits the place.

It doesn´t take more than a few seconds for you to start feeling the coldness of the empty shop coming up your ankles to land, uncomfortably, at the pit of your stomach. You stand up abruptly and take the key you´ve left on the table to get out, locking the door behind you. You look everywhere lost and petrified: the poor lightened street, garbage bags, a drunken guy on the ground till suddenly you spot Arthur at the subway entrance.

-Hey, wait! – you shout at him, running as fast as you can to his spot

-Have you changed your mind about the nosy clown, Miss?

You stay silent and the travel on the subway is silent as well. Still not fully convinced and perfectly aware of the danger you could get yourself into, you´ve accepted the offer, the only one you had. Arthur doesn´t speak either. He only told you his name and that he lived at the last subway stop.

When you enter the building, your expensive shoes are greeted with a big trail of mud someone has left on their way to the elevator or, as you call it mentally, “a ramshackle box”. Arthur is already used to the machinery shaking off but you spend the minute to his floor with cross arms against one of the walls, praying to god not to let you die like that.

-Home, Miss – he opens the door laughing while you follow him.

-I don´t see what´s funny.

-Oh, no, I´m sorry. I have a condition in my brain that makes me do this.

Great. I´m indoors with a crazy man.

-Set yourself comfortable. Can I offer you a glass of water?

Sewer water he might have wanted to mean.  

-No, thank you, I just want to be able to rest.

-Yes, of course. I´m sure you can take the sofa. I´ll bring you a blanket.

But the blanket is not enough to prevent you from shaking so you stay there half-awake while he is sleeping in the bedroom. A small apartment, as small as one of your less luxurious bathrooms you used to have before it all went down. You scrub your eyes hoping your lawyers could solve the situation quick before you have to spend another night in these conditions or, even worse, to consider yourself homeless if the insurance company doesn´t agree on paying you everything. And even if they do so, where are you supposed to go while your house is rebuilt if none of your people help you?  They´ve left you alone, to die if it were for them in a rotten hole. In this rotten tiny hole with no more facilities other than a fridge and a TV in front of you. A TV that has something black stuck on the screen. Something that´s moving.

-AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! – you scream waking up Arthur in a heartbeat who appears in the dining room in boxers.

-What happens?!!!

-A cockroach!

He turns his head to look where you are pointing at and closes his eyes to sigh.

-Oh god, now it´s you who scared me – he says, grabbing one of your shoes to kill the insect – Better now? I´m afraid there could be some more... – he continues but stops once he realizes you are crying behind the palms that cover your face – Hey, Miss… I didn´t… I know this abrupt change of world can be hard for you but it was a just a cockroach. It´s over now.

-It´s not that. I have nothing left. No money, no house, no friends – you explain uncovering your puffy cheeks.

-Okay, okay, well… -he is about to hug but realizes that he is almost naked so he excuses himself and goes to the bedroom to put on some clothes.

-I´m sorry – you say when he comes back – I didn´t mean to cause trouble. I´ll be fine.

-But I can´t leave you in that state. I mean, what kind of nosy clown would I be if I leave someone crying like that, don´t you think? – he asks earning a smile from you – Please sit down.

You take a sit on the sofa and he follows you doing the same on the left side.

-I don´t know what TV programmes you must like but I enjoy this guy. You know him?

He turns on the TV and puts on Murray´s show accommodating the blanket he gave you to cover both of your laps.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

phantom weights chapter four

one, two, three

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).

---

Things may have slowed down in Jackson's life, may have seemingly stopped being dangerous, but he still found himself jumpy and paranoid. Still found himself worried about the few people in his life, that they were in danger. He checked the news in and around Farrs Corner every now and then, searching for any crimes popping up near or around where Mulder and Scully lived—they were definitely great for money and things like that, no matter how awkward his encounters with them were, but usefulness wasn't worth getting them or the kid killed. He kept an eye on the nationwide news, looking for any activity similar to the activity of the assassins they'd sent after him, or activity of kids like him. (He'd thought about the little grave in San Diego a lot, the little girl named Emily, wondering if he had more siblings out there like her. The idea frankly made him furious, of more kids like him subject to exploitation, more exploitation of Dana.) He got extraordinarily nervous when there was a series of break-ins two buildings down from him, until it was revealed to be a disgruntled handyman. He used fake names a lot when he was out with friends and played it off as a stupid prank, and he was very careful when meeting Sarah, on the rare times that they met.

His relationship with Sarah was messy, messier than it had been before—which seemed unreal, considering what an asshole he had been. Sometimes, she would say she was too busy to meet him with a rushed text, offering excuses about her pissed-off parents and her suspicious little sister. And she seemed pissed off herself when he insisted on trying to hide. "I want a normal boyfriend," she'd say irritably, "not some fucking shadow who spends all his time hiding." And he would have to struggle not to snap at her, to tell her that he had never been normal. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, to hurt her anymore than he already had. (He was still wracked with guilt over the incident on the Chimera, not to mention the fact that he cheated on her and Bri both. He still felt horrible about all of it, and equally horrible about ghosting Brianna, but her parents were even stricter than Sarah's, if that was possible, and he couldn't stay with them both. He felt guilty for even staying with Sarah, after everything, but he felt like he didn't have a choice. She was one of his last links to his old life, and he couldn't let that go. He was terrified of being alone.)

Sarah seemed constantly pissed off at him now, and not just about the aliases. She seemed on edge the few times they talked on the phone; she was dodging his texts, to the point where he stopped calling and texting. He didn't want to be the jerk anymore. He tried to just enjoy the time that he got with her. But he could sense the tremors in their already fragile relationship, could sense what was coming before it happened, almost like shockwaves in an earthquake. When he got a call from her one day in July, her contact photo a picture of the two of them last New Year's making goofy faces into the camera, it sent a wave of dread through him that probably wasn't supposed to accompany a call from your girlfriend.

He answered anyway. "Hey, babe," he said, trying his hardest to sound cheerful. "What's up?"

She was silent on the other end. He could hear her breathing, uncertain and awkward. And then she said, "Jackson, we have to talk."

He leaned forward, his forehead against the wall of his shitty kitchen. It was totally pathetic, but he suddenly wanted to beg her not to do it, tell her that he needed her to keep him grounded. But he didn't say that. He said in that same falsely cheerful voice, "What it is?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "Look, babe, it's…" There was some clattering, a voice on the other end, and then the sound of her yelling: "It's just someone from school, Mom!" Jackson grimaced at the cacophonous sound. "Sorry," Sarah said softly into the phone. "It's just been crazy since the break-in, we're all crammed into a tiny fucking hotel room, and I'm sitting in the fucking bathtub right now…"

His head shot up, nearly hitting the side of the fridge. "Wait-wait-wait," he blurted, waving a hand like he was scrubbing at the air, trying to scrub away the awful words. "There was a break-in? Somebody broke into your house?"

"Yes," said Sarah, annoyed. "Last weekend, some jackass completely ransacked the place…"

"W-why?" he stammered, cold sweat breaking out on his hands. Goddamnit, he'd been so careful, and it still wasn't enough. How the hell could he do this, not take preventative measures to protect Sarah? "What were they looking for, what did they steal?"

"That doesn't matter, Jackson. Listen…"

"Was it someone looking for me? W-were they coming for you, because of…"

"Jesus, Jackson, no! Not everything is about you," she hissed, trying to be quiet and clearly failing. "Look, I think it's time for us to end this, okay? After the break-in, my parents can't afford to send me to Richmond for expensive music lessons anymore, so there's no way for us to see each other, anyway."

He was dumbfounded, speechless, torn between trying to talk her out of it and supporting it simply for her own protection. What if the burglars had been looking for her, what if they'd only stolen things to cover their tracks? He didn't want to lose anyone else, but if he held on, he might really lose her. And he couldn't force her to stay with him if she didn't want to. "Babe…" he began in a soft voice.

"Look, Jackson, this is the right thing to do. We've both felt it coming. Don't try to tell me you haven't, okay? We've been growing apart for months." He could picture her on the other end, sitting in the tub with her socked feet up on the lip, twirling a curl around one finger as she talked. "It's not fair for us to hold each other back, not when there's other people out there. I hope we can still be friends…"

"Babe, did they catch the guy he robbed your apartment?" he asked, because he was still thinking about it. Even after dumping him, they still might come for her.

Sarah sighed with exasperation. "Seriously? We can't even have a mature conversation?"

"This isn't immature, Sarah!" he snapped, finally losing his composure. "They killed my parents, you know they killed my parents! And they could kill you, too, if they think you're my girlfriend."

"Well, I'm not," she said in a sharp voice. "I'm not your girlfriend anymore."

He winced, his head falling forward again. It was for the best, but he couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand it. "Please," he said softly, "please just tell me if they caught the guy, Sarah, please…"

"They didn't, okay?" she said, and she sounded like she was crying. "I'm sorry about your parents, Jackson. I'm sorry about… all of it. But you can't worry about me anymore. I'm not your concern."

He thumped his head against the wall lightly: once, twice. "Okay," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You be careful," he told her, suddenly stern. "Be careful, and be safe, and…"

She hung up abruptly, leaving him sitting alone in the dark and the quiet. He let the phone drop on the tile with a clunk. That was it, he thought. Everything from his old life gone, and maybe for the better. Maybe for the better.

He didn't know if he could have contact with anyone now, get close to anyone. And a new thought was building up in the back of his mind: what if they came for the baby? If the baby was around him… what if they came for the baby? What if they came for all three of them, because of him?

(If the baby turned out to be like him, then there might be no protecting the three of them. But he couldn't let anything happen to them and it be his fault. He couldn't risk it. He didn't know what he could do about it, but he knew he couldn't risk it.)

---

Jackson had it decided by the next morning. He would distance himself from his new friends as much as he possibly could, to protect them. And he'd distance himself from Mulder and Scully. It wouldn't be hard, considering what a distance there was between them already, considering how his last encounter with Scully had gone. He would just have to start dodging their calls and making up excuses, to let them down easy, as hard as that would be.

In theory, he could keep them at arm's length, and tell himself determinedly that they were not his parents (because they weren't), but in practice, it was much harder. He was connected to them in a way he never had been to anyone else, and he could always feel the waves of their emotion when he talked to them: their guilt, their grief, their caring, their earnest hope. It was hard to turn that away. He thought that it might've been easier if they were assholes, but they didn't seem to be assholes. They seemed to genuinely care.

But he knew that he had to start being more careful, for everyone's own safety if nothing else. It was decided the night Sarah dumped him; he had to do this, and so he was going to do it, and do it right. He was going to start first thing the next day.

Within a few days of barely talking to his friends and not talking to his birth parents, though, there was already a hitch in that plan. Jackson's landlord showed up at his door and informed him that the apartment building was being fumigated this week. "We have an infestation of cockroaches on your floor, and we don't know how extensive it is," he said. "Do you have anywhere else to stay this weekend, William?"

Jackson winced automatically when the landlord called him that. It'd been dumb to sign the lease William, both because it was kind of an asshole move towards Mulder and Scully, and because he could barely stand to be called it. (He flinched every time the landlord called him that, to the point where he suggested a nickname. "Do you go by Will? Bill? Billy?" he'd asked, and that'd only made things worse, because it made Jackson think about that blog entry he'd written a while back where he called himself Billy. At the time, he'd done it just to distance himself from one of the stranger episodes in his shitty life, make it feel like it happened to someone else; he'd had no idea his name used to be William.) "Uh, I guess I can find somewhere," he said. "I have to be gone the whole weekend?"

"Just Friday to Sunday," said the landlord. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. You think you'll be okay with somewhere to stay?"

Jackson rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'll be good," he said, which might've been a lie. He couldn't stay with Mulder and Scully for obvious reasons, and he didn't want to risk staying with any of his friends. He could probably get a hotel, albeit a cheap one. "Thanks for letting me know."

---

Jackson had to work several shifts right on top of each other the next couple days, to the point where he actually forgot to book a hotel. By the time he got off at the warehouse, he was ready to just find a hotel room and watch mindless cable for hours. Maybe order a pizza. He was sitting in his car with a hastily packed bag in the backseat, googling cheap hotels, when he got the phone call. It was Scully's cell number, put in his phone as Dana, despite the fact that he only ever called the house phone.

Jackson stared at the phone mutely for a moment, helpless in not knowing what to do. He knew he shouldn't pick up, but he didn't want to alienate them suddenly without any word, as tempting as that was. They'd done a lot of nice things for him. They didn't deserve that. But he couldn't talk to them and give them the expectation that there'd be more, not when he swore he would leave them out of it. For their sake and for the kid's.

The phone lay like a lifeless thing in his hand as it rang, the blank gray square he had instead of a contact photo taunting him. He was ready to hang up, but somehow, he lifted the phone and answered it instead. "Hello?"

"Jackson?" she said on the other end. "Hi, it's Dana."

"I know," he said without thinking, and was surprised to hear her uproarious laugh on the other end. A corner of his mouth turned up unconsciously. "What's up?" he asked quickly, hoping to get the conversation to go along quickly.

"Oh, I just wanted to call and check in," she said. "See how you were doing. We haven't talked in a while."

"I guess we haven't," said Jackson. There was a long, lengthy silence before he added lamely, "I'm all right. I'm… I'm headed to a hotel, I think. My apartment is being fumigated."

"Really? A fumigation? Did they say why?"

"Roaches," he offered.

Scully made a sound of disgust on the other end. "Remind me and I'll tell you someday about a case Mulder and I had with cockroaches," she said. "Have you paid for your hotel yet?"

Taken aback, he said, "Uh, no, not yet." He didn't realize what she was going to suggest until the words left his mouth, and he immediately winced. He should've lied and said he had. He shouldn't have brought up the goddamn fumigation at all.

"Sweetie, there's no point in you getting a hotel… why don't you just come stay with us for the weekend? Do you have work?"

"No." He was beginning to regret taking the phone call. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"Why don't you come down? There's no point in you spending all that money on a hotel," she said gently.

He was going to say no. He told himself he had to say no. He didn't think he could stand an entire weekend with them, considering the way their past interactions had gone. And he was still afraid that people were still looking for him, that they'd hurt Mulder and Scully and the kid if they found him. He had to say no. He would go to a hotel, like he said he would originally.

But he started thinking about the money. He didn't have an abundance of it in the first place to spend on a hotel and meals. And he was thinking about lunch with Dana, her face when he said that he didn't know they wanted kids. Thinking about the money they'd given him, the furniture. Thinking about what an ass they must see him as, trying to wriggle out of seeing them, spending time with them. He couldn't stay in their lives, but he couldn't cut them off completely. Not without a word.

(If they were in danger, wasn't it better that he know for sure? He could look for signs. And besides, if the kid was anything like him, than they might be in danger already. It might not matter what he did.)

"Jackson?" Scully's voice was gentle, and maybe a little worried, on the other end. "You okay?"

He cleared his throat, thumping his forehead against the steering wheel. "Um, yeah," he said with a sigh. "Yeah, I'll come down."

He was just doing it because he didn't want to sit in a shitty hotel all week. That was it. That was it. That would be the end of it.

---

Mulder had been out at the store when Scully made the phone call to their son, and when he returned, she explained what had happened, that Jackson was heading their way. "Scully, that's great!" he said, seizing her hands in his and squeezing. She managed a wobbly smile of her own, and he recognized her apprehension immediately. "Are you still worried about what happened last time?" he added gently.

"Maybe a little bit," she said softly. "I just don't want things to go badly. I don't want to hurt him again."

"I know." He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Look at it this way," he said softly. "I don't think he'd agree to come here for the weekend if things were really bad."

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder, a hand on her stomach. "Or he's coming so he can get more money out of us," she mumbled. "There's always that."

He shrugged. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Whatever the reason," he told her gently, "he is coming here. And that's something, no matter what."

She smiled, just a little, her eyes fluttering closed. Their hands were still together between them, his knuckles against her stomach, and he could feel the light, light  movements happening beneath the surface. "How's she doing in there?" he whispered.

She shook her head a little in disapproval, but he could see that she was still smiling. "You don't know it's a she," she told him firmly, but she squeezed his hands again. "Active. Restless. I know it's your child just because she won't relax."

"You say that as if it's a trait she's just inherited from me," he said teasingly, and she looked at him squintingly. He rubbed a hand over her lower back, which was frequently aching nowadays. "You're as bad as I am, honey. This kid is never going to relax."

"Mmm," she said in a soft, sleepy voice. She leaned into him again; he dug his fingers against her back, and she made a small sound of appreciation. "We should get some pizza," she added in a husky voice. "For Jackson."

He smiled. "You're right," he said softly. "We should."

---

Jackson arrived long after dark, the screened door swinging open with his arrival. He scanned the room in a nervous animal sort of manner before landing upon where they were sitting on the couch, Scully asleep on Mulder's shoulder. "Uh, hi," he said with a sheepish sort of smile.

Mulder smiled, too, a broad, involuntary one. He hadn't really realized how much he had missed his son until just now. He had just remembered that he hadn't seen Jackson in person since they helped him move in. "Hey, Jackson," he said softly. "It's good to see you. There's pizza in the oven if you're hungry."

"Thanks," Jackson said with a nervous little laugh. "I, uh, I ate something on the way here, but I'm already hungry again."

Mulder laughed at that. "Help yourself," he said, rubbing a hand over Scully's arm. He was debating whether or not to just wake her up, or to try and move without waking her up.

Jackson walked past them towards the kitchen, freezing a little in his tracks near the couch. "She's okay, right?" he asked, motioning to Scully.

Mulder startled a little, looking down at his wife and then back at their son. "Yeah, s-she's fine," he said quickly. "Sleepy. The pregnancy has been kind of rough on her." He winced a little that; he hadn't meant to mention it.

"I can, uh, imagine," Jackson said quickly, his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat loudly before continuing to the kitchen.

Mulder cleared his own throat and leaned down, brushing his fingers over Scully's cheek. "Scully," he whispered. The oven door opened and closed. "Jackson's here."

She stirred gingerly, her eyes opening foggily. "Jackson?" she whispered, and he nodded. She sat up with effort, his hand on her back as he helped her, and turned to Jackson as he reentered the room, a droopy slice of pizza in hand. "Hey," she said warmly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Hi, Dana." He offered an awkward little wave with the pizza-free hand. "Thank you for offering me a place to stay."

"Of course, sweetie." She rubbed at her eyes sleepily as she got to her feet. "You're always welcome here."

"Do you want anything to drink?" Mulder added, heading for the kitchen himself to get Scully a glass of water. "We've got some soda, some juice… water…"

His eyebrows raised a bit. "Soda would be good," he said with a stifled yawn. "I'm pretty exhausted, actually. Long day. Long drive."

"Do you want us to show you the guest room?" Scully asked gently, with a yawn of her own. "You should make yourself at home."

He shrugged sleepily, opening the fridge and taking out a can of Dr. Pepper. "Yeah, sure. I've gotten into the habit of sleeping on the couch, I need to work on breaking it."

Mulder felt, rather than heard, Scully's intake of breath, and knew she was thinking of him years and years ago. He'd been thinking of that himself. He gave a little laugh and said, "I've been in that habit, kid. Not a bad one to break."

"For sure." He rubbed at the back of his neck, taking a sip of his soda.

Scully cleared her throat, taking the water cup Mulder offered. "The room's upstairs, whenever you're ready," she said, taking a sip, bumping her arm against Mulder's in thanks.

"We can go right now." Jackson retrieved a plate from the cabinet as if he'd been living there for years, piling a couple slices on and grabbing the soda can before turning to them expectantly. It wasn't the healthiest bedtime snack, but Mulder didn't feel as if he had the paternal authority to say anything. (And he knew his eating habits weren't much better anyway.)

Scully led the two of them upstairs, up the book-laden stairs and down the hall. Over his shoulder, Mulder saw Jackson taking everything out in interest, and realized suddenly that he had never been upstairs before. Only in the downstairs. They went past the baby's room, which Jackson glanced at with a hint of apprehension, and into the room they'd been putting together for him.

Scully flipped on the light when they entered, and Daggoo, who had pretty strange habits for a dog and loved to sleep in there, rose from his favorite perch on the bed and yipped excitedly. Jackson grinned.

"Sorry about him," Scully said with an absent wave. "He loves it in here, but you can kick him out if you want."

"No, no, that's cool. I love dogs." Jackson flopped down on the bed and scratched Daggoo's head as he wriggled and whimpered with excitement. "My mom was allergic," he said wistfully, "so we weren't ever able to have a dog."

Scully smiled, too. Mulder offered, "Scully here has always been a big fan of dogs. She actually stole this one."

Scully chuckled low in her throat and shook her head disapprovingly. Jackson looked up in surprise. "Seriously?"

"We were on a case," Scully explained in a deadpan. "I caught a serial killer who worked in an animal shelter. I just fell in love with Daggoo, and the whole place was in disarray. I didn't think we had time to stay in town so I could go through the adoption process."

"That's what she wants you to think," Mulder told Jackson. "Secretly, I think she's just a ruthless dog thief."

He snorted with quiet laughter as Scully elbowed him lightly in the side. Daggoo, perhaps sensing he was the subject of discussion, came over to greet Scully. Jackson began to survey the room, his eyes lingering over the books and movies on the shelf, the little TV adjacent to the bed. To the dresser, where they paused on a floppy stuffed bunny sitting on the dresser. Mulder froze a little when he saw it himself; he recognized that bunny. He hadn't known that they'd still had that bunny. He hadn't known that Scully had put it in here.  

"What's that?" Jackson asked, his voice sounding purposefully light. "Something for the kid?"

Scully took a deep, gentle breath. "Actually, it was yours."

Jackson jolted, just a little, his shoulders tight. "Really?" he said quietly.

"Really," she said. "My mother—your grandmother—she bought it for you. You loved it; you wanted to take it everywhere." She laughed softly, fondly. "You loved to chew on its ears," she added. "You slept with it every night."

Her words hit Mulder square in the chest; he hadn't seen any of that, and it still ached to this day. He had missed out on so much. He'd seen Scully sleep with the rabbit curled under one arm when they were on the run, desperate and grieving, but he had never seen it with their son. And now here it was again, when Jackson was too old for anything like that and clearly didn't have any interest in it. He forced a smile, pretending that his chest wasn't tight with grief.

Jackson was still looking at the blue rabbit, his face unreadable. "That's cool," he said in a husky voice. "Cool bunny." He looked over at them, halfway curious. "W-where does your mom live? Do you see her a lot?"

Scully smiled sadly. "No, unfortunately she passed away a couple years ago."

"Oh. I'm really sorry," he said immediately, solemnly. He looked down at his hands, at Daggoo on the bed, looking between them with interest. Mulder wasn't sure what to do, to say.

"Thank you," Scully said softly, her voice faltering a little. "She… I miss her a lot, but she lived a good life."

Jackson nodded, stiffly. He yawned again, in a purposeful manner, and said, "I, uh, I think I'm going to bed."

"Okay," Mulder said, offering what was meant to be a reassuring shrug. "There's food in the fridge, and the bathroom is at the bottom of the stairs. First door to the left in the downstairs hall."

"We can take Daggoo if you want," Scully offered.

"Nah, he can stay." Jackson reached out to scratch the underside of Daggoo's belly, who panted happily. "The room looks good, by the way," he added. "Really cool." As if he'd known that they fixed it up for him—which, Mulder realized, he probably had.

"We're glad you like it," Scully replied. Her hand was against Mulder's wrist, as if she wanted to take his hand, but didn't want to do so in front of Jackson. "Good night," she added warmly.

"We'll be down the hall if you need us," Mulder added, as if he was a small child who might have nightmares. As if it was a normal night, and they were tucking him into bed, and they'd see him in the morning. (And they would; they would see him in the morning, unless he snuck out during the night for some reason.)

"Okay." Jackson was focused on the dog, semi-wrestling with him. He didn't look up as they exited, but he called up a muted, "Thanks."

Back in their bedroom, Mulder suddenly felt weak, limp and small, and he pulled Scully to him in a fierce hug. Her arms went around him immediately, unable to envelop him completely, but still holding tightly, clutching at the back of his shirt. "Hey," she whispered softly. "You okay?"

He nodded, his throat thick. He had missed out on so much. He had missed out on so much, and here was an opportunity to not miss out on things, but he would still never get that time with William. He had left them, and he had lost so much.

He was saying it before he could really even think about it: "I'm so sorry I left."

Scully shook her head immediately. She let go of him and stepped back, tipping up his chin slightly so he'd meet her eyes. "Mulder," she whispered gently, "you didn't have a choice. It was the only way to save yourself."

They'd fought about this a thousand times, each taking different perspectives and going back and forth on different things, but Mulder was sure in this moment that it was his fault and solely his fault. He tried to apologize again, and Scully shook her head. "Mulder, we have to stop living in the past and digging up these old issues," she said. "What's done is done. We can't do anything about it now." She reached up to touch the side of his face gently. "He's here now," she whispered. "We have a chance to get to know him. It's not exactly starting over, but it is something."

He nodded, his eyes growing wet. He engulfed her in his arms again, kissing the top of her head. "You're right," he said softly. "It's just… hard not to linger over the things I've done wrong. My regrets."

"Believe me, I know." She kissed the underside of his jaw. "It's going to be okay," she told him, and she sounded a little uncertain, but he could feel the reassurance in her voice.

He nodded against the top of her head. He felt the baby kicking and smiled absently. "You think you'll be able to sleep with the kiddo being restless in there?" he joked.

She poked him firmly in the arm. "I do it every night, Mulder." She kissed him softly, giving his elbow a small tug. "C'mon," she said with a yawn, "let's go to bed, okay?"

They climbed into bed together, her curling at his front so he could provide some support for her back. He put his lips to the back of her head, his hand to her belly, and tried to relax. But his mind kept returning to their son, in the bedroom down the hall. Wondering if he was okay, if he had nightmares the way they did. He heard footsteps on the stairs, he heard the bathroom door creak. He hoped that he would still be there when they woke up. He wanted more than anything to get to know his son.

---

Jackson slept until noon on Saturday. Not even on purpose, or as an avoidance tactic; he was exhausted. He hadn't been getting many chances to sleep in until noon lately, what with work and being on the run. He slept like a rock, after admittedly staying up half the night watching cable, and when he woke up to sunlight streaming into the unfamiliar room, he briefly forgot where he was.

He panicked, briefly, kicking at the covers as he instinctively bolted up in bed, but his eyes fell on the blue rabbit on the dresser as they jerked frantically around the room, and that snapped him out of it. He let out a heavy sigh, flopping limply back on the bed.

After a few minutes (and after he realized both what time it was and how hungry it was), it seemed silly to just lie here and pretend he was anywhere else. It's not like he could do that all weekend, hide upstairs and only come out at night like some bastardized vampire. If he was going to do this, and make this the last time, he had to do it right.

So he forced himself out of bed and staggered downstairs, realizing just as he hit the bottom stair that he'd forgotten to pack anything sensible, like a hairbrush or a toothbrush or a change of clothes. Dana was on the couch, a book in hand, but she had looked up when she heard him coming down. "Good morning," she said with a calm sort of pleasantness. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Uh huh," Jackson said, his voice wavering a little bit. His eyes jerked around the room, from the couch to the kitchen table, where Mulder was sitting with a laptop, to the front door, where he had kicked off his sneakers the night before. "I'm, uh, I'm going for a run," he said. He needed to breathe for a moment, needed to clear his head. He went for the door and yanked them on, pulling open the door and blinking in the bright sunlight. He inhale deeply and took off, dust road from the driveway stirred up by his shoes.

The run felt good. His birth parents lived out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and it was the perfect place to just run. He ran harder, harder than he probably should, until his chest ached with the strain of running and he was gasping for air.

Running did clear his head. It gave him time to think. Reminded him what he needed to do, the reason why it was good that Sarah dumped him. People might still be looking for him. People might come for Mulder and Scully and their kid. He'd told himself that he was going to try and last the weekend, but being alone out in the country made him too tense, gave him too much time to get paranoid about all the shitty stuff that could happen. He tensed up every time a car went by.

He was honestly ready to leave just on the basis of it seeming too dangerous for him to be there (and also, honestly, because it was awkward as hell, and he didn't want to be in that house, surrounded by reminders of the childhood he didn't have and the family that wasn't his). But when he got back to the house, he was out of breath and coated in sweat. He felt a little like collapsing on the spot. He thought to himself, vaguely, as he leaned against a pillar on the porch, Okay, so I won't leave this exact second.

When he staggered through the door, he found Mulder and Scully on the couch, watching some movie. It sounded sci-fi esque, with lots of hissing sounds and canned screams coming from the television. Something Jackson might've liked years ago. When Mulder saw him come in, he tossed him a water bottle, damp with condensation from the freezer. "I'm guessing you'll need this," he said.

Jackson caught it, a little stunned and not sure why. "Thanks," he said.

"Don't drink too fast," Dana offered mildly, and it was then that Jackson remembered that she was a doctor. It was the thing he had known about her before he'd known almost anything else: Ginger was a doctor. It'd been strangely comforting as a child, in that dinky little hospital where he'd essentially been kept prisoner as a child; he had lain in bed, curled up under the covers, sucking his thumb like a baby for comfort, and he'd closed his eyes and seen her. Ginger, helping children like him, being kind and caring and everything the doctors there weren't, and he'd thought, She wouldn't do this to me. She'd take care of me for real. She'd get me out of here.

(His own mom had been the one to get him out. He'd been in for six months, and they'd been unable to tell his parents what was even wrong with him. He was scared to tell his parents what the doctors were doing to him; one of the nurses whispered that if he wasn't good and didn't kept things a secret, he might not ever get to go home. When the doctors tried to stop his mom and dad from visiting, that was the final straw. His mom had gotten lawyers and threatened a lawsuit, and gotten him out, and they'd moved to the East Coast, far away from the people who had done this to him. Ginger had never come, no matter how much he hoped she would.)

"Okay," Jackson mumbled, unscrewing the lid and taking several grateful gulps. He flopped down in a chair, exhausted, turning his face vaguely towards the TV. It was some kind of monster movie, incredibly cheesy-looking.

He didn't mean to stay and watch it, but he did. He just did. He didn't move from the chair, and the three of them watched three movies without even thinking about it.

Towards the end of the third movie, Jackson went into the kitchen to retrieve a soda. Almost as soon as he stood up, he was thinking about leaving. Wondering if he was wondering out of time to save them all. Wondering if he was being overly paranoid, jumpy and ridiculous. Wondering about the kid, if it didn't matter what he did because they'd come for the kid if they didn't come for him. Wondering if there was even anyone out there to come for either of them.

On the front of the fridge, there was an ultrasound picture. The same one that was there last night. Beside it, one he hadn't noticed: a younger Mulder and Scully, lying sprawled out on a bed asleep. A baby between them, cradled on Mulder's chest, Scully's hand on his back, fingers in his mouth, wearing a little blue onesie. Him, he realized, and bit his lip. He yanked open the fridge too hard and grabbed a Coke. As the door closed back, he caught a glimpse of the ultrasound all over again. My sibling, he thought involuntarily, and was stunned to feel something at the back of his mind. A little push, a presence.

"Find everything okay?" Scully asked when he re-entered. They were trying so hard to be casual—she was pretending to watch the TV, but she was watching him. He could tell.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly and flopping back in his chair. It was an impulse, what he said next; he was thinking about the little push he'd felt, and the picture, and the conversation he and Dana had last time, and he just said it. "You guys got any name ideas for the kid?"

They both looked up in surprise, like it was the last thing they expected him to say. On the screen, a werewolf growled ominously.

Mulder was the first to recover. "We don't know," he said. "We've had some ideas, but nothing feels right."

"Do you, uh…" Jackson cleared his throat awkwardly. "Do you know the sex yet?"

"Not yet," said Ginger, and she had a small, absent smile on her face. "Mulder insists it's a girl, though." Mulder shrugged sheepishly.

Jackson swallowed awkwardly. "Well, either way, you can't go wrong with Fox, right?" he joked, trying to keep his voice light.

It worked. Mulder and Scully both burst into laughter at that, Scully laughing so hard he could hardly believe it. "Low blow, kid," Mulder said, wrapping an arm around Scully's shoulders. "Low blow. But thanks for the suggestion."

Jackson gave a little chuckle of his own. He felt a rush of relief, at just not saying something wrong for once. "Or Lily," he offered, speaking before he could think again. "Lily's cool. If you're digging for options."

He didn't know why he said that. He didn't know why he said that, except for that it was the name he and his mother had liked when his parents were trying to adopt when he was eight. His mom had suggested it, and it'd been his favorite option for a girl, insisting on it even after they'd moved onto other names. But he didn't know why he'd said that now. He hadn't thought about having a little sister named Lily in years, and he didn't know why he was suggesting it now. It felt like his parents' name to use, not theirs. But he had said it, for whatever reason.

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look, a loaded look. "That's pretty," Scully offered. "I like it."

"Yeah," Jackson said, flopping back in his chair. He'd intended to make some more name suggestions, more jokes, but he found he couldn't. He popped open his soda, turned his attention back to the TV. "Fox might be the better option, though," he threw out gingerly. They chuckled from behind him, again, but he could barely hear it. He watched the werewolf tear through the woods, claws drawn.

---

After dinner, Jackson retreated out to the porch. He seemed jittery while they ate, which was more than expected, but the speedy retreat still stung a little. Scully bit her lip when the door shut hard behind him; Mulder saw it, even across the table.

"We could go out with him," Mulder offered as they loaded the dishwasher. It was a nice night, not too hot, the sky streaked pink and orange from the setting sun.  

Scully shook her head, her hands buried in soapy water. "I don't want to put pressure on him," she said, which he knew she'd been trying hard not to do all day. "I want to leave him be. We've had time with him today."

He slipped a plate into the bottom drawer, stepped behind her and engulfed her in his arms. He felt the baby moving under his fingers. "I love you," he said into the back of her neck.

She slipped her sudsy hands down to intertwine her fingers with his. "I love you," she whispered, and he squeezed her tight. She rubbed the back of his left hand with her damp thumb. "We're gonna be okay," she said quietly. They'd been saying that a lot since this all ended, but this was possibly the most confident he'd heard her about it. She turned in his arms and kissed him, her wet palms on his cheeks. They stood together in the midst of their kitchen, pressed together before the sink and the sinking sun.

Later, after Scully had gone upstairs to bed, Jackson was still outside. Mulder could hear the creak of the porch swing through the open windows. He'd been planning to have a beer inside, at the table, but in the split second of hearing that swing creak, he changed his mind. He wanted a few minutes alone with his son. And besides, he did usually have a beer outside rather than in, so he had a good excuse if Jackson asked.

(He considered, briefly, taking a beer out for Jackson, but then decided that it would be nothing but a blatant bribe, and probably not a very paternal move. And Scully would be furious, anyway.)

He took his beer bottle and went outside, towards one of the chairs adjacent to the swing. "Mind if I join you?" he asked his son, who shrugged and continued moving the swing with the toe of his ratty tennis shoes. Mulder sunk into a chair, popping the bottle open. He saw Jackson eyeing the beer wistfully, and pretended he didn't notice, taking a long sip. The swing rocked back and forth.

"Nice night," Mulder said after a few moments. He could hear the crickets chirping in the dusk, feel a slight breeze blowing. It was the kind of night he used to love to sit outside with Scully during, the kind of night he hoped he could look forward to for the rest of his life.

"It is," Jackson said softly, pushing off the porch again. He took a deep breath. "I've missed quiet nights like this. When I was little, we used to live on a farm in Wyoming. I don't remember it too well, but I remember I liked it. And I loved going to visit my grandmother."

"Not a lot of quiet nights in Norfolk?"

"Definitely not." He sighed quietly, leaning back on the slatted swing. "It's nice out here," he said quietly.

Mulder watched him in the dimming light. He couldn't help it. Every moment with him felt like a blessing. Scully kept saying that Jackson looked like him, but he couldn't see it. Looking at Jackson, he just saw his own family, his mother and his sister and Scully. It was hard to look away, to not linger over all of the things they had missed out on. He could imagine a multitude of nights like this with his son, instead of acknowledging that this was the first one. But it might not be the last. He took a swig of his beer and sighed himself, looking out over the fields instead of at his son. "We're glad you're here," he said quietly. "Your mother… Dana and I… we're both so glad you're here, and that you're safe." They'd been so close to losing him; he remembered his horror clearly, his grief, when he thought they'd lost him. He chewed at his lower lip, unsure of what to say, but knowing that he couldn't not say it. It was the same reason Scully told him how much she'd missed him and regretted giving him up every time she saw him: he needed him to know.

The swing squeaked abruptly, harshly to a stop. "Right," Jackson said in a strangled voice.

Mulder tipped the bottle up with a clammy palm and looked at his son. His head was dipped forward, his hair hanging in his face. He couldn't read his expression in the dimming light. "Mulder?" he said softly, rubbing at his mouth hard with one hand.

It threw Mulder off; he couldn't remember if his son had ever addressed him directly. It was overwhelming to hear Jackson say his name, as much as he wished he'd said Dad instead. "Yeah?" he replied, biting back the urge to tack son on the end.

"Do you… do you think…" He broke off mid-sentence. "Those people, the ones chasing me… they came after your family, right?"

The question took Mulder aback, but it wasn't necessarily unexpected. He wasn't surprised that Jackson was shaken after his months on the run, after being pursued for months and having his parents murdered and being shot in the goddamn head. He should've expected Jackson to have questions about where this bullshit originated. "I… yes," he said quietly. "They… they were involved with my father. The one who raised me, not the smoker. They made a deal to take my sister when she was eight years old." He bit the inside of his cheek hard; no matter how many years it had been, the memories still hurt. And the hurt was not lessened any by the fact that his son had suffered from similar things, the fact that he looked a little bit like Samantha. "They killed my father," he added. "They came after Scully, and after me…" After you, he added silently.

Jackson was quiet. The swing moved back and forth. "When did they stop?" he whispered.

Mulder didn't have a good answer to that. He'd come so close to losing Jackson, and though he mostly thought that all of this was over, a part of him thought that they would never stop coming. It was one of his greatest fears with the baby, although he would never leave her or lose her for anything in the world. But it'd been months since anything had happened, months since he'd noticed any kind of Syndicate activity. He and Scully were trying their best to believe that it had ended, that they were safe.

He went with the optimistic answer. "I suppose a few months ago," he said. "I don't know exactly… what happened… but I'm inclined to believe this is all over."

He looked at Jackson, who wasn't looking back at him. He had his forehead balanced in his palm, his head still bent forward. "Why do you ask?" Mulder added tentatively, halfway pressing for an answer, and halfway hoping he wouldn't get it. He wanted to know if Jackson was still being pursued, but he was praying that this wasn't the case.

Jackson sighed heavily, and sat up straight. "No reason," he said, and Mulder bit back an exhale of relief. Before he could ask another question, Jackson got to his feet and turned to the door. "I'm going up," he said bluntly, reaching for the handle.

"Oh," Mulder said, a little surprised, but knowing better than to say anything. "Okay. Goodnight, Jackson. Scully and I will be down the hall if you need anything."

It was probably a babyish thing to say to a seventeen-year-old, but if Jackson minded, he didn't let Mulder know. He didn't say anything at all; he just grabbed the screen door and whipped it open. It slammed hard behind him as he went inside.

---

Early the next morning, Jackson left. He slipped out before it got light, while Mulder and Scully and even the dog were still asleep. He didn't want to have to go through the motions of saying goodbye, and he felt as if leaving was the only thing he had left to do. The only right thing to do.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't be around them. He didn't know if these people would ever stop coming.

And besides that, they weren't his family anymore. Once upon a time, they'd raised him and named him and napped with him and given him a little blue stuffed bunny that he carried everywhere, but then they gave him up. They weren't his family, and he couldn't be theirs. He couldn't be a brother to a little baby if he'd only be putting her in danger.

He had to leave. He didn't have a choice.

[pestcontrolconcept-blog]

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DIY products can definitely help you save money than buying costly brands with similar ingredients and formulation. They've different items like sprays, baits, dust, spread, fog, and mist for stopping various unwanted pests. All that you should do is understand the best product for your requirements and you may already cope with your condition by yourself. Experts for do-it-yourself pest controls will help you find the correct product by providing the finest product solution for the pest problems.

DIY pest goods are good in dealing unwanted pests outdoors like flies and nasty flying bugs and indoor unwanted pests for example cockroaches, rodents, bugs, termites and many more. Even without specialist help, you will discover that pest management is straightforward in addition to making your house pest free. Preventive steps are essential to keep pest free homes. Pest management equipments will also be useful in performing the preventive steps.

Remember that pest management doesn't guarantee everything. There might be some DIY techniques and merchandise that could only keep unwanted pests away temporarily - and they is. In the event such as these, DIY could cost you greater than seeking specialist help. It's no doubt that professional pest management services have high client satisfaction rating. To ensure that you to work inside your DIY program, make certain that you simply just use effective products and pesticides since there are many ineffective pesticides available. And to really make it more effective, you are able to inquire from DIY experts and they'll happily add understanding in your soul.

[onehourpestcontrolbrisbane]

Get To Know This Great Pest Control Advice

If you find pests in your house, you'll need to put everything down and contact an immediate pest control company. All pest control services are created equal, since certain ones are more thorough than others. The article below provides suggestions to keep in mind when choosing the right pest control company that is suitable for the home you live in. Pest Control Brisbane

Don't think you can eliminate pests simply by keeping your house clean. It's a myth that you can eliminate pests by starving them out. A lot of pests eat things you wouldn't consider food items, such as glue or paper. The best way to get rid of insects is to tackle the issue in the first place.

 Do not take a step on a cockroach in order to eliminate it. If you do step upon it, it could let its egg sac open. The eggs will then be moved from your shoes to your carpets as well as rugs of your home. The eggs will remain on your carpet until they hatch which leaves you with a bigger infestation of roaches.

 Mix equal amounts of borax and sugar to create a natural method of controlling pests. Pour the mix into the glass jar and then punch holes into the lid for an reuseable container. Sprinkle the natural product all over the exterior of your house. Ants will be drawn to the mixture and bring it back to the nest effectively removing your house of the ants.

 Don't leave food items out, or un-sealed. Also, ensure you remove any food debris or crumbs. The roaches and bugs are attracted to food scraps put out. Keep food items in the form of a tightly sealed container, as well as in baggies bugs can't get into.

The people who are suffering from flying pests should fix all the screens that surround their home. The screens and windows are designed to keep out flying and crawling insects. It's essential to repair any holes that are present in the screens around your house. 

Be proactive, not reactive. You must eliminate any pests that you may have within your house However, you must take care of how the issue started in the first instance! Are there cracks in your flooring that has brought insects in? Repair it. Do you have a routine that food is not being eaten? Make the change. This will prevent the pests from returning time and time.

Eliminate insects naturally. Sometimes, you don't need use chemicals to combat pests. Removal of sources of food, water and shelter is a way to eliminate these pests. This is especially effective when it comes to rodents. When you own pets do not leave water or food bowls outside. Also, make sure that there aren't cracks or holes in any of the walls of your house.

 Verify the condition of your screens and windows. If they have been damaged or broken since insects can easily enter any gaps in your structure. If you find that a seal has damaged, ensure that you repair it or have it replaced as soon as possible to ensure that it doesn't cause problems at some point in the near future.

If the weather turns cold during the autumn, insects are likely to seek your home as a source for warmth. Particularly, bats, bedbugs and mice all attempt to gain entry into your home in the winter months. Check that your home's exterior is secured so that insects can't penetrate your home.

Increase the frequency with which you empty the trash throughout the year. In some instances, you might not remove the trash enough that it causes smells that draw insects. Instead of taking the trash out each week, remove it once each two to three times.

 If you reside in a place that has bugs in it, make sure to contact an exterminator prior to moving into the new house. A lot of people do not take this step and end up carrying bugs along with them to their new home. That means you'll have the same problem when you move to a new location. Pest Control in Brisbane

 Keep in mind that there are many pest management companies, but not all company offers the same level of service. Certain companies will go in the depth of their inspections, while others simply take an initial glance and leave out any issues that could be present. It is your responsibility to pick a reliable pest control service, so don't ignore these suggestions.

[enviropestsolutions]

Types Of Unwanted Animals That Pest Control Services Can Address

If you're looking to get rid of termites from your property, there is a variety of methods and products available in the market. Pest Control Services offers complete pest control services to ensure your home or commercial building remains termite-free. If left unnoticed, termites can cause serious damage to your building's structure and create several other problems for humans and animals living inside the building. Therefore, it is necessary to get rid of termites as soon as possible. In case of indoor use, termites might affect your furniture or other household items, and in the worst case scenario, they could also destroy the house.

Most of the time, pest control services can help you in identifying the source of the termite infestation and determine the most appropriate solution to solve the problem. Some of the common methods of eliminating these pests include fumigation and baiting. When you opt to employ professional pest control services, there are several things you have to bear in mind. This includes understanding what exactly is meant by 'termite'. Also, you need to know that there are several different types of these pesky insects, and depending on the severity of the infestation, you might need to use more than one method to completely eradicate them.

The life cycle of most insects is fairly short. This means that they will usually lay their eggs in areas where food is available. During this period, it is not uncommon for termites to seek shelter in wood, brick, carpet, or paper. However, some pest control services have identified the need to reach beneath the ground in order to completely eradicate these insects. This type of treatment involves digging a small hole and filling it with water. After this, an insecticide or bait is placed inside the hole and the water is allowed to flow until the insecticide and bait are completely dissolved.

While there are instances when homeowners can successfully eliminate these insects by themselves, hiring professional pest control services is more likely to be useful. These services have access to special equipment, which allows them to reach beneath the ground and take care of various insect infestations. For example, if you have a wood pile in your garden, you can utilize this pile to prevent deer from eating your plants. However, if you want to prevent ants from invading your home, this method cannot work as effectively.

There are several other different types of insects that you can hire pest control services for. In addition to cockroaches and termites, you can also get rid of ants, spiders, bees, and even roaches. The important thing to remember is that if you want to employ these services, you need to make sure that you hire a reputable company.

Another common pest control service offered by many companies is the extermination of fleas. While some people do not consider fleas as insects, these little creatures can wreak havoc on your health and the health of those around you. If you have fleas infested your home, you can hire pest control services to spray your home with chemicals that will eradicate these parasites.

Lastly, there are also rodents, such as rats. Rats are a common problem in many homes because they eat up food, which leads to an increase in the number of termites. If you have rats in your home, it is wise to hire pest control services to exterminate these animals. However, before exterminating these rodents, you need to confirm whether there are actually live rats inside your home.

Finally, bugs are also another type of unwanted creatures that you might want to deal with if you hire pest control services. Bugs come in a variety of sizes, and they are known to infest houses in your neighborhood. You can get rid of these pesky bugs by sealing cracks in your walls and applying caulk on the seams of windows and doors. However, before you engage professionals in getting rid of these bugs, it is important for you to first identify where these bugs are coming from so you can prevent future infestations.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Seventy-Four: End of Watch

Does anyone else have a list of books or movies they read/watch, hoping they’ll end differently every time? Like, the end is so traumatic you just can’t stand to watch it... and maybe if a character makes one teeny decision differently, their fate will be positively altered. 

I tried to explain this to my husband once when Titanic was on. I keep watching the movie, and hoping it ended differently. He stared at me like I was a complete idiot. “The ending doesn’t change. The boat still sinks...” But, but, what if it doesn’t this time? Yes, I know I sound like a total lunatic. But that’s also the way I feel about End of Watch.

Spoilers!!! Spoilers!!! Spoilers abound past this point: consider yourselves warned!!!

Maybe this will be the time Bill Hodges goes to the doctor just a little bit sooner, and they catch his cancer before it becomes so advanced. Maybe Bill starts radiation and chemo, and doesn’t leave Holly in this cold, miserable world alone. Maybe after his heart attack, Bill embraces a plant-based diet, and does yoga every morning, and is kind to his body. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Bill’s death is up there with the other heartbreaks Steve has given us: Eddie, Jake, Wolf, John Coffey, Susan Delgado... I could probably keep going, but these are the first characters that come to mind. 

Ugh. So, now that we’re sufficiently down, allow me to bring you back up. In 2016 when this book was published, my daughter was eight, and very enamored with all the games on our iPad. The farting dog app was one of her favorites. But one day she told me about a new game called, “Tap Tap Fish”. I asked her if she was feeling angry/scared/confused/losing track of time/finding herself in a trance while playing this game. She gave me the typical, “Mom, you’re losing your mind” look she’s perfected over the years. But that game, and this book have become something of a running joke in the house, and when she asked me what I was reading, I told her, “Tap-tap-tap-fish-fish-fish-kill-kill-kill...” Ah, some jokes never get old. 

So, End of Watch is the final book in the Bill Hodges trilogy. We find out early on that Bill is suffering from pancreatic cancer, which has spread throughout his body. The prognosis isn’t good, and chemo and radiation will only give him a few more years to live. As Bill is dealing with this prognosis, suicides start popping up with alarming frequency. And then, little Barbara Robinson almost steps in front of a speeding truck, because the voices inside her Zappit handheld game console tell her to end her life. Thankfully, little Barbara is fine, and ends up with a broken leg and a cute boyfriend. Not a total loss. 

But of course the suicides all tie back to Brady Hartsfield, who is still “dealing” with a traumatic brain injury. Come to find out, Brady’s doctor tried feeding him experimental drugs that didn’t help him to recover any of his abilities, but they seemed to help him with a kind of astral-projection, and the ability to speak with people through the Fishin’ Hole game in the Zappit consoles.

So, Brady “works” with his old co-worker Freddi Linklater to purchase a bunch of Zappits, and create a website that distributes them to people who were at the Round Here concert. You remember... the concert where Brady, wearing a vest made of ball bearings unsuccessfully tried to blow up a whole auditorium full of people. The Zappits are distributed, and Brady (in the body of his old doctor) presses the metaphorical green button that sends out suicide ideations through the game.  

Bill, Holly, and Jerome start putting the pieces together, and Holly is the one who makes the connection between the Zappits, and the suicides. And this is the moment when I need to bow down to my girl... Bill’s old partner Pete, and his new partner Izzy disregard Holly’s theory; and Izzy is down-right rude about it. But Holly isn’t deterred. She doesn’t let Izzy’s intimidation get to her. Instead, she goes on to solve the motherfucking case, because that’s what bad-ass bitches do. In case you can’t tell, I LOVE me some Holly Gibney. 

So, the Finders Keepers crew end up shutting down the Zappits, preventing anymore suicides, and they follow “Brady” up to a snowy mountain lodge, where they finally kill him. Well, his spirit. His body had been dead for a few days already. Brady’s like a cockroach, you need to stomp on him a few times to make sure he’s really dead. 

The crew then reconvenes in the oncology department a few weeks later to celebrate Bill’s belated birthday. You know it’s coming. But that doesn’t make it any easier...

And then the final section of the book is Holly planting flowers at Bill’s grave, talking to Jerome. The gravestone reads “End of Watch”. God damn it, I feel a lump in my throat again. It’s such a great series, and spawned so many memorable characters. I’ve said it before, but it’s a fantastic series to recommend to people who claim to not like Steve’s books.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 46

Total Dark Tower References: 68

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Doctor Sleep: A+

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Mr. Mercedes: A+

End of Watch: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: A+

Just After Sunset: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Finders Keepers: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Blaze: B+

Hard Listening: B+

Revival: B+

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Joyland: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

The Wind Through the Keyhole: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers D

Next up is Sleeping Beauties. Fun fact: I got to see Steve and Owen live promoting this book... and I’ve never read it. Second fun fact: Steve was so entertaining and funny in person, I could have listened to him talk for four hours and never get bored. Owen was cool too. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca