#nobody be worried everything is fine it was a false alarm

[magston-obsessed]

You know it’s gonna be a good week when you have to call 911 on a Monday night 😝

[faethfigueroth]

.

[heyheshi]

"Baby, we're going to have our own family!"

2.9k words

written and uploaded: July 13, 2020

🦋 - fluff

🌙 - angst...?

Please like and reblog! Also please don’t post my writings anywhere!

Also this was supposed to be really short, like just about 700 words but I couldn’t help it!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

_________

"H, are you sure you want to go to the doctors with me?", you asked your husband for the third time in the last 30 minutes.

"Baby stop doing that!", furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at you accusingly - talking about how you're asking him that question again and about your food as you toy it around your plate using your fork.

Earlier after he woke up, Harry made sure that your day starts off as great as possible. He's so giddy. He knows that this day is going to be wonderful. He can just feel it - and so he made sure to wake you up with his kisses and a huge variety of healthy breakfast.

By "huge variety of healthy breakfast", that meant different slices of fresh fruits and organic vegetables, whole-wheat bread, cereals, yogurt, scrambled eggs, bacon (your absolute favorite and he cannot forget to add that), freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh cow milk, and mixed nuts.

He really went all the way with your meal and you're really thankful for that. 2 months ago, you would think that the two of you can't finish all of this food in just one sitting but how wrong could you be? Harry ate a lot but you're kind of having almost the same portion as him, not that he minds, he wants to keep you as healthy as possible for the baby on the way even though you told him that you're not certain about it just yet.

He made sure to talk to the hotel's head chef just to prepare your breakfast and strictly said "just the best and freshest once for my wife and make sure not to add any preservatives, just all-natural", and that's how you got here.

He even insisted on not ordering a coffee for you. You LOVE your morning coffee but H said that it's not good for your heart - which is true. You think he's being kind of dramatic and overprotective but you like it a lot.

It seems like everything he does is way too great; hormones. But it's not like you're gonna admit it to him anyway, it'll boost his ego more, your husband is narcissistic.

"Babe, babeeee, baby??!", you came back into reality. You didn't even notice that Harry has been snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

"Sorry, just got ca-"

"Too caught up in my handsome looks, huh?", your husband winks at you, he always teases you!

You just rolled your eyes at his antics, "course not!", you said defensively. "Was just thinking! Plus, I wasn't even staring at you!"

"Yeah sure lovie. What's on that pretty little head of yours, hmm?", he leaned his elbows on the table and put his head on his hand.

"Just thinking 'bout how you took my morning coffee away and thinking 'bout what my lunch's gonna be."

"Stop bein' grumpy", he just chuckled at your answer, knowing your sarcasm really well, "just finish your breakfast so we can leave. Already called the clinic for our appointment. It's at 10 a.m., I don't wanna be late.", he just continued eating his part but you're the exact opposite - you froze.

"You what?"

"What? Said finish your food... and that I booked our appointment...?", he asked uncertainty. He's really confused right now and you are too! You're not even sure why you're confused, you just are. Maybe over the fact that H is so excited about this and you might not even be pregnant.

Of course, you're happy with how he's acting. You're just worried that this might just be a false alarm and it will crush him so much.

"Why did you?", you looked down at your plate then quickly stuffing your mouth with the rest of your food while Harry answered.

"Just wanna be the best dad and husband you could ever ask for", he sounds sad, he really thought that you would be happy, you already talked about going to the doctors last night anyways!

"Okay.", you shortly replied and stood up to your seat rounding the table. Harry felt his chest tightening - too much - he thought, until he felt your arms around his neck from behind and tucking your face on his neck. He quickly interlaced your fingers with his.

"I love you", you quietly whispered to his right ear. "You don't know how much this means to me, you're already the best, gunna be the best dad.", you pressed a kiss on his neck. "I just don't want you to get hurt if I'm not pregnant.", your voice seemed to get quieter with each word.

Harry just stood up from his seat and faced you, "whatever happens, we're going to be okay, alright? If we're not pregnant then it's fine, I'm not going to lie and say that I won't be affected by it because I know I will be, but let's always keep in mind that God already has better plans for us, okay?", he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

You just squeezed your face in his shirt, "I'm scared of another heartbreak. I really want this with you.", you said and Harry felt his shirt getting damp.

"Nothing's going to change. I'll still love you more than ever and will always be here to take care of you", he's now whispering while wiping your tears. Everything about this is so intimate. "I love you too, so much Y/N", with that, more tears fall as you kissed him like your life depends on it.

---

"Patient 104, the doctor is ready to see you.", you heard the nurse called your number.

With shaking limbs, you managed to stand up and walk to the doctor's office while Harry assisted you.

"Mister and missus Styles! It's so nice to meet you in person! I'm Doctor Amelia Welsh, just Doc Amy", your doctor looks friendly and it eased you a bit.

"Harry", your husband shook the doctor's hand then slowly turned to you, "and this is my wife, Y/N.", you smiled as you shook her hand.

"Such a lovely couple! Anyway, you called last night, right Harry?", Doctor Amy asked as she sat on her spinning chair while you and Harry take a seat on the opposite side of her table.

"I did, yes. We wanted to have a check-up on my wife", your husband did all the talking, you know he can sense your nervousness.

You're eyes slowly observed the clinic. It almost looked identical to yours, with the office table on the middle and a medical bed on the far left side of the office and a rack full of different medical supplies, the only difference is that your clinic has so many baby pictures and toys for your patients to play around with.

"Okay, so what seems to be the problem? I already got a hold of your medical records, Mrs. Styles, or should I call you Doctor Styles too?", Doctor Amy joked and it made you chuckle a bit.

"I'm a patient right now so I'll just stick with Mrs. Styles", you felt Harry squeezed your hand that he's holding and you smiled to yourself. He always loves it when you claim your self as "Mrs. Styles". He said it makes him all warm and fuzzy and makes him just wanna love on you all day, every day.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"Ummm okay, so I've been eating a lot - more than usual, it can be because of stress since I'm a stress - eater...", you took a deep breath and look at Harry then back at her, "also I've been feeling nauseated and often having sickness, but in the afternoon not morning so I thought it might be my eyesight."

"Hmm okay please continue", the Doctor continues jotting down on her note pad at a fast pace, you understand it tho, you do the same stuff every day.

"I'm more often bloated than not but this one's different, my abdomen looks bigger than usual..."

"When was the last time you had your period? I know your period is irregular but I still need to know", the doctor pulled her glasses down on the bridge of her nose.

"I think it was November...", you're really not sure, you gave up on tracking your period when it downed to you that your period is never gonna be regular at all.

"Last time you had sexual intercourse?", your face feels hot but you know that these kind of questions are relevant, on your side you can see Harry's ears become reddish.

As if your husband can sense that you're not going to answer that question, he stepped up even though he's shy about it, "last night."

It's not that the two of you are embarrassed about your sex life, it's the opposite actually, you just want to keep it private.

Doctor Welsh just smiled at both of your embarrassment, "well how long had you been feeling this? Did you took a pregnancy test?", she looked back down and continued scribbling.

"Just this January, I never really paid much attention, and I did, a couple of weeks ago, 12 positives and 3 negatives."

"Okay well, why don't we take a look? You can change into this gown and lay in there", she said giving you the gown and pointing at the bed on her clinic, "I'll be back in a few."

You looked at Harry and as if he can hear the voices inside your head, he pulled you into him and kissed your cheek, "we'll be alright", he smiled at you but you can tell that he's really nervous too.

You both are, this is the break it or make it time of your lives. You're not sure if you're ready for it but you shook your thoughts out of your mind and changed into the gown and went to the bed, Harry hot on your heels, quickly took a seat beside the bed and held your right hand.

"I love you", he whispered, he thinks he's as nervous as the first time he auditioned on the X-Factor, when he asked you to become his girlfriend, or when he asked you to become his wife, all combined.

"I love you too", you kissed his knuckles as he smiled at you.

It didn't take long for the doctor to come back.

"Ready?", she asked and you nodded. She set the machine up and made sure you're comfortable before putting the gel on your tummy.

Nobody dared to make a sound and you never dare to look anywhere besides Harry's eyes as he presses his lips on your palm.

"Okay...", you hear the doctor mumbled that made you whip your head up to her.

You looked at the monitor and saw it, there's a heartbeat. You knew what exactly it was but your husband doesn't since he never accompanied someone to an ultrasound appointment before.

And then the silent room heard it, the heartbeat.

"Wa- was that...", Harry slowly looked at you with red eyes.

"Yes", you whispered while nodding your head.

This is it.

"Oh wait", the doctor said suddenly, you froze, this can't be happening! There's nothing wrong with anything! Everything is fine!

You never dared to look at the monitor and Harry too, much too scared of hearing the next words that will come out of the doctor's mouth.

You're finally pregnant and you're going to love your child with everything you have and you just hope there's nothing wrong with your baby.

"What was it?", Harry asked in a croaked voice, still not looking up.

"Well, I'm seeing... not one, but two heartbeats!"

Both of your heads snapped back at the monitor and there you see it! From a different angle are two little heartbeats, two blips, two fetuses, two babies in the future!

You almost felt your heart stop from so much happiness!

"Congrats you're having twins! You're about 8 weeks pregnant!", Doctor Amy rejoiced but you still cannot move, neither can Harry until...

"I- oh my God! Is this real?! Is this really happening?! Oh God Oh God Oh God!", Harry jumped from his seat covering his face with his hands.

"Baby, we're going to have our own family!", H crouched down next to your bed while slowly kissing your nose and that's when it finally sunk in! You're pregnant! And with twins! This is more than you could ever ask for!

You're nodding your head repeatedly with tears running to your cheeks rapidly while Harry tried to catch everything.

"Happy, I'm so so happy, H."

"Me too my love, me too... twins?! I- thank you so much baby, you're so wonderful to me and I-", you didn't let him finish talking as you kissed him, not caring if the doctor is still in the room.

After you pulled away, you only smiled at him and pecked his lips once again. Harry helped you clean up the gel on your tummy and go back to your seat earlier, the doctor is already there typing on her computer.

"Congratulations again! Twins are hefty but I'm sure you can both handle it!", you thanked her and proceeded to talk about the pregnancy.

"I'm assuming you already know what to expect, what to do, and not to do, and what to eat mostly, yes? Hopefully, you didn't consume any alcoholic drinks during the last at least 10 weeks and no birth control at all", Amy asked.

"We do know, yes. And no, I didn't drink, and no, none at all.", you're smiling so big, mirroring H.

"Well then, there's really not much to discuss other than your next ultrasound. You two would be great parents! Do you have any questions?"

"Not for now, I think...", and Harry agrees with you.

"If you do then don't think twice of calling me. I'll print the pictures and have my assistant help you with the next appointment if you need to be transferred to another country then let her know, I'll have her recommend you on my pals", the doctor smiled and almost left the room but...

"Can you make it 5 copies?", H asked suddenly.

The doctor looked back and laughed, "of course, you'll just gonna need to pay extra on your way out", she replied.

"That's won't be a problem, just make it 5 please!", Harry looks and sounds like a child asking for another cookie.

"It's settled!", with that, the doctor finally left the room.

The silence is really comfortable as you change back into your normal clothes.

"H, why 5 copies? We don't need that much!", you laughed as you slowly approached your husband to leave the room.

He only smiled and simply answered, "one for you, one for me, one for your parents, one for mines, then one for their album - I'm getting it enlarged and framed."

You just melted as his answer so you just hugged him tight, “I’m having your baby, and it is your business”, you joked and he laughed, exchanging "I love you's".

---

You're back at the car now, looking at the ultrasound pictures. You can see on your peripheral vision how big Harry is grinning.

He faced you and lifted up your shirt, the car still in the parking lot of the hospital. Thank God you managed to be discreet as possible, not seeing any paps insight.

"Hello bundles!", he greeted your tummy with a kiss.

"See, I know you're both there, daddy can sense it. Can't wait to hold you both and protect you from the world", he looked up at you. "Please don't give mummy a hard time, especially now that there's two of you and daddy's gonna be away a lot, but I promise to be there while you two bake in there as much as possible!", he kissed your tummy once more and pulled down your shirt.

You can't help but grin at him, "bundles? And bake?", you asked your husband while laughing, your shoulders shaking from how many laughs you're producing.

"Bundles, they're two, that's what you call it baby! Like the buy one take one thing on the store, bundles! And bake cause they're a bun in the oven, your tummy's the oven and they're the buns! Bundle buns!", he looks so excited while explaining his shenanigans to you.

You face palmed yourself but can't help but to fall in love with him more, if that's possible.

"Know what baby? Let's just get lunch, yeah?", he only nod but he didn't find your response offensive.

You secretly loved his terms "bundles" and "bake", it makes your heart warm.

"What're you all craving, tell daddy!", you slapped his arms at his double meaning!

You answered either way, "we want pasta, daddy!", then winked at him.

"If pasta is what my babies want then pasta is what we'll get!", his hands found your lap to hold your hand but yours isn't there.

He then looked at you holding your tummy with a fond smile on your face and he joined your hands with his, both of you caressing your babies.

"32 weeks baby, 32 weeks.", you said to H and he smiled at you, looking back on the road.

"I'm already thinking of getting us a customized Gucci family clothes for when they arrive!", H cheekily said to you but you know he's not kidding so you just agreed along with him.

You know you're gonna love this pregnancy already. Not only you got one, but two babies! You're more blessed than ever! Plus, you're sure that Harry's going to be giving you everything you crave for! Midnight ice cream sessions, here we come!

_____

[wyrd-weaver]

"𝔏𝔢𝔱 𝔐𝔢 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫."

Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Mention of Self-Harm, Mention of Rape (That Resulted in Pregnancy), Mention of Binge Eating, Mention of Weight (By a Disgusting Man), Depression, Anxiety.

⤷ Remember: Every body type is beautiful, and you're legally allowed to maim those who say otherwise! The brief few sentences in this story are not accurate of any decent, sane individual.

Word Count: 1887

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Depression had you caged, shackled to the memories...the all-consuming sensations of horror and disgust. The very same that were forced upon you, that iced all your muscles twelve hellish months ago. Twelve! And yet, the nightmares refused to cease. Every evening, you battled demons most powerful and foul, acquiring scar after scar after scar. If you stumbled, if you lay down your weapon or lost...could you really be faulted? If this was Heaven's retribution, a cleansing of your contaminated, sinful body, then...was it not misguided? Surely a void replaced the evidence against you?

Blame should never have befallen you! This child, despite his mask of innocence, attested to humanity's ugliest side. Your heart was unravelling - you needed him, as an extension of yourself, as someone to cherish, but...you didn't want him. He wasn't the product of consent. He was loathsome...and a burden. He was so young, so dependent.

Casting him to the mercy of the streets would be more than a mere violation of morality. You already felt criminal - convicted on thoughts and false claims, serving a life sentence in the bowels of Hell. There was an escape, of course. Although...it wasn't accompanied by a light, or the gentle touch of a loved one. No...this escape was advertised as selfish, shameful...weak. And maybe so. Maybe life's greatest demand was the forgoing of happiness. But...to such an extent seemed excessive, and deliberately cruel. You shouldn't have been so dirty, so broken...an embarrassing stain on your family's name.

A single mother. A victim. A failure.

Plagued with flashbacks that favoured spontaneity above calculation, you carved miserable little lines on to your arms. Nobody knew - not your son, nor the Avengers...nor even Loki. They all harboured some form of trauma, however deep-rooted, and so...they had no need for your sob story. Who would care for someone so violated? Someone so...afraid? Your mind, weakened by fatigue and chronic worry, was simply too weak to resist those thoughts, and all hope had been drained from your heart. Why should you be tethered to life, if only for your child? Should you instead seek liberation, peace...joy? Decency discouraged it, but pain stood its ground.

With your dignity in shambles, your disowning, your binging...nothing felt right anymore! Nothing felt...clean. Loki had noticed, observant as he was. Here, sequestered within the walls of the Avengers' Compound, he was the closest to a friend...maybe even more.

No, no, no! I can't think like that! He's a man! A man! I shouldn't even be going near him anymore! Why, oh god...why is he the only one I'm not afraid of? The only one who can comfort me when I break? I can't...! I haven't even told him about...about...Well, I haven't told anyone! They all just think I slept with someone recklessly! And now...now I'm tainted, unlovable! This is...it's all my fault...I should have defended myself. I should have done something! Anything! Why...why did I freeze...? Why? Why?! Why?!!

Loki understood mental anguish and the torture of dissimilarity, as his birth-rights. Perhaps that was reason enough for your breathing to even, in his embrace. It had taken moths to allow such a privilege, and Loki's persistence, how his voice quivered as he begged to help you in any form...

You, whom he held so very dear...

You might have assumed his affections romantic, once upon a time. Yet...no longer. An ailment had struck you - one that rendered both eyes and ears ignorant to his double meanings, his implications...his love. You couldn't process them over the fear and paranoia. Didn't all relationships entail force, and...activities of a sexual nature? You never wanted to experience that again. Never! So, while sleep washed over the Compound, you crept to the kitchen, intent on expanding your waistline evermore. That your size may, to some, be cause for revulsion, had never previously occurred. It was only when the words danced on the tongue of that godforsaken man...

Eat, eat more! Who cares if you're sick? Keep eating! He said...he said that excess was unattractive. So - so maybe he won't...maybe I won't be...again...?

It had been dominance play, a show of superiority.

Loki would never steal something so sacred, unless you willed it.

He was a gentle soul, manipulated into committing an atrocity, and scorned - by the Avengers, especially. He wouldn't find any resonance in your tale (and you hoped he never would), but as a companion, a patient listener...surely there would be no judgement in his heart? He wouldn't be so quick to abandon you...right? Still, a single utterance of that day, of that most fright-inducing event...required courage far surpassing your own. Maybe...just a word? A sign? Something...?

Lonely was the path you wandered, in spite of Loki's presence. Alone, he failed to drown your demons. He held them under the waves, but they always returned.

You appreciated the effort. Plasters may cover your scars, but they could never heal your heart. Could Loki?...In time? If distorted thoughts of him were enough to ground you in the midst of panic...could he aid your recovery?

He also wondered that. Your deception wasn't half as masterful as you had hoped. Or perhaps you were simply the target of Loki's observations, and therefore came under frequent scrutiny. He had, of course, picked up on the subtle changes in your demeanour - particularly post-pregnancy. He idled at your side, throwing neither intrusive question nor accusation. This was at the behest of his conscience, although he longed desperately to ignore it. He wanted to know...what exactly happened last year, when your transformation began?

Your lips were sealed, but his very essence ached - sorrow, curiosity, love, sympathy and compassion all melding together within him. They ran amuck, refusing any whisper of sleep. His concentration had flown alongside it, rendering him unable to enjoy the book that rested in his palm. It had maintained a decent level of interest until now, but duty called. He would pry open your chamber door, glimpse your ethereal, sleeping form...and finally feel content. If you were strolling through dreamland, then his concern could dissipate. At least for a while. If not...he would discover why.

Loki hesitated outside your door, for if you were truly non-the-wiser, asleep...vulnerable, then a mere survey of yourself and the room would leave, on his tongue, a terrible aftertaste.

But, lo and behold, only your young son slept soundly, in his crib.

Loki was grappled now with a sense of alarm - where in Odin's name were you? And, pray tell...why was your child on his lonesome, cleansing himself of the prior day, in such a frigid room? He was wrought with grief upon recalling your distaste for the babe, and again when he realised there was no option to remove him, bring him to a warmer space, rock him and sing soft melodies...

Loki's primary goal was to find you, and perhaps...coerce you into confessing everything. From a true account of the day that always replayed in your mind, to your innermost feelings and thoughts...he needed to know, and to understand.

He had scoured half the building before laying eyes upon you. However...relief proved elusive. There were an endless number of questions, but none dared to grace the air. Why was your beautiful face stained with tears? Why were you eating, despite looking so sickly? What had troubled you so? And...could he kill it? He was unsure of the proper manner in which to approach you. He had always tread lightly, but complete silence and delicacy were more fortes of his mother. He swallowed down the nerves.

"(Y/n), darling...why aren't you sleeping?"

You startled, eyes bloodshot and a biscuit lodged between your lips. "U-Uh..."

He walked forward. "Is there something weighing on your mind?"

"...No?" This was mumbled, as though credence escaped you.

"My dear, you aren't a skilled liar. Talk to me, please." The heartache nearly tore him apart.

You wouldn't meet his gaze. "I...I can't."

"Please?" Both of your voices cracked, in unison.

Oh god, alright. Okay. This if fine...right? It's fine. I'm fine...Am I? What if I'm not?! I can't tell him just yet! But he looks so upset...I did this! I caused this! Oh god...just stay - stay calm! Calm down...calm down...

A tear trickled down your cheek, then another. "I-I've never...I don't want to - to relive it."

He brought you into a protective embrace. "Then you won't. I swear, by all the beings in the Nine Realms, that I will keep you safe. Please, let me share your burden."

Three sentences. Who was so weak-willed, that a mere three sentences shattered all their defences? You cursed his silver tongue. "(S-S/n)...! He - he's...I didn't...I-I don't want him! J-Just because I didn't fight back...I didn't try to run, he...t-that man, he did...things. To me. And now...now I'm so dirty! I'm disgusting...unclean, weak. B-But...sometimes - sometimes I think it's all in my head. But it isn't! I-It happened, and (S/n)! He's...he's the proof! He reminds me...o-of that..."

Loki froze. "What...?"

"But I-I couldn't - I couldn't tell anyone! They wouldn't...believe me, o-or care! People like me, they don't - this...this doesn't happen! Why...why did this happen?? A-And now...there's (S/n). And every...every minute is Hell! I can't take it anymore...I don't w-want to be here. I don't want to be...to be alive anymore..."

Loki could almost see the threads of rationality thinning. Who would...defile you, hurt you? You were so important, so genuine and...lovely. "I will find this man, and personally deliver his comeuppance. He never deserved your voice, let alone your touch."

"No!" You stiffened in his arms. "Then he'll...he'll come back..."

"If he does, I shall slay him." Yet, Loki made no attempt to leave. Instead, he slipped into a mask of composure, enough to continue speaking without seething. "I apologise...if you thought I wouldn't care. I do - more than you could ever imagine. You are the most stunning creature I have had the honour of meeting, in all my lifetime. I was resolved to spend my days at your side, never professing my love, but after hearing that...I..."

You panicked. "Loki...don't. Please-"

"I know it would be impudent to assume that you could accept me right now, but consider that...I can protect you. I will never let him, or anyone, hurt you again." Loki wiped away your crystalline sadness. "But, please...when you can't see worth or joy in this life...please come to me. I will be here to remind you of your victory - you survived such torture, and delivered a child. You are far from weak, (Y/n)."

Loki's fingers darted along your wrist. He yearned to kiss every scar, every inch of your skin.

Though, he would do nothing without permission. "Now, my dear...let's put these treats away. I would suggest that, henceforth, you eat balanced meals and partake in some fun activities. Perhaps I could read to you, one day? And venturing out for a walk - we can do that together. I...um, hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries. I'm simply thinking of ways to occupy your mind...and your time. You can do these things alone, of course..."

You nodded. "But...you'd - you'd do them with me?"

"I would gladly do anything with you, my love." Loki's words were empty of duplicity.

You were angelic - the only one safe from his lies.

[crystalkleure]

It's the middle of the night and I've been thinking a lot about laughter. I have Many Somewhat-Disjointed Thoughts and Many Speculations and I wish I had a psychology degree, or someone with a psychology degree to bounce my Thoughts And Ideas off of, but I don't so I'm just going to kind of scrawl words into the void here on Tumblr dot com real quick.

Nobody can seem to agree on Exactly What Laughter Is And Why It Exists. Sometimes people laugh because something is true, and sometimes people laugh because it is not. And sometimes people laugh because something just doesn't make any fucking sense. What Is Funny seems arbitrary and contradictory and confusing and there are a million different Theories Of Humor that try to explain it [usually badly].

On the Science Side of the subject, laughing releases Be Happy And Relax chemicals in your brain, and also in the brains of others around you bc laughter is socially contagious like yawning. Other people will feel the urge to start chuckling if someone around them is. Laughter creates and shares endorphins. It can also even lessen physical pain.

One theory of Why We Find Things Funny goes like this: Something bonks someone on the head. For a moment, everyone else is worried about that guy, wondering if he's hurt, but then it becomes apparent he is fine. And THEN everyone laughs it off. It's funny because no one actually got hurt! Or, at least, not hurt in any sort of serious way -- just a minor bruise or scrape. They're not maimed or dead. So it's theorized that one function of laughter is to disengage our Alarm Mode once it becomes apparent that no actual threat is present, and it turns out there's no need for everyone to stay so worked up and thus they ought to calm down and get rid of the stress. Laughter is the signal to do that.

So, one reason something might be funny is because it's clear that no one is getting seriously hurt. The potentially-harmful situation is just silly, or even outrageous/unrealistic...and safe. There's an initial moment of Wondering "is this okay?" that is very quickly quelled by something affirming that yes, the situation is quite okay, and that is what makes the situation humorous. That’s the Recipe For Funny.

So, laughter is meant to soothe stress.

I suspect that "laughing at something because it's true" actually also has the same root cause as "laughing at something because it turned out to be a false alarm". Have you ever chuckled bitterly at something, thinking "Yep, that's a thing and it sure does suck lol"? Maybe a meme about some health problem you've suffered from?

If we look at laughter through the lens of catharsis, under the assumption that the point of laughing is to soothe, I think it actually makes sense for bitter truths to be sardonically humorous. I'd imagine it can be very cathartic to hear someone else convey "Yep, this is a thing that sucks!" when you've had experience with that sucky thing, because that means that someone understands. They're affirming your experiences as being real and shitty. That would elicit a warm smile of Vindication And Validation, and the affirmation being delivered in the form of a silly meme or something would elicit a laugh, for double the Cathartic Soothing Power.

Gallows-type humor might not always work for some people though, if they're being too affected by the shitty thing to be able to laugh it off. If the shitty thing is so painful that just thinking about it is very upsetting, then trying to joke about it might actually just make the hurt worse. Wound's too fresh.

Therefore, senses of humor are very individualistic, and also situational, explaining why different people might have very different reactions to a single joke, and those same people might even have very different reactions to it at different times. They could be 1. indifferent, because they don't Get the situation being joked about enough to understand why it might be harmful, so there's no moment of suspense before the laugh-inducing "it's fine!" punchline [or, alternatively, they don’t understand how the “it’s fine!” punchline is actually supposed to quell the initial suspense], or 2. angry, because they're currently so negatively affected by the situation being joked about that the "it's fine!" is a lie to them, because it's not fine and it really does hurt so it's not funny, or 3. amused, because the joke has successfully validated/soothed them! Or their reaction could change from 1 to 2, or 1 to 3, or 2 to 3 over time.

TL;DR: The cause of laughter appears to be the thought process "Something is wrong/dangerous and thus stressful, but now it's correct/safe so the stress is unwarranted and can be released!", with laughter itself then being the social signal that says "Everything's fine now, everyone relax!"

Laughter actually soothing low-level physical pain also lines up perfectly with all of this; that's ideally complementary to soothing stress. Stress itself can actually amplify or even outright cause physical symptoms. Stress causes pain, and pain causes stress. Laughter wants to help you to stop hurting so you can return to business as normal.

[reyesstrand]

for the tarlos prompts :) 45 & 94? hope you have a good day!

i hope you have a good day too!! thank you for the prompt!! 💗 

feel free to send me a number from this list if you’d like! read on AO3 here! 

They’re probably going to give each other heart attacks, one of these days. 

TK’s never dated a fellow first-responder before Carlos; hell, he’s barely dated anyone with similar life experiences before. Sure, there were a couple boys back in high school that never amounted to anything serious, and then Alex was his entire life for two years after finishing the academy when he was twenty. But Alex worked a desk job, and one day wanted to be a teacher; he worked a nine-to-five, had benefits, and kept to a tight schedule. TK never had to worry when he went to work. Now, the nervousness runs in a two-way street — Carlos worries about TK and TK worries about Carlos, and every night that they get to come home to one another, when their schedules actually line up, the relief washes over them in waves. 

But it’s been rough for the last little while. Not only have their shifts rarely overlapped, but Buttercup had a health scare a few days ago. He was okay, thankfully, the whole team was assured it was just a stomach bug, but it’s been chewing away at the back of TK’s mind ever since. It especially doesn’t help that TK’s standing here now, being forced to just wait while Carlos and his partner are tasked with securing an active shooter scene. 

Fire and EMS had been called in as backup since they were in the area, and while Owen had mostly sent them off to help with crowd control, Paul, TK and Marjan were assisting Tim and Nancy as they checked vitals of witnesses. Several police cruisers were parked in a jagged line to separate on-lookers and the house that apparently had an armed man inside, and TK keeps finding himself glancing at the barrier that’s physically keeping him from his boyfriend, and he hates it. 

He startles when his dad comes up from behind him, after he’s confirmed the stable BP of one of the young girls that lives in the neighbouring house, letting her go off to find her mom. The comforting weight of his father’s hand rests on his shoulder, and TK swallows. “You okay?” 

TK makes a vague sound of affirmation in the back of his throat. He keeps his eyes trained on the house, before glancing over to some of the waiting officers to see if their expressions change as they get updates through their radios. Then it’s back to the house, watching for any movement.

“Look at me, TK,” his dad says, and TK sighs and turns to him. His dad’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and TK knows he’s mirroring him exactly. “He’s going to be okay, son.” 

“I know,” TK lies, his voice rough. He tries to clear his throat and drags a hand down his face, trying not to think of all the shit that could be going down inside the house. And of course, that’s when a gunshot rings out, sounding like an echo as it’s muffled by the house. The crowd reacts around him, jerking back in surprise; TK feels his stomach drop to the floor as he stumbles forward, and he makes it three or four steps before Judd grabs him, tall and sturdy enough to only need to block him with one arm against his chest. 

“Let me go,” TK says, voice strained, and Judd just shakes his head. 

“You gotta let them do their jobs, kid,” Judd says, gruff and taking no shit, and TK wants to protest but the logical side of him tells him to stay put with his team; they need to let the trained,  bullet-proof vest-wearing people in. The part of him that knows the love of his life has possibly been shot; the part of him that feels that he could be doing something to help is making it hard to breathe. He has to remind himself of the trick his therapist told him about when he was fifteen; he inhales deeply and holds it in for a long few seconds, concentrating on counting out to eight as he exhales. TK does it three or four more times until he feels grounded once more, and Judd loosens his grip, but he’s still a comforting presence. It happens in time for the house’s front door to open, as a disgruntled looking man steps outside, hands cuffed behind his back. 

And Carlos is the one leading him out. 

TK almost physically slumps to the ground as he watches several other officers walk forward to take the man into custody, guiding him toward one of the squad cars; someone puts a hand on Carlos’ shoulder as he explains what happened, and the sergeant speaking to him jerks her thumb over her shoulder toward Michelle and the ambulance and Carlos is nodding, and TK watches every small movement he makes. He looks unharmed, at least from a distance, and TK finds his feet moving as Carlos stalls in front of his friend, letting Michelle guide him to sitting on the edge of the back of the ambulance. 

TK catches snippets of conversation as he approaches; Michelle telling Carlos to stay put so she can check him over while his boyfriend insists he’s fine. TK tries not to let his worry show on his face, but Carlos knows him well enough to pick up on it the second he sees him. 

“Ty, hey—”

“Are you okay?” TK asks, looking him over with a careful eye. He finds himself starting to ramble, a nervous habit. “Does anything hurt? We heard the gunshot go off, we thought that someone was hit and I—”

Carlos reaches forward, despite Michelle trying to secure a BP cuff around his bicep, and takes TK’s hands in his. “Hey, hey, I’m okay. I swear. Our guy accidentally shot a round into the wall, nobody was injured. Sarge just wants everyone to be checked over.” 

TK feels his eyes burning. It’s comforting to know that it was a false alarm, but how many times will they get lucky? He knows that time isn’t guaranteed, and he’s trying to accept that, but having so many scares himself this last year and dealing with his dad’s ongoing treatment kind of catches up to him all at once, especially staring in his boyfriend’s eyes now. 

His shoulders sag, a bit. He’s vaguely aware of Michelle’s presence as she digs through supplies in the back of her rig, so he says it quietly, as Carlos’ thumb drags over his knuckles. “I can’t—I won’t lose you, too, Carlos.” 

“You’re not going to lose me, Ty,” Carlos whispers, his voice breaking through the fog of TK’s mind. He steps closer because he can’t help it, and he lets go of Carlos’ hands only to frame his boyfriend’s face with them. “You’re not going to lose anyone.”

TK smiles, just a little upturn to the corner of his mouth, swiping his thumb along the sharp jut of Carlos’ jawline for a brief moment before Michelle lightly clears her throat, a twinkle of a knowing gaze in her eyes. 

“Um, sorry, I’ll leave you to it,” TK says, glancing at the paramedic captain quickly before meeting Carlos’ stare again. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

Carlos nods in confirmation, clearly noticing the anxious tremble of his fingers, even as TK slips away to the rest of the 126. 

* * *

Later that evening, after they’ve eaten takeout and started some B-list movie they love as a guilty pleasure, TK finds himself drifting away into his thoughts. He’s in his claimed spot on Carlos’ couch, curled up in the corner with one leg draped over Carlos’ lap, his boyfriend absentmindedly tapping against his knee. 

“I’m sorry for earlier,” TK says, pulling Carlos’ eyes away from the screen. They settle, so open and earnest, on him, and TK’s stomach swoops. “I kinda freaked out.” 

“I would’ve been doing the same had everything been reversed,” Carlos shrugs a little, but his jaw tenses. “I don’t want you to worry about me, Ty. I know it’s inevitable, but I hate the thought of you getting worked up over worst-case scenarios.” 

TK chews down hard on his bottom lip. “It’s pretty hard to say that when I know you worry about me.”

“Hey, I’m not denying that. I think this is something we’re just going to have to work through, baby,” Carlos says, squeezing his knee. “It’s just...I can’t imagine this world without you. Plain and simple. So we just have to talk and be open with each other because I love you, TK, and I hate to see you upset.”

“I love you too,” TK replies quickly, knowing that’s the truth deep to his bones. Nothing will stop him from loving Carlos, not when he held himself back for so long. “I’m not giving up on this, honey.” 

Carlos grins at him, that private one reserved just for him, and TK moves closer to wrap his arms around his boyfriend, always longing for his touch. He presses his mouth to Carlos’ throat as he feels strong arms wrap around him, holding him tight and TK feels the unspoken promise passing between them, one that says that neither of them plan on ever letting go. 

[benditlikepress]

growing pains

@coffeedepablo @indestinatus

dedicated to my queen @ncisjes who goes to work to escape my nonsense

Read in full on AO3

Tony was counting down the minutes until home-time when his phone started ringing. Usually he switched it off during meetings but for some reason it had slipped his mind, and that was why he jumped out of his seat to leave the room to answer it, seeing Tali’s school flash on the screen.

They never rang.

He closed the door quietly behind him and clicked answer as he jogged down the hallway towards the doors that led out onto a small balcony.

“Hello?”

"Hello, is that Mr DiNozzo?"

"Speaking."

"Hello, this is Tali's teacher Madame Belanger."

"Oh. Hello. Is everything OK?"

"I'm stood here with Tali, nobody has arrived to take her home."

Tony checked the time. School let out 10 minutes ago. "Uh, Tali's mom should be there. She hasn't shown up?"

"No, Mr DiNozzo. I know it's her that picks Tali up and she's always early so I tried to ring her but I got no answer. I know she's pregnant so I thought I best ring you to check everything is OK."

Tony felt his shackles immediately rise, a ball in his throat. "Um, thank you. I'll try to get a hold of her but I'm on my way myself now, so one of us will be there soon. Can I speak to Tali real quick?"

There was a small pause while the phone was passed over.

"Hey sweetheart, it's daddy. I'm on my way to come get you, OK? Don't worry about a thing."

"OK."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

Tony hung up the phone and began dialling Ziva's number as he went into his boss' office. He explained he had an emergency at home with the phone pressed to his ear and was waved away to leave just as Ziva's phone went to voicemail.

"Hey. It's me. Call if you get this, let me know you’re alright."

When she still hadn’t returned his call when he was getting into his car, he began to panic more. Though she’d been through rough patches and difficulties since she got home to Paris, she’d never once made herself unreachable. She’d always at least drop a text to let him know she was safe. Particularly since she’d found out she was pregnant.

Thoughts of the baby plagued his rushed journey to school, weaving through traffic in a way that made him wish he still had lights he could stick on the roof. Things had been going really well up until now – no worries or doctors concerns, nothing that had to be kept an eye on. Ziva had been a little anxious at first because there had been some concerns early in her pregnancy with Tali but they had turned out to be false alarms, likely caused by stress. When nothing had happened in the first 12 weeks of this pregnancy and then the next couple afterwards, her fears had been allayed. It was week 23 now and everything had been pretty much perfect.

He repeated to himself that she was in the bath and had lost track of time as he hopped out of his car and rushed up to the school gates. He was buzzed in and by the time he reached reception, Tali and her teacher were waiting. Tali immediately left her teachers’ side and came over to him, wrapping her arms around him for a hug.

“Hey, sweetheart. Good day?” He asked in English and Tali’s teacher smiled politely, though he was never sure if she actually understood a word he said when he wasn’t speaking French.

“Uh-huh. Are we going home?”

“Yeah, come on. Sorry you had to wait a little while.”

“That’s OK. Au revoir, Madame Belanger.”

“Au revoir, Tali. See you tomorrow.”

Tali took Tony’s hand as they left the building and walked with purpose although she was quiet and thoughtful.

“Everything alright?”

“Why didn’t ima pick me up?”

"I'm not sure, sweetheart. We're gonna go talk to her and find out, OK?"

"Is something wrong with the baby?"

"I don't think so. Let's just get home and we'll find out what's going on."

This seemed to satisfy Tali, who was her usual talkative self on the car ride back to the apartment. Tony was glad of the distraction – happy to hear about Tali’s class preparation for their upcoming recorder recital and her friend’s new dog.

The building looked normal from the outside when they got home, though decades worth of cop shackles were hard to shake off and Tony caught himself reaching for a non-existent gun as they entered the eerily quiet hallway and reached the locked door.

The apartment was cleaner than they’d left it this morning – clothes and breakfast and mail put away. The curtains were open but the light was on in the bathroom and everywhere was silent. Tony left Tali in the living room and cut through room-by-room looking for any sign of Ziva or something out of place, and when he reached their bedroom he found the door ajar and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a sleeping figure on top of the mattress.

Ziva was lying on her side, buried in blankets, a slight frown on her face.

Tony bent down by the side of the bed and lifted fingers to her forehead, stroking her hair.

"Hey honey, you awake?"

Ziva stirred and then opened one eye. "What are you doing here?"

"School called."

"What time is it?" Ziva lifted her arms sleepily to check her phone. "Oh my god, I have to go and get Tali."

"Hey hey hey, relax. I got her. She's in the living room."

Ziva exhaled heavily and covered her face with her eyes.

"You OK?"

"Yes. I just... I have been asleep all afternoon. I did not get any sleep last night so I just lay down after lunch and.. I cannot believe this. I have never slept through anything in my life."

"Well, you're pregnant. It happens. Why didn't you sleep last night?"

"I need to talk to Tali."

"Just - take a breath first, alright?"

She closed her eyes as she inhaled and exhaled, but threw the blankets off her all the same. She had taken to wearing his shorts as pyjama bottoms, paired with either a tank top that rode up more as the days went on or one of his old baggy t-shirts depending on the temperature. Though she was almost always overheating these days.

"Is Tali upset?"

"She's fine. She was just a little worried something might've happened." Ziva brought herself up to a sitting position and pressed the base of her palms against her eyes. “You sure everything’s alright?”

"Yes, we are fine. Completely. I am so sorry for scaring you. Really, I.."

"Hey," Tony pulled her hands away from her face gently. "It's alright. It's fine. Stuff happens sometimes."

“It is not alright, Tony.”

Her insistence struck a chord with him, the way her breathing was a little laboured and she squeezed his fingers where they were still attached to accentuate the point.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

“We can talk once I have spoken to Tali. Let me do that first.”

“OK. Take a couple of deep breaths, though. Come in when you’re ready.”

Tony ran his hand over her head as he stood up, leaving the room and going back into the living room where Tali was sitting on the sofa with a game in hand kicking her legs backwards and forwards.

“Ima and the baby are all good. See? Like I said. Nothing for you to worry about. She’s gonna come and talk to you right now.”

He sat down next to her and she began to continue the conversations she’d started in the car, not seeming to notice Tony’s small responses as he kept an eye on the bedroom door.

Ziva appeared a couple of minutes later, her cheeks slightly pink with sleep and a practised smile plastered on her face as her eyes trained on Tali.

"Tali.."

"Is the baby OK?"

"We are both fine. But I need to apologise to you.” Ziva sat down at Tali’s side, opposite to Tony, and took Tali’s small hands into her own on her lap. “I'm so sorry I did not pick you up today, Tali. I did not get any sleep last night and I accidentally napped through my alarm. I promise you it will never ever happen again. And I'm very sorry for worrying you, that is not fair at all on you."

"OK. I forgive you."

"You do?"

"You promise.”

“I promise. Can I have a hug?”

Tali wrapped herself around Ziva but the position was starting to get awkward as Ziva had started growing more significantly in the last couple of weeks. She was carrying smaller than Tony had imagined, though he supposed it was a result of keeping herself fit. She said you’d have barely known she was pregnant with Tali until her third trimester.

He watched her expression now, over Tali’s shoulder, her eyes tightly shut and then opening to look up at him with tears threatening. She ran her hand over her left eye and the movement seemed to alert Tali to pull back and look at her.

“Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad, OK? Ani ohevet otach. I love you very much.”

Tony still wasn't quite used to the feeling he got in his chest when he saw the two of them together like this: hugging and whispering affection to each other, looking over each other’s shoulders at him with such automatic warmth in their eyes. It was a feeling he'd forgotten existed, something that he'd not felt since childhood until Tali and then Ziva took permanent place in his life - the pure comfort of being around family. The way that even when Ziva was clearly upset and hurting there was still pure, unadulterated love in the air.

Ziva sniffed and straightened her back. “Do you want to help me make dinner?”

“Can we have pizza?”

“You know your daddy can never say no to that. Come on, let’s get your hands washed.”

Tali jumped off the sofa and ran off in the direction of the bathroom. Tony got to his feet and held out his hand to help Ziva up, though she managed to get up mostly by herself. Her hand, as it often did now, instinctively went to her stomach. It was almost six months in and he still hadn't grown out of the burst of pride every time he watched Ziva privately acknowledge her bump, the knowledge that it was his child she was tending to when she didn't realise anyone was watching.

“Ziva..”

“I promise we will talk. I just want to make sure she is OK first. Once we have eaten, she will settle down. OK?”

“OK.”

It was a lot like this with a child: something Tony had never really considered before Tali came into his life, and something he was sure would only get more significant once the baby was here. Trying to find opportunities to talk was difficult, quiet moments alone few and far between, and though all Tony wanted to do right now was sit Ziva down and wait for her to explain every single thing on her mind he instead had to be content to watch her staring down at Tali thoughtfully while she helped her knead dough and overflow toppings in the way only a DiNozzo could.

They ate quietly but happily, Tali still leading conversation, and once she’d finished she’d taken herself off to her bedroom and shouted at Tony to follow her to help her with her math homework.

Ziva still had a fearful look in her eye, and it only seemed to increase as the minutes passed. She looked at Tali’s bedroom and then back at Tony, questioning, until he signalled at her to go to their own bedroom while he followed Tali.

(continue reading on AO3)

[daeva-agas]

YIKES????? BIG FUCKING YIKES??????

NO WONDER THEY RENAMED THIS VAGUE FOREIGN COUNTRY TO SOMETHING ELSE BECAUSE???? NOBODY AMONG TENKA STAFF REALIZES THAT THIS IS INAPPROPRIATE???? AT BEST KIND OF AWKWARD???

The rest of the post behind cut just in case. I’m not interested in drama, but this just rubs me wrong so much. 

Look, modern day China can be shitty as hell sometimes. See the nine-dash line, and all the other island ownership disputes China has had with Japan and other countries.

BUT I still think it’s not appropriate to do this!!! To suggest that this fake-Chinese country is trying to invade not-really-Japan is rude as fuck?? Even if this is not China, or nothing happens in the end… this just feels inappropriate. Like, it’s Hideyoshi who invaded Korea?? With the intention of invading China afterwards???? Having this… vague babble of some vaguely-Chinese-looking country invade not-Japan seems like history revisionism. It’s just really insensitive.  

Like, even if they’re just trying to ramp up some big brouhaha so that Nobu will come home, WHY THIS??? It’s one thing if the one trying to invade is a European country, but like, what made them think this is okay? I’m not entirely sure it's fine even if later it's revealed that “It’s actually a lie/misunderstanding and Danming doesn’t actually want to invade Japan". They spent an entire chapter driving home this point that "Oh no, Danmi will eat up Japan", making it a lie is even more insensitive.

Can’t they just have the news of uprising reach critical level that Nobu is so worried about his friends and came home??? You know, have somebody report like “Hey everything’s super shitty back in Japan. Could be wrong but I heard Hideyoshi/Toshiie got killed in battle.” And Nobu, out of concern for his former vassals, came home to check. Then it turns out it’s a false alarm, but still!

Like… in the early chapters I am currently feeling that Nobu seems waaaay too disinterested about his former vassals??? Maybe it’s too early to judge, but he seems to be only interested in the technical matters (who’s rebelling, how much the damage are, etc). He hasn’t shown concern about the persons YET. Like he hasn’t asked whether Inu is still ok, or Hide is holding up fine, or if the old guys are healthy… I get that he wouldn’t ask after Akechi since if Akechi’s dead, there would be a big uproar, so there’s no point asking for the obvious. But the other guys? Eeeehhh… I hope it’s just him being his usual deadpan tsundere or something. 

*facepalm facepalm*

[ghostbustermelanieking]

phantom weights chapter seven

one, two, three, four, five, six

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.)

thanks to @reasonandfaithinharmony for advice on this chapter, and the suggestion of the type of thing mulder should say towards the end of this chapter.

---

On an evening nearly three weeks after Lily was born, Mulder was sitting out on the porch with her and watching the sun set. Scully was inside, asleep on the couch; her sleeping schedule had grown sporadic and spotty in recent days, and she tried to sleep when the baby was sleeping, but those periods didn't always overlap, and Mulder hated to wake her up, even if it was an odd time to nap. Anytime she could sleep for more than twenty minutes before being woken up seemed like a blessing to him.

Lily was staring at Mulder with a focused sort of look, like she was concentrating hard, when he saw a car rolling down the driveway, Jackson at the wheel. His son's face illuminated by the orange light of the sinking sun, his expression unreadable. Mulder was overjoyed and nervous to see him all at once.

"There's your big brother," he whispered to Lily, who grabbed at his nose determinedly. He chuckled and moved her down to the crook of one arm as he stood, lifting his opposite hand in a wave. He absently wondered how long Jackson would be here this time.

Jackson gathered a bundle of plastic bags from the car and jogged up to the porch. "Hey," he said as he mounted the stairs, breathing hard. "I-I brought you guys some takeout. Japanese. Figured you wouldn't want to cook, right?"

Surprised, Mulder said, "Right." He didn't mind cooking, of course, and even Scully tried to take a turn or two when he himself was asleep, but it would be nice not to have to cook or drive into town for food. (Delivery only went so far out, and they seemed to be past the realm of reasonable delivery. And no one liked to deal with the damned gate.) The baby started to fuss and he shushed her, rocking back and forth awkwardly.

"Hey, kid," Jackson said, addressing Lily. She continued to whimper, her face half-turned into Mulder's shirt. "She's happy to see me," he said dryly. "Is she hungry?"

"Probably." Mulder held her against his chest, whispering soothing things against her downy head. He should probably go wake up Scully; Lily needed to eat, and she'd want to see Jackson. "D-do you wanna come in, Jackson?" he asked, hoping desperately his voice was welcoming. He was happy to see him, incredibly so, and he hated the little bit of hesitance inside of him. He smiled at his son, bouncing his daughter up and down gently, but the smile felt a little thin, and he hated that. He tried to smile harder.

He couldn't tell if Jackson noticed. He nodded eagerly, heading for the door. "Yeah, that… that'd be great, thanks."

---

It was Sarah's break-in that had done it, really. Had convinced him that nothing was happening, that it was all in his head.

Jackson had been back and forth on the whole issue since Lily's birth. It was clear that he had misinterpreted the situation; he could see the whole situation a little clearer now, after the whole thing was over, and when he'd gotten home to Richmond and saw that Mulder's panic was a result of fear and past trauma. He hadn't been there when Jackson had been born and found it hard to see Dana in pain, he'd had to fight his way through a crowd of strangers in a strange place to get to them after the birth. It was no wonder he was scared and suspicious of everyone who came into Dana's hospital room, especially considering the increased risk of having a child at her age. The realization that they'd both had an overreaction made Jackson feel a little foolish, but it was also sort of relieving, knowing they hadn't been in danger. (The fact that no one had come for the baby was very reassuring. Jackson still got flashes of his birth sometimes, of that strange, dusty place, strangers packed around the bed, staring at him, Dana screaming, "This is my baby! You can't have him!" He'd been terrified that it would happen to his sister—and considering Mulder's panic, he hadn't been the only one.)

The fear hadn't dissipated; when he'd ran, he had been worried that they were still coming for him. But the false alarm had left Jackson wary, wary of his paranoia. He'd overreacted as much as Mulder, and the things that had set him off in the past seemed arbitrary in comparison. Both times he'd feared they were targeting people to get to him—the break-in at Sarah's house, and the people watching Mulder and Dana at the beach—nothing seemed to come of the threats. He checked in on Sarah every now and then, just to see that she was okay, and she was always fine. No more break-ins, that he could see, and no attempts to take her, no one following her… Of course, he didn't see everything, it felt wrong to be in his ex-girlfriend's head after everything, but from what he saw, it seemed okay. She seemed okay, seemed happy. And he checked in on Bri, every now and then, and saw more of the same. Normality. They'd left him behind, and he knew it was for the best.

Nobody was going after Bri or Sarah, and nobody seemed to be going after his family—he'd checked in with his grandmother, the one who hated him now, and his Aunt Ursula, and his uncle who was some hunter up in Alaska or whatever. And no one after Mulder and Dana, either, and they seemed like the obvious choice. They were the ones mixed up in all of this. They were the ones bringing another kid like him into the world. But no one seemed to be coming for them, either. Not since that trip to the beach, and even then, those people had never directly gone after them. They'd just hung back, taking pictures. They hadn't gone after Jackson when he ran, and they hadn't gone after Mulder and Dana while he was gone… So what had they wanted, if not him? Why hadn't they chased him? Why hadn't they gone after Mulder and Dana if they wanted them?

Mulder thought this was all over. He'd said as much, back in July, when Jackson had asked about the people coming after him, who'd come all their lives. I'm inclined to believe this is all over, he'd said. Jackson hadn't believed him at the time, but what if he was right?

And then Jackson's Google alert had pinged. He'd gotten an email that he saw at the library. They caught the guy who robbed Sarah's house. He was a kid who had a crush on her younger sister, and was annoyed that she wouldn't give him the time of day. Apparently he'd been breaking into places for years, apparently he wanted to scare Sarah's sister as revenge, and all the stolen shit was just a bonus. Not a trained assassin, just a stupid asshole who liked break-ins. Maybe it was a cover for the assassins, but Jackson didn't think it was. It didn't feel like it was.  

It had made him think about things. The break-in was a coincidence, just like the thing with Mulder and Dana had been a coincidence. And it made him start thinking about what happened at the beach. He'd reached, and he landed on a memory, the morning after he'd been a total asshole and then ran out. Dana taking Daggoo out to pee, and the neighbors coming to talk to her. They weren't assassins or agents, at least not according to what they'd said to Dana. They had recognized Dana and Mulder from that jackass Tad O'Malley's web show. They were fans, not assassins; they were taking pictures because they recognized Dana and Mulder from that show. That was why they were watching, and that was why they didn't ever come for them.

Maybe it was all a coincidence. Jackson lodged that idea firmly in his mind and didn't let it go. He couldn't let his guard down, not again. But thinking back to everything that had happened put things into perspective. He had been staying in one place for months, and they hadn't found him. Sure, he'd been careful, he used aliases, but he'd used aliases on the run, when he was constantly moving and hiding, and they still found him. Why hadn't they found him now? If they wanted him, why hadn't they come? It was easier to get to him now than ever before. They could've come, but they hadn't, and maybe that meant it was really over.

Jackson didn't know for sure. But he had been trying to let go of his paranoia, at least a little. He didn't want to be so closed off from people. It was a lonely fucking way to live. He didn't exactly know who he could reconnect with, but he needed someone. He couldn't keep living alone, on edge. He couldn't do it. He was torturing himself, living in constant paranoia, constantly worrying. He couldn't take it. Who could fucking take it?

And besides that, he wanted to see the kid again. He'd promised he would come back, and he intended to keep that promise. It was time he checked in, made sure Lily was getting along okay. It was time he tried to make amends with Dana and Mulder.

So he'd driven up to Farrs Corner, stopped and got some food—a peace offering, maybe—and made the long trek out to their house. He found Mulder and the kid out on the porch, and felt the same wave of relief and welcoming that he usually felt from his apparent birth father. But layered under it was a sense of wariness, of caution, small but stunning.

Jackson yanked back from Mulder's mind as he clambered up the steps and into the house.

---

Inside, Mulder bent over the couch, touching a gentle hand to Scully's head to wake her up. She'd been sleeping lightly lately, to the point where he was a little surprised the bang of the screen door hadn't woken her. She woke slowly, blinking sleepily as she sat up. He still held Lily in the crook of his arm, and Scully smiled and whispered, "Hey, sweetheart," and leaned in to kiss the top of her head.

"You get some rest?" Mulder asked, offering his free hand to help her up.

She took it but didn't stand, yawning. "A little. I'm still so tired. I'm so tired, Mulder."

"I know." He bent to kiss her forehead, squeezing her hand. "So someone dropped in a few minutes ago," he offered, shifting Lily to curl up against his shoulder. She was already getting sleepy again, her eyes lolling shut, and he figured they could put her down for a little while so they could eat. "And he brought some food."

Scully turned towards the kitchen and found Jackson, standing beside the counter. A grin spread over her face, to which he offered an awkward smile in return. "Hi, Jackson," she said, getting to her feet. "It's so good to see you."

She'd cried when they found him gone that morning. She'd been exhausted and hormonal, and probably still in pain, but she'd still cried. Finding the note he left had helped a lot—had seemed to cheer her up—but Mulder could still remember the hurt on her face when they found him gone again. Could feel the hesitance on her now, even as happy as she was. The same hesitance he had.

It made him feel guilty and horrible, the way he had when he'd felt this way at the beach—after everything he'd been through, everything he had missed with William, every moment he'd hated himself for letting him go, how could he ever hesitate at spending time with him? But then he thought of the things he had said in that beach house, the way Scully had burst into tears when he was gone, and the feelings only seemed to grow. He didn't want his son to leave—god, he didn't want that—but he did want things to be easy. He wanted Jackson to be theirs, really be theirs, and he didn't want to constantly be on edge, wondering when his son was going to up and disappear, or say something to hurt his wife. He wanted things to be simple, but he knew they probably wouldn't ever be.

But still, it was amazing to see him, as it was every time—would it never not be amazing to see his son, his grown son? He could tell Scully was overjoyed, even though her emotions were conflicting. And even as Mulder worried, it made him feel a little better when Jackson asked how Scully was feeling. Lily was nearly asleep, her fingers in her mouth, and so he took her upstairs to put her down and gave Scully and Jackson a moment to talk.

They didn't talk much over dinner; Mulder and Scully were both too exhausted to make much conversation. They ate in the living room, and Jackson found a channel that was airing horror movies in honor of the upcoming Halloween season, and Scully smiled. Mulder watched the two of them absently, the flickering light of the TV on their faces. They looked alike in this light; they had the same eyes, even if they were different colors.

Mulder got up to throw away the trash when they were done, taking the Styrofoam boxes and the crumpled napkins into the kitchen. "Oh, uh, I can help with that," Jackson said when he saw him, scrambling to his feet like he had something to compensate for.

"No, no, don't worry about it," said Mulder. "I've got it."

Jackson nodded and collapsed back into the chair, sagging into it. He seemed as uncomfortable as they were, fidgeting where he sat. As Mulder stuffed the boxes into the couch, he spotted his wallet on the counter, and his sleep-lacking mind seemed to remember: he should pay his son for the food. He retrieved two twenties and passed them to Jackson as he sat back down. "For the food."

"Thank you so much for bringing it," Scully added. "You didn't have to do that."

"It… was the least I could do," Jackson said, and he shoved the money back at Mulder, who shook his head.

"Take it, sweetie," Scully said, and Mulder could see her slight flinch. He knew she was trying to back off, trying not to suffocate him with unwanted mothering (her words), and he knew it was difficult. Of course it was difficult. "I-I know Burger King can't be paying you very much," she added quickly, trying to recover.  

Jackson laughed, maybe a little uneasily, and tucked the money in his pocket. "They're not," he said. "Uh, thanks."

"Thank you," Scully said gently.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the Halloween score filling it, until they heard Lily wailing from upstairs. "That's my cue," Scully said with a little sigh, getting to her feet. "I'm heading to bed after I feed her." She leaned down to kiss Mulder goodnight.

"I'll be up in a minute," he said, squeezing her hand.

Scully nodded, turning towards the stairs. "Goodnight, Jackson," she added gently.

Jackson swallowed heavily, shifting in place. "Night, Dana."

As her footsteps retreated upstairs, Mulder turned to face his son. He was watching as Michael Myers stalked across the screen, his face lit up by the light of the television. His expression was as unreadable as always.

Mulder swallowed hard, hating himself for even asking the question, but knowing that he had to know for sure. He said, “So, Jack… how long do you think you’ll be here?” It sounded cruel to his ears, selfish and unwelcoming, and he was stricken with a sudden fear that these words were going to be enough to drive Jackson away.

Jackson didn’t look at him, but Mulder could hear a touch of discomfort in his voice when he said, “Uh, I have work on Sunday, so probably either tomorrow night or early that morning. You know.”

“Right,” said Mulder, his mouth dry, guilt clogging his throat. He had no idea how to navigate this, walk the line between protecting Scully’s feelings and trying to make his son feel welcome. He could try to reach out and risk getting hurt, or he could be distant and risk hurting Jackson, but really, neither option sounded very good. “Of course, you’re always welcome here,” he added in a rush. “I just… wondered…”

“Yeah, no, definitely,” Jackson said quietly. “It’ll be Saturday or Sunday, I can tell you for sure later.”

“Okay.” Mulder bit back a yawn, exhaustion overtaking him. “I-I’m going to bed. I apologize in advance if the kid keeps you up.” He tried to make his voice sound light and breezy, like he wasn’t upset. (He didn’t have any right to be upset.)

Jackson finally turned to look at him, the shadows of the darkening room hiding his eyes. “It’s okay. I don’t sleep a lot anyway.”

Mulder locked the door before he went upstairs, and it seemed to him that, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson throwing him a grateful look. It stuck out to him for some reason as significant, that Jackson seemed grateful that he was locking the door, but he was so tired, his mind foggy, that he barely had the energy to think about it.

He found Scully upstairs in bed, covers tucked around her, feeding Lily with pillows layered across her lap. (It was still fairly hot for October, but Scully managed to be cold in almost any form of weather.) “Hey,” he murmured, walking across the room to the dresser so he could change.

Scully yawned in reply. “Thank goodness she didn’t inherit your sleeping patterns,” she murmured, stroking the top of their daughter’s head. “She’s gone down so well every night, even if it doesn’t last more than a couple hours.”

“Most newborns spend the majority of their day sleeping,” Mulder said absently, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “Even Mulder newborns.”

She had a thoughtful sort of look on her face, looking down at the baby. “William never went down very easy,” she said softly. “I’d have to rock him… sing to him, talk to him… for what felt like hours.”

Mulder looked down at the floor, the rug he was standing on. He could still make out the patterns despite the dimness of the room, could still remember the day they’d picked this rug out. It was still hard to hear about everything he’d missed, even now, and even harder considering how the night had gone. “Maybe she’ll stay like this,” he commented to the floor.  

“Maybe.” Scully’s voice was soft, not entirely unhappy, and when he looked up, she was smiling sleepily down at the baby.

He smiled, too, and went to sit on the bed beside her. Lily was nearly asleep, curled against her mother with her eyes half-closed, and he reached down to hold her hand in his, his head tipping forward until his cheek was resting against Scully’s shoulder. “I’ll give her a bottle when she wakes up,” he whispered. “You sleep.”

She snorted. “Easier said than done,” she said, but he heard the thanks in her voice. He sat up straight and pushed hair away from her face, behind her ear. She smiled a little again, turning her face into his palm. “How’s he doing?” she asked him softly.

“He’s okay.” Mulder swallowed hard, looking back down at Lily, snuffling in her half-asleep state. “He said he had work Sunday, so he’d leave tomorrow night or the next morning.”

“Okay.” Scully yawned again, wider this time. “That’s good to know.”

“Yeah.”

“He… He seems like he might not be as mad at us,” Scully said softly. When Mulder looked over at her questioningly, she added, “He… seems like he’s trying.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said again. He could see the note he had left last time still sitting on Scully’s bedside table, creased from being folded up.

“He genuinely seemed worried about me and the baby, when he came a few weeks ago.” Scully yawned once again, this time trying to talk around it. “And in the note… he thanked us…”

Lily was already asleep on Scully’s lap, so Mulder reached down to scoop her up, moving her to the crib. “We should get some sleep,” he whispered, moving back to lie down beside Scully, draping an arm over her shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll still be here when we wake up tomorrow.” He said it even though he wasn’t completely sure, even though he halfway expected to find the house empty besides them tomorrow, note or no note.

But in the morning, Jackson was still there, asleep sprawled out on the couch when Mulder went down to let Daggoo out. He felt shame twisting in his chest, and then relief, genuine relief. He was so relieved to find his son still there.

---

The day following was more or less uneventful—maybe more so than Scully would’ve liked. A part of her still felt the need to entertain Jackson, to convince him that, yes, it was worth it to have a relationship with them, past lending money and buying food. It was kind of a ridiculous line of thinking, considering that in the past, they hadn’t done much more than go get lunch or go down to the beach—and besides that, they were too exhausted for much else, and Jackson had always sort of done his own thing, anyway. But she still felt strangely guilty, like a parent of divorce who never saw their kid, for not having anything very interesting to offer her son.

Jackson seemed pretty okay with it, though. He ate the breakfast that Mulder made, and offered awkwardly to help clean up after. He took Daggoo for several long walks (runs, he called them, although Scully suspected that Daggoo’s little legs wouldn’t hold out for a long run), and found movies on TV for the three of them to watch. He borrowed Scully’s laptop and played some sort of game on it, which Scully might’ve minded in a different state of mind—she had a lot of idle research saved on there—but in this context, she couldn’t really bring herself to care. He offered to watch Lily after lunch, which Mulder seemed a little apprehensive about, but agreed to, either because he knew they both needed a break, or because he didn’t want to offend Jackson, or both. Scully felt a little guilty about it herself, as much as she relished the chance to get some rest. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked gingerly, balancing Lily in the crook of one arm. She seemed as ready for a nap as they were, which boded well for Jackson, but it still seemed a bit odd to stick a teenager with a newborn. “She’ll probably just sleep the whole time.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” he said mildly. “I mean, what else am I gonna do?” He motioned to the TV and the computer.

Scully bit her lower lip and nodded, putting Lily down in the little bassinet thing they’d gotten for downstairs. “Just keep an eye on her,” she said. “If she wakes up, we’ve got bottles in the fridge, and diapers upstairs… Do you know how to change diapers?” she asked a little helplessly.

She was relieved when Jackson nodded, a little uncertainly. “We stayed with a friend of my mom’s who had a baby last summer, and I got put on diaper duty a couple times,” he said. “So I guess I’ve, uh, done it before.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, uh, if you have questions or need help with anything, come right on up and get us.”

“Anything,” Mulder added. “We don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Jackson’s attention was halfway turned to the TV, but he nodded at them.

Mulder still seemed a little nervous at the prospect, which was understandable on Scully’s—it had little to do with Jackson, at least from her perspective, and more to do with the anxiety that came with Lily being with someone who wasn’t one of them; she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling it a bit herself—but they still managed to get upstairs and crawl into bed. They slept for almost three uninterrupted hours, waking in the late afternoon and going down to find Jackson still on the couch, Lily’s bassinet pulled up beside him as he watched TV. “She, uh, she stayed asleep, mostly,” he said nervously when they came down, like he was worried they were going to be upset about something. “She woke up once, but she didn’t really cry, so I didn’t do anything. Was that right?”

Scully went to the smaller bassinet and scooped her daughter up, who had woken up at the sound of them coming downstairs and was beginning to whimper. “She looks fine to me,” she said, sitting down on the couch and easing Lily into the crook of one arm. “I think she’s probably hungry… Thank you for watching her,” she said to Jackson.

“We really appreciate it,” Mulder added. “We needed the rest.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Jackson got to his feet, saying, “She’s a good kid,” again, as if he wanted to remind them. He rocked back on his heels and added, “I’m gonna go upstairs for a while.”

“Okay,” Scully said. Jackson was disappearing up the stairs almost immediately then, not quite running, but not quite walking, either. “I guess the actual babysitting freaked him out a lot more than the concept,” she said to Mulder, reaching up to pull aside her shirt. She was surprised at how casual her voice sounded, like Jackson had always been their child, and he was reacting to a new sister with the typical behavior of older siblings.

“Probably.” Mulder sounded amused as she was. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’m going to go pick up some dinner, okay? Subs sound okay to you?”

“It sounds excellent,” she said, already hungry—lunch seemed more like it was months ago then just hours. “Thank you.”

“Course.” He squeezed her hand before moving away, going to the counter to retrieve his keys before heading out the door.

The sudden quiet was almost relieving, and Scully reached down to change the channel on the TV as Lily began to feed. She still felt a little sleepy after her nap, well-rested, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy about the prospect of a few minutes to herself. But before she landed on a channel she liked, a loud sound sliced through the air, seeming to echo through the rooms of their house and cinching tight around Scully’s chest.

Her first thought was gunshot, and she tensed in panic, pressing a hand over Lily’s head and hunching over protectively. Her mind was racing, searching for answers—Mulder, was Mulder okay, was Jackson?—and crying out in protest. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely hear Lily’s startled cries; she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. It took a few moments, and the rumbling sound of Mulder’s car, for her to process that it wasn’t a gunshot. His engine had backfired.

She readjusted her shirt with a trembling hand, getting to her feet and trying to shush Lily as she walked to the window and looked out. No sign of assassins at their doorstep, or soldiers on the lawn, just the back end of Mulder’s car rolling down the driveway. She took a shaky breath, and then another, pressing her lips to Lily’s head and whispering, Shhh, shhh again. Nothing to worry about, she was okay.

She was turning away from the window when she heard the next sound: thundering, frantic footsteps from above. Jackson was running towards, his feet pounding the floorboards, and before she could ask what was going on, she heard his voice, tight and frightened and booming. “Dana?” he bellowed. “Mulder?”

He stumbled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes widening when he saw her standing by the window. He looked frantic, his hands balled into fists, his chin trembling, and Scully realized in an instant that she wasn’t the only one who’d heard a gunshot a few moments ago.

He was shaking, the way she had been a second ago, his face twisted with fury and fear, and he stammered out angrily, “A-a-are you…?”

“I’m okay,” she said quickly, remembering. (The shots, the bodies sprawled on the floor of a kitchen she’d never been in, but recognized from her dreams. The third gunshot from upstairs…) “We’re okay, we’re okay. I-it was just Mulder’s car backfiring.”

Jackson’s eyes widened in understanding, his limbs going limp as the panic left his body. “Oh,” he muttered, sagging in a chair, sprawling out and leaning his face forward in his hands.

Scully wanted to go and comfort him, but she didn’t know if he even wanted that from her. And besides, there was still Lily, screaming so loud it would be hard to talk with him. She began to rock her back and forth, whispering and shushing and humming under her breath. Lily began to calm, her sobs subsiding into hiccups. When she finally quieted, Scully went to sit on the couch, on the side closest to Jackson’s chair. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

Jackson seemed to have calmed, the fear and tension gone, but he still wasn’t looking at her. He still had his forehead in his hands. “I-I thought it was a gun…” he replied softly.

“I know,” said Scully. “I did, too.” She’d heard enough gunshots and threatening sounds to jump at a car backfire, she could still remember people breaking down her front door to come and kill her and Mulder.

Jackson’s voice was sharp when he spoke, like he was embarrassed. “I thought they were coming to—” He cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head hard, gritting his teeth. He looked towards another corner of the room, away from her. “Are they are going to fucking stop?” His voice sounded as if it was wrenched from his throat, raw. “Are they going to stop coming for me? Am I ever going to be fucking safe? Goddamnit!” He kicked the coffee table, hard enough to nearly topple it over, and it landed back in place with a bang.

Scully looked at Lily, worried the loud sound would startle her, but she still looked miraculously calm. Not on the verge of tears. She looked back to her son and saw tears welling in his eyes, shining in the light of the room. “I never wanted this for you, you know,” she said, her voice low. “Never. I… I wanted you to have a different life than this.”

Jackson laughed bitterly, thumping his foot softer against the coffee table. “Not your fault.”

“It is,” Scully said, a little bitterly herself, because she knew it was. She shifted her eyes to the ground. “It is, and I… I just want you to understand that—”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupted her, his voice stony and serious. When she looked back at him, he was looking back at her solemnly. Maybe angry or maybe reassuring, she couldn’t tell. But he was looking at her. “I know it’s not.”

It stunned Scully, just a little bit, because she had thought all this time that he blamed her, and she opened her mouth to reply, but he was still talking. “I… I shouldn’t have said that stuff at the beach,” he added, still in that sharp tone. Apologetic. “I shouldn’t have.”

Scully didn’t know what to say. They fell into silence, sitting side by side, Jackson leaned forward so his stomach was against his knees, and Scully shifting Lily against her. She seemed uninterested in eating now, her face buried in the side of Scully’s shirt, so Scully left her alone.

Jackson spoke first, finally, sitting up straight. “How’s the kid doing?” he asked, motioning to Lily. “Like, in general?”

Scully smiled a little. “Good. She’s good. She’s healthy.” She had her suspicions about Lily, that she was like Jackson—she’d found things shifted from where she’d left them, things out of place, and wondered—but she couldn’t be sure. And the concept didn’t scare her nearly as much this time as it had last time. It was still scary, sure, but not quite as scary. At least now they had some idea of what to do.

She saw Jackson looking at the baby, leaning towards them a little, and she asked carefully, “Do you want to hold her?” She had just realized that she didn’t think Jackson had held her yet; their interactions had been limited, and Jackson had indicated that he hadn’t really picked her up when they’d been alone.

Jackson looked very briefly terrified, but he nodded cautiously. Scully leaned down and set Lily gently in the circle of Jackson's arms. He was stiff and frozen in place, staring down at the baby like she was going to break. “I'm not very good with kids,” he said as Scully showed him how to cradle the head. He looked nervous, cupping her head with a large hand. “My mom's friend… she made me hold that kid, the one whose diapers I had to change, but he screamed the entire time I held him. I don't think kids like me.”

Lily yawned, a little smacking sound, her eyes half-closed. “She likes you,” Scully said in her reserved-for-babies voice, and resisted the urge to add, Your sister. Your sister likes you.

“Hmm.” Jackson was watching the baby. Scully heard the flicker of a word in Jackson's voice at the back of her mind, somehow silent—Hi—and Lily’s eyes slid closed contentedly. Scully thought that she must have heard him, too.

“I don’t want her life to be like mine,” he said finally, nudging her hand open with one finger. Lily yawned again. Scully nodded, understanding. Jackson looked up from his sister, meeting her eyes, and said in that same solemn manner, “I’m going to make sure it’s not.”

Scully nodded again. She reached out tentatively to touch her son’s arm, brushing her fingers over his forearm before pulling back, not wanting to overstep. “We both will,” she said.

They sat there in silence then, Scully and her children, clustered together in the living room until Mulder returned.

---

Jackson left the next morning, as he reminded them he’d do the night before. Once again, they found his bedroom empty in the morning. It still stung, just a little, but not nearly as much as all the times before.

---

If someone asked Jackson what the hell he was doing with his birth parents, he wouldn’t have been able to answer them. He didn’t entirely know himself. He’d been back and forth so much on whether or not he could have some kind of relationship with them that he was starting to confuse himself. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and he didn’t know why he’d said that stuff to Ginger that night. (Except that he kept thinking about the caution in Mulder’s mind when he’d shown up, about the hurt he’d felt from Dana when she’d said it was her fault that his life was so fucked up.)

He didn’t mean to keep in touch with them, but it just happened, and it happened mostly because of the kid. Because he wanted to keep in touch with her, even though she was still kind of a potato, and probably barely even knew he existed. But she was like him. He knew that she was like him, and he knew that she needed him, the way he had needed someone when he was a kid. Even if she had Dana and Mulder, who seemed surprisingly capable of taking care of her.

(It wasn’t that he doubted their parenting skills, but he also did. Of fucking course he did. No matter how sorry they were, they had given him up. But it was becoming more and more clear that they were capable, and probably had been capable of taking care of him. At least as capable as his parents.)

(The horrible, treacherous thought came to him one night, after waking up from a nightmare of white-masked doctors holding him back as he screamed and cried for his parents: maybe he would’ve been safer with Mulder and Dana. Maybe they could’ve protected him, if only because they knew what to expect. The idea made him nauseous and guilty, sick to his stomach, but it was strangely reassuring when it came to the potato. It made him think to himself, Maybe she’ll be okay. He and Dana had promised that she would be.)

But anyways, whatever the reason, the kid—Lily—was most of his motivation for going back. He wanted a sister, once, and he’d gotten one (another one, if you counted the little girl buried in California—which he couldn’t help but do). So he had to go back for her, if nothing else. That was, ultimately, the best reason for him to go back.

But aside from Lily, there seemed to be one other reason, if less significant than the first, to go back. It was the reason that he least wanted to acknowledge, but it kept coming up anyway. His mind kept lingering over that moment of slight recoil from Mulder. The hurt, the nervousness, the caution from them both. It shouldn't have bothered him—it was what he had wanted, after all—but for some reason, it did. Two more people to flinch away from him, to be afraid or resentful. It shouldn't have bothered him, but it did. It kept poking at him, a frequent jab in the back of his mind. You did it, asshole, you pushed them away. They hate you now. They don't want you there. He didn't think it was completely true, but he didn't want to fool himself. The emotions were there, even if they were small. And he couldn't quite let it go.

So he kept going back, if only because he couldn't quite help it. His apartment was too lonely, and sometimes, he got echoes of his sister's midnight wailing in the back of his head. He woke up one chilly Saturday in October, and knew immediately that it was Mulder's birthday, hearing a glimpse of Scully's voice. He tried not to think too much before he left, knowing only that he should go. He was on his way to Farrs Corner within the next hour and a half.

---

Jackson found Mulder at the house, halfway up the long, winding driveway, Daggoo at the end of a leash. He yipped excitedly and jumped at the car as Jackson pulled sideways onto the lawn and threw the car into Park.

Mulder shielded his eyes from the sun and smiled squintingly. "Jackson," he called out, lifting his hand in a wave.

"Hey," said Jackson, slipping out of the car and locking it behind him. He could tell without reaching too hard that the smile was genuine, cautious but genuine. He pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulder against the car door. "Uh, happy birthday."

"Thank you." He smiled a little wider, letting up his grip on the leash a little so Daggoo could greet him, jumping at his legs. Jackson crouched to scratch his head. "We haven't heard from you in a couple weeks… how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm, uh, fine," he said, mentally cycling through the habitual pleasantries he'd always kind of hated. "How are you guys? How's the kid?"

"We're good. Kid's good." The leash slipped out of Mulder's hand, and Jackson automatically scooped it up. "She's good at screaming," he added. "I keep telling Scully that she should try out for horror movies when she gets older."

"That must drive you crazy." Jackson scooped up Daggoo, holding him like a baby as he wriggled and barked excitedly. He didn't know how to look at Mulder, so he looked at the dog, letting him lick his face. The dog was almost worth the visit in itself; he would've gotten one of his own if it was at all practical.

He remembered, suddenly, why he was there, and put Daggoo down, feeling the obvious need to speak the reasoning out loud. "Uh, do you guys mind if I stay a couple nights?" he asked. (He didn't have to work until Monday.) "I could, uh, watch the kid some, give you guys some time to yourself… Date night or whatever," he added lamely, biting back a flinch.

Mulder chuckled. "I don't know about a date night, but… of course you can stay, Jackson. You're always welcome here."

I don't think that's true, he thought reflexively, and then remembered that Mulder could hear him now, sometimes. "Uh, thanks," he said, turning the leash over and over in his hands.

"Thanks for coming into town," Mulder said, and Jackson could feel guilt under the surface of his words, like he felt as bad about the whole situation as Jackson did. The two of them started walking down the driveway towards the house, Daggoo prancing in front of him. "I couldn't think of a better birthday than one spent with—" He cut himself off, chuckling nervously. "I-I'm sorry. I know that's corny."

"It is," Jackson said, and was relieved to hear Mulder laughing. He laughed, too.

They walked in silence for a few moments, their shoes stirring up dust from the driveway. The wind was blowing, stirring the long grass out in the field, and Jackson shivered, shoving his free hand in his pocket. He was trying to stay out of Mulder's mind, to not hear things he didn't want to hear, but the silence was almost unbearable, enough to make him uncomfortable, and he spoke on a sudden impulse: "Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened at the beach. W-what I said."

There was another pause after that, one that probably didn't last very long, but seemed to Jackson to last forever. He felt his face growing hot with embarrassment, and he kept his head down even as Mulder said, "You… you don't have to be sorry. If anyone should be sorry, it's—"

"I am," he said roughly, not understanding how his birth parents could still be so apologetic, so self-blaming, when he was the asshole. "I am sorry, and I at least owe you an explanation. I shouldn't have said that stuff." He balled his hand into a fist in his pocket, wanting to hit something and knowing there was nothing he could hit. He kicked a rock in the road instead. He was pissed off, and speaking without thinking, the words spilling out of his mouth. "Y-you remember those people a-at the beach house? Taking pictures? I guess they recognized you from that douchebag's web show."

Mulder laughed nervously, like he at least agreed that O'Malley was a douchebag. "Y-yeah, I remember."

Jackson sighed, kicking at another rock. He hadn't wanted to say this to them, but he didn't think he had a choice now. "I… I thought they were there for me," he said bitterly. "I thought they were with… the people who killed my parents." He felt tears welling up, his throat thickening, and he bit his tongue hard to stave them off. "Someone broke into my girlfriend's place about a month before that trip, and I thought it was because of me. And I… I didn't want what happened to my parents to happen again." He sniffled and tried to hide it, scrubbing at his face with one long sleeve. "I was going to stop coming around, to keep you guys safe," he admitted to his shoes. They'd stopped walking, and Daggoo was tugging at the leash, but he didn't know if he could move. "That was… kind of the last straw. I had to go, and I didn't want you coming after me. So I… I said that stuff to make sure you wouldn't."

There was a stunned sort of silence there. Jackson didn't look up, even as Daggoo coiled the leash around his legs, running around him eagerly. "Jackson…" Mulder finally started, his voice thick. He felt his birth father's hand on his shoulder.

"I couldn't do it, okay?" he snapped, and kicked the ground harder than he should have. "I know it wasn't the right thing to do, but I couldn't do that again. Not again. I… can't let anyone else die because of me." He sniffled again, biting down on his tongue harder. He hated crying; he was sick of it. He was regretting ever starting this.

"Jackson…" Mulder tried again, his voice faltering.

"That's why I came here after Lily was born, cause I thought something had come for you." Jackson chewed at his lip, staring hard at the top of his worn shoes. He needed to buy new ones. "But it wasn't real," he added. "The… the break-in was nothing, and so was the thing at the beach. I… I don't think it's dangerous. Anymore." He bit too hard and felt a burst of copper in his mouth that made him flinch. "But I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Jackson, listen to me," said Mulder, in a voice so serious it made Jackson look at him, if only out of surprise. His expression was calm, understanding. "I understand the way you're feeling," he said. "Probably better than most."

Jackson bit his lip again instinctively, right in the sore spot. "Because they took your sister, right?"

Mulder nodded, and Jackson could feel decades worth of pain tightening like a knot in his head. "But it wasn't just her," he said. "Not-not exactly. They took her because my father made my mother choose, and I guess Samantha was the one she chose. So I guess it was because of me, but only indirectly. I don't blame anyone but my father and the bastards he worked with for Samantha." His face darkened a little, like it was hard to remember. "But there's plenty more to blame myself for."

Jackson swallowed hard. "Like what?"

"They murdered my father years later. I've always believed the motivation had to do with my inability to let things go. When my mother died, I thought it was murder, too. It wasn't, but—" His voice broke, and he looked away. "But the blame falls the most with me over… what happened to your mother. And what happened to you."

Jackson didn't know what to say to that. He looked back at the ground, at Daggoo's pleading face.

"I-I don't know how many times I pushed Scully away in an attempt to keep her safe," Mulder said, his voice lilting. "T-they kept hurting her because of me. To get to me. They killed her sister, which never would've happened if she hadn't been working with me. They did… countless things. And you…" His voice broke, trembling. "You were always in danger because of me. T-that's why I left less than a week after you were born. I wanted to keep you and your mother safe, and that seemed like the only way to do it. And look what happened." His voice was full of bitterness. "They didn't stop coming. You weren't any safer because of it. And I lost you because of it. Leaving didn't do a thing except make it worse."

Jackson didn't know what to say to that. He felt like he couldn't speak at all. He was gripping the leash too hard, his knuckles whitened with the effort, his head spinning. And then he felt Mulder's hand on his shoulder again.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, or to make this worse," he continued, his voice gentler now. "God knows I want more than anyone to leave this stuff behind. I just wanted you to know that I get it. I've been there."

Jackson cleared his throat once, twice, and looked up at him. His birth father. "What made it stop?" he asked, quietly.

Mulder squeezed his shoulder before letting go. "I used to think running away was the answer," he said. "But it's not. It may work, and it may amount to nothing, but either way… you run the risk of isolating yourself."

Jackson gulped, averting his eyes once again. Mulder patted his shoulder reassuringly. "I could've pushed your mother away a long time ago, and maybe she'd be happier," he said. "Or maybe she wouldn't. It's impossible to ask yourself questions like that; you'll drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out. But I know this: as much as I regret everything your mother has gone through because of me, I can't regret staying with her. Because I wouldn't have her. And I wouldn't have your sister, or you."

Jackson swallowed again, again, and spoke unevenly. "That… that is really corny, too, Mulder," he said, and offered a wobbly smirk.

He was relieved when Mulder laughed "You're right," he said. "And Jackson… I won't tell you what to do. But I will tell you this. I promise you, you don't need to protect us. You don't need to worry about it. That's not your job, okay?"

Jackson wrapped the leash around his palm, unraveled it. He mumbled, "Okay."

Mulder smiled, reaching out and taking the leash in his own hand. "Come on back to the house," he offered. "It's chilly out here."

"Sure." Jackson followed him down the road, walking slowly like he was reluctant, even though he didn't think he was. (He was… something. He couldn't put his finger on what.) "Only because I assume there's cake," he added, and Mulder laughed again.

---

They had dinner that night, a casserole that Dana claimed was the only thing she was good at cooking. (Mulder tried to tell her that wasn't true, and she replied with, "I'm going to remind you of the time you threw out that spaghetti because you thought it was old takeout, and a hazard.") They had the cake after, accompanied by a bad rendition of Happy Birthday, because Dana apparently couldn't sing, and Jackson knew he'd inherited that from her.

It was as corny as all that shit Mulder had said down on the driveway, and it hurt a little, because it reminded Jackson of nights he'd spent with his parents. But it wasn't bad. It was one of the first things he experienced with his birth parents that didn't make him want to run.

[andesite-slabs]

It’s Hard to Rescue Someone When You’re a Spoon

fic I wrote at 1 AM for @cloud-craft’s Hermaid au, which is very very good and if you don’t look into it die by my sword jk lol

Wels stifled a yawn as he lazily walked the aquarium grounds. The day was slowly winding down, and golden rays filtered their way through the roof-top windows. They would begin locking up within an hour or so, which Wels was looking forward to. Ever since Cleo had been brought by Joe to the aquarium, he hadn’t been getting his best night’s sleep. The security guard anxiously shifted on his feet at the thought. It had been a week since Joe brought an actual mermaid to the aquarium, and six days since he’d been told by Joe and Doc of her existence, but he was still shell-shocked. Apparently mermaids were real, and there were more of them just existing, secret and hidden, just below the waves. It felt like too big of a secret for a small group like them to handle, especially as he was responsible for keeping people out of the staff areas here. He once again pulled out his phone and opened the private app which connected to the security camera footage, swiping to the staff wing camera which showed the medbay door. Still locked. Wels let out a sigh and slipped the phone back into his pocket, returning to scanning the room. Nothing had changed, a few families walking abou- his eyes did a double take.

Standing by the adjacent wall was an almost unnervingly tall man with a dark mustache. He wore a white dress shirt and loafers without socks. Most unusual, though, was the large, heavy gray fur he wore (it’s summer!!???) enveloping his form like a cloud. His hair was wet, probably from sweat, and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Wels blinked, before bringing out his phone again and opening the staff group chat.

    WelsKnight: Hey, has anyone else see the guy in the huge fur coat?

    WelsKnight: I think he’s gonna use it to smuggle stolen gift-shop merchandise in it @Zedaph

    Welsknight: As there isn’t any other reason to wear a coat in this weather

    @joehills: I can say my eyes did spy this guy you’re talkin about

    @joehills: I asked if he was worried about heat stroke and he said he was fine

    Falsesymmetry: wait who? Ive got admission duty this afternoon and I didnt see anyone with a fur coat walk in

    Zedaph: i didnt see him either, does he look like there’s snow globes in his coat?

    Falsesymmetry: what does he look like

    Welsknight: The man with the fur coat and the mustache, you didn’t notice him?

Wels looked up from their screen to look back at where the man was standing, but he was gone. He paced over to the next room over, hoping to catch him walking away, but he had completely vanished. Worriedly, he opened up his camera app and flipped through the screens, looking for where the stranger was. It was probably just his nerves getting to him, that’s all. Nothing, nothing nothing.. wait.

The medbay door was ajar. He quickly reached for his key ring, only to find the cold metal was no longer at his hip.

    Falsesymmetry: nope didn’t see him

    Welsknight: Hey @everyone did anyone leave the medbay door open y/n?

    Falsesymmetry: no?

    @joehills: that isn’t right

    Docm77: n

    @joehills: no one should be in there right now

    Stressmonster: No, nobody is I believe?

    Iskall85: yeah were all preparing to close soon

    @joehills: Wels?

    WelsKnight: Can somebody meet me outside the medbay door stat?

    WelsKnight: My keys are missing.

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

Mumbo took a deep breath, and then another, and then another. He decided that maybe he could keep on taking deep breaths forever and then one day he would die without having to go inside the aquarium ever and everything would be fine. But he felt guilty, he knew that being the only one with a shift-form he was the only one who could safely check the aquarium and make sure Cleo wasn’t in there. She probably wasn’t, though everyone feared the worst. So he decided he should probably check it out. Nobody asked him too, but they were probably all thinking it, and it would be really bad if no one found her after a week of her being missing. So he found himself swimming towards the coast, and eventually behind the aquarium, breathing in and out. Stalling, probably wasting valuable time, judging by the setting sun. With one final breath, Mumbo shifted into his full otter form and crawled through the vent-space he’d found, ignoring his fast-beating heart.

The next few minutes went by very fast, and he felt like he was running on autopilot. He managed to get into the building through an indoor-outdoor pool which housed some sleeping turtles, and thankfully emerged into an empty room. He began sneaking around the building, hiding under ledges and between chair legs. He managed to snag a set of keys from a tired looking employee, how he managed he didn’t know. The adrenaline kept him moving, pushing the possibility of getting caught to the pack oh his mind. He hid behind a wall and, after looking for any cameras or people, shifted back into human form, pocketing the keys within his coat so they wouldn’t jingle. Walking back out, he saw the guard look up, and quickly diverted his eyes. He needed to get done here, fast. Mumbo turned a corner and began to speed-walk away from the room, following a sign which read “staff only.”

He listened and looked under each door, cautiously looking behind him to make sure the coast was clear. Most rooms were unlocked and empty, though a few with the lights shining through he made sure to avoid until he had no choice. Halfway down the hall, he turned to open the medbay door only to find it locked, which certainly seemed odd. Wouldn’t you need immediate access to this room in case of an emergency? Sighing, he reached for the keys in his pocket and quietly fit one into the lock, hearing it click to his surprise. Pausing a moment, he braced himself and turned the handle, cracking open one eye to peer into the room.

The room was large yet cramped, with a white-square floor and countertops with organised tools upon them. A few cabinets lined the walls, and several water-fill glass tanks resting on the floor, including one central large one which contained…

“...Cleo?”

Cleo stares back at him shocked, only her tentacles moving in the water. He noticed a long strip of gauze wrapped around her waist.

“Mumbo? What, how are you here? Why are you here, for goodness sake?” She whispered.

“Well you were gone for so long, and no one heard anything from you! We were all worried, and we’d already checked everywhere else you could be in the ocean, so I decided that I should maybe check here, just to be safe.”

“Ok, but Mumbo I-“

“So I managed to sneak in and I don’t know how but there was a guard and I stole his keys and I’m not sure if he noticed so I just ran in a direction.”

“Mumbo.” Cleo tried to interrupt.

 “And eventually I got to the staff area and I looked through the cracks underneath the doors and I wasn’t sure which ones were safe to go in or not. And at this point what I was doing was definitely against the rules so I began to panic more and I wasn’t sure if anyone would be coming but-

“Mumbo! Shut up, I-“

The cephalopod mer’s yell-whisper was cut off by the sound of the door to the medbay creak open.

Standing outside the doorway were Wels, Stress, and Joe, all looking in worriedly. Joe was the first to walk in, lightly pushing past the others towards a frazzled Cleo.

“Cleo, Wels saw that the door to the medbay was open, and we came as fast as we all could. Is everything alright?” He gave a glance around the room, scanning for any other person but saw the room to be empty of intruders.

Cleo pauses a moment, considering her choices. On one hand, she knew she had already broken a big rule, accidentally telling the aquarium staff about the existence of mermaids. Telling them the names of specific mermaids probably wasn’t great too, and she knew Mumbo at least had a chance of hiding this out if she lied.

On the other hand she’d had a really shit week, and this would probably be funny. Sorry Mumbo.

Cleo crosses her arms, leaning against the rim of her tank. “No, actually, everything is not alright. This room has been broken into.”

(Mumbo could feel the gears turning in his head, but not correctly, like an engine running on overdrive about to break.)

Wels stepped it. “Was it a man in a fur coat? What happened, did they see you?”

“Oh no,”’she sighed, pretending to faint. “It’s so much worse!” The mer pointed dramatically towards the floor, everyone following her finger to underneath Joe’s cluttered desk.

“Behold, the dastardly culprit!”

Stress walked over, kneeling to get a better view. The others craned their necks in anticipation.

“Oh?” Stress reached into the space, shuffling for a few moments before standing up and turning around. A cheerful smile spread across her face as she revealed a very still otter in her arms. “False alarm guys, one of the otters just managed to sneak in here somehow!” Cleo has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Wels sighed in relief, letting the tension leave his clenched fists. “Oh, well that is certainly better than what I was expecting. I wonder how it got out, though. And that doesn’t explain what happened to my keys. Did someone unlock the door?”

Joe looked at Cleo, who was struggling to hide her grin beneath her hand. It wasn’t hard to piece two and two together. “Is something else going on, Cleo?”

The octopus mer held off a moment, before letting her giggles come through and wiping a tear from her eye. “Oh my god, this is so evil. Mumbo I’m so, so sorry but the past week has been kind of garbage and this was too good to pass up.” She sighed the rest of her chuckles away, resting her arms on the tank rim. All eyes turned towards the otter in Stress’ arms, who after a moment quickly set it down on the nearby desk.

“I’m.. guessing this isn’t a normal otter, then?”

“No, he isn’t. Mumbo you didn’t let me tell you, this is important.” She looked at Mumbo, who seemed to think if he stood still enough everyone would forget about him. A serious look filled her face. “They..know about us.”

“...What?”

Joe took a step back. “There’s magical talking otters too. They exist and we’re officially in a Disney movie now. Honestly I’m not sure why I am surprised, this seems like the next logical step.”

“Does Doc know about this too?” Asked Wels.

Cleo shrugged. “Hope not, cause that’s not what this is. Kind of. This is silly, can you just show them Mumbo?” she pleaded.

The otter paused a moment, before reaching its paws towards its neck in a very human-like way. Suddenly a faint swirl of mist enveloped him, before whooshing away, revealing a tall man with a mustache, hands nervously holding the collar of a large fur coat. Wels pointed a finger. “It’s him, that’s the man I saw earlier!”

Mumbo slid off the table, plunging his hands deep into his pockets. “I.. I hate this.” He turned towards Cleo. “You told them about this, about all of us?” He grasped at his hair, eyes in worried panic. “How could you, Cleo? This is dangerous! This is horrible!”

“I was on tons of drugs! I didn’t know what I was saying or where I was!”

“You drugged her?!”

“She has a giant hole in her stomach, that's what you’re supposed to do!” Joe gestured towards the bandaging at Cleo’s hip.

“Besides,” said Cleo, “even if I did tell them about the existence of mermaids, just now I said that they know about us, not all of us. If I hadn’t, you would have been the one to tell them just now!”

“Aaaaahhhguuhh!” Mumbo let out a frustrated yell towards the ceiling before hitting his head with the palm of his hand. “Stupid, oh my word I’m such a spoon.” He fell back into the side of the desk and rested his head in this hands, the room going quiet around him.

After a few moments, Stress piped up. “So, Mumbo, right? I’m guessing you're a friend of Cleo?” She gave a friendly laugh. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Cleo sighed and gave her friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

“I guess there’s going to have to be a lot more introductions soon.”

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 23 -- The Trail

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

The location of the Red God compound was surprising for only one reason: It was exactly where it had been the last time they had been there.

It would be reasonable to expect that a covert and very illegal facility would relocate after being discovered, especially if that facility was floating in space and had a very large rocket at the back which could very easily push it somewhere else without anyone noticing.

Two signals floated just outside of the patrolled borders of the system, as remote as it could be while still being towed through space by the Sun’s gravity. This seemed to confirm their suspicions that the clones were being kept in the same facility where ViLaz had been discovered.

After all, it wasn’t like the cult could remove or deactivate the implants to leave a false trail. For one thing, they had no way of knowing the pirates had reverse-engineered the signal to track the other implants, but more importantly, this was their means of controlling the clones. Removing the implants would defeat the entire purpose of having created clones in the first place.

There was, however, a third point on the map, close to the first two. Under normal circumstances, they would assume that this was the Zealot’s own implant. These were not normal circumstances.

“Bad news from downstairs,” Ariadne sighed as she walked into her quarters and found Pilar reading a book, “two weeks of decryption only to find that the third implant is coming from a relay and we can’t trace its real location”

“A relay?” Pilar asked, marking her book since she had immediately known she would not be able to continue reading.

“They aren’t sending a live feed, the Zealot must pre-record the visions he sends to the girls, beams them to a relay, and then the relay beams it to their implants. There’s a block smack in the center of the relay, so I can’t trace where the signal is sent from.”

“You, for the first time ever, can’t hack through a digital barrier?” Pilar raised her eyebrows.

“A digital barrier would be no problem. This isn’t that kind of barrier.”

“And what, pray tell, has you so stumped you can’t break through it?”

“I’d guess about five feet of empty space,” Ariadne said. “I mean, I can only guess about how much empty space, but we’ve been trying to break into their system for weeks, and one thing has become clear: the device that interfaces with the girls’ implants and the device that receives input from Dr. Simon have no connection between them. My guess is, he sends the visions to the receiver where they download to a removable drive, and then some lackey removes the drive and physically walks it over to the relay, where it interfaces with the implants.”

“So, we’re back at square one?” Pilar asked.

“Nowhere close. I can still trace the origin of the signal if I’m in the same room as the receiver. Luckily, the receiver is conveniently located at our next stop.”

“So then, we’re launching to get the girls?” Pilar asked.

Ariadne nodded. “We’ve got to make sure they’re safe onboard before we move on Dr. Simon anyway. If we finish him off, the acolytes will have no reason to keep them alive.”

“Their security is largely built around their remote location,” Pilar offered, “I don’t think they’re prepared to fight off attackers, they’re counting on the idea that nobody will stumble across them. Once they figured out where we were, Sasha and… Sweettalk… were able to break in undetected to rescue us.”

“Still not used to it, huh?” Ariadne asked.

“I just can’t believe I didn’t see it,” Pilar responded, “I mean, I think I came really close to messing up our relationship for good. My own sister, and she spent a year of her life thinking she had to hide her relationship from me?”

“I should probably apologize too,” Ariadne said, “I’ve known for weeks and I didn’t say anything.”

“No, I’m glad you didn’t,” Pilar replied. “I didn’t marry no narc, and besides, you’re family to Sasha. I’m glad she can tell you stuff without you worrying that you’re going to rat her out to her overprotective big sister.”

“You know, it’s funny, I never thought I’d say this, but it reminds me of—”

“No,” Pilar chuckled and cut her off, “that was different, she was just oblivious, this was being kept a secret.”

“I miss Flax some days,” Ariadne laughed. “I’d never met a lesbian with such terrible gaydar, and she was so easy to get a rise out of.”

“You know what really gets me, though?” Pilar brushed a hair out of her face, “Sweettalk drives me up a wall sometimes, but she’s absolutely perfect for Sasha. I mean, look how much that brash, impulsive girl has managed to bring her out of it despite my best efforts to keep her stuck in there.”

“I think she should come with us on the raid. Give you a chance to get to know her, and, uh…”

“Have her do the dirty work of tactfully explaining to two clones who don’t know they’re clones, that their religion is an actual scam, and that their father grew them as glorified organ farms without upsetting them so much that they refuse to leave with us?”

“Yeah, I really do not want to be in charge of that part,” Ariadne said. “Let’s pull together a smaller strike force to extract the girls and the receiver, and leave Fastwing in charge of rallying the troops for an assault on the Zealot’s location as soon as we have it. You, me, Deathsbane, and Sweettalk for sure. Ghostrunner is a must-have on a stealth mission.”

“Taryn’s been training as Deathsbane’s apprentice,” Pilar suggested, “She’s got a real flair for medicine and it’d probably do her some good to shadow Sasha in the field.”

“You mean Uprising, right? After all, she showed a lot of courage standing up to us.”

“You’re getting better at the names,” Spacebreather told her. “Yeah, bring Tar… uh, Uprising along too.”

“I’ll grab ‘em,” Ariadne said, “Meet me onboard the Thread in 20.”

***

“I just don’t really think it matters how far apart they actually are,” Taryn explained as they quietly filed into the airlock. Their helmets were internally soundproofed and linked by a communications system, so they could hear everything going on around them, but speak openly without fear of being overheard. “They could be six inches apart or 50 feet apart and it would still be just as impossible to hack.”

“Yeah, but if you had to guess,” Ariadne replied. “I say five feet, Pilar says two, Sweettalk four, Deathsbane ten, I mean, it’s a pretty straightforward wager.”

“If I say a number, will you stop asking me?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that I will,” Ariadne responded.

“50 feet.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“You said I had to make a guess, not that I had to care about winning the bet.”

“Ugh, fine,” Ariadne said, “What about you, Ghostrunner?”

There was nothing but silence on Ghostrunner’s channel.

“Ghostrunner?”

“I copy. I’m just not talking.”

“Seriously, just give her an answer, she won’t stop talking about how far apart these machines are until you do,” Uprising said.

“Five feet and one inch,” Ghostrunner replied, and her mic went silent again.

“That’s not cool,” Ariadne replied as she quickly set to hacking the access panel that would open the seal and allow them passage.

“Roger,” said Ghostrunner.

“Jesus, Prescott designed a shitty security system,” Ariadne said, “Someone with an eighth grade education would be able to find the backdoor he put in here! How did he ever sell one of these things?”

“You know an eighth grade education is all you’ve got, right?” Spacebreather reminded her.

“I’m saying!” Ariadne called back, “I just unlocked every door and disabled every alarm in this place and it wasn’t even hard.”

“To his credit,” Pilar shrugged, “He was the system’s greatest bullshit salesman.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to pour one out on his grave when we get back,” Sweettalk said as they drew their weapons and quietly moved through the seal and into the compound, “right into the catbox.”

“Catbox?” Uprising asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Deathsbane said flatly.

“Deathbane, Uprising, with me. Spacebreather and Sweettalk, watch our six. Ghostrunner, meld into the shadows and stay close, I don’t want to see you until we’re leaving unless the shit hits the fan.”

“Roger,” said everyone but Ghostrunner, who had already vanished without anyone noticing.

“That’s what I like about that girl,” Ariadne explained, “she takes pride in her work and she’s got great fashion sense.”

They stealthily moved down the corridor with weapons raised approximately chest-high, making sure to glance through the small glass window in each room to check for an immersion pod.

Most of the rooms did not have what they were looking for, and instead were full of red-robed Acolytes either poring over screens full of code or deliberating over something that looked important. If discovered, they would be wildly outnumbered.

The immersion pods would be in the last three rooms they checked, which only made sense because they stopped checking rooms when they found the right ones. At the end of the long corridor were three doors. In the spaces between them stood two boxy machines about the size of a regulation trash can, each of which had an antenna on top, one long-range and one short-range.

“Sweettalk, how tall are you?” Ariadne asked intently.

“Four foot eleven.”

“With the boots and the helmet, though, you’d be exactly five feet, yeah?” Ariadne asked.

“You’re about to make me lie down between these machines to see if they’re five feet apart, aren’t you?”

She was.

“Dammit,” Ariadne muttered, “Still three inches left over. Ghostrunner was closest without going over.”

Ariadne swiftly plugged a compact screen into the device with the long-range antenna, while Deathsbane and Spacebreather entered the first room and began to pry the pod open.

After a few seconds, they managed to get it loose with a satisfying hiss, and a girl who looked exactly like ViLaz, to the last detail, stood before them.

“You’re on,” Spacebreather said, and Sweettalk took off her helmet so the girl could hear her.

“Hello, ViLaz,” she said, and ViLaz looked incredibly confused. “It’s very important that you come with us, okay?”

“Who are you?” She asked, “are you with the church?”

Sweettalk considered this for a moment, and then decided there would be plenty of time for the truth on the ride home. “Yes, your father sent us, we’re here to take you somewhere safe.”

“Father says if I leave, the Red God will cleanse me from the universe with fire,” ViLaz replied apprehensively, and did not move from the inside of her pod. “I had a vision of the future, myself engulfed in flames for defying the Red God’s will.”

What she had actually seen was not a vision of the future, but a video recording of the past, when her identical sister was lit on fire, but as this girl was unaware she had a sister, and had been directly told the video was her own future, her confusion was understandable.

“Yes,” Sweettalk explained, making it sound as though she wholeheartedly believed every word of the lies she was telling, “of course that’s why we’re here. We’ve discovered a new holy site, and the Red God needs you there right away.”

The girl looked unsure, but too afraid to question it. She stepped out with them, and they ushered her out to the waiting crowd.

“This is our friend Dr. Sasha,” Sweettalk said softly, “before we go any further, she needs to check for, uh, purity of heart… in the… back of your head…”

This was not Sweettalk’s best lie, but it is difficult to hold that against her, given that it worked.

“This will only hurt for a moment,” Deathsbane said as she set to work applying a local anesthetic and removing the implant from the back of ViLaz’s head as quickly as possible.

Spacebreather and Sweettalk managed to get the second pod open, and roused the other girl, who also looked exactly like her sisters.

“Hello, ViLaz,” Sweettalk started in on the same story as earlier, and this ViLaz looked just as confused. “It’s very important that you come with us, okay?”

“Who are you?” She asked, “are you with the church?”

“Okay, that’s uncanny,” Spacebreather said through her comm.

“No time to chat,” Ariadne replied. “Get her out of there, now. We’ve got company.”

“Yes, your father sent us, we’re here to— HEY!” Sweettalk was cut off by Spacebreather pushing past her and scooping up the girl fireman-style over her shoulder.

“YOINK!” Spacebreather shouted, and made a break for the door. Sweettalk followed, and moments later, they were all running down the hall as quickly as possible, as the girl over her shoulder pounded on her back and yelled as loud as she could.

“I thought you said we had company,” Spacebreather said, panting heavily.

“We will,” said Ariadne, who also had one of the girls over her own shoulder. “Someone on the other end must have detected me before I could get the coordinates and alerted security, we’ll have acolytes on us in two minutes.”

“Especially with the racket this one is making. Did you get the chip out of her head?” Spacebreather asked Sasha.

“Yeah,” Sasha replied, “but I’m not gonna have time to operate on that one before we get on the ship.”

“Here,” Spacebreather said, and deposited the screaming girl into her sister’s arms. “You and Ariadne take the girls ahead and get on the ship, I’ll try to cause enough of a ruckus that they don’t realize the girls have been taken and light up the implant in her head.”

“You can’t be—” Sasha began, but Pilar jumped in.

“Yes, I can. I’ll be fine. Just get her to the ship and have it ready for when I get back.” Pilar quickly ran back the way she came and drew both her weapons.

Sasha turned to Sweettalk. “Watch her back, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you,” Sweettalk said to Sasha as she ran after Pilar.

Sasha, Ariadne, Taryn, and the two girls would make it back to the ship without interference, as Pilar and Sweettalk were able to hold off their pursuers for long enough that Sasha could safely remove the implant and save the third ViLaz from a fiery death. In fact, they held out for quite some time before being subdued and captured.

None of the crew actually wanted to leave without Pilar or Sweettalk. In fact, they very literally had no choice. Soon after their capture, the airlock simply disengaged from their ship on its own, and the entire station fled faster than the Thread could follow.

The morale aboard the Thread had never been lower. Sweettalk and Spacebreather were captives and for a moment, they thought they would have no way of finding them.

And then a message appeared across the ship’s main viewscreen.

“We’re fine. I am in control of the ship. Nobody can find me. Will keep Spacebreather + Sweettalk alive. Bringing the whole thing back to base. Sure hope the spiderweb still works. xoxox Ghostrunner.”

They had, in the confusion, completely forgotten that Ghostrunner had even come with them. She would not be insulted by this, after all, it was her job to go unnoticed, and she had performed it spectacularly.

Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief. “Set the ship’s autopilot for home.”

“I can get us home,” Sasha said, looking a bit frazzled, “I just need to—”

“No,” Ariadne said, walked over, and gave Sasha an overly tight but appropriately comforting hug, “the autopilot will get the ship back home in a few hours. The emergency teleporters will get us there now. We need to be ready for when the girls get home.”

“With a massive ship full of angry cultists,” Uprising pointed out.

“They should be so lucky,” Ariadne said, “they just captured Pilar Spacebreather and someone who matters to her sister. Do you know what Pilar kills for?”

“To protect the people she cares about,” Sasha muttered, thinking back to their conversation a few weeks previously.

“Exactly,” Ariadne said, “One handcuffed Pilar against a hundred armed cultists? They’re completely outmatched. You just wait, there will be three living people on that ship by the time it gets back home.”

[peraltasames]

when you’re scared and alone (just know that i’m already home)

Jake is in prison, and Amy is three days late.

so emma @fourdrinkamy prompted me w this and i may or may not have teared up a little writing the last part and had to remind myself that they are together and happily married now omg enjoy the angst

title from already home by a great big world

read on ao3

It takes Amy three days to notice that she’s late.

It shouldn’t take that long, she’s as meticulous about her period as everything else in her life. She marks them on her calendar each month and checks taking her birth control pill off her to-do list each day. Never before in her life has she been three days late.

Never before, though, has she been spending hours after each shift combing through files upon files about Melanie Hawkins and her team, looking for the slightest inconsistency or slip-up. Never before has she been surviving on four hours of sleep (if that), fuelled by coffee and the motivation to get her boyfriend out of jail before he’s beaten or shanked or worse.

It isn’t until Friday morning, while she’s sitting at her desk yawning after a particularly long night and jotting a note down in her calendar to visit Jake’s mother this weekend, that she spots the little X marked on Tuesday of that week.

Twenty minutes and one frantic trip to the bodega across the street later, she’s perched over the sink in the precinct bathroom, waiting for a tiny symbol to dictate whether or not her life is about to change drastically.

She’s thought about kids a few times over the past year: watching Jake play with Nikolaj in Charles’ living room on Christmas Eve, babysitting Cagney and Lacey and realizing maybe they could handle parenting after all, helping her nephews build a blanket fort after dinner at her brother’s house. These thoughts have materialized in her brain as a faraway possibility for after they’re married. Ideally, she would already be a lieutenant or higher. Ideally, the father of her child would not be indefinitely locked up in a prison a thousand miles away.

Just as she sets the timer on her phone for three minutes as instructed by the box, the bathroom door swings open. Amy cautiously looked around the bullpen before scurrying off to take the test and made the judgement that the few women on the floor had gone to the bathroom recently enough that she would not be interrupted. Her worn-out, panicked brain did not take into consideration that Gina is very pregnant and gets up to pee very frequently.

“Amy, what are you - oh.”

By the time Amy meets her gaze, Gina is already looking at her with complete bewilderment.

“Are you-“

“I haven’t looked at it yet,” Amy says quietly.

Gina nods, slowly approaching her as if she’s made of dust and the slightest movement could make her disintegrate on the floor. It dawns on her that she must look as weak and helpless as she feels.

“No matter what it says, you’re not alone,” Gina promises her, her hand cautiously grabbing Amy’s, still gripping the edge of the counter for support. “You guys are gonna get him out, and even if you don’t…you’re not alone, okay?”

The sentiment of her friends supporting her is comforting, but another person being here, knowing that she may actually be carrying a child, tips the scale in her brain from stress and worry to full-blown panic. She isn’t alone, she knows that, but no support system could make doing this without Jake any less terrifying.

Nothing could make the idea of raising a baby, his baby, without him there every step of the way an even remotely acceptable possibility.

She doesn’t feel the tears until they’re soaking into Gina’s shirt over her shoulder, barely registering the sobs until they’re wracking her body and she’s clinging onto her friend for dear life.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she hears Gina say, her voice sounding distant, as though Amy is underwater and drowning.

“I-I can’t do it without him-“

“I know, girl. I know.”

The vibration of her phone, accompanied by the same loud, repetitive beeping sound that wakes her every morning, makes Amy jump out of Gina’s arms.

“Do you want me to look?” Gina asks, her eyes a little softer and more sympathetic after seeing Amy completely unravel before her. She’s kept most of her breakdowns since Jake’s been gone private and tries to put on a brave face at work, knowing that they’re all missing him and Rosa too.

Amy nods weakly, shakily wiping away tears with the sleeve of her blouse. She waits as Gina surveys the three tests on the counter (all different brands, to get the most conclusive result possible) and looks back up at her.

“All negative.”

The two words pass over her with a wave of relief, her body collapsing back against the wall behind her and sinking to the floor.

“I’m not pregnant?” she sputters, making sure she heard her correctly.

“You’re not pregnant.”

Gina comes to sit on the floor next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, and pats her knee gently. Amy leans into her slightly as her stream of thoughts begins to clear.

“I’m three days late.” She tries to make sense of her body’s tardiness now that the most likely explanation is off the table, coming up with nothing. “I’m never late.”

“If you want, I can bring you to my OB/GYN appointment after work today to get checked out,” Gina offers. “She’s dope, we listen to Beyonce during my ultrasounds.”

Amy musters a small smile, nodding her head.

“Thanks, Gina.”

-

Just like every day, regardless of whether she’s still at the precinct or already home for the night, Amy is waiting anxiously by the phone for Jake’s call at ten o’clock. She picks up on the first ring, as always.

“Jake?”

“Hey, babe.”

His voice rings through her ears like a symphony. Their daily half-hour phone calls (as long as he can risk without a guard walking by) since he managed to acquire a contraband phone have been heavenly interruptions from an otherwise Jake-less existence.

“How are you doing?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”

The pause on the other end is a little bit too long, but it’s followed by an assured response that she knows is only for her benefit. “I’m doing okay. Just missing you.”

She subconsciously wraps his warmest, coziest blue hoodie tighter around her body. It’s one of the only ones that she hasn’t already worn to the point that she needed to wash it, one of the only things that still smells like him after nearly three weeks.

“I miss you too,” she sighs. “So much.”

“Is something wrong, Ames?”

It’s truly a testament to how well he knows her that he’s able to detect that something is off from so few words. She’s spent the past two hours since returning from the doctor’s office wrestling with whether or not to tell Jake about her false alarm today, or about the cause of it, which Dr. Abrams referred to as “alarmingly high stress levels.”

Though she doesn’t want to burden him with worries concerning her (she thinks she’s worrying enough for the both of them), there is nobody that she wants to - needs to - talk to about this more than him.

“I, um-“ she fiddles with the edge of the comforter, closing her eyes as she lets out a deep breath. “I had to take a pregnancy test today. I was three days late.”

“Was it - are you-“

“It was negative, don’t worry.” She cuts him off before the worried thoughts that had saturated her brain earlier today can reach him. “It was just scary for a minute.”

Once again, her head spins with anxieties over the thought of what may have happened if the test had been positive.

“You never miss your period. Did you see a doctor?” His voice has lost its confident steadiness, a facade that she can tell he puts on for each phone call just to ease her mind.

“I did, I’m totally fine,” she swears, hoping that she’s convincing enough to put his mind at ease. “It’s just, you know, regular stress.”

It would be a better lie if she hadn’t been stressed about something every single day that he’s known her.

“Ames, please promise me you’re taking care of yourself,” he pleads, now discernibly worried.

“I’m good, babe, you don’t have to worry about me.”

She adds it to the growing list of lies she’s told him lately: yes, I had dinner; no, I haven’t been crying; work was fine; I left the precinct hours ago.

“Okay,” he says, voice still laced with skepticism. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there for you today.”

Her heart breaks, as if it can shatter any further. It is so annoyingly, utterly Jake to apologize for not being able to comfort her when he’s the one behind bars.

“God, I love you,” she murmurs, tears falling onto the pillow supporting her head.

“I love you too,” Jake echoes, the words heavy with the weight of the miles between them. “And Ames, about the test…we’ll do that for reals one day, okay?”

She has to believe for her sanity that he’s right, that it won’t be fifteen years and that they won’t miss their window. The idea of doing the whole “married with children” thing with anyone else is not an option that she’ll even begin to consider, as she told her mother shortly after Jake received his sentence. He’s been it for her for a long time, probably even longer than she’s realized.

“We would have cute kids,” she agrees, a small smile creeping on her face at the idea of creating something that is half-her and half-Jake (god, she hopes they get his hair and her organizational habits).

“The cutest. Our kid would put Terry and Charles and Gina’s kids to shame.” She can practically hear his trademark grin through the phone, though it’s a poor substitute for the real thing.

They spend the next twenty-eight minutes talking about hypothetical kids and the life they’re going to continue to build together. Afterwards, she sleeps the best she has in weeks, dreaming of the day that their happily ever after is no longer on hold.

[ryujinrk]

-.✦･｡ﾟMGA season 5: episode 5              sunday 07/21, practice at royal entertainment              mentioned: @rkjaemin, @rksuwoong, @rkxsnh

TRIGGER WARNING: migraines (headache, nausea), medications

Ever since Ryujin woke up this morning she has felt unweel in an eerie kind of way, the feeling that something is wrong haunting her from the very moment she opened her eyes because it’s appearing to be a brand new sensation. She’s nervous, abnormally so really, when she makes her way to the Royal Entertainment, a route that is becoming familiar with time as result of the practice happening there. It’s early, but not too early. Ryujin follow the company’s schedule as good as she can while excluding the breakfast, especially today since her appetite vanished-- that alone is strange, and anyone who knows her would recognise the change.

She is the first one to arrive out of both groups and a staff member is showing her the way, it’s the same way that she has walked many times already during the past few days but she know that she has to be escorted by someone. She met them with a tired smile, head bowing in that typical respect that she show to anyone who is more authorised than herself. As someone who rarely ever has a headache it’s unbearable even to walk like this, silence consumes the short trip from the entrance and up to the practice room but their footsteps are loud enough. She has no time to stay at home though, she has no time to rest. It will pass, is what she tell herself and that especially when she notice that SUWOONG arrive a little while after her.

Eyes twitch slightly by the sight of him, briefly and so quickly that nobody would notice. While they settle their things and prepare to practice she notice that something is different, still. The lights are so much brighter than they were the day before, the sounds are so much louder. It doesn’t take Ryujin long to realise that this is going to be an incredibly long and tiresome day, and she has only just arrived at 9AM. JAEMIN arrive not long after, with his textbooks. They are practicing the dance still, perfecting it the best that they can because although JAEMIN is a very strong, creative rapper has he expressed it isn’t the same when it comes to dancing. He isn’t a dancer, but that’s okay.

He is teamed with two dancers, after all-- one way or another, they will all manage to learn the choreography. Luckily for him, the song that they chose doesn’t require much technique. If the famous P.O can pull off the stage then she is sure that JAEMIN can as well, they just need for him to practice, practice, practice. And Ryujin believes in him, she has huge faith in him. She’s worried for other reasons though, which she blame her unwellness for. Surely no one else has noticed how SUWOONG has treated her the past days, no one but herself because it is easier to notice when it happens to oneself. She doesn’t get it, what has she ever done to him?

SUWOONG is particularly picky with her, he always leave her to choose lastly and he flee the scene with her once breaks hit. Instead of getting to know her he’s seemingly everywhere but with his own group, every chance he get, and she slowly begin to feel worse and worse. They seem like small “innocent” things things but small “innocent” things add up rather quickly, and she honestly don’t feel welcome or liked in her very own group... and she simply do not know what she has done wrong, SUWOONG just seem to hate her for no apparent reason. She’s a hardworking girl who usually don’t take breaks but today, she has to.

She simply has to, or she will puke right there and then though that is a fact that she decided against telling her group about. It’s not like the elder male would understand anyway, Ryujin’s absolutely sure about that, because everything she does in his presence seems to be wrong. Closing up towards lunch time it’s becoming unbearable, overwhelming is an understatement and she honestly feel so awful that she want to sit down and cry. The waves come and go yet she can’t seem to find a pattern, suddenly there is a severe rush of nausea and then suddenly there is a immensely throbbing pain in her head. What is going on?

The only pattern she notice is that whenever a wave of sickness appear, her heart beat so fast and so forcibly against her chest that she wonder whether it will jump out of her very body. As she sit down for another break SUWOONG seems to have had enough of it and calls for a fifteen minute break himself. The lump in her throat grows bigger and bigger because she’s scared, it frightens her that she don’t know what is going on with neither SUWOONG nor herself. Ryujin uses the given break to call Jonhyun, her step-brother who happens to work within the branch of medicine, after excusing herself to the hallway just outside the practice room.

His message is quick and simple, Ryujin needs to find herself a place to rest and she know to listen to his advices. If there is anyone that she look up to, it is him. There is nothing that is as important as time at this very moment so she hurry the best she possibly can to find one of the nearby staff members, who agrees to show her the company’s infirmary where she is allowed some rest and some meds to relieve the symptoms. Ryujin isn’t sure what she is given but she takes it regardless, wanting to get better sooner rather than later so that she can return to the practice. Gosh, she forgot to tell JAEMIN where she was going. 

Well, surely the staff member would let them know. Before she lay down to rest she put on an alarm to make sure that she won’t oversleep, and she pass out almost the moment she closes her eyes. Just before that, she manages to send off a few texts to her best friend.

text sent to @rkxsnh (  혜주 💕 ) —— (2)

✉ ▸ i feel so sick... i don’t know what’s goign on  ✉ ▸ i’m at the infirmary, i don’t want to be sent home...  😭 

The alarm wakes her back up and although she feels better in the sense of why she came into the infirmary, Ryujin feels utterly rotten inside. If she could go back to sleep she would but she can’t, so instead she drag herself out of the comfortable hospital bed and sloppily head back-- she hopes that this decaying feeling will pass with time, and she wonder just what on Earth she was given just an hour earlier. That were some strong meds, that is for sure. She squints most of the way back to the practice room where JAEMIN and SUWOONG practice with the other trio because the lights are so gosh darn bright today, but find the room near empty upon arrival.

Oh well, she will have to practice on her own then. Ryujin doesn’t think much of it, other than wondering where they might be, they surely will return shortly anywyay... she hopes, anyway. And they do precisely so, she has only danced for a few minutes when they return and she’s noticing a slight change in JAEMIN’s face that makes her curious. It’s not very obvious, but it was enough for her to notice as she has spent quite some time with the other already. They’re not close, far from it, but she admire the other and he intrigues her. But hey, they brought her a sandwich! When she think about it, she hasn’t eaten the whole day, appetite non-existent.

“My head is fine,” she responds shortly because she know that he SUWOONG only ask about her head out of courtesy. A smile appears  though, due to the food. “But thanks. I appreciate it.”

They aren’t grouped for long before JAEMIN offer to fetch some drinks, and ask Ryujin if she would like to accompany him on the trip outside. Strange as it may be she gladly accepts that offer right away, fresh air sounded amazing when she still feel completely dead inside but she realised quickly that something was up, just like everything today. Sandwich in hand, she eats it on the way greedily, suddenly realising how hungry she really is. The questions that he bring her hurts more than she thought they would, and the fact that he seemingly believed for even a second that the rumors are true hurt even more. She can’t blame him however, he was never there to witness what actually happened with Amarante.

Ryujin explains to him the best she can, without revealing too much. It seriously baffles her how effective rumors are, whether they are true or false, and she suddenly understand what has been going on with SUWOONG, that he has been spreading lies about her all along. Her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach and once again, she want to cry while she don’t. Even if the tears are threatening to roll down rosy red cheeks she will not grant him that satisfaction, and she will not cry in front of JAEMIN. Drinks ordered, waited for and now in hand, they make their way back to the building where Ryujin has forgot for the moment that they are recording.

Other matters are more important right now and if the “GOLDEN TRIO” is supposed to have a chance to win they need to settle things, right away. So she approach the elder male, in midst of a face time which he end rather quickly upon their arrival. Ryujin doesn’t beat around the bush and ask why he is out and about telling false truths to people, and where the lies come from. Tears are evident in her eyes, but she still does not cry. He responds with a question of his own, whether she call his cousin a liar-- she is confused, she doesn’t even know who this cousin is and how she is related to the matter. SUWOONG says that he doesn’t appreciate that she insult his cousin in front of him and she want to snort, the audacity.

“Yeah, please call her.” She agrees to the suggestion, once she realise who his cousin is. The call should be interesting enough as Jimin has stepped way over the line by spreading lies, and if she don’t spill the beans she will have to resort to old fashioned threats. Jimin may be older than her but in the end, she could have faced serious punishment for what she did and was honestly let go easier than everyone else. Heck, the other members of Amarante did nothing wrong. She luckily didn’t have to threaten with their old CEO as the other tells the truth. Ryujin couldn’t care less whether SUWOONG apologised after that, she was just glad it’s over. 

“It’s okay,” is her way of forgiving the elder. “I’m just glad that we got this out of the way.”

[hiilikedragons]

drunk blogging involves uploading chapters of sacrifice au that aren’t finished yet

After weeks without them, the sounds of Astrid’s sleeping breaths are insanely soothing. Even in the dark, in a room of a thousand people, Hiccup’s quite sure he’d be able to pick out her soft inhales and sighs over anyone else’s. Any other night, they would lull him into blissful unconsciousness, but tonight, not even a blow to the head could put him out.

She finally gave into exhaustion long after midnight. It took a lot of reassurance, of trying to convince her that the more rested she was, the faster she could recover. And then even when she began to drift off, she would wake with a start a few moments later, clutching at her abdomen in nightmarish fear. It wasn’t until he stayed leaned over her bed, slowly stroking her hair, that she ended up truly slipping into deep sleep.

He hasn’t stopped touching her hair since. In the dim candlelight, left behind by the village healer, he’s been staring at her face and wrapping blonde locks around his fingers for hours. Even before they left their island, when they fell asleep wrapped around each other and he would trace the tiny scars on her skin-- it was never so comforting as this. Maybe it’s because of the heights that his panic reached earlier in the day-- the heart-stopping dread that clenched his whole body when she told him something was wrong.

But really, it’s just been so long since she’s been willing to tolerate his presence. He’s ached for so long to be next to her, hold her hand, bury his nose in her braids. Even tension he didn’t know he had locked into his muscles is coming unwound.

When they arrived, touching down on the decently sized port village nearest to the sanctuary, Hiccup didn’t bother hiding Toothless or concealing their presence. Instead, they landed in the middle of a cluster of large buildings. There was some screaming, some rush to action. More than one axe was raised in threat. But once Stormfly arrived just moments later, along with a few other dragons who were loyal to Hiccup and had sensed his urgency-- the villagers’ hostility was accented with hesitance.

“We need a healer,” he demanded, voice as loud and authoritative as he could muster. He had to gently unfurl Astrid’s fingers from his arm before swinging his leg over Toothless and dismounting. Her eyes kept flicking between him and the villagers.

“Be careful,” she murmured, voice shaking.

He stalked into the orange glow of their torches. Lifting his helmet, he held out a hand to stay anyone who might be tempted to make the first move. “The dragons won’t be aggressive unless someone tries to cause us harm.” He played up the Dragon Rider persona just a touch, instructing the dragons to be calm and easy.

Then only once he was sure that all weapons were lowered did he finally turn back to Toothless and help Astrid down.

“C’mon,” he whispered, holding his arms out to her. She’d ridden side-saddle the whole way, leaning against him with one hand fisted in the fabric at her waist. There were wrinkles in the dress when she accepted his help to stand.

She-- of course-- made all the difference. Once he helped her into the light, everyone got a look at her pained expression and hunched posture. They saw a helpless young woman, watched the protective way that Hiccup orbited her, and must have realized that even intimidating dragon masters have vulnerabilities.

It was the chief’s wife that approached them, in the end. Broad and serious, she went to Astrid’s other side and began asking questions without pleasantries. If she was injured, where it hurt. As soon as Astrid mentioned that she was with child, though, things went very quickly. They were taken to the healer’s house, and a midwife was summoned.

She hardly let go of him that whole time, and nobody was brave enough to try and tell him to step aside. More questions were asked, and she was instructed to lie down on a tiny corner bed. But what Hiccup would remember most was when Astrid lifted her tunic for the midwife to inspect.

He could see her ribs, she was so thin. And her hip bones jutted to either side. He’d felt good about her getting adequate nutrition after she’d been taken from Berk, but it seemed that since the last time he’d seen her undressed, she’d lost all of that progress. And yet, where her stomach was once hard, defined muscle, it was now smooth and swollen. Not much, just a protrusion large enough for him to fit one hand over, but for the first time, he could see the beginnings of life inside her body.

Something inside him trembled in awe. He ducked his face away, afraid someone might see how overwhelmed he suddenly felt. How terrifying it was, to be suddenly so attached to something he could so easily lose. He wished he had the power to stop time, make everything stop. To be able to keep anything from happening to either of them.

And then, the alarm was drained from the room.

“Bedrest for a while,” the midwife instructed, after touching and prodding and pressing. An older woman, she gave Astrid’s head a fond pat and adjusted the blankets around her. “Stay off your feet for at least a couple of weeks. More, if the bleeding doesn’t subside within the next couple of days.” Hobbling away from the bed, she folded Astrid’s ruined, dark-stained leggings and sat them in a nearby chair.

“So it’s okay?” Hiccup asked warily, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.

At the same time, Astrid shook her head, unsure. “Everything’s fine? I didn’t…?”

The midwife waved a hand, dismissing the rest of her sentence. “I can’t say there’s no reason for concern.” She was an old woman, and it was hard to read the wrinkles in her expression. “The placenta is detaching slightly. It’s alarming and bloody, but there���s no immediate danger for the babe as long as it’s given time to heal.”

Her beady eyes fixed on Hiccup. “And she needs to put on weight. Bread. Milk. Meat.”

“She hasn’t eaten much today,” he admitted guiltily, but Astrid spoke up.

“I can’t keep much down.” The tone in her voice was a little firm, as if she was interjecting to defend him. He tried to not let the ache in his heart show. “I don’t usually have an appetite.”

“Well, you’re getting one tonight,” the old woman insisted. “I have some things for an unsettled stomach. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

The chief’s wife was the one to bring it. And even though Hiccup himself was starving, he made sure he watched his wife eat several substantial bites of chicken and gravy-slathered potatoes before touching his own food. She only paused once to breathe deeply through her nose and then resumed her chewing. If she had any other nausea, she didn’t show it.

After Astrid had cleaned her bowl and fallen into a fitful sleep, the chief’s wife-- who, admittedly been very gracious to the strangers who disrupted her village and mildly threatened their people-- informed him that they could stay the night. Just the night.

“I don’t like those dragons lurkin’ about,” she said lowly. Her accent was thick, and with her blonde hair sticking out from her head, she reminded him a little bit of Gobber. She stabbed a finger into the tabletop. “They haven’t broken or attacked anything yet, but they’re watching our flocks and licking their chops.”

“They won’t bother anything.” He swore, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb his sleeping wife. “They stay well-fed, and they won’t take anything unless I allow it.”

“Oh aye, we’ve heard of you.” She leaned forward on her elbows, narrowing her gaze at him. “Word’s travelled. They call you different things, but it’s all the same--” Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “You and them dragons of yours come through, stealing and burning. Leaving villages destroyed in your wake.”

Hiccup felt a slice of nerves open through his gut-- not for himself, but for Astrid. Asleep and helpless. Without any way to protect herself, she could easily be used to hurt him. All it would take would be a little bit of spite, and from the sound of the old woman’s voice, they had plenty of it.

“Don’t worry so much, boy.” Something like amusement flashed in her dark eyes. “You’re not quite the demon of fire and fury I was led to expect.”

His panic must have shown on his face. He tried to offer a twist of a smile as a vague sort of thanks. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Aye, well…” She shrugged, sitting back and crossing her thick arms over her ample chest. “I won’t say all the rumors are false, but the way a man treats his wife speaks for his character. And that one,” She nodded, gesturing to Astrid. “That one hasn’t let go of your arm since y’arrived.”

Something tugged in his chest. Oh, if only she knew how cold Astrid had been towards him recently. How deeply he’d wounded her. But there’s also something that pulses warmly through his veins at her words. Astrid hadn’t let go of him. She looked at him with fear and anxiety, searching for reassurance. She’d called for him, and she trusted him to get her to safety. That had to mean something.

He made sure to promise that they’d be gone as soon as they were able. That seemed to satisfy the chief’s wife. After refilling his mug with ale, she reminded him to call for the midwife if anything changed and left them alone.

Now that the worst of the fear has gone, his whole chest has been left sore. Like he just ran a sprint or nearly drowned. His relief is so potent, he’s a little drunk on it. For the first time in a long, long time, he sends a small prayer of thanks towards the gods. He stays by her side, playing with her hair and watching her expression for any hint of pain or fear.

Hiccup’s hand pauses as Astrid stirs, shifting in her sleep. Her face turns towards him, and her fingers curl around his wrist so she can nuzzle into his palm. He can’t completely stifle his quiet laugh. Valka was right-- she is just like a dragon.

His chuckle must wake her. Her lashes flutter, and she exhales a little sigh. “Hating you is so exhausting,” she mumbles, lips brushing his thumb as she speaks. She shifts so that her body is curled in his direction. “Can’t I just go back to being angry tomorrow?”

Hiccup doesn’t answer at first, not sure if she’s really fully conscious. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s caught her talking in her sleep. Just in case, though, he whispers, “Whatever you want,” and brings her knuckles to his lips.

As long as he has tonight.

*

Unfortunately for Astrid, Hiccup takes the healer’s instructions very literally.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but begrudgingly, she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him lift her from Valka’s bed.

“Healer’s orders,” he quips. She considers smacking the smug smile off of his face. After walking just a few steps outside, into the aviary, he sets her down on the fur that’s become her designated spot.

“I don’t think she meant I couldn’t walk to the other side of the room.” She doesn’t try to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but if she’s honest, his obsessive tending to her is slightly endearing. He’s been attentive and gentle and patient. She almost doesn’t know how to respond to this new, affectionate Hiccup.

“So far as I’m concerned, your feet aren’t meant to touch the ground.” He drops down next to her pallet and stretches out, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You can gripe and complain all day long, but if I see you walking unattended, I will tie you down.”

At the sight of him, a gaggle of baby Gronkles comes waddling over. They crawl over his arms and legs, turning circles before settling down against him. He lifts his forearm for one trying to rest its head on his chest and scratches it behind the ears once it’s snuggled in. Astrid tries desperately to bite down a giggle at the scene.

The past couple of days have been quiet. Shockingly easy. She sleeps a lot and-- thanks to the village midwife-- eats a lot. Hiccup made sure to over-pay everyone that night. The healer, the midwife, the village chief, and especially the villagers who sold him an absurd amount of food. They certainly made at least triple than what was required for their services. The villagers can now spread rumors about the Dragon Rider flying in with a horde of dragons if they want, but they can’t say he’s not generous.

In a way, it’s almost like the days in their cave. Half ignoring each other while still hovering close. She can’t say that she hasn’t had moments of doubt and anger, but for this brief space of time, she’s okay with just letting things lie as they are.

He sleeps. Astrid plays with the dragons that wander by and struggles with the little Night Fury she’s been trying to make from fabric scraps. Certainly she’s gotten better at sewing since she started mending all of Hiccup and Valka’s clothing, but the legs are still coming out a little crooked, and she hasn’t dared to try embroidering the face yet.

It’s an uneventful afternoon. At least until a Windcutter comes blowing in with a masked woman hanging onto his ankle. Valka deftly releases her hold and uses the wall to slide downwards before Stormcloud even has a chance to land. She lifts her mask.

“Astrid!” Valka croons, her face filled with such maternal affection. Hiccup stirs at the sound of his mother’s voice, lifting the arm that he has shielding his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Astrid says with a smile. As Valka kneels, reaching for her, she sets aside her sewing and accepts a fond hug. The older woman has a chill hanging to her skin and clothes from the cold wind, but the way she pats Astrid’s head is warm.

“Any news?” Hiccup asks, grunting a little as he sits up. He scratches sleepily at his scruffy jaw.

“We’ll talk about it,” Valka assures him, waving off the conversation. She settles on the pallet across from Astrid and distractedly fields the hatchlings running to meet her. “How are you feeling? Have you been resting?”

“I’m alright. Hiccup has been a tyrant about letting me exert any energy whatsoever.” She gestures to the fur and small pile of her things as an example.

“She complains when she does chores and she complains when she doesn’t have to do chores,” Hiccup is sure to insert. “I can’t win here.”

Valka clearly finds their banter amusing. The corners of her mouth twitch. Then she lowers her voice just slightly and asks, “And the babe?”

Astrid inhales at the sharp flare of anxiety that jumps to her throat whenever she thinks too much about it. But she tries to make her tone sound calm and assured. “As far as we know, everything is fine.”

“When I got your message, I was so worried.” She reaches over to her son, cupping his face in her palm. He leans into it, clearly used to this display of affection. “I don’t know if I’ve told you-- Hiccup arrived early. He was so small and frail.” Her brow furrows, clearly aching at the memory. “It’s something I’ve been concerned about with this one.”

Astrid remembers her mentioning that once before, but she had never considered that it was something that would be repeated with their child. She feels her fingers crawling nervously across her belly. Odd how just a couple of months ago, this child felt like a death sentence. Now, it somehow feels like she might die without it.

“Not gonna happen,” Hiccup says, gently pushing away Valka’s hand as if it holds the very idea. “I’ve always been the runt of this family, and we’re keeping it that way.”

Despite herself, she feels her mouth tightening with a smile she doesn’t want to give. But she can’t help but glancing at his determined expression. He catches her eyes and winks.

Gods be damned! Where does he get off making her heart flutter like that? Astrid forces her lips into a frown and looks away. She desperately searches inside her chest for some of the icy anger that has sustained her for the last several weeks, but she only finds tepid annoyance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Valka begins, distracting her from her thoughts. “I’ll try to keep from flying too far for a while.”

Astrid nods. Of course. She has a feeling that there’s something going on that Valka and Hiccup aren’t telling her about. Something to do with Drago’s traps. It’s easy to pick up on their alertness, because she spent her life on an island anticipating attacks. And she’s not surprised that they’re keeping her in the dark, trying to protect her. She’ll have that argument another day.

“I’ll just be happy when I’m back to my old self,” Astrid sighs, half joking and half serious. “I can’t even protect myself like this, much less somebody else.” She feels almost as if her body isn’t her own. This frail, weak thing. Her legs crave a run, and her fingers itch to dance along the handle of her axe.

Valka tilts her head, evaluating her with sea foam eyes. “I know you’re not used to being taken care of. But will you let us? Just for a little while?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She can’t meet Valka’s gaze. “Just for now.”

She can’t stop thinking about that night. The sharp, knife-like pain and the even more terrible fear. But as awful as it was, it’s not the ache or the panic that she recalls. It’s the firm brace of Hiccup’s arms around her on the flight to the village. It’s the murmur of his voice as he soothes her frayed nerves. It’s the way he never left her side, and the relief in his expression when the midwife informed them they’d be okay.

She wants to be angry. Gods, it would be so much easier if she could be angry. But over and again, she thinks about waking to find him next to her.

It was the wee hours of morning, and she was wrenched from a nightmare. She’d dream of blood and the midwife’s grim face, and she’d just know that her baby was dead. And then she’d gasp awake, usually to Hiccup reaching for her hand. Or caressing her hair. Or telling her it’s okay, you’re okay, we’re alright. But he must have fallen asleep not long before dawn, because she woke when it was the dark blue of near-morning outside. He was leaning over with his head cushioned on his folded arms at her side.

Astrid watched him for a long few moments, letting her racing heart slow and her breathing even out. For some reason, an overwhelming wave of bittersweet peace crashed over her, leaving a knot in her throat. For so long now, she’s craved being this close to him again. Feeling the slightly too-warm heat of his skin and smelling his smoke and leather scent. But she didn’t dare letting him close enough. She kept her righteous wrath like a shield between them, keeping her safe from the dangerous lure of his new promises and devotion.

And now-- now he was here. It would be easy for him to leave her to her own devices, to risk a miscarriage and absolve him of any obligation to her. She would’ve thought that was what he wanted-- to be free again, to not be guilted into staying by her. But he hadn’t left. Hadn’t run. He risked his safety and his identity to get her help, and kept watch while slept.

She wanted to reach for him. To brush his messy too-long hair out of his face and trace his features with her fingertips. Her heart ached just to touch him.

But she didn’t. She shifted slightly to make more room on the edge for him and then closed her eyes once more.

She didn’t have anymore nightmares after that.

Part of her wants to tell Valka about all of this. His mother has become such a confidant, a wise advisor and attentive listener. Part of her wants to tell someone how hard it’s become to hate him. How her heart is beginning to jump into her throat when he holds out a hand to caution her or insists that she eat more.

But that would mean she’s softening. That he’s getting to her. Valka would surely look at her with amusement in her eyes, her lips pressed into a knowing smile. She’d say something about healing or forgiveness. And Astrid’s not quite ready to hear it just yet.

[thegreenfairy13]

Dog Sitter Part 5 - Little Prince

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here.

Oswald is surprised when Jim accompanies him to his car. His face is sour, like always. The man somehow never fails to look like he swallowed a vinegar-filled grapefruit and downed it the whole thing with cranberry juice. Gordon is probably genuinely terrified he’ll take some of these oh so innocent Gothamites to their early graves on his way to Connecticut. The kingpin snorts. He’s filled with too much spite to die just yet. Besides, his little boy needs his father.

Holding Ed in his arms, Jim watches Oswald climbing into the vehicle with a disapproving expression. The cop works his jaw as if he wants to say something but then thinks better of it. When Ed squirms, he puts him gently down to the ground. Expression uncertain, the cop hesitantly reaches for the door but doesn’t close it right away.

“Why aren’t you taking Ed with you?” he asks, the question coming out too harsh, too loud. The mobster’s anger flares. They aren’t at the precinct, he doesn’t owe the cop an explanation but he answers anyway. Because he always answers to Jim Gordon. Even if he doesn’t want to, even if Jim has no business ordering him around.

“Ed always vomits on a long drive,” he sighs while buckling his seatbelt, hoping the cop would be satisfied by this explanation.

Jim tilts his head in acknowledgment yet still doesn’t move. Oswald wonders what Jim might still want from him. Finally, he’s about to get out of his sight so why is he still hovering beside the car, boring his eyes into his forehead?

“If you want to know if you can keep the dog in case I wrap myself around a tree, the answer is no,” the kingpin declares breezily, itching to finally get going. He’s serious though. Should anything happen to him, Ed would be given to Martin. Along with enough money his boy would never have to worry about material things in his entire life.

Expression softening, Jim reaches for the door again. “I did not…”

He works his jaw silently, leaving the sentence unfinished. He’s staring at the floor, seemingly observing the dog beside him. The cop is quiet for once, not barking orders or needling the other man with questions. His grip on the door frame tightens until his knuckles turn white. There’s something genuinely distressed, something sincerely concerned, about his whole posture. And then their eyes meet and Jim’s uneasy, fragile gaze almost knocks the wind out of him. Oswald drowns in those blue eyes like the fool he is.

In front of Jim Gordon, he’s sixteen years old again. He’s that pale, scrawny kid nobody wanted to be friends with. The odd boy with the old-fashioned clothes that were always a bit to too big cause his mum thought he’d still grow. He reads a lot and talks a bit awkwardly - like a character from times long gone. He’s got a stutter and he flushes beet-red when he’s ashamed. He's ashamed often. Young Oswald hasn’t got enough money on him to buy lunch but gets roughed up anyway. He hopes his mother won’t notice the bruises.

Thankfully, his mum doesn’t notice much anymore. She lives in her own world and so does he. He’s mostly alone. And even if he isn’t, he’s lonely.

And Jim is the golden boy. The pretty quarterback every girl wants to go out with and every boy wants to be friends with. He’s never lonely and never awkward. He doesn’t stutter and his laughter sounds like a low rumble, not like a hysteric giggle. His clothes could be worn down but he’d still shine. He’s got the kind of body that makes a potato bag look like haute couture. And he’s kind. Everybody loves him and he loves all of them.

Except for Oswald. Nobody loves Oswald, nobody notices Oswald. He hates them all with every fiber of his being.  

And when Jim finally does notice him, he only sees that ugly, insecure, cruel, little boy. He sees right through him, right to the bottom of all that hatred, and like any sane person, he turns away from the boy, too.

“Just make sure you’re back in time before my shift starts,” the cop finally requires, voice steady again.

The door then snaps shut with a loud bang and the mobster is finally free to leave. Heaving a deep sigh, he looks after Jim. The Captain stands at the edge of the stairs, Ed in his arms. He takes one paw in his hand and waves it at Oswald, lips curling into a small smile as he stares after the retreating car.

The mobster waves back, despite himself, feeling miserable and confused when stepping on the accelerator. Jim really knows how to wrap him around his little finger. It’s not like he cares about his well-being, he never did, and for sure he won’t start caring today of all days.

The Penguin drives through the night, alone with his thoughts and the ever-present paranoia.  He glances into the driving mirror too often, fearing someone might be following him despite all his precautions.

At night, every car looks the same, each person behind a steering wheel seems hostile. The pain in his leg returns, like it always does, but it’s nothing more than a slight throbbing, a reminder to stay focused else terrible things might happen.

Gripping the wheel tightly, he slows down and takes an exit he doesn’t even need. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he watches a black sedan drive past. The car had been bothering him for the past fifteen minutes but thankfully, it had only been a false alarm. Well, better safe than sorry, he thinks while trying to figure out how to return to the freeway.

One tiny inattentiveness on his part could endanger Martin’s life and end his own. If anyone ever found out where exactly they are staying, if anyone would attack, he’d be lost. Sure, he’s a fighter, and he’s armed, but even he couldn’t fight off a paramilitary assault alone. Staying alone at the mansion in Connecticut is a security measure and a high risk all the same.

Maybe he should have told Jim where he’s going. The man knows how to keep a secret. He proved that often enough. After allegedly shooting him at the docks for example, or after killing Galavan. Both times he kept his mouth firmly shut.

And he might not be fond of the Penguin but he’d probably come to the rescue if Martin was in danger and bring some reinforcement too. But then Oswald doesn't want to give him the slightest leverage either. He doesn’t believe Jim would be as heartless as to use his boy against him but what if…? However, shouldn’t Martin’s safety be the utmost priority?

The sun has long since set when he finally arrives at his mansion in New Heaven. Martin had been waiting for him the entire evening. He’s sound asleep on the sofa in the living room. His nurse is sitting beside him, reading a magazine. Oswald hired the woman because she hardly speaks English and never watches the news. She has no idea who and what he is and he’s grateful for that. With a gesture of his hand, he dismisses her.

Dropping his luggage, he makes his way over to his precious little prince. He’s the only good, pure, untainted thing in his life. His precious son stirs when Oswald sits down beside him but doesn’t wake fully. Only when the criminal presses a soft kiss to his forehead, the boy opens his eyes.

“Daddy!” the child mumbles. He’s still fighting to speak properly but that word always comes out without a stutter.

When Martin wraps his tiny arms around him, the burdens of his life fall from his shoulders. The boy is still sluggish but struggling towards consciousness, intent on not letting his limited time with his dad go to waste. This should be enough, Oswald thinks. The unconditional love of a child should be everything he needs in his life.

He takes Martin to bed and despite being drop dead tired himself, he starts reading him a bedtime story. Fittingly, the little prince of Gotham chooses The Little Prince. Oswald hasn’t read that book in years. He only remembers a distant feeling of sadness being connected with the reading.

Martin snuggles closer. Taking the book from his hands, he browses through it, searching for the pictures.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Oswald asks and the little boy nods. Then, he points at one particular page and the mobster starts reading again.

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”

The kingpin has to laugh. He knows exactly why Martin wanted him to read this paragraph. He doesn’t understand why they can’t be together. The boy asks him regularly if he can return to Gotham soon. Oswald tried to explain, he did, but Martin just wants to be with his father. What does a child care for money, power and criminal empires? To him, Oswald isn’t the Penguin, but daddy, and he wants to go home with him. Instead, he’s being left behind at this boarding school, waiting for the weekend to finally come and his dad to share some time with him.

That won’t last, though. Oswald knows. He’ll turn into a teenager soon and there would be parties and friends and too much money to spend on booze and girlfriends or boyfriends. Their relationship is already strained as it is, and one day Martin would stop caring if his dad makes it to New Heaven or not.

The boy falls asleep once again but Oswald keeps reading. He wakes the other morning with the book sitting on his stomach and his child waiting for him to finally make breakfast.

He changes into a pair of slacks and a cashmere sweater. His hair hangs down loosely and all too soon he’s covered with a fine layer of flour. He’s making pancakes with Martin like any normal single-parent would, while desperately trying to keep Martin from accidentally setting the kitchen on fire. Like any ten years old, he’s absolutely excited about doing grown-up stuff and terrible at it.

The butter in the pan almost burns and there are traces of eggs in places Oswald can’t even remember coming close to. It doesn’t stop there. Once Martin discovers the chocolate cream, the damn thing is smeared everywhere. Oswald once decorated his hair with purple accents. Now, he’s sporting Nutella at the same place. In this kitchen, he’s not the King of Gotham but only daddy.

And he’s genuinely happy. He isn’t lonely here in New Heaven, not at all, and still, he wishes he could share that day with someone else. This joy he’s currently experiencing is too great for one person alone. He wants to talk with someone else about how Martin finally managed to flip that pancake, looking ridiculously proud in the process. He wishes he could lean into someone else’s touch while watching his beautiful son regain his ability to communicate piece by piece.

Martin keeps talking, slowly but with determination. He’s telling him about his week, about the other kids in his class, and how his teacher Mrs. Roughlin always smells like mothballs. He tells him that he still hasn’t found any real friends in his class. Oswald smiles while his little boy is speaking, he’s listening attentively as if those mundane events were the most important stories he’ll ever hear. Perhaps they are.

His boy says he wants to go to the zoo with his dad. And of course, they do. He could never deny Martin anything. The boy falls asleep mere moments after arriving back at the mansion and one more sacred day with his boy has passed way too quickly. He stares at the kid’s sleeping form, wondering how he deserved to get so stupidly lucky.

Jim Gordon would probably argue he deserves nothing of that. The gangster is a father. His little boy loves him and he loves him back. And the cop, this man who tries to save Gotham on a daily basis, lost his kid. Jim would probably tell him how unfair that is. He would probably tell him that a man like Oswald Cobblepot, a multiple-murderer, doesn’t deserve being a father whereas he had to bury his child before it was even born. Oswald wonders how he ever overcame the loss of his unborn child when all he ever wanted to be was a parent.

The answer is, he didn’t. The pain had been writ clear on his face when the mobster accused him of being responsible for his unborn child’s death. And therefore, his behavior at the precinct when retrieving Ed still fills him with shame. Jim had never given up on a battle as quickly as back then. For one moment, the indifferent mask had crumbled, revealing raw, deep pain.

Oswald tries picturing Jim with a kid, imagines him with a little boy on his shoulders. It’s unsurprisingly easy. A man who has so much love for a pet would have endlessly more love for a child. And he for sure would do anything in his power to protect it. More than ever, the kingpin wishes he could take his harsh words back.

Thinking about Jim, the mobster realizes how blessed he indeed is. Being a parent isn’t a burden but a gift. And this gift should be enough.

The love his son gives him should be enough. If he was a responsible parent, he would pack a bag and leave with his kid. They could start a new life - maybe in Iceland. It’s cold enough to wear three-piece suits on a daily basis but not cold enough for his leg to get worse. Crime rates are low, his boy would be safe.

So why doesn’t he leave? Why does he keep returning to Gotham? The truth is, Oswald fought tooth and claw to become a king. Respect had never been given to him, he earned it - through blood and pain. His own mother had died because of his ambitions.

If he would just leave, her sacrifice would mean nothing. His shattered leg would mean nothing. Each loss would mean nothing. Deep down, he’s a warrior. Nothing compares to the feeling of standing on a battle-field, only armed with a shot-gun and his untamed rage. It was that rage that enabled him to take down an entire city, to make it his own. How could he ever be anything else?

Besides, he likes being a king. All those proud dons kneeling before him, having an entire city at his beck and call, being able to order people like Zsasz around - all these things give him life.

And he still wants more. He’s greedy, insatiable in those regards. He wants even more money, more power. He wants even the stubborn, incorrigible James Gordon dancing to his tune.

But he wants his son, too.

Oswald wants anything and everything. The world owes him. He spent his childhood in bitter poverty, barely saw his mother who worked three jobs to provide him with food, to give him a proper home. And nothing she did was ever enough in the eyes of the others. No, he got beaten up on a daily basis for daring to be different and she had been called a whore.

Now, he feels entitled to take everything this planet has to offer. And there’s still so much more to achieve. So much more to gain.

And yet, he’s being frowned upon. No one really appreciates what being a crime lord truly means. How many sacrifices one must make to gain such power. His leg is destroyed beyond repair and he’s suffering from anxiety attacks. He feels like he could vomit every morning, right before he downs his first whiskey. Mostly, he doesn’t sleep more than three hours per night. He’s constantly exhausted and each day could be his last.

So no, he won’t stop before all of Gotham kneels before him. Before they all respect him.

He’ll leave his son a legacy, the legend of the Penguin. His boy will never have to fight his battles. One day, he’ll be Martin Cobblepot, the heir to the throne of Gotham. A legend on arrival, a man to be feared.

Pouring himself a glass of wine, Oswald makes himself comfortable in the living room. He continues reading The Little Prince while sipping his drink.

“Why are you drinking?” the little prince asked.

“In order to forget,” replied the drunkard.

Heaving a deep sigh, the mobster closes the book. Abruptly, his self-assurance fades to nothing. Until now, Oswald didn’t even notice he hadn’t been drinking the entire day.

However, once he smells the alcohol, he devours it like a vampire sucking fresh blood. He downs glass after glass, trying to forget. Trying to forget his fears, trying to forget how his ambitions keep him from being the father Martin needs. His son doesn’t need a legend, he needs a daddy. And he certainly doesn’t need a drunkard.

His boy should be worth more than all his great plans. Deep down, he just knows. And still, he’ll return to Gotham by Sunday and fight for more. That’s just the man he is.

His Martin deserves a better father. He deserves the kind of parent his mother had been. His mother would have never left him behind - not for all the money in the world. But she’s gone now, can’t tell him anymore what’s wrong and what’s right. He wishes she was still there, being a grandmother for Martin.

Lighting a cigar, Oswald stares out of the window. A responsible father would give up being a king and be a father. He inhales the smoke deliberately. It tastes like soil, oil, and minerals. Filling his lungs with the poisonous fume, he tries picturing to be anything else but the Penguin.

He simply can’t.

His thoughts wander back to Jim. Ever since their first encounter, the man seems to be repulsed merely by his physical proximity.

Maybe Jim had always been right about him. If he can’t even give up his life of crime for his own son, he’s really the trash the cop thinks him to be. It took him only one look to figure out how utterly worthless the Penguin truly is.

Eyes brimming with tears, Oswald almost doesn’t note the sedan from earlier crawling up the street.

[endlessly-searching-for-you]

Let’s Hurt Tonight (ES AU/Jake x F!MC)

Another one for @meeraaverywalker‘s November Challenge day 15:  Angst. With extra fluffy sprinkles at the top because you know me right?

Word Count: ~2,400 (I don’t know how it happened, I swear)

Warnings: swearing

A/N: The story takes place in my Endless Summer AU (masterlist, the gist is: everyone is fine, there is a little bundle of joy on the way, and then things kinda go downhill from there. That is, for a while). [It’s no good, feel free to scroll past]

Tell me all of the things that you couldn’t before Don’t walk away, don’t roll your eyes They say love is pain, well darling, let’s hurt tonight

Let’s Hurt Tonight - OneRepublic

Sixty miles. Seven minutes.

Taylor stared at the plane icon on the screen. She couldn't see anything through the rain-blurred windows, the sky was covered with thick, ominous clouds, and her hold on the phone tightened to a death grip. The little red marker was the only thing guarding her sanity right now. Please, let him land safely, she whispered and pleaded, pacing back and forth across the waiting area. As far as she was concerned, safe landings weren't Jake's strong suit, and today's weather wasn't working in his favor.

Thirty miles. Four minutes.

She wrapped an arm around her small bump and sighed. She definitely shouldn't be worrying right now. Not that there was a reason. Jake has been back on the job for a while now, and, surprisingly, there wasn't even a single complaint. He joked it must have been her presence distracting him and not his lack of skill, but she knew better.

Please, please, please, Taylor whispered, squinting at the growing gray speck. From a distance, it looked small and vulnerable. The fingernails dug inside of her palm, but she didn't even feel it, her eyes fixed on the plane. She held her breath and closed her eyes. When she dared to look again, it was already on the ground, and, as far as she could tell, still in one piece. She pressed her forehead to the cold window, letting the wave of relief wash over her.

The tourists started to climb out of the plane, some of them looking pretty pale. Poor folks, she smiled to herself. What a way to start their vacation! It wasn't enough that the rainy season started a little early—it was just the beginning of May, but the forecasts already predicted the rain would be a record-breaking one—they also had the questionable pleasure of flying with the most overconfident pilot ever, her own husband. As much as she loved the guy, she had to admit his skills were no match to his ego. Nothing was, probably.

Taylor glanced at her watch. Why was he taking so long? The first batch of tourists already collected their luggage and left, second was already lining up for the flight back home, and there still was no sign of Jake. She let out a loud sigh, and the older lady moping the hall looked at her with sympathy. Taylor chuckled, thinking how sad she must look right now—a pregnant woman waiting for someone who didn't come back to her. Well, the plane didn't just fly itself to the airport, so at least she knew he was here. The actual question was, what kind of trouble was he in? Did he break something? He wasn't exactly gentle with the equipment. Or maybe someone recognized him, and he's never coming back—

Stop it, she said to herself. You know Jake is fine. Have you seen any police? No. Nobody came in beside the cleaning team and next crew. Stop panicking now, just breathe, and oh, look, there he is!

The mess of sandy hair was unmistakable, but what was the deal with the big shades and oversized raincoat? Jake looked tense, and his usual smile was gone, replaced by worry. She felt a chill and flew right into his arms, closing the remaining distance with one big jump.

“What's wrong?”

“Not now,” he murmured into her hair, pulling her tight against his chest. “Let's go home.”

The road back home was unusually quiet. Taylor opened her mouth a few times to ask what's going on, but every time she looked at her husband, she closed it back. Something was obviously bothering him. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, and she realized he was driving in circles. But why? Nobody followed them, not at the airport, and certainly not now, in the heavy rain. It must have been some kind of false alarm, she decided when he finally pulled up in front of their hut, and they ran fast inside, huddled under the big coat.

“Now, what's this all about?” Taylor turned to him. “You got me worried for a minute.”

“I saw someone.” Jake sighed and looked to the window. “A guy I met in the academy. I can't remember his name, but I'd know his face anywhere.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“I don't know!” He dropped to the chair and lowered his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don't know. God, I hope he didn't. He looked right at me, didn't say anything, didn't even blink. But I don't know. What if he starts digging?”

Shit. No, this wasn't good news. No wonder Jake was nervous. She placed a hand on his arm and rubbed it absentmindedly. Just when she thought they were finally putting the nightmare of La Huerta behind them and moving on to a normal, well, some kind of normal life, the universe had to remind them they were not safe. It wasn't like they never talked about the danger, they even had a few escape plans ready. But after everything they've been through, it just didn't feel real. And it definitely wasn't fair.

“Do you think we should start packing?” She asked, fighting the tightness in her chest.

“I don't know.” He stood up to look out of the window again. “I'm sorry. I had no right to drag you into all this. I’m just bringing you down with me. It's all my fault—”

“Jake, stop. Look at me.” She touched his cheek. “I knew you were on the run. I chose you with my eyes wide open, and I would do it again and again and again, you understand? We're in this together. All three of us.”

“That's why it's so bad,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I could barely take care of myself when I was alone. How I'm going to take care of you two now? Fuck, Taylor, it won't work. I was an idiot to think this could ever work.”

“You can't be serious!”

“Just think about it. What kind of life are we going to have? Always on the run, always in danger? And it's all because of me. Fuck!” He kicked the chair and paced through the small room, pulling his hair. “How are we going to hide with a kid? What about school? Friends? What about your life, is this really what you want? I can't even keep you safe!” He stopped and turned to face her. “What if they hurt you? I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Or our baby.”

Taylor automatically wrapped her arms around her stomach. There was a haunted, urgent look in his ocean-blue eyes, and deep down she knew he had a point. She assumed they will clear his name and go back home, wherever it might be... but what if they won't? What if they really were forced to live a life on the run?

“There's only one thing we can do.” He reached for her hand. “You need to go back to the States. Stay with your friends. Get a degree. Take care of him, or her. Live that life you were supposed to have. I'll find a way—”

“No. Don't ask me to leave you, I won't.”

“But—”

“No. I'm not leaving. I didn’t come back just so you could send me away.”

Taylor raised her chin in defiance. The rain stopped, and the sunshine turned hair into a golden crown. She looked like the very statue of resistance, only her trembling hands betrayed her emotions. Once she set her mind onto something, arguing with her was like talking to a brick wall, and Jake was well aware of that. He was just the same. But as much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to keep her by his side forever, there was no other way.

“Don't be stubborn, Taylor. It's not about you anymore. Fuck! It would have been easier if it was just the two of us. We shouldn't have—”

“It's a little too late for that,” she noticed bitterly, crossing her arms. “How can you even suggest I should leave you! We talked about it. I thought that we were happy, that we had it all figured out, that you were actually for once a responsible adult.”

“Oh, so you think you're acting like an adult now?!” He snapped. “I'm really trying to do my best! Maybe I'm just... not ready.”

She drew a sharp breath. “Do you think I am?! Do you really think I'm ready enough, strong enough to raise our son on my own? Because no, I'm not!” Her voice broke off, and she brushed the tears off her cheek. “I don't even know who, or what I am anymore. The only thing I knew was that I could count on you. Thank you for proving me wrong.”

“This isn't what I—”

“I can't talk to you right now. I don't want to say something I might regret.” She grabbed her jacket and stormed off the door. “I need some air.”

He shouted something, but Taylor ignored it. Whatever he had to say could wait. She hated to admit it, but maybe he was right. Running off wasn't a very mature thing to do, but right now she just wanted to be as far as possible, take a step back, clear her mind. Every time they had a fight, it seemed to be getting worse, and the hormones weren't exactly helpful with keeping her temper in check.

A sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in her side stopped her in her tracks, and she leaned on a tree, biting her lip not to cry out. Don't panic. Breathe. Relax. It's just a cramp. What did the midwife say? “Try not to stress”? Ha, good one. Stress was her middle name by now.

“Easy there, little guy,” she whispered, rubbing her bump. “We're just halfway there. Hang on, okay?”

She looked at the ocean waves below. They always had a calming effect on her, and it worked this time. Her tense muscles relaxed, and the pain was slowly going away, but the questions at the back of her head remained unsolved. What should they do? What should she do?

The sun was slowly setting, but the answers didn't come. Taylor sighed. Time to go back—and talk this through. Maybe without yelling this time? The danger couldn't be that big. Maybe she could somehow get him to see her point of view—

—if he was there. She couldn't stop the pang of disappointment. Of course Jake wasn’t there. He was probably somewhere in a bar, talking to the bottle like he used to. So much for the talk, she thought, curling up on the bed. She closed her eyes, but her mind was too busy to allow her to sleep. Just when she finally managed to calm down, the door creaked, jolting her awake.

“There you are! I was looking for you.” There was a relief in Jake's voice, but she was too bitter to notice it.

“I'm still not talking to you.”

“Fine. I'll talk to my son then.” He sat on the floor next to the bed and gently placed a hand on her bump. “I'm sorry, little guy. You deserve a better father, your mom deserves a better man... but you got me. No, I'm not ready. All my life, I've never cared about anyone but myself, and now I have you two. It's hard, it's scary, I don't know how to do it, but God, I swear I'm trying. I love you, both of you, and nothing will ever change that. Maybe it's not enough—”

“It is.” She slipped out of bed and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest and soaking his shirt with tears. “I love you too. And I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what?"

“For all that yelling. And running. And calling you irresponsible."

“Come on!” He kissed the top of her head. “We both know who's the responsible one here, and I'll give you a hint, it's not me.”

"Well, maybe you had your moment just this once. Because I didn't.” She chuckled, raising one finger. “But I'm still not leaving!”

“I know. That's why I packed us both.” Taylor looked up to him with surprise, and he smiled reassuringly. “We can't stay here forever anyway. I'm surprised the roof isn't leaking yet, you know how many times did I have to repair it? We need to find a better place.”

“I'll miss this one.”

“Yeah, me too. Made some good memories here. But it's about time we move on.” He sighed. “So you're saying it's a boy, eh?”

“The doctor was pretty sure. I have a photo somewhere—” She suddenly sat bolt upright and grabbed her belly.

“What happened? You alright?”

“Yes, I think so. Put your hand here.” She pulled up her shirt and guided his palm. “Can you feel it?”

Jake wasn't really sure what he was supposed to feel. The small twitch? He looked at her with knitted brows, but she only motioned for him to stay quiet. And there it was again, a tiny flutter, easy to miss if you didn't expect it.

“I think he finally moved!” She laughed happily. “I was getting worried it's taking so long.”

He kept staring at his hand. Up until now, the whole baby thing felt pretty abstract. He was getting used to the idea of being a father, but even with all of Taylor's mood swings and weird midnight cravings, it still wasn't substantial enough. There were the ultrasound photos, of course, but how could anyone see anything in the blurry blobs was beyond his imagination. He tried looking at them from different angles, rotating, squinting, to no avail. But these small kicks were there and were real. He leaned in to place a kiss there, thankful that his wife couldn't see his face from under his long hair. After all, he had the reputation of a tough, no-sentimental-nonsense kind of guy to maintain.

“What are we gonna name him?” He asked after a while.

“I thought that maybe... Mike? If you think it's a good idea,” she added quickly. “I know how important he was to you, and I thought—but if you don't—”

His whole face lightened up. “You have no idea what it means to me. I can't think of a better name. Well, maybe except mine, but that one's already taken,” he added with the smirk he knew was driving her crazy.

Taylor rolled her eyes. “You can't stay serious for long, can you?”

“That's part of my charm.”

“You're damn lucky I love you already,” she whispered against his lips.

“You're damn right, Princess. Damn right I am.”