#(insinuating i have more than two kidneys)

[garnetea]

if these lights could cry.

who yandere! trafalgar law x fem black! y/n. length 606 words! warnings i promise i really tried to make him in character okay.. i'm not even in the timeskip *sobbing*. angst/gore. and don't be horny about the boob contact, this is not glorification. unprofessional & dangerous surgery description. organs and blood and poetry and blaaaaah. no consent. unconscious reader. and insinuations of the reader dying that's you ;).

leman's letter! a little pre-description would be: yandere! law touching y/n in places "only they know", and turns out it's a surgery just so he can feel her organs, knowing he's the only one capable of caring for her inside and out. and the only one she must trust to do so at that, since she sleeps so soundly in his bed, with them being lovers and all. surely that's more than trust? surely it's consent? really, regardless, who is she to refuse a check-up if it's doctor's orders?

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ★

Loosen your will, lose your drive; drift like lost wood and sink like an angel's feathered spine. Spiders thrive where memories spin forlorn, pearlescent webs of regret, and in that case, el hospital de tu corazon is a cave for bats and daddy long legs.

Spread your arms. Some sedation would do you well, wouldn't it?

Spread your legs. Some fucks to give would last this doctor the rest of the night.

Spread your belly button. Your guts, splice them. Your eyes- no, sorry, we won't dice them..

You're a prepossessing little patient with a particularly possessive, perfectionist lover. But you, you're so perfect, what is there for the doctor to heal or mend or replace? Not a single discrepancy in your spleen, your pancreas is in as little pain as preferred, your thoracic cavity is as hollow as a lost soul. And your heart.

"There's the fun part."

His hands, riddled with letters of death and intentions of.. something akin, softly palm the naked elegance of your breasts. Although consumed by anesthesia, your nipples naturally harden beneath the newfound company, slowly tightening and tickling against his palm creases. Yet he presses deeper- harder- urging your chest into the density of your thoracic cavity until he's sure you should fall apart from the pressure.

Yellow lamps see it all. Hanging from the ceiling, adding to the ambiance of your impending quietus. No amount of flickering or buzzing from the dust-worn bulbs could warn the lingering spirits of those who came before you. Are you to be an exception?

An incision-- no.. three slabs. Just skin, it's just skin, just cells, just tissue. Just an organ- an organ or two. Or five.

He's a doctor, isn't he? He must be sure you're pumping blood where it's due, not swelling or oozing where you shouldn't. Checking off his list: no tumors or cell degeneration, no irritable cysts or parasites. If this means sliding that annoying latex over his hands to ensure you're safe and sound inside and out, he's more than acquiescent to oblige. Hell, to volunteer.

"Just lucky to have me, I guess."

..Debatable. Since one kidney is currently being toyed, twisted, poked, prodded, and pulled out of it's cubby behind your trampoline of a digestion bag. Oh, I mean stomach.

However, stomachs don't usually get sliced open with silver scalpels just for the fact of doing so. Do they? Perhaps "digestion bag" is more appropriate, since you open up quite widely.

Biopsy's vary. Could be fifteen minutes, could be thirty.

For you, more hours fly past than fingers on your limp hands. Spiders crawl into the winter sunrise, abandoning you and your yellow lights of worry to run silent on misery and immobility. Resting points in between the achingly intimate hours hold no weight; they're only for letting your sensitive body lay and recuperate, with your limbs spread apart and numb like you're ready for the slaughter house. You're too perfect to take so much time out of Doctor Trafalgar's day and night. Or perhaps it's because you're so unprecedented in faultlessness that you must amount to such a duration of focus.

He's had to redistribute anesthesia more times than he's enjoyed; you're such a handful. Surely you realize everyone has their reason to lose control.. Which cakey clump of you is pushing his limits this time?

"Jeez, Y/n, don't get so worked up. Going into cardiac arrest again just wastes more time. I can re-attach your heart to the left atrium in a second." A slowed stutter coruscates in his hand like a newborn baby's first and last breath, and he chuckles, comparing your blood hungry heart to such with lidded, heavy, restless eyes. "You're about to turn this into an exhumation."

★ garnetea productions. all rights reserved, do not plagiarize.

#what do you even do in this situation #wake up like why am i so sore what are these scars #are you even strong enough to beat his ass afterwards?.. it's LAW #just kms #law where is my LEFT KIDNEY #anime x black!reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x black!reader #trafalgar law #trafalagar law x reader #anime x reader #law x reader #law x black reader #trafalgar law x poc reader #yandere trafalgar law #yandere one piece #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #anime fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece angst #trafalgar law angst #law angst #trafalgar law x black reader #yandere x female reader #yandere angst

[loserchildhotpants]

Destiel prompt from Twitter; kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, even though, it’s a lie, and the kiss proves it (from this prompt list)

“I’m just saying that I don’t think you’d get this defensive if there really wasn’t anything between you two -”

“There isn’t, and I’m not getting defensive!” Dean argues, decidedly defensively.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Sam offers with a shrug and a smirk.

Staring down into the open grave the boys are in, Castiel glances between the brothers and tilts his head, wondering if perhaps by a different angle, he may better understand what their expressions mean.

“We’re bonded or whatever - that’s it, man! There’s nothing else going on!”

“I’m not even saying there is anything ‘going on,’ I’m just saying there could be, and if that were something you wanted -”

“I’m not qu -”

“I know, I get it, I hear you, humor me for a second, okay? All I’m saying is just - if there were something between you two, and you wanted there to be something ‘going on,’ where there is currently nothing ‘going on,’ I just think you should, hypothetically go for something rather than settling for the nothing, because, personally, I think there is something there, and you could have a great thing going if that were what you wanted.”

“Even if - which I don’t - I’m not - listen, though, okay? I’m not, and I don’t want that - not that there’s anything wrong with it, or something, just - even if that were the case, Cas isn’t like that. He’s not a being that experiences shit like that -”

“I’m telling you you’re wrong, Dean! The way he stares at you -”

“He stares at everyone!”

“Do I?”

The Winchesters jump in unison, both with hands on their guns faster than should be possible. They both visibly relax again, though, when they realize it’s only Castiel interrupting.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean greets, his voice markedly more gentle than it was with Sam only a moment before.

Castiel appreciates it.

“Hello, Dean.”

With a cheeky grin, Sam clears his throat, and says to Cas, “your timing couldn’t be better, actually, Cas - Dean and I have some questions -”

“No, no, we do not have questions,” Dean growls at Sam, eyes blazing dangerously.

“I am always available to you boys for whatever inquiries I can assist in. Is this pertaining to my staring? It’s academic in nature, I assure you - frankly, I am used to having a form that hosts many more eyes; being in this Earthly form can present obstacles, as my perceptions are more limited than I can remember them ever being. I promise I do not mean to insult anyone.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone’s thinking of it as an insult,” Sam intones; Dean shoves his elbow into Sam’s kidney to shut him up.

“This is you being defensive, by the way,” Sam wheezes, doubled over, but still smirking at Dean, “What’s the big deal if there’s nothing going on?”

Flushed, Dean scowls at Sam, drops his shovel, and tells him, “I’m not being defensive! There’s nothing to be defensive about! And I’ll prove it!”

Clambering out of the grave, Dean brushes the soil from his hands onto his dirtier jeans, and stomps more than walks up to Castiel.

“You’ve a cut,” Cas murmurs worriedly, spotting a knick Dean got on his cheek earlier in the day.

“It’s nothing. Listen, Cas -”

Before Dean can get anymore out, Castiel reaches for his left-side cheek, cups that side of his face, and spreads a cooling sensation that knits the skin back together neatly and cleanly.

“Uh - thanks, Cas,” Dean mutters gruffly as Cas takes his hand back.

“My pleasure, Dean.”

Uncharacteristically nervous, Dean glances down at the ground, his hands shoved in his jean pockets, then his eyes skim the ground until they happen upon Sam’s again, and whatever silent exchange they have works Dean up again.

“Cas,” Dean begins, looking into his eyes with determination, “We’re friends, you ‘n me, right?”

“Yes, Dean. You are my most cherished friend,” Castiel answers.

That gives Dean a moment’s pause where he seems to be searching Castiel’s face for some sign of sarcasm or deceit; there is none to be detected, of course.

“I - thanks, man. Uhm. Now - this is gonna sound like a weird question, but bear with me, ‘cause I’m not about to assume consent or something.”

“Okay,” Castiel says in confusion, tilting his head again.

“I’m tryin’a prove a point here to Sam, and to get it across - just - would you be okay with me kissing you? Like, just this once - I promise I won’t make it weird or anything, but I gotta ask, you know? I know you’re not into physical stuff like -”

“You’d like my permission to kiss?” Castiel intercepts neutrally, “Like people do?”

Something about that is funny - or startling? - to both Sam and Dean, and Castiel can’t tell which or for what reasons.

“Yeah. Just this one time,” Dean repeats.

Though he takes a respectable count of four seconds to seem as though he needs to consider his options, Castiel nods, and replies, “of course, Dean. Of all the favors you’ve asked of me before, I assure this is certainly the most convenient and pleasant of them.”

Sam snorts a laugh, Dean tosses a glare at him, and then settles gentle, if a little nervous, eyes back on Castiel.

“Okay…”

Dean steps closer into Cas’ space, bringing them toe-to-toe and he finds himself staring down; he’d not realized Cas was shorter than him. It’s not by much, not really enough to be remarked upon, even, but it means that Cas winds up looking up at him from under the cover of long, dark lashes, and even in the dark of the night, his eyes shine like twinkling gems.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Dean holds loosely onto the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, and he means to go in chaste, he really does, it’s just that he’s actually struggling to breathe a little, so his lips are just barely parted, and Cas - as far as Dean can tell, Cas takes that as a cue.

Because Cas’ full lips press in, but so does his tongue; before Dean can even secure his footing, Cas makes his loose hold on the lapels go tight, licking up into Dean’s mouth without hesitation or mercy.

Praying his shocked gasp wasn’t audible to Sam, Dean just tries to hold on while Cas turns his head, bites Dean’s heavy bottom lip, and then pushes Dean’s mouth more open with his own, and then he drags his hot tongue against Dean’s, coming in broad, and soft.

Dean hears himself make some kind of noise - he can’t tell what it is, because there’s too much blood rushing in his skull - there’s stubble. Stubble. There is stubble in this equation other than his own, and that’s new, and terrifying, and should be wholly unwelcome, but every synapse in his brain dedicated to pleasure is telling him otherwise.

One wide hand insinuates itself under the hem of Dean’s weathered flannel, calloused fingers pressing into his left hip possessively while the other hand glides over his pec, and shoulder to the back of his neck, pinky finger teasing the sensitive skin just under the back of his cotton collar, and thumb brushing the fine hairs at the base of Dean’s skull.

Dean thinks he may be swaying - he’s dizzy.

Cas is dragging him closer, pressing their hips and abdomens together, and Dean’s hands have somehow found better purchase on the front of Cas’ button-down dress shirt than his lapels.

Dean thinks he hears one of the buttons pop off with the strain of his hold, but neither of them seem inclined to do anything about it, so he figures it doesn’t matter; he tries to establish himself as a bit more dominant, thrown off his usual groove by the absolutely sinful way Cas apparently kisses.

To Dean’s simultaneous horror and delight, Cas doesn’t relinquish any control; he won’t be moved, his hands get tighter and hotter where they touch Dean’s skin, he only presses them harder together, and he kisses Dean like he wants to eat him alive.

He kisses Dean like he wants to crawl inside him, like he’s hungry - starved - like kissing is an act of carnage just as much as an act of love, like those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

He’d rather die than admit it to anyone, but Dean’s knees get a little weak, and Cas basically holds up his entire weight by just the grip he’s got on Dean’s waist.

Before he knows it’s happened, Dean’s hard enough to carve stone, and Cas readjusts how they’re slotted against one another to better accommodate Dean’s failing balance, and Cas feels it - he must. Even if he doesn’t feel how hard Dean is against him right away, the guttural moan Dean will deny having made til his dying breath clues him in.

What sounds like hundreds of cherry bombs going off has them stumbling away from each other, and frantically looking about.

The streetlights have exploded. There’s glass everywhere, and based on the echoes of car alarms and distant voices, it’s becoming more and more possible that Cas destroyed the windows and lights of several cars and nearby homes.

Even he and Sam’s flashlights are busted.

In the blanket of darkness that’s settled over the graveyard, Dean can still see clearly, because Cas’ eyes are high beams cutting through the fog of the night.

They’re both panting, Dean’s pretty certain that a resting heart rate isn’t meant to feel like this, and Cas is looking positively feral.

“Jesus fuck!” Sam curses, his arms crossed over his head where he still plucks a shard of glass from his hair.

Reminded of Sam’s presence, Castiel’s head swivels to him, the glow of his eyes dims down, and then he looks back at Dean, visibly frightened.

Dean takes no pleasure in Cas ever being scared, so he reaches out, takes a step back into Cas’ space, but that spooks him more, and in less than a blink of an eye, he’s gone.

Not cool, Cas, Dean thinks loudly, hoping it counts as a prayer that Cas will hear.

Reaching into the front of his jeans, Dean uses the near blackness of the power outage to his advantage, and readjusts himself to the best of his abilities.

It really doesn’t do much.

“Well,” Sam starts pointedly.

Dean, weak at the knees, lips criminally swollen, face flushed, hair mussed and harder than he’s ever been in his life, turns slowly to scowl at Sam.

“That was not nothing.”

Dean doesn’t see a way of winning the argument, so he kicks dirt into Sam’s hair, and leaves him to finish burying.

#destiel #deancas #drabble #kisses #my stuff #some spice tho #just for funsies

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 7

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: I gave myself a stomach ache writing this one 🙃

2,961 words

Thirty-two days. Nine surgeries. Twenty blood transfusions.

Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday when everything was going right—you and Frederick were so happy together, his books were selling, your career was flourishing, and he had just asked you to marry him. Sometimes, it felt like a lifetime ago. A state of being so foreign, you wondered if it had even been real, or if you were remembering someone else’s life.

Seasons turned. Cherry blossoms were starting to bloom in the parks around Maryland, and each gust of cool wind carried with it their sweet pink fragrance. The spring air vibrated and sang with life renewed. But where you were headed, the air was stagnant, beige, and sterile.

As the automatic sliding glass doors drew you into the hospital, away from the sun, a piece of your heart withered like a flower. It sank deeper when you considered how the unhappy hours you whiled away in those sterile halls were nothing compared to what Frederick had to endure. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to leave.

Physically, he was beginning to show signs of real improvement. The pneumonia had completely cleared up, and he was starting to receive permanent transplants from the cutting-edge, lab-grown skin created from his own cells. Most of his body was still wrapped up in gauze, but a few places had only received second-degree burns, and those patches were almost back to normal. For the first time since the attack, his odds of not dying were higher than his odds of dying.

Mentally was a different story. His moods grew progressively more sour. With none of his true nemeses at hand to take out his bitterness on, that burden fell upon his nurses, doctors, and upon you—and it was beginning to weigh heavily. At first you didn’t want to see the rift that was forming, even as he cut your visiting hours short in an angry huff, and had fewer and fewer kind words for you. You shoved every fear and frustration into a box at the back of your mind so you could keep smiling. He was just in pain, you kept telling yourself. He just needed time.

You held onto the hope that as he got better, your relationship would return to what it had been before. But he was getting better, and the rift grew wider.

“We’ll still want to wait at least six months to do the procedure, until your infection risk has dropped to baseline levels for a healthy adult, but we’re putting you on the transplant waiting list now,” the doctor explained. She was one of his regular surgeons who had been with him since day one. She wore a white lab coat over blue scrubs, and hid behind a clipboard as she spoke. You liked the that she needed to use the file as a shield—it made her relatable. Always friendly, and clearly a skilled surgeon, but uncomfortable with the heavy emotional talking to patients, especially to Dr. Frederick Chilton, who was always in a bad mood, and always ready with a scathing remark.

But today he had nothing to say. No critique on the hospital’s competence. No casual observations with hidden barbs. Just a silent nod of acknowledgment before turning his head to gaze out the window at the fresh spring flowers, framed by the sea of fake ones you had bought.

Francis Dolarhyde, the Red Dragon, had bitten Frederick’s mouth with such extreme ferocity there was not enough connective muscle left to reconstruct new lips from Frederick’s own tissue. The only option for him to look normal again would be a face transplant—donated facial muscle, skin, and hair from a cadaver—although the doctor explained that the procedure was risky. After taking the transplant, Frederick would be put on immunosurpressant drugs for the rest of his life to prevent rejection, which meant every flu season, or even a coworker with a cold, could turn deadly without careful precaution. But to Frederick, it was worth the risk. He couldn’t bear spending his life being stared at. He couldn’t even stand you looking at the black hole that was his face.

Yet what the doctor explained about the procedure added weight after weight to Frederick’s chest until he felt crushed by despair.

The donated tissue had to be a very close match, or his antibodies would reject the new lips. Unlike receiving a heart or a kidney, his new skin had to be an aesthetic match as well. It could not be from too old a donor, or the skin would lack the proper elasticity. And, unfortunately, most organ donors were not comfortable donating external organs—it ruins the open-casket wake.

So, he could be waiting on a match for a very long time.

You thanked the clipboard-wielding doctor when Frederick remained sulking, not bothering to look up as she left. He adjusted himself slightly to follow a flash of movement—a bird—out the window, and winced as it tugged his unyielding scar tissue. Something tore under his armpit, but he didn’t yelp in pain—he was used to this level of it by now—but his eyes watered.

“At least you can sit up a little bit now. That’s great, isn’t it?” you said in an attempt to cheer him up.

He scoffed, and made no immediate reply.

Years, was all he kept thinking. It could take up to three years to find a match, possibly longer, the doctor said.

“Up to three years or longer,” he growled sarcastically. “She does realize that means nothing? It means any time, or never.”

“I know...”

“But thank god at least I can sit,” he spat bitterly. “A little.”

You were taken aback by his sharp rebuke and fell silent, a cavernous gulf between you though you sat right beside his bed. As you recovered from the sting, however, his words made you smile. He had always been churlish, but recently all of the spirit had been eroded away from his petty attitudes, leaving him defeated and mean. It was nice to hear his churlishness take on a spark of sarcastic sass.

“Don’t lose hope, darling,” you said in an overly-sweet patronizing cadence. “One day you’ll have enough movement back to flip her off.”

He paused, eyes flicking over to you curiously. You had been downtrodden for weeks, too, and he hadn’t expected a joke. He chuckled appreciatively. You wished the good moments lasted longer these days.

It wasn’t as though his life had ended, even if his full cosmetic recovery would take a little longer than he hoped, and even if he was bedridden for several more months. It was that sharp mind and wit that made you fall in love with him, and he still had that. He could keep you entertained for hours discussing some arcane piece of trivia or sharing lurid gossip. Since he was cut off from his normal sources of scuttlebutt, you kept him updated on all the latest rumors you’d learned over dinner with Jack Crawford—about the shitstorm he’d brought down on himself at the FBI when Will Graham went rogue, how Alana and her wife fled the country (but you heard they might be in Cuba), Freddie Lounds being sued again. He always enjoyed hearing about other people’s misfortunes, but today it just made him jealous that you’d been spending time with Jack.

“You have both recently lost a spouse. What comfort you must take in each other,” he insinuated.

“I haven’t lost you, Frederick.”

You went into that sentence thinking you were convincing him that you loved him, but as it closed, you realized you were desperate to convince yourself he wasn’t gone. The more you tried to hold him close, the more you felt him pulling away, and felt a creeping dread that even if he got better, you would lose him. Everything you tried to say to reassure him only made him feel worse, and you wondered if it was your fault. Someone more capable, more empathetic, would know the right things to say. You were a failure. He deserved more.

His professional life, too, hadn’t ended. His injury would barely be a bump in the road to his writing career if he wasn’t so stubborn and prideful. The publisher offered to send a ghostwriter to finish The Dragon Slayer, for which they greedily anticipated a significant boost in sales, considering the author’s headline-making personal involvement in the Red Dragon’s end. Frederick, however, refused to be interviewed by “some insipid amateur.” He claimed they would not understand the nuances of psychology required, and stood firm on the grounds of “artistic integrity,” but the truth was, he did not want anybody else to see him.

His face had not made it into the papers, despite several attempts by Freddie Lounds to sneak into the hospital with a hidden camera, and he did not want any more of the world than absolutely necessary to know the extent of what the Dragon had done to him. He did not want to see the shock in the writer’s eyes at seeing his disgusting lipless teeth. He did not want a stranger to see him inevitably start drooling the longer he spoke—and he hated repeating himself to people who could not understand his impaired diction.

No. Publishing The Dragon Slayer would have to wait, though the possibility of another author beating him to the punch bothered him nearly as much as his missing lips. After an entire month recuperating, he thought he would at least be able to type again, but he could barely move his gauze-mittened fingers.

The world had not forgotten him, evidenced by the occasional fan-mail the publisher forwarded to him. You would bring them in and read them—a lot of get-well-soons, and entreaties to hear his side of the Francis Dolarhyde story. A lot of them were from professionals and students in the psychiatric field, pointing out errors or suggesting contradictory theories. Those were the most fun to read, because Frederick would come alive with indignation, debating with the letter as if its sender could hear him, sometimes making you send a response, seething with superiority as he dictated.

In those brief moments, it was like having the old Frederick back. Then a nurse would come in and need to run a test, or feed him, or something else that embarrassed him back into his shell of anger. Or he would grow too animated and rip one of his grafts, and his zeal for argument would end precipitously with a scream, and a surgeon.

As you shuffled a handful of addressed envelopes and started reading through the latest batch of strangers wishing him a healthy recovery, you were struck by a thought.

“Why haven’t I met your family?”

The wind caught in his throat. His scabbed-over nostrils flared before he answered, “I doubt that is what the letter reads.”

“They never visit, even when… even when you could have died. My parents even flew in that first week, when they heard. They helped me with the flowers. Why do your fans send more condolences than your family?”

Gritting ones teeth does not come easily when ones teeth are constantly bared by default, but Frederick grit his teeth. “My mother is old. She can hardly be expected to travel.”

A plausible answer, but not the full story. His discomfort with the subject only spurred your curiosity. All the time you’d been together, you had simply accepted Frederick as an individual, with no need for a childhood backstory or a group of others sharing his features and last name to complete him. You’d gathered, in snippets, that their relationship was not the best, and were satisfied to leave it alone. But he nearly died. The nurse who asked you about his next of kin looked so confused when you had no one you could contact, and it made you feel foolish for never having asked.

“It’s just, we’re going to be married.”

“So?” he said, a hard, mocking edge to his voice.

“So, if I’m going to be part of your family, isn’t it weird that I’ve never met them?”

Instead of answering directly, he snarled, “Look somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t staring!”

“Look. Somewhere. Else.”

You huffed, and sat back in your uncomfortable plastic chair whose unpadded seat bruised your butt after countless hours, crossing your arms. The box full of anger was overstuffed. You shoved its contents down like clothing in a suitcase to squeeze one more sting of hurt inside, but it began to overflow. “I swear I don’t stare at your face any more than I used to,” you muttered aloud what was supposed to remain a thought, “but now every interaction needs to be a carefully calculated balance between not looking at you enough to feel gawked at, and not not-looking enough to make you feel like I’m averting my eyes from your horrible face.” At the word “horrible,” you wiggled your fingers and wavered your voice the way the vampire running a children’s haunted house would say the word “spooky.”

“I am sorry my suffering is so inconvenient for you,” he said in clipped, cold syllables, and you knew you’d pushed him too far.

“I’m just saying, you know I don’t care about your face. You’re acting the same way as when you got shot, and you got over that. You know I still think you’re beautiful. Can’t you give me some credit and just stop freaking out?”

Being stuck in a hospital bed with limited range of motion, he had few resources with which to express anger, but his chest rose and fell and his breath hissed like steam through his nose. “You...” he seethed. “You never care about the pain I suffer, do you? You, in your fantasy world where you accept my injuries and make it all better—you have no idea what it is like to be violated. To have your body ripped apart! It is not a thing one ��gets over.’ Beautiful? That is rich coming from one who would not know how to tuck in a shirt without my guidance. It must be lovely in whatever quaint children’s storybook your mind inhabits, but in the real world, appearance matters. It matters to me. Your fetish does not stop every sane individual from seeing ugliness. You believe I should be delighted to have a partner who calls ugliness beauty and trivializes my grief? I should have had you analyzed years ago—my judgment was compromised by my relationship with you. I could not see. Your attachment increases with my physical deterioration. You prefer me broken.”

“That… that isn’t true! How dare—”

“You could barely tolerate me before Abel Gideon took my kidney. I was shot in the face and suddenly you professed your love. What shall it be this time? Ah, yes—marriage. You must be elated.” He rolled the words over his tongue in that distinctively upper-class way that was almost musical, yet bone-cuttingly brutal.

“Stop. This had nothing to do with it—you proposed to me!”

His eyes had been flashing with energy behind the bandages as you argued, but all the anger in them vanished like a message written in steam on a bathroom mirror. They took on a dull, blank glaze.

“Then I take it back,” he said. You wished you believed he meant the accusation. His head shifted toward you, but his dull stare seemed to look right through you to the door. “The engagement is over.”

Your throat dried up. “You don’t mean that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I will not be with one who gains pleasure from my mutilation. Get out of my room. There are some amputees over in the rehabilitation ward; go explore your fetishes elsewhere.”

He couldn’t be serious, and yet there was no hint of sarcasm or hyperbole in his flat tone. He meant it. You were surprised to find that you weren’t sad. Your hands began trembling uncontrollably, the tiny convulsions working their way from your extremities to your shoulders, tightly clenching in your gut, but it wasn’t sadness. The overfilled box tore open at the seams, exploding its pressurized contents, and weeks of frustration shattered against the walls and cascaded out over the floor.

“Fine!” you stood up from the hated plastic chair so sharply it scraped across the laminate floor and tipped over backward. “I can’t put up with a second more of this, anyway! I can’t keep walking on eggshells waiting for you to snap—if this is the way it’s going to be from now on, then marrying you would be a nightmare.”

If you had seen him flinch as if your words had physically wounded him, then you might have stopped shouting. A surge of pity might have overwhelmed you, and you might have broken down sobbing. He might not have been able to go through with it, then. Seeing you blubbering with heavy, hot tears rolling down your face, he might have said he was sorry, like he wished he could have said if only he were not so much like his father.

But you were too angry to look at him, and you didn’t see him flinch.

So a moment later when your back was in the doorway, instead of I’m sorry, he said, “Keep the ring. Sell it, and get a new apartment. Do not come back.”

“Fuck you!”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #Raúl Esparza #hannibal #angst #my writing #and now as a reward I finally get to read beccabarba's Chilton fic :D

[ms-march]

13. "It's six o'clock in the morning, you're not having vodka" for Tallmadge and Brewster?

So, this one is lbl and I am sorry that it follows so closely to the first prompt’s plotline.  However, I don’t get to write a lot of Ben or Caleb so this was really fun, even though it’s kinda short.

Word Count: 745

Benjamin Tallmadge was not having a good week.  First, it had started with a game of shuffle, a British ploy involving two spies, each with contradicting stories.  Then, Sackett fell prey to the plot, costing the man his life.  And, while he was distracted by that, Sutherland had shot Lady Adrienne Fairfax, the pride and joy of General Washington, while aiming for the Marquis, who was riding with her.  The ring was still resisting his necessary changes to their operation, and to top it all off, none of his men were obeying his orders.  That particular point was proven once again when Caleb entered his tent.  The tent he had asked the Corporal to make sure no one, not even Caleb, entered for the next couple of hours so he could pretend to get work done.  He sat at the desk, sure, but his focus was less on the high-piled stacks of paper and more on his Army regulation flask and its contents.  

Caleb noticed the state of undress Ben sat in, desk a mess, and flask both open and in hand. “Drinking already, Benny boy?  What, I don’t even think more than half of camp is awake yet.” Ben ignored him, tossing his head back and taking a large gulp from the flask, his face screwing up as he swallowed. “Jesus, Ben.  What do you got in there?” He snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, Ben didn’t even flinch, “Are you even there?  Jesus, I know this week as been rough, but..” Caleb sighed, “Have you tried talking to the old man since he chewed you out over his daughter?”

“She’s not his daughter, just the charge he loves with his whole being and considers his pride and joy,” Ben replied, bitterness clear in his tone.  

“So, I take that as a no?”

Ben sighed, a few loose strands of hair escaping from his plait, “No.  McHenry won’t even let me in the building anymore, says I raise the General’s blood pressure too much.” He paused before speaking with frustration evident in his voice, “How can he be mad at me for not stopping someone he failed to take seriously.  He doesn’t seem to even care about the fact that Sackett died.”

‘And there it was,’ Caleb thought to himself. “You know that’s not true.  The General is just a bit distracted by the one who hasn’t died yet.”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, then froze. “Yet?” He asked, unaware of what the situation of headquarters actually was. “What do you mean, ‘yet,’ Caleb?”

“The bullet wound on the girl has gotten infected.  They aren’t sure how long or if she will survive it, Ben.  You can’t fault him for not mourning Sackett right now. He’s got something far bigger weighing on his shoulders.” Ben did not reply, just brought the flask up to his lips and took a sip, making a face at the taste once more. “What is even in there, Ben?  I don’t think I’ve seen you make that face since-” Caleb cut off immediately, “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Ben moved the flask away from Caleb, but that did not stop him from reaching for it.  After some wrestling, Caleb held the flask in hand.  He brought it up to his nose to take a whiff and was stunned by how strong this particular brew was. “This is strong enough to stop a man’s kidneys.  Where did you get this?”

Ben shrugged, “One of Stuben’s aides, DuPonceau, I think?  He said that the Baron wanted me to have it after the week I’ve had.  Apparently, he is the only one who isn’t upset at me for letting Lady Fairfax get shot.  DuPonceau Said that h was taking it poorly and thought I could need some help, that was two days ago.”  

Caleb held the flask out, “Yeah, no offense, but I’m keeping this till you’re sane enough to be trusted with it. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on drinking it,” he snorted with laughter, “I’m not that stupid.”

Ben glared at him, more specifically at what he was insinuating, “You have the week I’m having, and then you can say that.”

Caleb snorted at this, “No thank you.  But I am willing to help you try to fix this, let’s start brainstorming some ideas to pitch to the old man to make up for whatever it is you did this time.”

#lbl drables & prompts #luck be a lady #lbl #more lbl content?? #more lbl content. #ben tallmadge #benjamin tallmadge #caleb brewster #platonic #tallster #turn: washington's spies #turn amc #turn washington's spies #clair writes #Clair writes!! #18th century #18th century history

[elisajdb]

Life With You: XXXIII

AN: Hi. I didn’t quit. Just had a very busy few months. I got sidelined into a project that took up a lot of my free time. It also caused me to have writer’s block but I got the story done. It’s another long one. Thank you for all the kind and supportive reviews. I’m sorry you had to wait so long.

 Part Thirty-Three: A New Life: Part Two

  “Krillin! Krillin, wake up!”

 The sharp pounding on his door woke Krillin from a blissful sleep. He was blinded in darkness. “What the hell?” Krillin murmured as he reached for the lamp and switched it on. “Ow!” he grimaced at the bright light.

 “Krillin!”

 “I’m up. I’m up.” Krillin pulled off the covers and swung his legs out of bed. Sluggishly, he walked to the door and stumbled over a shoe. He opened the door to see Master Roshi holding a cordless phone. “What is it?”

 “It’s Gohan. ChiChi’s in the hospital. She’s in labor.”

 “Labor?” Krillin rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Isn’t that soon?”

 The martial arts legend shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Half Saiyan baby pregnancies may be different.” He handed Krillin a piece a paper. “Here’s the hospital Gohan and ChiChi are at. Better get there fast.”

 Krillin took the paper and closed the door. He murmured a curse when he tripped on that same shoe. Grabbing his pants off the floor, Krillin shuffled his legs in.  

 In bed, 18 propped herself on her elbow. “Goku’s wife is in labor?”

 “Yeah. I’m gonna find out what’s going on.”

 “Want me to come?”  

 Krillin hesitated for a moment before he slipped his shirt over his head. “Don’t think that will be smart. No one knows about us except Master Roshi and the timing’s not right.”

 “Whose fault is that?” 18 didn’t hide the irritation in her voice.

 Here we go again. “It’s not like we’ve had a reunion recently.” Krillin defended himself. “Everyone’s gone back to their lives.” 18’s face spoke volumes. She didn’t approve of what Krillin said and if he didn’t fix this, he wasn’t touching her for a while. “Lazuli,” he spoke her real name to let her know he’s serious. “I’m not ashamed of us. We’ll tell everyone about us when the time is right.”

 Krillin moved in to kiss 18 but she turned her face away. “Wasn’t it five years before you saw Goku after he married?”

 Krillin touched 18’s chin and kissed her. “It won’t be five years before we all meet. I promise.” He gave her another kiss. “I’ll call you when I’m at the hospital.”

 Bulma stepped off the elevator to the maternity ward of the hospital. She spotted Krillin with Gohan and Gyu-Mao and picked up her pace. Like Krillin, she was awakened with a call from Gohan. She left Trunks with her parents and flew here. It wasn’t WuKong Hospital where Goku recovered after his fight with Vegeta but the closest one near Mount Paouz. It was smaller and too far from West City for her liking.

 “Gohan. How’s ChiChi?”

 “I don’t know.” The child was very worried. As soon as ChiChi was taken to be examined, Gohan called Gyu-Mao, Master Roshi and Bulma. “The doctor is with her.”

 “What happened?”

 “Mom called for me. She was on the floor in pain, crying the baby’s coming.” Gohan wouldn’t say he triggered this. The last thing he wanted was his father’s friends accusing him. “I got here as fast as I could.”

 “You did the right thing,” Bulma told him. “But it might be one of those false contractions. I had a few. It wasn’t this early but I was so high on drugs when I was in labor I hardly felt anything. Maybe the stress of Goku’s death still lingered in her pregnancy but why didn’t ChiChi take better care of herself so this didn’t happen?”

 “ChiChi took excellent care of herself,” Gyu-Mao defended his daughter. “ChiChi would never do anything to harm her child. She loves her children more than her own life.”

 “She lost her husband,” Krillin joined in the defense. “That’s a lot of stress. Give her a break, Bulma.”

 “I know. I know.” It was an observation. She wasn’t insulting and didn’t understand they saw it that way. “But she is pregnant with Goku’s kid. That’s why I thought ChiChi would be cautious and not let herself go into labor early. It’s not all her fault,” Bulma lamented. “ChiChi wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you, Krillin.”

 “Me?” Krillin pointed at himself. “How is this my fault?”

 “If you destroyed the remote, Goku wouldn’t have died and ChiChi wouldn’t have been so stressed about his death she put herself in the hospital.”

 Krillin balked at the insinuation. “You’re still blaming me?!”

Bulma crossed her arms as she stood her ground. “I don’t see anyone else to blame.”

 “How about that mass murderer you had a child with?!” Krillin fired back.

 “You’re blaming Vegeta?” Now Bulma was insulted.  

 “He let Cell reach perfect form. He fought his own son who tried to stop Cell. There never would’ve been a Cell Game if it wasn’t for Vegeta’s damn ego. If he and Trunks teamed up while Cell was imperfect, they would’ve killed Cell.”

 “It’s Vegeta!” Bulma yelled. “What else can you expect from a guy like him but you should’ve known better, Krillin! You’re the good guy or at least I thought you were when you weren’t thinking with your other head over someone not even a full human!”

 The remark about 18 stung. Secretly dating these months, Krillin got to know 18 very well. She didn’t share all of her past but what he knew, angered him, and if he weren’t determined to keep their relationship a secret, he would go in full-blown defense of her. Still, he couldn’t let Bulma get away with that strike against 18 without throwing up Bulma’s relationship with Vegeta. “So, because Vegeta isn’t ‘a good guy’ you excuse any dumbass thing he does? Gah!” Krillin threw his hands up. “You two are made for each other. Arrogant to the end but at least Vegeta eventually owns up to his mistakes!”

 Krillin talked back before but never like this. He never came at her so strongly. “You sure got a lot mouth on you. What’s going on with you?”

 “N-nothing,” Krillin stammered slightly, “but I’m tired of you constantly blaming me when we all know it was more than one person to blame for what happened at the Cell Game.”

 Gohan watched the bickering between his father’s friends in disbelief. Months later and they were still arguing whose fault this is. His father was dead and not coming back. His mother and baby brother were in danger and he blamed himself. He was haunted by the image of his mother crying in pain. Gohan called Grandpa and his Dad’s oldest friends hoping they will help. Grandpa did but all his father’s friends could do is argue with each other. They weren’t thinking of his family at all.

 Gohan felt rage boiling in him. Watching them argue was like watching his mother yell in the hospital over his decision to go to Namek. She kept screaming and didn’t want to listen or care how he felt about Piccolo. It was the same thing watching Bulma and Krillin argue with each other. They weren’t thinking about his mother or baby brother but only who to blame and Gohan was tired of it.

 “SHUT…. UP!!!” Gohan screamed. He was so loud Bulma and Krillin stopped arguing. Nurses looked up from their desk. People poked their heads out of their rooms to find the source of the yelling. “My mother and brother’s lives are in danger and all you two can think about is to find a person to blame! Blaming won’t bring my Dad back and it won’t help my Mom and brother! I wished I never called you!!”

 Not a sound passed as onlookers stared curiously at the two adults yelled at by a child. After the shock of Gohan yelling at them wore off, Bulma and Krillin’s faces turned red of embarrassment.

 It was Bulma who made the first move to apologize. “We’re frustrated, too, Gohan. This is our way of sorting it out.”

 “Find another way,” Gohan’s blunt tone stunned Bulma. He never spoke this way to her. He was always so well-mannered.

 Gyu-Mao stepped between the two and Gohan. “My grandson is right. This back and forth fighting does nothing. You fought at Goku’s memorial and you’re fighting now where his widow is in medical care to keep her and my grandson alive. Gohan called you because you’re Goku’s friends and thought you should know but if you can’t stop this petty fighting, then leave now before I throw you out.”

 Krillin took a step back and Bulma took a step back behind him.

 “Gohan!”

 Gohan turned to see Dr. Barkley rushing to him. He met her halfway. “My Mom….?”

 “Your Mom’s stabilized and we’re holding off as long as we can but your baby brother wants to come out. Your mother was three centimeters dilated when she came in. It’s five now and she’s going to be six centimeters soon.”

 Gohan understood some of that terminology. He read about it but not enough to fully understand. “But it’s too early. Mom should be nine months before she gives birth. If the baby’s born early then some things aren’t fully developed. Maybe it’s my brother’s lungs, his kidneys or his…..”

 “I understand your concerns,’ Dr. Barkley gently cut him off, “but you must remember you Mom’s not carrying a full-blooded human. You were born at nine months but you were more developed than any newborn I help birth. You acted like a two-month-old human baby at birth. If we take that into consideration, your brother may be born like a human newborn baby. Keep positive.”

 What she said made sense. That eased some of his worries. “I will.”

 “I’ve been through this once with your Mom. Your Dad’s not here but when she was in labor with you, Goku gave ChiChi some of his Ki. Can you do that?”

 “I can do that,” Gohan offered but doubt crept in him again, “but I don’t know how much.”

 Dr. Barkley secured an arm around Gohan as she walked them away. “You’ll know. Let’s go see your mother.”

 “Can we come?” Krillin asked.

 The smile on Dr. Barkley’s face fell at the expectant looks of Bulma and Krillin. She heard them arguing. “Sorry,” Dr. Barkley refused them. “ChiChi asked for Gohan and I saw your behavior. You’ll upset my patient.”

 Gohan looked at Gyu-Mao, thinking he will come. His grandpa declined. “Your Mom doesn’t know I’m here. Go talk to her. I’ll keep an eye on things here.” Gyu-Mao eyed Krillin and Bulma who both took another step back.

 When Gohan and Dr. Barkley left, Krillin sat in a chair farthest from Gyu-Mao. He couldn’t blame the doctor but Bulma was not happy at the refusal. “Who does she think she is? This isn’t West City but I can still make calls to the people on the board of this hospital.”

 Krillin sighed, “Bulma, just stop. With the way we were arguing, you can’t blame her for refusing us to see ChiChi.”

 Maybe he had a point but Bulma didn’t like it. She wasn’t one to be refused for anything and never so coldly. “I’ll let this pass,” Bulma accepted as she sat beside Krillin but there was one thing she wouldn’t let pass. “So….. who is she?”

 Krillin propped his elbow on the wooden chair arm. He rest his chin on his hand as he closed his eyes. It was almost two am and Krillin was tired. “Who?”

 “Who are you seeing?” Bulma asked. “You never talked to me that way before. You must be seeing someone to gain this confidence.” Krillin remained quiet but Bulma knew better. “You can pretend to sleep all you want but you know it’s true and I’ll keep talking until you tell me about her.”

 Krillin opened one eye. Bulma would keep pushing until she got the truth. She might even show up on Master Roshi’s island and meet 18 before he’s ready to introduce her to everyone. “I am seeing someone.” True. “It’s still new.” Lie.

 Bulma smirked. “I knew it. Is she cute? How did you meet her?”

 “She’s beautiful and I met her at work.”

 Bulma touched the short, black hair on Krillin’s head. It looked like a buzz cut. “And this has to be her influence, too. I didn’t know you could grow hair. I thought you were prematurely bald.”

 “I cut my hair because I was a fighter. One less way to be vulnerable.”

 “Was?” Bulma picked up the past tense.

 “I think it’s time I quit for good and settle down.” It was something Krillin thought about since Namek.  Spending time with 18 really settled it for him. “Goku’s sacrifice really makes ya think how short life is. I don’t wanna waste any more time.”

 “She’s that special and you won’t tell me about her? I’m insulted,” she dramatically feigned hurt. “I’m practically your big sister, Krillin.”

 Her guilt trip wasn’t working on him. “I don’t wanna jinx anything, Bulma.”

 “Fine,” Bulma huffed. “I won’t ask anymore but if it gets serious, I wanna meet her. Introduce her to all of us. I promise we’ll give her a better welcoming than we did ChiChi.”

 “Hope so.” Looking back, it was cringeworthy thinking how they all treated ChiChi when she married Goku. Bulma wanted to welcome 18 differently but Krillin knew when the day finally comes, it will be a disaster.

 “I’m surprised you work,” Bulma kept talking. “I thought you were on Master Roshi’s island doing nothing all these months.”

 “Not all of us are rich, Bulma. I did all types of odd jobs after the tournament before I worked regularly in security.”

 “You’re a rent a cop?” Bulma teased. “Why not do the real thing? You’d be the strongest cop on the force.”

 “I don’t feel that committed to law and order. Besides, I have more free time with this job.”

 Bulma smiled slyly. “And with that free time, you are seeing your girlfriend.” Bulma waited but Krillin didn’t answer. “You’re just like Yamcha. He won’t tell me about his girlfriend either.”

 “Well, exes usually don’t talk about who they are dating. Most exes don’t see each other. You and Yamcha are an anomaly.”

 “I guess you’re right.” Her and Yamcha’s situation was different but not uncommon. “It wasn’t always easy. Yamcha took our breakup hard and me being pregnant with Trunks even harder.”

 “Because he wanted a family with you and you didn’t with him but his mur---”

 “Point is,” Bulma cut him off, “Yamcha and I are in a better place now and are making it work. Just like me and Vegeta. We are proceeding with a relationship.”

 “He moved back in?” Krillin opened his eyes fully awake by this news. “You said he wasn’t living with you.”

 “Ancient history. He’s back. After being in a funk for a few months, Vegeta’s back to training, too.” An idea struck her. “After ChiChi has the baby, we all should get together. We shouldn’t let five years pass before we see each other. It’ll give us a chance to meet your girlfriend.”

 Oh, boy. Vegeta and 18 in the same room together. Krillin can see the mayhem.

 ****

 Gohan entered ChiChi’s room nervously. ChiChi wore a hospital gown, was hooked to machines and wore a strange belt over her belly. Each beep and chime increased his anxiety. ChiChi must’ve noticed his worry as she smiled and held her hand out to him. “I’m fine, Gohan.”

 Gohan didn’t believe that. He eyed one of the machines cautiously. “That is monitoring your Mom and brother’s heartbeats,” Dr. Barkley explained. “They’re good.”

 “If they were really good, Mom would be home and not here.” Gohan squeezed ChiChi’s hand. His hand illuminated as he transferred a little of his Ki to ChiChi. “I’ll make sure you have a healthy birth.”

 “Like your father,” ChiChi squeezed Gohan’s hand back. “Thank you but I might not need it. I don’t feel as drained as I did with you. When I have the baby, stay in the waiting room. You don’t need to see all of this.”

 “No,” Gohan refused. “I’m staying. Dad can’t be here so I will be in his place.”

 “Gohan, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’re a child. You shouldn’t even be here now. Grandpa will be here with me.”

 “No!” Gohan would not be kicked out. “I survived living on my own for six months at four years old. I survived Namek when I was five. I saved the world from Cell months ago. I’m not too young for this!”

 Speechless, ChiChi looked at her doctor for help but she only shook her head. “Sorry, ChiChi. I agree with Gohan. We shouldn’t take any chances since this will not be a natural birth.”

 Outvoted, ChiChi shook her head slightly amused. “If it’s not Goku and you, it’s you and my doctor. I’m always outnumbered and have to give in, but I can’t with this. Gohan’s too young.”

 “It’s for your own good.” Dr. Barkley reached in the drawer by ChiChi’s bed. “Gohan, since you will be in here, there’s something you need to understand.”

 When ChiChi saw the wooden board in Dr. Barkley’s hands, her face turned bright pink. “Oh, no! Not that!”

 Gohan stared at the wooden chart. It was round with ten holes in different sizes. “What is that?”

 “This, Gohan, shows how your mother’s body is preparing for your baby brother to come out. You should be prepared if you have questions.”

 “Please put that away,” ChiChi requested. “Gohan’s too young for this.”

 “I am not,” Gohan protested. It was a chart with round holes in it. How can he be too young for that? “I know Mom has to push the baby out. I read that.” The books Gohan studied were very informative. This chart Dr. Barkley held was not something he read about. “But I never saw that in my books.”

 “Your mother is this size.” She pointed to the hole that’s five centimeters. Gohan’s eyes grew wide. His head didn’t turn but his eyes looked in his mother’s direction as he understood what Dr. Barkley meant. “When she is opened enough to be this size,” she pointed to the hole that’s ten centimeters, “she’ll be ready to push your brother out.”

 Gohan released his mother’s hand. He took the chart Dr. Barkley held out to him. He studied each hole. He pointed to the hole that’s ten centimeters. “I read the baby’s head comes out first.” This time Gohan looked at his mother alarmed. “You mean my brother….. I…..?! It stret……!”

 Dr. Barkley giggled. “He’s taking it better than Goku.”

 Though uncomfortable with Gohan learning all this, ChiChi couldn’t hold back her giggles as she thought of her late husband’s reaction. “Yes. Goku had a very different reaction.”

 “This should be the last checkup before your child is born. Any questions?”

 Goku had one. “Ya keep saying when ChiChi has the baby. How will ChiChi get the baby out?” He pointed to the monitor. “That baby looks big and ChiChi ain’t got any holes that big.”

 Dr. Barkley chuckled while ChiChi humorously rolled her eyes. “She will push the child out.”

 “Like poo?” Goku asked. “From her butt?” The idea horrified Goku. “Her butt hole’s gonna stretch that big?!!”

 Again the doctor laughed. “ChiChi will push the child out from where you entered to make the baby.”

 Dr. Barkley and ChiChi watched Goku’s eyes grow wide on his face to a horrific realization. “But ChiChi’s hole ain’t that big! It’s tight when I’m in there. How will the baby come out?”

 Dr. Barkley held up the dilation chart. “This is a dilation chart, Goku. When ChiChi’s in labor, her body will stretch in her vaginal area to prepare for the baby to come out. Over several hours, she will stretch from here,” she pointed to the circle that’s one centimeter, “to here.” She pointed to the circle that is ten centimeters. “When ChiChi’s at ten centimeters, her body is ready to push the child out.”

 Goku studied the different circle sizes on the chart. He looked at ChiChi and back at the chart. “It looks like it will hurt.”

 “Childbirth isn’t easy.” Dr. Barkley placed the chart back on the table. “It’s painful but the child is worth it.”

 Goku turned to ChiChi. “You didn’t say having a baby is painful, ChiChi. Why do this if it’s painful?”

 “It’s worth it, Goku. I promise you. Besides, you didn’t mind the pain in your fights.”

 “I guess you have a point.” Though Goku didn’t think it was the same. “But if ChiChi’s gonna get that big when she has a baby, what about after? I won’t be tight and warm in ChiChi anymore and I really like that feeling. It feels sooo good.”

 “Goku!” ChiChi blushed. “Don’t say that!”

 Goku didn’t see the issue in speaking to Dr. Barkley about their sex life. They’ve done it before. “We can talk about it with her, ChiChi. She’s seen you down there and told us we can still do it while you’re pregnant.”

 “Um,” Dr. Barkley cleared her throat. “Goku, ChiChi will return to normal down there but she has to heal after the baby’s born.”

 “Oh, yeah.” Thinking about the size ChiChi will stretch, that made sense. “I can get senzu beans for you, ChiChi. That’ll heal you up faster. We can have sex right after the baby’s born.”

 Now it was ChiChi’s eyes who expanded. “There’s no need for that. I’ll heal naturally.”

 That didn’t make sense to Goku but if that’s what ChiChi wanted. “How long will it take for you to heal?”

 “It’s usually two months,” Dr. Barkley answered.

 “WHAT?!” Goku screamed. “Two months?! But we ain’t done it in a month and ChiChi won’t let me put it behind her anymore until after the baby’s born.”

 “GOKU!” ChiChi screamed. Her face matched the colors of her red skirt. “Don’t talk about that with her!”

 The laughs of his Mom and Dr. Barkley left Gohan feeling he was left out of a joke or a fond memory of his father he wanted to be told about. “What happened? How did Dad react to it?”

 Dr. Barkley laughed even louder while ChiChi explained, “Your Dad was confused about the birthing process, Gohan, but he was there when it counted.”

 “You mean when he helped me be born?” Gohan heard about that. He was happy his Dad knew what to do and felt nervous to live up to that. After ChiChi gives birth, there will be two people he will be responsible for protecting. Not even a year since his father’s death and Gohan felt he failed to  protect his mother. A baby is even more vulnerable.

 How am I gonna do it? Can I really protect them both?

 “Where’s my Dad?” ChiChi asked unaware of Gohan’s troubles. “I know he’s out there.”

 “He’s in the waiting room with Krillin and Bulma.”

 “They’re here?” That surprised ChiChi.

 “I called them because I thought they should be here.” The earlier fighting still bothered him. “I made a mistake doing that.”

 “Why?”

 “They started arguing whose fault it is you’re like this and….” Gohan lowered his head. “We both know who that is.”

“Cell.” Dr. Barkley spoke as she placed the wooden chart back in the drawer. “Cell was the killer and nothing else matters. Maybe one of these days Goku’s friends will understand that.”

 They weren’t the only ones who needed to understand ChiChi thought as she noticed Gohan’s troubled expression.

 “Dr. Barkley, let Krillin, Bulma and my father know I’m well and they can visit but I need to talk to Gohan alone first.”

 “All right,” Dr. Barkley didn’t agree with ChiChi’s decision, “but if they argue again I will have security kick them out of the hospital. Remember what happened at Gohan’s birth with that old woman and her grandson,” she warned before leaving.

 ChiChi would never forget what happened but she wished Dr. Barkley didn’t say that in front of Gohan. She saw the curiosity forming on his face. With the way he has been with her lately, she knew Gohan will question it.

 “What happened when I was born, Mom?”

 Gohan knew of Mrs. Niver and Kaifun dislike for Goku. If he knew what happened the day of his birth… “Gohan, it was handled. I want to talk about why you feel my condition is your fault.”

 “Because it is.”

 “Because it’s not,” ChiChi corrected him. “You always listened to your Dad, Gohan. I knew whatever happened that day, you would be the one person to not do anything to cause his death and when you told me what you did…. it shocked me.”

 Months later and he still can’t believe what he did. He never thought his actions would lead his father to sacrifice himself. “I know. I never planned to tell you but it came out and I’m sorry. I know you hate me. I know you’re only tolerating me because you’re staying calm for the baby.”

 Gohan was a sweet child but he had his moods which led him to misconstrue facts, and in his own frustration, make false accusations. “You saw my grief more than anyone. I know you didn’t mean to do what you did but it happened and it hurt me.”

 Gohan knew that but he was frustrated, too. When he cried, his parents comforted him. When he needed comfort after his father’s sacrifice, his father’s voice calmed him. When he confessed to his mother his part in his father dying, Gohan expected his mother to comfort him. He didn’t like she pulled away as if rejecting him. “You kept moving away from me when I kept apologizing. I thought you hated me and wanted to kick me out.”

 If not for the gravity of the situation, ChiChi would smile. Her son had a lot of her ways, too, and when he’s emotional, he’s blinded. ChiChi patted a spot on her bed for Gohan to sit down. When he did, he leaned on ChiChi’s shoulder. “My reaction didn’t mean I hate you, Gohan. I could never hate you but I couldn’t comfort you either. You had months to wrestle with this decision. I only had moments to deal with it before you wanted me to forgive you. I’m always willing to sacrifice my needs and feelings for you and Goku but last night, I couldn’t. Call me selfish but I need time to process this.”

 Calmer with a clearer mind, Gohan felt guilty for his behavior. “You’re not selfish, Mom. I told you something I knew would hurt you but I couldn’t hold the guilt in anymore. I was selfish.” Gohan embraced ChiChi. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have begged you to forgive me. I should’ve given you time. I’m ready to do that.”

 ChiChi’s arms wrapped around Gohan. This was her kindhearted son. “Thank you, Gohan.”

 ****

 Gohan was by ChiChi’s side as she let out another scream. Gohan wiped her sweaty forehead. “You’re doing great, Mom.”

 It was after dawn when ChiChi was ready to deliver her second child.  Krillin and Bulma visited but left, promising to return when she gave birth. Gyu-Mao stayed but paced in the waiting room.

 “His head and shoulders are out. He has a lot of hair!” Dr. Barkley laughed. She glanced at ChiChi’s biometrics on a monitor. “Your body is handling this birth much better than Gohan’s.”

 This news excited Gohan. “He’s almost here, Mom.”

 “I need another push, ChiChi,” Dr. Barkley urged. “Give me a really big one.”

 “Oh….. okay.” ChiChi squeezed Gohan’s hand screaming while giving a strong push.

 “Good. Good!” Dr. Barkley cheered. “He’s out to his hips. Take a moment and get ready for one more push. He’s almost out.”

 “One more….” ChiChi panted. “One more….”

 “You can do it, Mom,” Gohan encouraged her. “Let’s make our family three again.”

 Three. That was a nice thought. If they couldn’t be a family of four, ChiChi happily settled for a family of three. ChiChi screamed one final, big push. It was sweet relief feeling the heavy load she carried for months leaving her body. It was even sweeter when that load announced itself to the world in a beautiful cry. ChiChi’s eyes moistened with tears. Her and Goku’s last child was finally here.

 Gohan eased ChiChi to rest against the pillows. The sweet sounds of her baby crying was joyful and until she noticed Dr. Barkley acting odd. When Gohan was born, Dr. Barkley held up Gohan for her and Goku to see. This time, Dr. Barkley held her baby in a way he was shielded from her view.  ChiChi felt something was dreadfully wrong.  “What is it?” ChiChi asked worriedly. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

 Dr. Barkley stared at the child and back to Gohan and ChiChi. “The baby’s fine, ChiChi. It’s just…… he….”

 “He what?” ChiChi demanded. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 “We need to know,” Gohan, worried too, pleaded. Whatever it is, I will fix it.

 Dr. Barkley approached ChiChi. The child’s appearance became clear to mother and big brother as the doctor revealed the child. “It’s ….. the baby looks like Goku.”

 ChiChi and Gohan were awed in silence at the child’s similarity to Goku. Seeing the resemblance of his father in his brother filled Gohan with immense pleasure but an equal amount of guilt.  Dr. Barkley placed the baby on ChiChi’s stomach. She wiped the crying child clean before cutting the umbilical cord. She carried the baby to the other side of the room where she gave the child a thorough physical exam with her instruments and machines all under Gohan and ChiChi’s watchful eyes.  

 “He’s so beautiful,” ChiChi murmured with watery eyes.

 Dr. Barkley returned holding the baby wrapped in a blue blanket. “He’s a little different from Gohan,” she informed ChiChi as she placed the child in her arms.

 “How so?”

 “When Gohan was born, he could move his head at will. This child is like a human newborn baby. You have to hold his head. I guess,” Dr. Barkley explained, “it’s because he’s early but he’s still healthy as a newborn human. He responded to all the tests and everything is fully developed.”

 ChiChi murmured ‘okay’ as she gently held her newborn. The baby’s tired eyes stared at ChiChi as she placed a kiss on his forehead. “Hello…. Goten.”

 “Goten?” Gohan marveled at the name as he couldn’t stop grinning at the baby. “You didn’t tell me you had a name picked.”

 ChiChi nuzzled her face against Goten’s cheek tenderly. “There were two I was stuck on. When I learned I was having another boy, I wanted something close to Goku’s name. Goku’s in heaven protecting us but he’s still with us, and when I saw this sweet baby’s face, I knew. I have to name him Goten.”

 Gohan touched Goten’s soft and wet hair. The spikes in his hair were short but in a distinctive style. Just like Dad’s.

 “He’s not like you,” ChiChi softly chuckled at Goten closing his eyes.

 “What do you mean?”

 “When you were born, your eyes were wide open. You were constantly looking around. Goten is content to rest. He’s like Goku. He could sleep anywhere and not care what’s going on.” ChiChi shifted slightly. “Wanna hold him?”

 Slight trepidation rose in Gohan. He’s held babies before but they were much older. “I never held a newborn.”

 “You held Aki’s child.”

 “She wasn’t a newborn.”

 “He’s your brother,” ChiChi insisted. “You won’t hurt him.” ChiChi gently eased Goten in Gohan’s arms. “Careful with his head.” She adjusted Gohan’s arm slightly to elevate Goten’s head.

 The gentle exchange stirred Goten to open his eyes again. He gazed at Gohan in slight wonder. A lump formed in Gohan’s throat at the innocence of his baby brother staring at him. For a brief moment, he saw his father’s smiling face staring back.

 “Talk to him,” ChiChi encouraged Gohan. “Let him hear your voice.”

 “Hi, Goten. I’m your brother, Gohan. We’re gonna have a lot of fun together.” Gohan’s eyes mist as he thought of his father and what they did together. A strong need to protect and make sure Goten experience all the fun things he did with his father stirred in him. “I’m gonna take you fishing. I’m gonna take you camping and I will always protect you.”

 Holding Goten, Gohan felt all the pressure and stress he held since he brought his mother to the hospital lift. Now he knew mother and brother were all right, he could relax.

 Gohan’s stomach growled…. loudly.

 And eat.

 “Have you eaten?” ChiChi tiredly asked.

 “No,” Gohan admitted with a blush on his cheeks. “I’ve been too worried about you and Goten to eat. I don’t have any money either.”

 ChiChi gently took Goten from Gohan’s arms. “Grandpa does. Tell him about his grandson and go eat.”

 He didn’t need to be told twice. After being awake all night, waiting, worrying and helping with the birth of Goten, hunger and fatigue was settling in.  

 After telling Gyu-Mao about Goten and getting money for food, Gohan called Krillin and Bulma before going to the hospital’s food court. He was so hungry, he got food from every restaurant. When he left, his arms loaded with hot bags of food from all the food courts. While waiting for the elevator to open, Gohan heard his name called.

 “Gohan?”

 Gohan turned to see Kaifun and Mrs. Niver approaching. Why were they here?

 “I thought that was you,” Kaifun smiled but Gohan remained on guard. “What are you doing…..” Kaifun trailed off suddenly. “Is ChiChi okay?”

 “Mom gave birth.” Gohan answered curtly and asked, “Why are you here?”

 “Already?” Kaifun appeared concerned but after what Gohan learned about Kaifun’s history with his parents, Gohan didn’t trust him. “This is early. Are she and the baby okay?”

 “They’re fine,” Gohan was clipped again. “Why are you here?” he repeated.

 “Hmmph!” Mrs. Niver scoffed. “You’re being very rude. I thought without your father you would have better manners.”

 “My manners have nothing to do with my father.”

 “That’s true,” Mrs. Niver agreed. “What manners you did develop, you got from your mother. Your father never had any.”

 “Grandma,” Kaifun hushed Mrs. Niver. “Stop that.” Kaifun felt his face flush with embarrassment. Not even Goku’s death softened her feelings for him. “Grandma needs a procedure done, Gohan. She’s getting a pacemaker and she’s a bit grumpy. Forgive her.”

 The elevator doors opened. “I need to go. Goodbye.”

 Gohan stepped in the elevator and pressed the floor for maternity and much to Gohan’s displeasure, Kaifun and Mrs. Niver entered the elevator, too. “We should see ChiChi before we check you in, Grandma.”

 The two of them in the same room with his mother and brother? The thought turned Gohan’s stomach. “That’s not needed. You should check Mrs. Niver in now.”

 “We’re early,” Kaifun ruffled Gohan’s hair playfully. Gohan stepped out of Kaifun’s reach. Gohan’s subtle rejection went unnoticed as Kaifun bragged, “You don’t know this but we saw you the day you were born, Gohan. Kind of makes sense for us to be here to see ChiChi’s second child.”

 His mother’s second….. The lack of acknowledging his father wasn’t lost on Gohan. “It’s my father’s child, too.”

 This time Kaifun noticed something different about Gohan. Gohan was always so well-mannered around him. What changed? He hoped ChiChi didn’t tell Gohan what he and his grandmother have done to her and Goku in the past.

 “Hmm,” Mrs. Niver sucked her false teeth. “Last I saw you it was at your father’s wake. You didn’t have this attitude then. Is this a result of him being gone?”

 Remember what happened at Gohan’s birth with that old woman and her grandson.

 The bags of food nearly slipped out of his arms. Dr. Barkley referenced them. Kaifun and Mrs. Niver saw him at his birth and something happened. Something bad that upset his mother. If they thought they will upset his mother the day of his brother’s birth…….

 “I know you saw me the day I was born,” Gohan told them. “It wasn’t a happy occasion.” There! Gohan saw the change in demeanor…. from Kaifun. Mrs. Niver still wore the same grumpy face.

 “Oh….” Kaifun looked nervous. “You know.” Now he understood Gohan’s annoyance with him, Kaifun wanted to explain himself. “Grandma was wrong calling you deformed and she shouldn’t have said Goku is a mixed breed of a human and animal but she paid for that. I know it upset your Mom and the King but we moved past that.” The elevator opened. “Let’s see your Mom and send good wishes to her and her baby.”

 Kaifun had one foot out the elevator when Gohan grabbed his arm and pulled him back in. Kaifun tried to pull away but Gohan’s grip kept him in place. How was this child so strong? If he squeezed any tighter, his wrist might break. The anger in Gohan’s eyes concerned Kaifun. The last he saw that was years ago when he and Goku talked. ChiChi was pregnant with Gohan and Goku was very irritable and warned him to stay away from ChiChi.

 “Your grandmother called me deformed, insulted my father in front of my mother the day I was born. Do you think I’m going to let you two see my baby brother on the day of his birth?”

 “Gohan….” Kaifun pleaded. This child will break his arm. “Ah… you’re hurting me.”

 “You’re not going near my mother and brother!”

 “What’s the matter with you?” Kaifun crumpled to his knees under Gohan’s strength. The elevator closed. Mrs. Niver put her hand on Gohan and pulled. When her feeble strength couldn’t break Gohan’s hold, she smacked him with her purse. “Let go of my grandson!”

 During the struggle, the three didn’t notice the elevator going up until it opened. Two nurses stared at a man on his knees crying in pain under the strength of a child who was getting smacked by an old woman using her purse.

 Gohan immediately released Kaifun and Mrs. Niver stopped hitting him. Kaifun remained on his knees gripping his wrist. “Why did you do that?”

 The elevator began moving down under its own power. Gohan didn’t notice as he focused on Kaifun. “You want to see my mother and brother. I won’t let you.”

 The elevator opened on the maternity floor but no one pressed the button to that floor. All three were surprised to see Gyu-Mao on the other side.

 “Grandpa?”

 “Your Majesty,” Kaifun winced as he slowly stood.

 Gyu-Mao stared at all three confused. “What’s going on?”

 “Grandpa.” Gohan stepped off the elevator. “Why are you not with Mom and Goten?”

 “ChiChi had to feed Goten. I made some calls and I was going to join you in the food court.” Gyu-Mao noticed Kaifun and Mrs. Niver stepping off the elevator, too. “What are you two doing here?”

 “Grandma’s having a pacemaker put in. We saw Gohan and came up to see ChiChi and the baby.”

 “Only he tried to stop us!” Mrs. Niver pointed at Gohan. “He almost broke Kaifun’s wrist!”

 Gyu-Mao noticed Kaifun still rubbing his wrist. Gohan didn’t defend himself so Gyu-Mao surmised the accusations were true. “If Gohan did it, he must’ve had a reason. Gohan? Wanna tell Grandpa what happened?”

 The glare Gohan sent Kaifun and Mrs. Niver forced Kaifun to take a step back. “I know what happened the day I was born. I didn’t want them to see Mom and Goten.”

 Gyu-Mao was proud. The boy definitely had his father in him. “You’re protective. Just like your Pops. Don’t worry, Gohan. They can see them.” Gyu-Mao smiled at Kaifun and Mrs. Niver but his intense eyes signaled a silent threat to them. “They wouldn’t dare repeat what happen the day you were born. Come on,” Gyu-Mao led everyone to ChiChi’s room. “Let’s see ChiChi and my grandson.”

 Unaware of the drama, ChiChi enjoyed private time with Goten. “So, you’re here. A little early but you’re here.” Goten quietly nursed from ChiChi. “I should’ve expected that. Your Daddy wasn’t patient either when he really wanted something. I wish your Daddy can see you. He would’ve been eager to hold you.”

 ChiChi caressed a plumped cheek. “Daddy’s not here, Goten, but I’ll do my best to love you for both of us. Gohan and I will do things Daddy would do with you. We’ll take you fishing. We’ll take you camping. We’ll…..” she paused suddenly overwhelmed, “….. we’ll even train you. Well, maybe Gohan will train you. He’s probably the best person since he knows Daddy’s skills and I want you to be as strong as possible because it’s what your Daddy will want.” During her talk, Goten fell asleep again. ChiChi pulled him from her breast. “And when you see Daddy in heaven, you can tell him how strong you became.”

 ChiChi covered herself when she heard a light tap on her door. “ChiChi, are you still feeding?”

 “I’m done, Dad.”

 “I have some company.”

 “Krillin and Bulma are back?”

 “No, not them.” Gyu-Mao stepped in with Gohan close behind him. Lagging behind Gohan were Kaifun and Mrs. Niver.

 Color drained from ChiChi’s face. Her mind flashed to the day of Gohan’s birth. She remembered Mrs. Niver’s cold insult; the screaming from her father; baby Gohan crying. She instinctively pulled Goten closer.

 “I didn’t want them here,” Gohan announced as he placed his bags of food on a table, “but Grandpa said it’s okay.”

 “Mrs. Niver is having a pacemaker put in but she and Kaifun want to see the baby. I said it’s all right.” Gyu-Mao saw ChiChi’s worry. “I think they want to make up for what they did when Gohan was born.”

 “It’s true,” Kaifun put in. “We just want to see the baby, wish you well and be on our way.”

 ChiChi noticed the glare on Gohan’s face and the smile on her father’s. Two different responses but Gohan’s was most concerning. “All right,” she reluctantly gave in.

 Kaifun stepped forward. When he saw Goten’s face, color drained from his face. I don’t believe it. “He’s…..” Kaifun began slowly, “he’s beautiful. He looks so strong and healthy being early.” He looks just like Goku.

 Kaifun’s pale face brought a little satisfaction to ChiChi as she proudly declared, “Goten’s strong like his Daddy. He’s inherited a lot from him.”

 “Obviously,” Kaifun murmured.

 Mrs. Niver stepped forward curious herself. When she saw Goten’s face, the color drained from her face, too. “No…..” she murmured shaking her head. “No. His face……” Mrs. Niver stepped back. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. “It’s like……. it’s like…..” Sweat perspired on her face, the air in the room thickened and her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

 “Grandma? Are you all right?”

 The old woman clutched her chest as she stumbled backward out the door. “Air….. I need… air..”

 “Grandma!” Kaifun chased after the old woman. He found her leaning against the wall clutching her chest. “Grandma!” he worriedly clutched her shoulders. “Are you having a heart attack?”

“He’s come back from the grave.”

 Kaifun’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who did?”

 “That….. waste of ….. sperm. Goku.” She was hyperventilating now. “I thought we were finally rid of him…..” She squeezed her hand over her chest, “but he’s come back to haunt us again!”

 Goten’s face was a shock but Kaifun didn’t think Goku was haunting them. “I don’t think he’s haunting anyone.”

 “That child is the spitting image of Goku. Children resemble their parents but this is ridiculous!” Mrs. Niver groaned frustrated. “What did I do to become so cursed? He’s probably in Hell laughing at us.”

 ****

 “Mmm! Ahhh!” ChiChi cried out with her face turned on a pillow. She bit her lip. She had to keep quiet. She couldn’t be as loud as before.

 But Goku’s mouth was so good and she needed this after so long. It was the first coupling since their baby’s birth. She and Goku were both eager for this night. Goku was ready more than her. All day he couldn’t resist touching and rubbing against her in anticipation.

 A leg wrapped around Goku’s back at her eager cry. She was close now. Biting her lip, ChiChi tried to subdue herself but Goku’s loving mouth and tongue, ultimately forced a loud cry to burst from her lips while her body convulsed.

 Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she recovered. She felt movement as Goku rose from between her legs. He licked his lips as she tried to catch her breath. “I think you taste even better, ChiChi.”

 Goku spread her wider as he pinned her left leg back and hooked her right leg over his shoulder. Her martial arts training always kept her body in great shape and helped her recover post-pregnancy. Still, Goku knew he had to be careful and patient for their first time. He was extra attentive preparing her body moments ago as he slowly eased himself into her.

 A sweet sigh escaped her lips as Goku stretched her insides. There was a slight pain but it was worth it to feel this again. “I missed this.”

 “You?” Goku groaned over her. “I missed it more than you.”

 ChiChi gripped a muscled pec as Goku filled her completely. “Really? Why don’t you show me?” Goku answered moving in her slow then….. fast.

 “Ah, you’re still so tight,” Goku gritted through thrusts. “Feels….. good.”

 “So…..” she gasped as Goku moved in and out of her. “….. do you.” Wrapping an arm around his neck, ChiChi pulled him closer for a kiss. The rhythm of their body was out of sync due to the break of the last month of her pregnancy and adjusting to life with a baby but with each thrust, each gasp and groan they were working their way back.

 Their coupling was perfect until the sound of a baby crying broke through the baby monitor. ChiChi tried to pretend it wasn’t true but the cry persisted. Goku was unaware as he continued to move in and out of her. ChiChi pressed her hands on Goku’s chest and pulled from his lips.

 “Wait. Stop, Goku.” ChiChi squeezed his chest harder. This ceased Goku’s movement. “The baby’s crying. Gohan needs me.”

 “Baby? Gohan?” Goku repeated confused. “ChiChi, Gohan’s ten. It’s Goten crying for you.”

 “Goten?” ChiChi saw a baby crib by the window. ChiChi got out of bed and went to the crib. Inside wasn’t baby Gohan but a baby resembling Goku. She turned to her bed to see Goku disappearing.  

 ChiChi’s eyes opened to darkness. Her ears nearly burned at baby Goten crying.

 It was only a dream.

 Goten cried even louder but ChiChi rolled on her side and stared at the empty, cold side of the bed left vacant by Goku.  

 ChiChi, Gohan and Goten returned home after two days in the hospital. After visits from Krillin, Bulma and Trunks, Aki and his family, ChiChi made it clear she wanted these first months to be a bonding time for her family. Only Gyu-Mao regularly visited as ChiChi and Gohan adjusted to a baby in the house.

 ChiChi turned on the lamp and shuffled across the room to Goten’s crib. “Mommy’s here, Goten.” ChiChi felt the problem as soon as she picked up Goten. She placed her son on her former sewing desk that became a changing area.

 “I should be mad at you. You took Mommy from a pleasant dream with Daddy.” She removed the soiled diaper. As she wiped Goten clean, she said, “But I can’t be mad at you. You’re our special baby. You’re the child we thought about making before Daddy died before his reunion. You’re the child we put on hold when Daddy came back after his fight with Freeza. We talked about having you for years. When Daddy died, I didn’t think it will happen but you are proof we were meant to have a second child.”

 With a fresh diaper on him, ChiChi fed Goten but being a half Saiyan, he drunk milk faster than her body could produce. He cried out of hunger as ChiChi carried him to the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw Gohan pouring milk formula into bottles.

 “Gohan, it’s after two a.m. You should be sleeping.”

 “I woke up.”

 “Goten?”

 Gohan shook his head as he squirted milk on his left wrist. “I went to bed early and I work up early.” He tested the milk. He handed the bottle to ChiChi. “It’s warm enough for Goten.”

 ChiChi took the bottle and fed Goten. She appreciated the help but didn’t want Gohan to do this. “You do this when you’re a father, Gohan. Not a big brother. Go to bed.”

 Gohan didn’t listen as he cleaned the dishes. “Did you get up a lot with me?”

 “It wasn’t only me,” ChiChi said as she settled in a chair at the kitchen table. “Your Dad got up, too.”

“Really?”

 “Dad didn’t always sleep when I checked on you. Sometimes he went with me or he brought you to me.” She chuckled at a sudden memory. “Our first night alone with you, Dad jumped out of bed and zoomed out of our room when you cried.”

 Gohan laughed. “Really?”

 ChiChi giggled. “We spent a few days with Grandpa before we took you home. His staff helped us but we were both nervous the first night we were alone with you.” Goten finished drinking a bottle. Gohan gave ChiChi another one while he cleaned the used one.  

 Despite wanting Gohan to go to bed, his kindness and willingness to help was appreciated and reminded ChiChi of Goku helping when Gohan was a baby.

 ChiChi had three bottles in a pot of hot water. Some days she produced enough milk for Gohan and some days she couldn’t. Dr. Barkley assured ChiChi the amount of milk she produced was normal. It was Gohan who had an extra appetite. Sometimes ChiChi felt the doctor knew there was another reason but wasn’t telling her. Dr. Barkley told her what Goku can do as a father to stimulate more milk. When ChiChi told him this, Goku was eager to help.

 “Gohan still hungry?”

 ChiChi saw Goku standing in the doorway. “Sorry Gohan woke you.”

 Goku yawned as he stepped into the kitchen. “Guess that’s my fault. Gohan eats like me.”

 “Don’t I know it,” ChiChi yawned as she paced with a crying Gohan. “Gohan emptied me but he’s still hungry. I didn’t produce enough milk for this feeding. Maybe in the morning, I’ll have enough. I’ll……” she paused when she felt Goku’s hand on her right breast. “Goku.”

 Goku wiggled his eyebrows at her as he gave her breast a gentle squeeze. “When Gohan goes to sleep, I’ll help you.” He sealed this promise with a kiss before taking Gohan out of her arms. He bounced his baby boy in his arms as ChiChi tested a bottle on her wrist. “Are the bottles ready?”

 ChiChi licked the warm milk on her wrist. “Yes.” ChiChi reached to take Gohan out of Goku’s arms but he took the bottle out of her hand. “I’ll watch Gohan. Go to bed.”

 “But…..” ChiChi hesitated.

 “You played with Gohan all day.” He grinned. “It’s my turn.”

 ChiChi thought to protest but changed her mind. Goku spent most of the day working on Mr. Olitz’s farm. When he came home, Gohan was already sleeping. “All right.” ChiChi left. She returned to her bedroom but before she climbed in bed, she wondered about Goku and if he can really handle Gohan. He was fussier and more active now. It might be too much for Goku.

 ChiChi quietly returned to the living room. There, she saw Goku sitting on the sofa feeding Gohan his bottle. “Ya just like your Pops. Eat like me; got a tail like me; got my eyes but I see some of Mommy, too.”

 Goku put down the empty bottle and reached for another one. “Full?” Goku rubbed the bottle’s nipple around Gohan’s mouth. He turned his head. Goku put the bottle down. “You’ll be hungry in another hour like me.” Goku stood and rubbed Gohan’s back while pacing the room.

 “Kind of wild you’re mine, Gohan. I never thought about being a Daddy. Bulma has a Daddy. I saw Daddies when I traveled but I never pictured that for me.” Gohan rested his head on his Daddy’s shoulder. The way he looked at Goku it was as if he understood his words. “I didn’t think about the future except fighting and winning the tournament. Good thing Mommy found me and reminded me of our promise.”

 ChiChi noticed Goku grinning. Was he thinking about them meeting again? “Sometimes I think of what would’ve happened if Mommy didn’t find me. I think I would’ve come back here. I’d be happy…… but not like now.” Gohan released a small belch. ChiChi shook her head as Goku looked over his shoulder. “Oops. Forgot that bib thing.”

 Goku lifted a giggling Gohan over his head. “You like spitting on Daddy?” Gohan answered with a laugh. “I forgive ya. I’ll probably forgive ya for anything.” Gohan squealed as Goku raised him higher. “Grandpa told me he’ll forgive me for anything, too.” ChiChi worried over Goku flying Gohan over his head. Gohan may spit up even more. Goku realized that, too. He lowered Gohan but held him close. As she watched the two, ChiChi noticed a change on Goku’s face. He smiled as always but he stared at Gohan for a very long moment. Gohan reached out to touch Goku’s face. His tiny hand touched Goku’s nose, his cheek and lips before the child suddenly stopped to stare at him. It was as if father and son were silently communicating with each other.

  “Grandpa said something to me I wanna say to you.” Goku embraced Gohan tenderly against his chest. “Gohan, I’m so happy you’re mine.”

 ChiChi turned away with a hand over her mouth. Tears streamed down her face as she returned to her bedroom to give Goku private time with Gohan.

 “Yup. Your Dad was very helpful.” ChiChi settled Goten’s head on her shoulder and patted his back gently. “But, Gohan, this is my responsibility. They’ll be plenty of time for you to do this when you’re a Daddy. Go to bed.”

 “I just want to help.”

 “You did. I appreciate this but this isn’t your job.”

 “Okay,” Gohan gave in. Everything was clean anyway. “Good night, Mom.” Gohan patted Goten’s head. “Good night, Goten.”

 When Gohan left, ChiChi gazed at the ceiling. Goten’s cooing warmed her heart but ChiChi burst with pride thinking of Gohan. “We did a good job with Gohan, Goku. You’re not here but look after me as I care for Goten and try to do a good job with him.”

 ****

 “That fight with Olibu was tougher than I thought it would be.” Goku rubbed a shoulder. “But I got him.”

 “He’s improved since he died,” King Kai complimented as he walked alongside Goku. “Imagine how much stronger you will be after a thousand years.”

 “He’s a good fighter,” Goku praised the blonde warrior. “But he talks so much. He asked so many questions about Earth.”

 “He’s from Earth, Goku, and you’re the first Earthling he’s spoken to in a while. Olibu spends most of his time on the Grand Kai’s planet. I think the last Earthling he’s seen is Master Mutaito and he spends most of his time here with non-warriors.”

 They were in the part of Heaven where good people who weren’t fighters resided. It was King Kai’s idea for Goku to split his time into different parts of Heaven. “This place is huge. I don’t think I will ever reach its limits.”

 “That’s because there are no limits,” King Kai reminded him. “This place is home of the dead for thousands of years and all planets in the galaxy.”

 Goku and King Kai stopped to allow a group of flowing spirits to pass them. “I haven’t seen any Saiyans.”

 “Goku, your race didn’t have a reputation for being good people. They are in Hell or their spirits have been reincarnated.”

 “Like my parents?” In a rare moment of awkwardness, Goku appeared uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I probably couldn’t see them, but after meeting Grandpa again…… I just thought……”

 “They were reincarnated many years ago.”

 “I thought so.” Goku wasn’t surprised but there was disappointment in his voice. “I know I shouldn’t have expected them to be… but I thought since I’m dead……” he trailed off as something caught his eyes.

 King Kai continued walking unaware he left Goku. “Nothing wrong with wondering, Goku. I would’ve been concerned if you didn’t ask. There’s a transition everyone experiences after they die. Just like the living has to get used to their loved ones being dead, the dead has to get used to not being around the living. The first time you died you didn’t think about this since you knew you were going back, but this time it’s permanent and I know you weren’t thinking of leaving so soon.”

 King Kai’s sage words were met with silence. Looking around, he noticed Goku wasn’t beside him. Goku stared at a couple. Returning to Goku’s side, King Kai tried to understand what about this couple caught Goku’s interest. The man wore a dark suit and the woman wore a white dress.  

 “They look like Earthlings,” King Kai remarked. “Did you know them, Goku?”

 “No…….” Goku continued staring. “But they died on their wedding day.”

 “Wedding?” King Kai repeated. “Oh, that’s the bonding ceremony for humans. Death claims anybody at anytime, Goku.”

 “The woman has a bun in her hair like ChiChi.” The woman’s dress reminded him of ChiChi’s, too. Goku heard King Kai talking but his mind traveled to his wedding day.

 “Do you like being married, Goku?” ChiChi and Goku soared on Nimbus after saying goodbye to everyone. The fun wedding was over and it was time for their honeymoon to start. With the time they spent before this day, Goku had an idea of what will happen alone with ChiChi and looked forward to it.

 Since their “I do’s”, Goku and ChiChi were caught up in a whirlwind of activity: taking pictures together and with guests, talking to guests (ChiChi did most of that), eating (Goku did most of that) and dancing.  

 So far, Goku liked being married. “It hasn’t been long but I like it. I didn’t know we had to talk to so many people.”

 “That’s what happens at a wedding. So many people come together to celebrate the start of our lives.”

 “Start of our lives?”

 “Yes, Goku. After today, we’ll spend a lot of time alone.” ChiChi nuzzled her nose against his neck. “We’ll get to know each other even more. We’ll do many things together. We’ll have children, grandchildren and grow old together.”

 Goku’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a lot.” And some of it he didn’t understand like the children part, but if ChiChi was willing to show him, he was willing to try.

 ****

 “Eat some more carrots,” Goku dipped a spoonful of mashed carrots in a baby jar of smashed apples. “And apples, Gohan.” He brought the spoon to Gohan’s lips. His baby boy obediently opened his mouth to receive the food. “That’s a good boy. This food will make you big and strong like me.”

 ChiChi placed lunch dishes for her and Goku on the table. “Smells good.” Goku opened his mouth as ChiChi held a spoonful of food for him.

 He turned away to feed Gohan. While Gohan chewed his food, Goku got fed by ChiChi again. ChiChi took a moment to feed herself and Goku before he fed Gohan. The three tried to stay in sync with eating but food spilled on Goku and Gohan. Most of the food was eaten but Gohan was sloppier than him when lunch was over.

 “Gohan’s a mess,” ChiChi frowned at Gohan’s food covered face as she gathered the empty dishes. “I think you got more food on Gohan’s clothes than his mouth.”

 “He ate enough.” Goku pulled Gohan out of his highchair. “He ain’t crying so he ain’t hungry.”

 “I suppose,” ChiChi weakly agreed as she placed the dishes in the hot sink. “I’ll bathe Gohan while the dishes soak.”

 “Imma give me and Gohan a bath, ChiChi,” Goku told her. He was almost out of the room when ChiChi asked him, “You’re happy, aren’t you, Goku?”

 “Hmm?”

 “Happy,” ChiChi repeated. “On our wedding day, I asked if you like being married. You said it was still early but you liked it so far.”

 “I still meant it. I like it even more now I understand.” He made a silly face at Gohan who burst into giggles. “If I didn’t marry you, we wouldn’t have Gohan. I’m glad you came back in my life.”

 ChiChi came to Goku’s side. She pressed a kiss on Gohan’s cheek. “I’m glad, too.”

 “So, why did you ask if I am happy?” Now Goku was curious.

ChiChi shrugged. “I know you’ve been used to fighting all your life. I wasn’t sure how settling down made you.”

 “Oh.” Now he understood. Sort of. “Well, I like fighting but this is fun, too, and I kinda wanted a break.” Since his encounter with the Red Ribbon Army, all Goku did was fight. He only meant to collect his Grandpa’s four-star dragon ball but it spiraled into him taking down the Red Ribbon Army with no break in between to prepare for the next tournament. “Before we married, it was years before I relaxed and not fight for something or prepare for one. I’m glad to take it easy and do other things. I’ll get another fight soon, but I’m happy with life now.”

“And it’ll be long life now there’s peace in the world, Goku. We’ll get to see our son grow up in peace, marry and have grandkids for us to play with.”

 Goku and ChiChi had three more years before their family life spiraled where they were separated for two years. In the last three years, the family was together but Piccolo lived with them. It wasn’t the same. Their lives were forced on hold. Their plans to expand their family was put on hold. Goku thought they will have time after the Artificial Humans were defeated but it wasn’t until the days before the Cell Game Goku realized how much time was wasted.

 “Goku?”

 His teacher knew him enough to understand the emotions churning in him and Goku didn’t want to share it. There was one he wanted to share his emotions with but she wouldn’t be here for a long time.

 “I’m fine, King Kai.”

 “The transition will pass,” the Lord of the North promised. “It’s a process you have to go through.”

 “I know.” He understood. He was dead. He can’t go back home. He won’t see his family for years. In a place where time isn’t measured Goku didn’t know how long the wait will be.

 “Daddy, how long do we have to wait for Mommy?”

 Goku and King Kai spotted a young man walking towards them holding a child in his arms. The child wore a similar uniform Gohan wore when he attended preschool. The way the child clutched his father reminded Goku of Gohan doing the same when he was so young.

 “I don’t know, Kiev. We’re dead now and it will be a while before Mommy sees us.”

 “It’s my fault we died, Daddy,” Kiev sniffled. “You died because you tried to save me. I’m sorry.”

 “It’s not your fault and I’ll do it again. We were meant to die together and wait for Mommy. I would never let you be here by yourself.” The father hugged his son. “We’re a team. We’re always gonna be a team. Okay?”

 “Okay, Daddy.”

 Father and son smiled in passing at Goku and King Kai. King Kai observed Goku’s stoic face. He was lost again in another memory. King Kai didn’t want Goku to feel pain but knew he had to. So far, Goku wasn’t going through the normal process of accepting death. That’s why he wanted Goku to spend his time between these two worlds. It was finally happening and as painful as this is, King Kai knew Goku will grow immensely from it.

Goku strolled home with a giant boar under one arm and a giant fish slung over his shoulder. There was always enough food to eat but ChiChi always kept the refrigerator and pantry stuffed with food. An empty shelf meant they were running low.

 Today Goku hunted and tomorrow he’ll train. ChiChi didn’t mind as long as he spent time with Gohan when he’s home from school. Goku agreed. Plus, he loved spending time with Gohan. This weekend they were going camping. Goku looked forward to that.

 When he entered his yard, Goku noticed ChiChi coming out of the house in a rush. She looked upset.

 Goku picked up his pace to ChiChi. “What’s wrong?”

 “Gohan’s school just called. Gohan was in the playground with his classmates when kids from another class picked on his tail. One kid tried to grab it. The teacher intervened but Gohan started crying. He jumped in a tree won’t come down.” She sighed, “I need to get him.”

 Goku lowered the animals on the ground. His frown mirrored ChiChi’s. “This is the third time this happened.”

 “I know,” ChiChi agreed. “We handled the kids in his classroom but I didn’t think about those other kids.”

 “Does Gohan need to go to preschool?” Goku asked. “You taught him stuff before he went. You can keep doing that.”

 “Gohan needs to socialize with children his age, Goku. He can’t be around us all the time.”

 “Then let me train him,” Goku insisted. “A kid tried to pull his tail today. Gohan needs to defend himself.”

 “Gohan doesn’t need to defend himself. The child tried to pull his tail. He didn’t throw a fist.”

 “Gohan’s crying in a tree and won’t come down!” Goku argued. “He wouldn’t have done that if he knew how to defend himself.”

 Normally, ChiChi would argue but when she didn’t, Goku knew ChiChi agreed with him. “I know,” she sighed. “But he’s too young to fight, Goku. We gotta do something else. Maybe Gohan should hide his tail while he’s in school.”

 “Gohan ain’t hidin’ his tail.” Goku was offended ChiChi suggested that. “I never did. Ain’t nothing wrong with Gohan’s tail.”

 “I know that, but I’ve been around kids, Goku, and kids are blunt. They don’t understand how mean they can be and teaching Gohan to defend himself won’t solve the problem. Gohan has to learn to ignore the words like you did otherwise he’ll fight anyone who says anything bad about his tail and that’s not our baby.”

 “No…..” Goku didn’t want that either. He was called stupid a lot, even by his friends and during his travels, his tail got attention. It never bothered Goku. He didn’t care what they thought but Gohan was different. Words bothered him like it did ChiChi sometimes. When the three were out together, sometimes they got stares or giggles and it was at Gohan who never noticed thanks to him and ChiChi.

“I’ll pick up, Gohan,” Goku decided. “I’ll talk to him.”

 “Okay,” ChiChi agreed. “I’ll make Gohan’s favorite.”

 Gohan wasn’t the only one in the family to receive stares. Goku received them when he dropped off or picked up Gohan on Nimbus. In the playground, Gohan’s teacher and classmates surrounded the tree. They tried encouraging Gohan to come down. Gohan didn’t listen as he sat on a high branch and clutched the tree trunk crying.

 “It’s Gohan’s Daddy on the cloud!” A child pointed at Goku flying in.

 Nimbus slowly floated to Gohan who cried so loudly he didn’t hear them. “Gohan…. it’s Daddy.”

 Gohan pulled away from the tree trunk. His teary face lit up! He jumped from the tree and into Goku’s arms. “Daddy!!”

 Nimbus lowered to the ground. Gohan’s classmates gathered around Nimbus and touched the cloud in aww and pleas to get on it. “I’m taking Gohan home.”

 “Of course. I’ll bring Gohan’s bag. Come, children,” the teacher ushered the whining kids away from the cloud.

 Goku wiped away Gohan’s tears. “Wanna tell Daddy what happened?”

 Gohan sniffed. “I was playing in the sandbox when a kid asked about my tail. He thought it was a toy and wanted to pull it. I wouldn’t let him. Other kids tried to grab it so I ran and I got in the tree.”

 “Mr. Son?”

 Goku noticed Gohan’s teacher returning with Gohan’s lesson bag and school hat. She waved him over implying she wanted to speak alone.

 “Stay on Nimbus,” Goku told Gohan as he got off and walked to Gohan’s teacher.

 The teacher handed Goku Gohan’s belongings. “I tried to stop the teasing. The kids in my class know not to do that but not the other children.”

 “Guess it can’t be helped.”

 “Gohan did something unusual, Mr. Son.”

 “Unusual?”

 The teacher nodded. “I was right here when I saw the kids teasing. I was coming over when Gohan ran from them and suddenly jumped into the tree. He jumped twenty feet off the ground. He didn’t climb the branches at all.”

Goku looked at the tree in question. “Gohan jumped all by himself?” He knew it. He knew Gohan has strength in him. Goku took Gohan’s belongings and returned to the cloud. As Nimbus began the journey home, Goku asked, “So, you got up the tree by yourself?”

 Gohan shrugged. “I guess so. I was on the ground and then I was in the tree.”

 “You don’t remember how you got there?”

 Gohan shook his head. “No, Daddy.  Daddy, how come I have a tail? My classmates don’t have one and the kids at Grandpa’s village don’t have a tail either. Why do I have one?”

 ChiChi warned him Gohan will have these questions one day and they should talk about it but Goku refused. He didn’t care people asked about his tail. He thought Gohan would react the same way. Now he saw he was wrong. “Because you’re my son.” He ruffled Gohan’s head. “I had a tail when I was a kid, too.”

 “What happened to your tail?”

“It was removed.”

 “Why?”

 Kami explained but now Goku doubted that was true. Why would it be trouble for the world if he kept his tail? “Kami told me it had to be removed. It had to do with the safety of the world. I believed him then but now I think I was tricked. If I could do it over again, I would keep my tail.”

 “Did other kids talk about your tail, too, Daddy?”

 Goku laughed. “My tail was the last thing they talked about. People called me stupid. They wondered why I was so strong. They wonder why they couldn’t kill me.” Gohan giggled. “Ah, is that a smile I see? You think it’s funny people wanna kill Daddy?”

 Gohan shook his head laughing. “It’s funny people think they can kill you. You’re the strongest person in the world, Daddy. No one can beat you.”

 Goku liked to believe that but he wasn’t that naïve. Gohan was all smiles now in his lap and waving at the birds that passed. Gohan was happy but talk about his tail bothered Goku. “Gohan, do you hate your tail?”

 “No. I like it but I don’t like people calling me names because I have a tail.”

 Goku was very glad to hear Gohan didn’t hate his tail but he needed to work on his son not caring what others think. “Gohan, you shouldn’t care what people say. It’s more important what you think.”

 “What about you and Mommy?” Gohan asked worriedly. “Should I care what you two think?”

“I guess,” Goku slowly answered, not certain himself, “but me and Mommy can be wrong, too. No matter what, Gohan, me and Mommy will be happy with what you want.”

 Gohan grinned at Goku. Seeing his little boy’s face light up really made Goku happy. “Okay. Daddy.”

 “I guess words can hurt but ya gotta be strong, Gohan, and I know you are.”

 “I’m not strong like you, Daddy, but I’ll try.”

 “You are strong like me, Gohan. You just don’t know it yet, but one day, you’ll see. Now,” Goku tickled Gohan who burst into giggles and pleas for Goku to stop, “wanna race home? Mommy’s making your favorite!”

 “Yay!” Gohan cheered.

 “Tell Nimbus to fly faster.”

 “Faster Nimbus!”

 Father and son laughter echoed in the sky as they zoomed home.  

 It was bittersweet for Goku how Gohan realized how strong he is. He always pictured sharing this moment with Gohan together but they were separated and have to deal with it alone. As much as he told Gohan to not feel sad about him being dead, Goku knew Gohan was sad and ChiChi…. His mind played over ChiChi wailing on the floor at his dead.

 ChiChi, I’m so sorry.

 “King Kai, I think I will visit Grandpa.”

 “Okay, Goku. Take your……” Goku was already flying away, “……time.”

 ****

  “We are not blood but you do take after me, my boy.” Gohan Sr. observed the glum composure of Goku. “When I had time alone, I thought about my decision and regret not telling you about that tail.”

 Dealing with sadness wasn’t something Goku was accustomed to. He didn’t like being sad. He didn’t like dealing with his emotions if they weren’t happy. “I thought it was the right decision.”

 Whack!

 “Ow! Grandpa!” Goku rubbed the back of his stinging head. He was dead but Grandpa Gohan smacks still hurt. “Why did you hit me?”

 “I was silent because I was protecting you. Only I was at risk not telling you the truth. Your decision took you from your family!”

 “Your decision took you from me,” Goku argued. “I had to live in the woods alone for years.”

 Whack!

 “My mistake should’ve told you to not stay dead.” Grandpa Gohan scolded Goku.

 Goku rubbed the back of his neck irritably. “I didn’t wanna stay dead, Grandpa, but I kept putting everyone in danger. My brother came for me and kidnapped my son. I defeated Freeza and he tried to kill everyone on Earth. I was only trying to find the dragon ball you kept when I met the Red Ribbon Army. A friend’s Dad was murdered because they wanted the dragon balls I had.” He was pacing now and the more Goku thought on this, the angrier he got. “I defeated the Red Ribbon Army to get the dragon balls to bring that friend’s Dad back to life and sixteen years later someone I never met when I fought the Red Ribbon Army wanted revenge on me. His revenge almost destroyed the world! In another timeline, everyone’s dead! Everything bad happening was tied to me!”

 Goku was in his Super Saiyan form now. His gold aura was almost blinding. Grandpa Gohan cautiously approached Goku. He placed a weathered hand on Goku’s strong shoulder. The simple contact was enough for Goku to depower to his base form.

 Ashamed at his outburst, Goku turned away from Grandpa Gohan. “I just wanted to fight for fun, Grandpa, but it kept hurting everyone. Gohan’s childhood was taken. Me and ChiChi never had a chance to make more children. When I was coming home from space, I thought I was done being the hero. I thought I was going back to a peaceful planet and me, Gohan and ChiChi can go back to our lives but Trunks showed up. Three more years.” Goku sighed as he gazed at the peaceful horizon. “I thought this was it. I thought after this fight, everything will be normal again. I wouldn’t grow bored with Piccolo and Vegeta around. Me and ChiChi can have more kids and Gohan can be what he wants.”

 Goku sat on the grass emotionally exhausted. Nothing went as he thought. “When I was sick, I realize I didn’t have as much time as I thought. I wasted so much time putting off things, Grandpa. We really wanted another baby. ChiChi wanted peace so me and Gohan didn’t fight anymore. I could only give her that by staying dead.”

 Grandpa Gohan squeezed Goku’s shoulder gently. “But it’s not what you wanted… is it?”

 Grandpa Gohan heard a sniff from Goku before he shook his head. “No…..”

 “Regrets and missed opportunities are things we have to deal with when we crossover, Goku. You can’t go back. You have to come to terms with it and move on because there isn’t a guarantee you’ll meet again.” Grandpa Gohan hesitated but decided Goku needs to understand everything. “Even here. Everyone doesn’t keep their bodies, Goku. Your family may cross over as floating spirits.”

 That crossed Goku’s mind whenever he saw the floating spirits. Gohan may keep his body since he saved the world but what about ChiChi? She was a good person. She could fly Nimbus but was that enough for ChiChi to keep her body? King Yemma seemed selective on who kept their body and who didn’t.

 Coming to terms with all of this was harder than Goku thought since the consequences were still fresh. He didn’t know what constitutes as a day here but Goku thought many didn’t go by without him thinking about the Cell Game and Gohan. “I didn’t prepare Gohan like I should’ve, Grandpa. He didn’t listen to me when I told him to finish Cell.”

 “You said Gohan never acted this way before. If he did in that room, you would’ve warned him about the Saiyan rage.”

 If only that was all. “It’s not just that, Grandpa. I didn’t tell Gohan he will fight Cell.”

 “Why didn’t you?”

 “I think deep down I didn’t want Gohan to fight. I wanted to finish Cell off myself. It was created for revenge against me and I always fight my battles.” Goku put a hand over his heart. It was still strange to not feel a heartbeat. “But my body reached its limit.” That wasn’t the only reason. “I knew Gohan didn’t summon his rage like me but when he got mad, he was stronger than everyone but Gohan couldn’t naturally pull it. He had to be triggered. That was the flaw.”

 Grandpa Gohan rubbed his mustache. “That is a problem.”

 “Things were pretty bad when Gohan finally released it.” Goku felt pretty good seeing the shock on everyone’s faces when Gohan ascended. No one believed it. Everyone thought he was crazy but Goku knew what he was doing. “But when he did, it was amazing, Grandpa. Gohan has this tremendous power. When we trained, it was what I always wanted. Me and Gohan spending the day sparring, watching him grow stronger. It was just like you and me, Grandpa.”

 Grandpa Gohan could feel Goku’s pride. He felt the same when he trained Goku. “Made you feel pretty good seeing that.”

 “Yeah,” Goku agreed. He burst with pride thinking of how strong Gohan is. “I don’t have much to offer Gohan so it feels good teaching him something I’m good at. He’s so smart and responsible. He’s so much better than me, Grandpa. I’m really proud of him.”

 Grandpa Gohan felt that pride, too, because of how well Goku turned out and not for how strong he became. “Don’t be down on yourself, my boy. You’ve done more than I ever imagined. I worried you’d stay in the mountains forever but you didn’t. You traveled the world and universe. You saved so many people. You married a fine woman and have a great son. Be proud of your accomplishments because I am.”

 Seeing his kind Grandpa smiling at him with the same love and pride he felt for his son nearly overwhelmed Goku. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

 “My great-grandson sounds like a fine, young man, Goku. When we sparred together, there was no purpose other than our enjoyment and discipline for you.” The elder laughed, “You were a rambunctious child. For you and your son, sparring was great bonding but there was a purpose to your fighting.”

 “Yeah. Gohan doesn’t fight like me but he does like it. Maybe it would’ve been different if I trained him first. I wanted to when Gohan was one but ChiChi said no.”

 “One?” Grandpa Gohan laughed. “That’s too young! You were almost four when I showed you the basics. You were too eager with your son. No wonder your wife said no.”

 That wasn’t the only reason. “ChiChi thought Gohan should focus his mind on education.”

 “Nothing wrong with that. I tried schooling you, too. You did the work but you had more interest in martial arts. It held your attention more than schooling. You had a natural talent for martial arts so I nurtured it.”

 Nurtured. ChiChi said that about Gohan. She thought Gohan’s fast development meant he was special and his brain should be nurtured. ChiChi read to Gohan daily. She was so happy when Gohan brought her books for her to read to him. As often as he trained in the yard and knew Gohan watched him, Gohan never asked to be taught. Gohan only wanted to play. When Goku initiated basic martial arts, Gohan showed he had a natural talent but not the interest.

 It took longer for Gohan’s interest to come out. Maybe if Gohan wasn’t kidnapped and forced into it by Piccolo, he would’ve developed a natural interest in fighting sooner.

 Training with Gohan alone and seeing him display that power against Cell was confirmation for Goku Gohan did enjoy fighting. Goku saw it as a good thing Gohan didn’t fight like him. That meant his interests can expand. Gohan can do the school stuff like ChiChi wants but he can do the fighting stuff like me, too. Gohan’s smart enough to balance both. I wonder how much stronger Gohan will be when I see him again.

 Reality hit again how he will miss seeing Gohan grow up and grow stronger and thinking of Gohan, got Goku thinking of ChiChi and how he misses her. There’s no more waking up to her in the morning. He can’t eat her cooking; hold her hand when they stroll Mount Paouz, soak in the cauldron together or engage in anymore intimacy. No more family dinners, holidays or sitting together after dinner enjoying games together.

 ChiChi crying on the floor and Gohan comforting her after his death were his last memories and it’ll be a long time before he can apologize to both of them.  If he can. He didn’t forget about the floating spirits.

 “Grandpa, how do you deal with the wait?”

 Transition to death was hard. Grandpa Gohan experienced hardship accepting this life when he crossed over. It would’ve been easier if he didn’t worry about the child he left behind. Now that child was a man going through it, too. “There’s no timetable, Goku. It comes from accepting this is your home. There’s a new life here to explore; new friends to make. Time here passes differently and you’ll be so busy getting stronger and making new friends, your family will crossover before you realized a lifetime has passed.”

 As always Grandpa knew what to say but accepting this new home meant accepting, really accepting he won’t see his family for a long time and that was something he could only do alone. “Thanks, Grandpa. If you don’t mind, I want to be alone now.”

 My boy, you really have grown up. The old man stood and gently patted Goku’s shoulder. “Take all the time you need.”

  *****

 It was rare for ChiChi to enjoy a quiet afternoon at home. Goten slept, Gohan was away visiting Piccolo on Kami’s Temple and her father left an hour ago with toys for Goten. She didn’t need to start dinner for another hour and used this quiet moment to read while drinking her favorite tea.

 ChiChi was engrossed in a climactic chapter of her book when the doorbell rang. Closing her book, ChiChi looked out the window and saw an airship in her yard. There were several men dressed in black suits standing outside. Curious, ChiChi opened the door to see the King of Earth on the other side with two tall men in black.

 “Your Majesty.” ChiChi bowed before the dog king.

 “I’m sorry for coming unannounced.” The king bowed before ChiChi. “May I come in?” He signaled his bodyguards to wait outside.

 “Of course.” ChiChi stepped aside to let the ruler of Earth in. She had her suspicions on his visit but hoped to be wrong. “Would you like some tea?”

 “No, thank you. I won’t stay long.”

 ChiChi invited him to sit on the sofa. “What brings you here?”

 “The first anniversary of the Cell Game is approaching. Mr. Satan is lauded as the one who killed Cell. There will be a parade and ceremony at my castle.” Verbally, ChiChi didn’t speak but the king saw pain in her eyes. “I can’t shake this feeling it’s not true. Son Goku killed King Piccolo. He saved us from his son. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen him but I could’ve sworn I saw Son Goku at the Cell Game. A man with blonde hair looked like him.”

 “Oh.” Now she had confirmation. “So, that’s why you are here.”

 The King’s fur bristled in worry. Something was wrong. “Is Son Goku around? I’d like to speak to him.”

 ChiChi dwelled on the question before finally saying, “My husband died nearly a year ago.”

 “Nearly a year ago?” he picked up. He was afraid to ask but did so anyway. “Son Goku was at the Cell Game, wasn’t he? That little boy that fought Cell….. was that Son Goku’s son?”

 Goten’s crying from the baby monitor saved ChiChi from answering. “Excuse me.” ChiChi rose and hurried out of the room.

 Alone, the King of Earth toured the room. He went to the wall of photographs to get a closer look at the pictures. There were many of Son Goku with his wife and son and one that confirmed what he suspected. A picture of Son Goku and his son with blonde hair.

 Oh, my Go—

 A soft gurgle made the King look away from the photograph to the baby in ChiChi’s arms. The baby was the spitting image of Goku and looked less than a year old.

 My husband died nearly a year ago.

 The truth hit the King like a ton of bricks.

 “My son gets fussy when he wakes from a nap and no one is around.”

 Shock coursed through the King of Earth as ChiChi settled in her seat. His mind spun over the truth and lie he was told. “Why didn’t you speak out? Son Goku died at the Cell Game. It wasn’t Mr. Satan that killed Cell. Son Goku died saving the world.”

 ChiChi waved a toy in her hand at Goten. Her focus was on keeping him happy. “Goku died at the Cell Game but it was our son, Gohan, who killed Cell.”

 This revelation shook the King of Earth to his core. “A child?” He remembered Gohan. He remembered seeing the power expel from the child. “It’s just as when Son Goku killed King Piccolo.” The King chastised himself for not realizing sooner. Son Goku saved the world from King Piccolo. Of course his son will save the world from Cell. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything? How could Mr. Satan take credit for what he didn’t do? Cities are being named after him. He’s getting a movie and book deals. I’m hosting a parade and ceremony for him!”

 Very rare in his life the dog King showed anger. He was always a calm and kind king but learning what Mr. Satan did infuriated him. “I’ll fix this. I’ll cancel the ceremony. I’ll tell the world the truth.”

 “Please don’t,” ChiChi pleaded.

 Don’t?! “But why? The world deserves to know the truth.”

 “My family deserves to live in peace. Do you think I want television crews around my home? Do you think I want my family harassed when we go out? My son is still struggling with the death of his father. I know the attention that fraud is getting. Cameras are following him everywhere. Do you think I want that for my family? The media is insane now. Goku didn’t get this attention when he beat Piccolo.”

 That was true. Over the years the media have become more obsessed with celebrities and Mr. Satan was doing his part adding more fuel to that fire.

 “The world never knew Son Goku killed King Piccolo. They knew a child did. It’s dumb luck Son Goku was never publicly connected to King Piccolo and Piccolo’s defeat.”

 “I guess I should be fortunate for small favors, but I can’t come forward with the truth.”

 With the celebrity obsession now, the King understood ChiChi’s reluctance but he didn’t like this silence. In his eyes, the world deserved to know the truth.

 “I hate what that fraud has been doing. I hate he’s making his money off my family’s hard work. I hate my husband will not get the recognition he deserves….” ChiChi’s voice shook as tears burst from her eyes. “I will never forgive that con artist but if being left alone is the price I have to pay for my family’s peace, then I accept it.”

 ChiChi’s cries caused Goten to suddenly cry. “I’m sorry, Goten,” ChiChi apologized to her baby. She rocked him gently to soothe his tears. “Mommy didn’t mean to cry.”

 Hiding the truth hurt ChiChi but her family came first. The King wanted rightful recognition for Son Goku but he couldn’t argue against his widow wanting peace for her family. Everything Son ChiChi said about the media would happen if they knew the truth.

 “I understand.” The King bowed before ChiChi. “One day, Son Goku and his son will get the recognition they deserve. I promise.”

 The King of Earth left the Son Family home very troubled and very conflicted. He didn’t want to honor ChiChi’s request. If there was a way to get the truth out without disturbing Son ChiChi’s peace, he will do that. Son ChiChi was right and wrong about the media. It’s a bit celebrity-obsessed but Mr. Satan sought the attention. Son Goku never did. He could’ve capitalized on his fame after defeating Piccolo. He could’ve gotten endorsements, a book and movie deal, made special appearances for money but instead retreated from society and his fight with Piccolo was a small footnote in history that the world forgot.

 In this last year, Mr. Satan did several promotions and appearances. He kept the Cell story alive and not let it be a forgotten news story. Perhaps he knew if he did, his fame and money will go, too. If the world knew the truth, Son ChiChi’s family will deal with some disturbance but it wouldn’t last long. Living far away from society, very few reporters would come here anyway. If Son ChiChi did one big interview, that will answer many questions and hinder anyone from returning.

 Telling the truth and betraying Son ChiChi’s wishes was something the King wrestled until the morning of the first anniversary of the Cell Game. Maybe it was the long sleep he got or confiding in his trusted advisor last night that he woke up this morning with clarity.

 I will honor the wishes of Son Goku’s wife. It’s the least I can do for her and the man who saved us.

 But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t let Mr. Satan know what he thought of him.

 His private office opened to loud, boisterous laughs of Mr. Satan bursting in. The more Mr. Satan lied and laughed the more irritated the King of Earth became. Dinner the previous night was insufferable. It took all in him to not lash out at Mr. Satan at his retelling of lies. Perhaps if his daughter wasn’t looking at him with pride he would’ve said something then.

 “Great day isn’t it, King!” Mr. Satan stepped to the window. He was pleased with the crowds of people gathering. “It’s a perfect day for so many people to come out and celebrate the end of Cell and my saving the world.”

 The King growled. If was like the four-legged dogs people kept as pets, he would bite Mr. Satan. “Before the ceremony begins, I want to talk to you.”

 “Sure.” Mr. Satan turned his attention back to the King. “Is this about how long my speech should be? I know I went long at the changing of my hometown’s name to mine but I promise to keep this one short. Thirty---- no twenty minutes.”

 “This isn’t about that.” This man didn’t know humility at all! “Today, I will give a speech honoring you and thanking you for defeating Cell. It will be the first and only lie I ever tell the people of this planet.”

 “Lie?” Mr. Satan kept his cool. There’s no way the King of Earth knew his dark secret. “What are you talking about, King? I defeated Cell. I saved the world.”

 “That is a lie and we both know it. I don’t know everything that happened at the Cell Game but I know the world wasn’t saved by you. It was saved by people who have far more integrity than you can ever have. It is only because of the great respect I have for the real savior, I don’t tell the world the truth. May mercy be placed on your soul when you meet King Yemma.”

 The harsh, brusque tone stunned Mr. Satan. His face warmed up and his heart thumped faster in his chest.  How did the King find out? The group with him at the Cell Game were the only ones who could blow his secret and Mr. Satan paid them off handsomely. If they spoke a word they lose all the money they have received. It was all tied up nicely unless one of those strange people at the Cell Game spoke.

 King Furry shook his head disgusted. The fraud still wouldn’t confess. “You have a daughter. How can you look at her every day and lie? How can you let her think you’re a hero when you’re a fraud? Where’s your honor?!”

 He’s a fraud. Mr. Satan knew that. The King can call him whatever he wanted but Mr. Satan didn’t accept his daughter being brought into the conversation.

 “Listen, King. You’re right. I didn’t kill Cell. One of those people in the group probably did it. I admit that but don’t bring my daughter into this. I’m doing this for her.” The King of Earth wasn’t moved and that bothered Mr. Satan. “Do you know who I was before the Cell Game? How broke I was? Sure I had some fame but no money to give my baby girl all she deserves and after losing her mother, she deserves everything!”

 Again the King of Earth was immune because he thought of the sweet face of a baby boy and his kind mother that wanted to protect the family of the real heroes. “If you want to use your daughter to gain sympathy from me, forget it. My sympathy goes to a baby boy that will never know his father and a boy that will grow into a man without him.”

 “Baby?” Mr. Satan repeated confused. Was this a made-up story from the King to make him feel guilty for what he’s doing? “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I did what I had to do for my daughter! Whoever killed Cell could’ve come forward but he never did. He doesn’t care what I’m doing so why should you? If he’s too dumb to capitalize on this, that’s his problem. Not mine. ”

 The King heard enough. Mr. Satan was thick-headed and blind with fame and ego. “One of these days, your daughter will know the truth. Remember that when you tell her you did it for her. I’ll honor you today but don’t expect another ceremony like this here again.”

 Mr. Satan accepted that. With his publicists, they can do celebrations every year elsewhere. He thought about using his fame to restart the World Martial Arts Tournament. It wouldn’t be a small affair like it was in the past. No. These will be big and flamboyant with multiple prizes. His future looked very bright except for one thing. The King of Earth knew his secret, and if he knew, how long it will be before the rest of the world knew?

 ****

 It was a sunny, warm day the first anniversary of Goku’s death. Gohan laid in bed that morning wide awake for an hour. He wanted to stay in bed and sleep the day away but knew he should get up. He needed to check on Mom. He heard her talking on the phone to Grandpa, Bulma and Krillin the last few days.

 No. I don’t want to do anything special, Bulma. I want to be home with my sons.

 No, Krillin, I think it’s best my sons and I stay together that day.

 I appreciate that, Dad, but I want to be alone with my sons.

 If Mom wanted to be around him and Goten today, then he shouldn’t stay in his room all day. Gohan left his room and went to the kitchen but he didn’t see his mother cooking. That was strange. She was always in the kitchen at this time.

 Gohan returned upstairs. He softly knocked on Mom’s door but after no answer, he turned the doorknob and quietly entered. Goten slept in his crib and Mom’s bed was empty and unmade. There was an open box by the closet. Gohan went to it and saw his Dad’s fighting gi.

 Putting pieces of this mystery together, Gohan noticed the bathroom door closed. Curious, Gohan pressed his ear against it. He heard soft sobs. Gohan slowly turned the doorknob to see his mother sitting on the bathroom floor crying into his Dad’s fighting gi. Gohan quietly closed the door.

 Gohan leaned on the door. Why did he look? Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You can’t cry anymore, Gohan. You have to be the man now. I have to be strong for Mom and Goten.

 After Goku’s death, ChiChi turned the top of the wooden chest into a shrine to Goku. It held a framed photo of Goku, a pot of flowers and incense. ChiChi arranged this months ago but it felt like yesterday to Gohan when she introduced him to it.

 “Dad’s gone but that doesn’t mean we can’t still talk to him and let him know what’s going on in our lives. I made this shrine so we can always talk to him. I’ll go first.”

 ChiChi stepped in front of the chest. “Goku, I have wonderful news for you.” ChiChi placed her hand on her round stomach. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have another baby. Isn’t that wonderful? I know we talked about it since Gohan started preschool and things got in the way but it’s finally happening. It’s a boy.” ChiChi giggled. “I can see you throwing your fist in the air. I know you’re happy about that. Things will be different with him. I promise.”

 ChiChi turned to Gohan with a bright smile on her pretty face. “See, Gohan? It’s easy. Talk to your Dad, too. It’ll make you feel better.”

 Gohan didn’t speak to Dad’s shrine often. There was too much guilt but this morning Gohan felt compelled to talk.

 “Hey, Dad. It’s not a fun day today. You died a year ago. Mom doesn’t want to be around anyone except me and Goten. She’s crying in the bathroom and I don’t know what to do. It’s all my fault Mom’s crying. It’s my fault Goten won’t know you.”

 Gohan chewed his lower lip so he wouldn’t cry. “It’s my fault but I will make it right. I’ll protect Mom and Goten and be there for them.”

 As he made this promise, Gohan didn’t notice ChiChi quietly watching him.

 ****

 Breakfast passed quietly for Gohan. ChiChi and Goten were lively for different reasons. Even though he was born early, Goten still developed faster than human babies. At six months, Goten was a fast crawler and speaking one- or two-word sentences. Gohan noticed his mother talked about many things that morning; his lessons; a book she read; the weather; everything except the obvious: his father died today.

 After breakfast, Gohan gave Goten piggyback rides, chased Goten as he crawled over the house, played with his toys and concluded the morning watching TV. ChiChi played with them occasionally but spent most of the morning in the kitchen cooking for their afternoon picnic.

 “It’s a bright, beautiful day,” ChiChi said. “Instead of lunch inside, let’s have it in the yard.”

 Food covered the kitchen counters, stove and oven as ChiChi transferred food into serving dishes and picnic boxes. “I’m almost done. It’s time you two get away from the TV.”

 Goten sat in Gohan’s lap entertained by giant costume animals singing. “This show is fun, Mom. Goten likes it. I did, too. I used to watch this a lot.”

 “Yeah,” ChiChi agreed, “you did. You’d clutch your favorite stuffed rabbit while glued to the TV.” ChiChi looked up from her work. On the TV, the animals sang numbers and Goten repeated it a few. “At least it’s educational.”

 Gohan remembered this program and his stuffed rabbit from his early childhood. He wouldn’t go anywhere without it. After his kidnapping, Gohan never slept with his stuffed toys anymore. Goten had them now as companions.

 When the last commercial ended, Gohan expected another of Goten’s favorite program to start. Instead of seeing cartoon animals, a live feed of the King of Earth’s castle appeared on TV. There were crowds of celebratory people, marching bands and dancers. Gohan wondered what was going on until he saw Mr. Satan riding on top of a car waving at the people. In the car with him was the King of Earth waving very subdued.  

 Gohan saw him on TV a few times but generally avoided him. He didn’t want to see or hear Mr. Satan tell another lie of Cell. Goten wasn’t affected like his brother but he was bored not seeing his program. “’Han,” Goten tugged Gohan’s shirt. Goten was too young to fully pronounce Gohan’s name and could only call him Han. “TV?”

 “Sorry, Goten. Our program isn’t on today.” Goten frowned in the cutest grumpy face. “You can play with your toys.” He turned Goten to the alphabet blocks scattered on the sofa.

 “Ah!” Attention diverted, Goten reached for the blocks. He grabbed blocks and put letters together to make incoherent words.

 Meanwhile, Gohan watched the parade float take the King of Earth and Mr. Satan to a stage. Mr. Satan threw his arms up waving at the crowd and blowing kisses to his adoring fans. The King of Earth behaved with more decorum as he stepped to the podium. He spoke of the significance of this day and Mr. Satan’s heroics at the Cell Game.

 Heroics. Gohan scoffed. Gohan’s feelings for Mr. Satan were mixed. Gohan didn’t care about the media attention Mr. Satan captured but he wasn’t happy he took credit for what his Dad did. Dad died for everyone. He wouldn’t have beaten Cell without his Dad. Mr. Satan took credit for it and made a lot of money.

 The fame didn’t bother Gohan but the money did.

 When he was very young, Gohan remembered his Dad coming home with money on freelance jobs. While Dad was in space, Grandpa gave Mom money. He continued after Dad came home. Money never mattered to Gohan until he overheard a conversation with Mom and Grandpa two years ago.

 Today, there will be no training. It was a national holiday and Mom wanted him and Dad to take a day off and spend time together. Piccolo didn’t fly off this time. He took the day off, too. Gohan yawned as he shuffled out of bed. He left his room intending to get some fruit from the kitchen and read until breakfast is ready.

 In the hallway, Gohan heard the voices of his mother and Grandpa. Grandpa! Grandpa hasn’t visited much since Dad returned from space. Most times Gohan only saw Grandpa when they visited him in his castle. It was very strange to not see Grandpa around the house so much but Gohan figured that was due to him, Dad and Piccolo training for the Artificial Humans. They had one more year before their arrival and Gohan thought after that’s over, he will see more of his Grandpa again.

 “I can’t believe you have that kidnapper living in your house.”

 Grandpa sounded mad. Gohan didn’t hear this anger except when Grandpa talked about Dad when he was gone. Gohan remained hidden at the top of the stairs listening. From his view, Gohan saw Piccolo sleeping on the sofa with a blanket on him. Mom must’ve put that on him when she came downstairs. Feeling the level of his Ki, Gohan knew Piccolo was awake but pretending to sleep. Gohan saw a little of the kitchen from his view. Grandpa stood over Mom angry while she prepared several of her yummy donuts.

 “He’s a guest, Dad.”

 “Guests don’t stay for two years, ChiChi. He’s living here. He kidnapped my grandson. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

 “Of course it does. I didn’t like it when Goku brought him home but we are getting along. Piccolo regrets what he did to Gohan.”

 Grandpa sighed. “Oh, ChiChi. You’re being complicit. You and Gohan should’ve moved in with me two years ago.”

 Mom turned to Grandpa angry. “You expect me to leave my husband?”

“Is Goku being a husband to you?” The coldness of his Grandpa shook Gohan. “Besides, performing his husband duties to you, is he being a husband? He spends his days training with Gohan and Piccolo----”

 “You know why he is doing that,” Mom cut him off as she went back to her donuts.

 “He doesn’t work for the farmers anymore. Mr. Olitz offered Goku to come by once a week to do work so he can bring some money into the house.”

 There was that word again. Money. Was it really that bad for them?

 “He needs to train for the Artificial Humans,” Mom defended Dad.

 “So is everyone else, but they still need money to go about their lives now. I saw that Yamcha fella in a baseball game. I know the fight is in another year but you still have to live every day. If not for me, you wouldn’t have money to buy food for your family. You wouldn’t have money to buy Gohan a birthday gift.”

 Mom slammed a ball of dough on the counter. “What’s your point, Dad? Are you counting every cent of money you gave us? Are you expecting us to pay you back?”

 “No. I’m worried about you, ChiChi. I know this isn’t what you wanted. You moved out to be independent of me. You said you and Goku are adults and can take care of each other. I’ve been taking care of you financially half as long as you and Goku have been married.”

 Gohan noticed Mom stopped kneading the dough. She rubbed her arm over her eyes as if she were crying. Did it bother Mom that much?

 “After all this is over, Goku will get a job. We won’t depend on you anymore, Dad. We’ll be the independent adults I told you we will be.”

 Mr. Satan spoke at the podium. Gohan gripped the arm of the sofa tightly. Dad was dead and Mom still depended on Grandpa for money. Gohan noticed it more now since his Dad’s death Mom hated taking money from Grandpa. If she had some of that money Mr. Satan made, she wouldn’t depend on Grandpa anymore.

 Don’t we deserve that money?

 Suddenly the TV screen turned black. ChiChi held the remote. She looked as annoyed as Gohan felt. “Goten doesn’t need to see garbage. Lunch is ready.”

 The afternoon replicated a year ago: warm, sunny with few clouds in the sky. Only differences, there were no earthquakes of Cell fighting Goku and Gohan. No worriedly watching the TV of her husband and son fighting a monster. It was tranquil as Goten slept exhausted on the picnic blanket. Playing with Gohan most of the morning and eating ChiChi’s food exhausted the baby.  

 Mom’s food was great as always but Gohan’s thoughts were on the meaning of this day. He envied his brother not weighed with troubling memories but Gohan didn’t understand why Mom didn’t speak about what happened a year ago.

 “Is the food bad?”

 Gohan looked up at ChiChi gazing at him while she fixed her plate. “Hmm? No, Mom. It’s great.” He finished his sandwich to prove it.

 ChiChi smiled but the usual warmth didn’t reach her eyes. “I know today’s rough. This whole year has been rough. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe it’s been a year since Goku died.”

 Mom’s confession brought Gohan some relief. If Mom wanted to talk, maybe he can confess what’s on his mind, too. “Sometimes, I try to think Dad’s in space. It makes it easier.”

 “Maybe it’s easier but it doesn’t make it right,” ChiChi scooped a spoonful of potato salad on her plate. “I’ve been so busy with Goten, we never had that talk I promised we will have about Dad. It’s time, Gohan.”

 Gohan tensed slightly. Even though he knew it will happen, he still wasn’t ready for it.

 ChiChi added korokke to her plate. “Dad told you to finish Cell, but you didn’t want to. Why?”

Mom was calm. She spoke as if she will listen and not react strongly. It was comforting but didn’t ease the tightness in Gohan’s chest. “I didn’t think Cell suffered enough. I wanted him to pay. I don’t know what came over me, Mom, but Trunks said it happened to him, too.”

 “What happened?”

 Gohan combed his hair with his fingers agitated. “I don’t know if I can describe it, Mom. I was arrogant and I liked how strong I felt. I thought no one can stop me. I didn’t want to listen to anyone. Not even Dad.”

 So, that’s what happened. It affected Gohan, too. “Your Dad felt that, too, Gohan. It happened when he turned into a Super Saiyan.”

 Gohan filled his plate with more karaage. “Dad was really angry the first time he changed. It was scary but I know why he yelled at me.”

“One of the reasons Dad stayed away for a year, he wanted to control that Super Saiyan rage. On Yardrat, it spontaneously happened. It wasn’t safe being around him.”

 “Dad never told me this.” Gohan was disappointed to not know. “He told me he was recovering from his injuries and learning his teleportation trick.”

 “Dad didn’t want you to worry. He tried to keep it from me but I forced it out of him.” ChiChi was too busy filling her plate, explaining without thinking how cautious she should be. “Once Goku opened up, he told me stories he spontaneously burst into a Super Saiyan on Yardrat. It happened while he slept; while he ate, while he talked to the people on Yardrat. He thought he fully controlled it when he left but sometimes it still happened.”

 Gohan wondered where he were when this happened. “I never saw Dad change unless he wanted to. Sometimes I woke up feeling Dad’s Ki soar but I didn’t feel any threats. Dad was always around you.” Gohan thought that was strange but since he didn’t feel any threats, he ignored it. “If it wasn’t intentional, Mom, what happened to cause Dad to change?”

 ChiChi froze with her cheeks swollen with food. She never talked about Goku as a Super Saiyan with anyone. Bulma pried but ChiChi was tight-lipped. Distracted with food and talking about Goku, ChiChi let it slip something she hadn’t meant to say.

 “Hmm?” ChiChi feigned innocence.

 “What happened that caused Dad to change?”

 “Hah! Ahhh! Slow down, Goku.” ChiChi panted. “It’s hur…ahh!” she screamed as Goku slapped his body against hers.

 “I love your screams…..” Goku’s lustful voice breathed over ChiChi. “It boils my blood like your anger.” His powerful thrust caused ChiChi to cry out again. “That’s it. Scream for me.”

 ChiChi’s hips bounced off the bed at another powerful whap. The way Goku pummeled in her ChiChi was amazed her hips didn’t break.

 “Don’t worry.” Goku murmured over her. “I know how much you can take,” he slammed his body against hers. “And you can take a lot. You’re made for me….” One of his hands squeezed a breast. “Mine.” His mouth covered a nipple suckling and biting her flesh.

 “Goku….” His teeth hurt but ChiChi couldn’t deny how good he felt feeding off her breast and his body merging between her legs. He grabbed her left leg and pinned it behind her head, stretching her even wider as he pushed in and out of her rapidly. “I love how you keep your body fit for me.” He ignored her groans as he increased his thrusts. “I can twist your body anyway I desire and fuck you without breaking you.”

 Sweat from Goku dropped on her; his eyes and smiles were sinister. “Goku….” ChiChi grabbed a handful of his chest. “Too hard.”

 But Goku didn’t hear her as he kept slapping his body against hers faster. He was almost there and each quick thrust left her breathless to speak as she reached her end.

 “Rrgh!” Goku groaned as he came over her. Her body arched with the simultaneous intensity of her orgasm and his warm heat pouring into her. Dazed, she heard Goku’s, “That felt good. Didn’t it, ChiChi?”

 ChiChi only answered with heavy pants. Gazing at Goku, she noticed the change in his eyes. They weren’t feral anymore. Tears sprang from her eyes when she saw the guilt in his. He removed his hand from pinning ChiChi’s leg behind her head.

 As ChiChi lowered her leg, Goku depowered to his base form. “I did it again.” He kissed her tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Goku murmured repeatedly. His face buried in her neck as he kissed her apologetically. “I thought I had control in that form. I did on Yardrat.”

 ChiChi accepted the tender kisses. When Goku pulled back, ChiChi noticed his wet face. She couldn’t decipher if it were her tears or his. “Don’t apologize. We’re getting used to each other again.”

 ChiChi sounded hopeful but she knew Goku wasn’t happy with his behavior. “Maybe….. maybe we shouldn’t try it like this anymore.”

 ChiChi playfully tugged one of his spiky bangs. “You were the one who suddenly changed.”

 “I know,” he wasn’t happy he did. “I don’t know what happened. I saw you in your intimacy clothes and poof! Super Saiyan.”

 ChiChi kissed him. “I think that’s a compliment.”

 Goku wasn’t convinced this was a good thing. “It’s different now. Being a Super Saiyan completely changed me, ChiChi. I wanted control of it before I came home.” Goku’s voice was muffled as he buried his head in ChiChi’s hair. “I had control but I lost it, ChiChi. I don’t know what happened.”

 ChiChi understood but Goku didn’t. She pulled Goku’s head to lay on her breasts. Goku wrapped his arms around her like a scared child while ChiChi soothed him by caressing the spikes of his hair. “You did get control of those emotions, Goku. The problem is you got control of one kind of emotion.” Goku raised his head puzzled. “Goku, you got control of rage and bloodlust for fighting. You told me on Yardrat you remember intimate times with me. You suddenly burst into a Super Saiyan.” Goku nodded remembering.  “You controlled your emotions of rage sparked by fighting but you never had a chance to control your emotions of lust because I wasn’t there. Anger emotions and intimacy emotions are two different emotions, Goku.”

 Suddenly, it clicked for Goku. “Ohhhhh! So that means I have to get control of my lust emotions.”

 “You’re not the only one who has to train. I have to get my body stronger, too. I don’t wanna be worn out after one round with you as a Super Saiyan. We can achieve our goals with practice,” ChiChi advised as her hand glided down his muscled chest. “Lots of practice.”

 Goku grinned, liking that idea. “Like when we got married.”

 ChiChi remembered the short breaks before resuming intimacy multiple times, mornings she’d try to get out of bed but Goku pulled her back. There were afternoons after lunch Goku felt in the mood. “We had more time to practice. Not so much time now. Gohan. Your training.”

 “It’ll take longer,” Goku accepted as he crawled over ChiChi again. “But we’ll get there.”

 If Gohan didn’t know better he’d say Mom’s blushing. “I guess Dad suddenly changing into a Super Saiyan wasn’t bad but what triggered it?”

 ChiChi chewed an onigiri. She prayed she wasn’t blushing as she casually explained. “Past anger in fights and other experiences. Dad got it under control and um, I got stronger, too.”

 Got stronger? Gohan wondered what Mom meant until it hit him. “You and Dad trained together?!”

 “Do you think Mom is too weak to spar with Dad?” All the innuendos. ChiChi was so glad her son never caught on. If Goku were here, he would roll on the grass laughing. “I’m still a martial artist. Remember I did fight Dad when he escaped the hospital.”

 “Oh, yeah,” Gohan remembered the story ChiChi told at the family picnic before the Cell Game. “Wow, Mom.” Gohan was impressed. “You must be really tough to battle Dad as a Super Saiyan.”    

 ChiChi could see Gohan pondering more questions to ask but ChiChi turned the topic back on him. “So you didn’t feel this rage when you trained alone with Dad. It only happened at the Cell Game?” Gohan nodded as he reached for an apple. Is that why Goku never trained Gohan to control it?  

 “If I acted cocky in that room, I know Dad would’ve prepared me.” Gohan took a big bite into his apple. “One thing I don’t understand, Mom, is why Dad didn’t tell me I will fight Cell.”

 I know why he didn’t want to tell me, but why didn’t he tell Gohan? Goku, what the hell were you thinking? “I know his heart played a part in you fighting but Dad didn’t prepare you enough and that cost him his life, too.”

 “That’s not true, Mom.”

 “Dad knew you surpassed him but didn’t tell you, Gohan. He knew you will fight Cell but didn’t tell you until the Cell Game. I love your father, but he shares the blame, too.”

 Like her, Gohan could be stubborn. “No, Mom, you’re wrong. When we entered that room, Dad told me I will be a Super Saiyan and I will be stronger than him. I didn’t believe him because I never thought I can be stronger than Dad.” So many times Gohan thought over his time with Dad in that room. So many times he noticed things he missed when it happened. It made him feel even guiltier about his father’s death.

 “We’re not finished, Dad. You said you want me to be stronger than you. I’m not there yet. Maybe I will be when the year’s up.”

 “We are, Gohan. I’ve gotten as strong as I can and you…..” Dad was happy as always. “Gohan, you’re a Super Saiyan at nine years old. Four years ago, I was the only one. A year ago, it was me, Vegeta and Trunks. You’re younger than all of us. There’s no telling how much stronger you will be.  You’re stronger than me.”

 Gohan wished his Dad didn’t lie to make him feel better. “I’m stronger, Dad, but we know I’m not as strong as you. No one can be.”

 Gohan buried his face in his hands to hide the surfacing tears. “He told me, Mom. Before we left, he said I was stronger than him but I didn’t believe him.”

 ChiChi slid across the picnic blanket to enclose her arms around Gohan. Her brave boy. She held him as he gave into the tears and cried. “It’s not your fault you didn’t believe Dad, Gohan. As strong as you are, you were too young to be fighting.”

 “But I was the only one who could stop Cell!”

 Gohan’s pain broke ChiChi’s heart. “I know but you still weren’t ready and Dad didn’t see that. Your Dad asked me if he can bring you to that room. I told him to make you as strong as possible. I know that made him happy. Goku always wanted to train you, but in his excitement to finally do that, I don’t think he saw you didn’t have the same drive as him.

 “Your Dad and I both made mistakes. Dad saw your strength and thought it meant you’re like him. I saw an interest you have and went overboard with it.” Looking back, ChiChi saw flaws in both her and Goku’s parenting. “I did it because it was safe and not dangerous like your Dad’s interest but I also knew it was something you wanted.”

 Gohan rubbed his eyes as he tried to understand his Mom. “You mean studying?”

 ChiChi dried Gohan’s tears with a napkin. “Yes. We didn’t know about Dad’s lineage so we thought you were a special baby. You crawled, talked and walked so early. We both thought you were special and felt you should be nurtured but in different ways. I thought we should give you the best future possible and nurture your mind. I read to you every day. I taught you with flashcards and blocks so early at nine months you could put round, square and triangle pegs in the right hole.”

 That sounded like Mom. “What did Dad do?”

 “Dad taught you how to swim, helped you crawl and walk. He tested your reflexes and coordination. It was light training I approved of. Your Dad was very impressed at how quickly you developed physically. It gave him more reasons to think he should train you. The first time he asked you were barely a year old.”

 “A year?” Gohan laughed. “That’s kind of young.”

“Yup,” ChiChi agreed while fondly remembering Goku’s eagerness to train Gohan. “Every birthday he asked and I said no. Your Dad accepted that until a few months after your third birthday. I noticed Goku starting to lose patience and by your fourth, he was agitated, especially when you started preschool. He said, “’If Gohan can go to preschool, why can’t I teach him martial arts?’”

 “Kind of a stretch,” Gohan admitted. “I didn’t have to fight in school.”

 “No, but you did have issues. Some kids tried to pull your tail.”

 The incident drew a blank for Gohan. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to school I forgot a lot. I barely remember preschool.”

 “Do you miss school?” ChiChi thought after the fighting, Gohan will resume school but since Goku’s death, ChiChi hadn’t thought about sending Gohan to school and Gohan hadn’t asked to go.

 “I like being home. I want to be home with you and Goten.”

 ChiChi wanted him to stay, too, but knew he shouldn’t. “You can’t stay home forever, Gohan. You need to be around kids your age. You need to find your own group of friends and not just your Dad’s friends.”

 Maybe Mom was right but Gohan didn’t feel like socializing. “I will,” Gohan promised, “but let me stay home a little longer. I’m still catching up from missing three years of school.”

 ChiChi knew Gohan didn’t ‘miss’ three years of school. Even while training Gohan read and studied. He might have been a little behind but he wasn’t three years behind. “All right,” ChiChi gave in. “We won’t talk about you going to school yet.” Hearing her say that caused ChiChi to laugh at herself. “Oh, my. Your father is influencing me from the grave. Me not send you to school?” She laughed again. “Maybe I’m loosening up too much.”

 “I don’t think so. You still won’t let me fight.”

 Gohan laughed but ChiChi didn’t take the joke light-heartedly. Her past behavior would make anyone think that but everyone was wrong. “It’s not as if I never wanted you to learn how to fight, Gohan. Your Dad and his friends thought that but it’s not true.”

 When it came to him fighting, the reaction Gohan mostly saw from his mother was anger. It was mostly directed at his Dad and his friends. Now, Mom appeared conflicted and sad. Emotionally, she was never this raw and open. One thing Gohan noticed from his parents recently was how they sometimes hid their real feelings. Seeing this as a rare opportunity, Gohan used this moment to get answers. “What is the truth?”

 Her son looked so different now. Moments ago, he cried in her arms for comfort like he did at four. Now he looked wise beyond his years; ready for adult conversations. The price of so many fights she assumed. “Seeing your Dad fight Piccolo was traumatic. The brutal beating he took was something I never wanted to happen to you. I told Goku times were peaceful and you didn’t need to learn how to fight. That didn’t mean you couldn’t fight to help others but honestly, I thought if that happened, it wouldn’t be for a very long time. Your Dad was fifteen the first time he saved the world. He wasn’t nine. He wasn’t fighting aliens that could destroy a planet at five years old.”

 At four years old, Gohan accepted his fate. He accepted he had to fight to save the Earth from the Saiyans. He volunteered to go to Namek. He wanted to fight the Artificial Humans. Not since being left alone for six months, did Gohan think he was too young for all this. Cell was the breaking point. The sacrifice in that fight was too much. When Goku was on Yardrat, Gohan trained to keep in shape. He sometimes visited Piccolo for a light session. Since Cell, he hasn’t trained at all. When he visit Piccolo, it’s only to talk. All Gohan wanted to do is read and study. He exercised to stay in shape but he never trained.

 “My other reason,” ChiChi continued, “is that I knew you didn’t want to fight. That was your father’s dream. You told me your dream.”

 “Being a scholar?” Gohan guessed. Gohan remembered telling Piccolo this but he couldn’t remember the day he decided he will be a scholar.

 Luckily, ChiChi did. “Gohan, do you remember when you told me what you wanted to be when you grow up?” Gohan shook his head. “I do. I always wanted you to get an education but you, Gohan, you said you wanted to be a scholar and like any good mother I supported that.”

 “Gohan? Your mother’s here.”

 Gohan turned his head to see his mother standing at the door of his classroom. “Mommy!” Gohan closed his book and ran to ChiChi. He wrapped his arms around her legs.

 ChiChi rubbed his shaggy hair. “Did you have a good day today?” Gohan nodded. “Get your things. We have a long drive home.”

 Gohan grabbed his school hat and bag and bowed before his teacher. Holding ChiChi’s hand, mother and son left preschool. “Where’s Daddy?”

 Most days she and Goku picked up and dropped off Gohan at preschool. “He’s doing work for Mr. Olitz but he’ll be home for dinner.” When they were settled in the truck, ChiChi drove off. Traffic was always congested near the school but once ChiChi drove the route home, traffic always became light. “What did you do in school?”

 “We learned about animals. Miss Rae talked about dinosaurs, lions and tigers. The dinosaurs she talked about aren’t like the ones at home, Mommy.”

 True. The dinosaurs in the Mount Paouz area were friendly and kept to themselves. The ones Miss Rae talked about were the violent and human eating type that scared children.  

 “Mommy, what should I be when I grow up?”

 The unexpected question caused ChiChi to laugh, “Gohan, you’re four. Why are you asking that?”

 “Miss Rae gave us homework. She wants us to think about what we will be when we grow up and draw it.” Gohan shrugged. “I don’t know what to be.”

 ChiChi tried to help. “Well, you want it to be something you love because you will be doing it for a very long time. What do you love to do?”    

 “Play with Daddy.”

 ChiChi laughed. “I do, too, but that’s not a career.”

 “Eat your cooking,” Gohan tried again.

 Another giggle. “That’s not a career.”

 Gohan became quiet as he seriously thought about it. “I love to read.”

 “That’s a start. Let’s see,” ChiChi pondered. What career can be built on reading? “With reading, you can be a writer, a teacher, a scholar…..”

 “What’s a scholar?”

 “A scholar is a very smart person who reads and studies a lot.”

 “I can do that. I’ll be a scholar,” Gohan decided. “I love to read and you and Miss Rae tell me I’m smart.”

 A scholar. ChiChi liked that. It will definitely nourish his mind and ChiChi always wanted to do that. “If that’s what you want to do, Gohan, I’ll help you.”

 Gohan faintly remembered his teacher, Miss Rae. She was kind and helpful to him but like many things, Gohan forgot a lot of his life before the kidnapping. Classmates he ate lunch with, played in the sandbox were completely forgotten. He couldn’t remember their names.

 “Like any good parent, I supported your decision though,” ChiChi sighed, “there was extra motive on my part. I thought it would help me convince your Dad to not train you. I should support your decision like any parent but I should’ve been realistic you will change your mind. You were four years old. I doubt Miss Rae took you seriously.”

 So his desire to be a scholar was based on an assignment from preschool. It was his decision. He chose that career but Mom sounded as if she regretted encouraging him.

“Your Dad and I both made mistakes and in our own ways forced things on you before you were ready to make a decision for yourself. I can change that. All I want is for you to be happy and get an education because I think you deserve that but you don’t have to be a scholar. Be what you want.”

 Was this a trap? Did Mom really mean this? “If I quit school will you be mad?”

 ChiChi raised an eyebrow curiously. Was he testing her? Maybe she and Goku went to the extremes in getting what they wanted out of Gohan but ChiChi wasn’t going to allow Gohan to make the same mistake. “I think you will miss a great opportunity giving up your education. Your Dad and I never had the chances you have, Gohan. Your Dad lived on his own for a very long time and had to figure things out on his own. I had my own tragedies but Grandpa gave me a normal but limited upbringing. While I did get some school lessons, Grandpa thought it would be best if I focus more on being a wife and mother.”

 “Why?”

 “Because of his kingdom. He thought I will inherit it after I married and the only education I need is Grandpa grooming me and Goku but I had my own plans. So, if I didn’t follow in my Dad’s plans for me, I should do the same for you. But Gohan,” ChiChi was firm and vowed to argue if Gohan refused her olive branch, “you have to meet me halfway. I won’t force you but you do need an education.”

 So, it wasn’t a test. This was a lot to think about but Gohan wanted to make one thing clear with his mother. “I never felt forced, Mom but I didn’t think you were right wanting me to study when there were other things happening.”

 “Like bringing back Piccolo?”

 That was a big one. “Yeah, but I was wrong, too. I didn’t think about you missing me for a year. I didn’t know what you went through.”

 ChiChi wrapped an arm around Gohan and squeezed him. “That’s in the past and we have both learned from it.”

 Gohan nodded. There were unfortunate misunderstandings on both their parts and both learned the hard way. “I want to continue my education, Mom. I like reading but maybe scholar isn’t for me.” He laughed. “It’s a broad topic.”

 “Don’t worry, Gohan. You have many peaceful years to decide. You and Goten. Oh,” Something caught her eye. “Someone heard his name.”

 Goten’s little body wiggled as he slowly awakened. He raised his head and looked around searching for someone until he saw ChiChi. A sweet giggle burst from Goten as he crawled to his mother.

 “Is my sweet Goten awake?” ChiChi cooed as she picked up Goten and smothered him with kisses. ChiChi fell back on the blanket with Goten on her chest. “We are lucky, Gohan.”

 “Lucky?”

 “We lost Goku but we get to live in peace. In another future, you and your father are dead.” She lift Goten over her. The child burst in sweet giggles as he went up and down in his mother’s arms. “Goten never existed. I don’t know what happened to me but I know it wasn’t good. The me in that time won’t have a happy ending. We get to have a happy ending, Gohan. You will grow up, find a career, marry and have children. Goten will grow up in peace. He won’t have to deal with kidnappings and violence. I won’t have Goku but I will have you, Goten and any grandchildren you’ll give me. I’ll be happy.”

 His mother was so happy as she flew Goten in her arms. Goten’s laughs were pure and joyous like all happy babies. It made Gohan very happy to see this. Mom was right. They will have a happier future. Dad was gone but for the first time in a year Gohan wasn’t heavily burdened with guilt. He and Mom had a long overdue talk and Gohan felt a change in their relationship. It was a good change. Gohan accepted he will always carry some guilt but it felt lighter now. They were lucky. Dad was gone but Goten is here. He’ll have a better future than his dead counterpart. He won’t die at a young age in a dystopian future. He’ll have his father’s friends and new friends he’ll make in the future.

 I’ll be happy, Gohan decided. I’ll be happy.

 ****

 ChiChi felt the summer heat when she stepped out of her father’s car. The heat was somewhat bearable in her mountain home. It was brutal in West City. The city was going through a record-breaking heatwave.

 Dr. Briefs invented an invisible dome for the gathering in his backyard. The heat was brutal from where Gyu-Mao parked to the short distance inside the large Capsule Corporation domicile. ChiChi picked up her pace as she was eager to get her and Goten inside.  

 “Oooo,” ChiChi felt the relief of chilled air, “that cool air feels wonderful.”

 “I still want a drink,” Gyu-Mao, with his massive frame, felt the heat more than his family. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “A nice cold beer sounds good.”

 “Wow,” Gohan marveled at the booms of music overhead and the transformation of the Briefs’ backyard into a carnival. There were several booths managed by robots that prepared a variety of foods, an area cornered off for video and carnival games for all to play. It reminded ChiChi of the festivals her father hosted in his village. A few of Dr. Briefs pets roamed free in a fenced area. ChiChi thought that will be a fun spot to play with Goten. At almost nine months, Goten walked, was fearless and enthusiastic playing with wild animals while Gohan was shy around them at his age.

 “You made it!”

 Bulma spotted them as she and Trunks were by a food booth of sweet cakes. Bulma waved them over.

 “Drink,” Gyu-Mao said parched. “It’s so hot outside.”

 Bulma pointed to three booths down from them. “Makes everything. Alcoholic. Nonalcoholic.”

 While Gyu-Mao sauntered over to the drink booth, ChiChi and Gohan remained. ChiChi carried Goten in his carrier while Gohan carried Goten’s baby bag. “Sorry we’re late,” ChiChi apologized. “Goten was a little fussy before we left but he settled on the drive here.”

 “At least you came.” Bulma was irritated. “Not everyone showed up. Piccolo refused to come and Tien wasn’t kidding when he told Yamcha after the Cell Game this may be the last time we see him.”

 ChiChi tried to be optimistic. “Well, more fun for us I guess.”

 “Visit all the booths,” Bulma told them. “I have plenty of food and games. The interactive ones are great, Gohan. I highly recommend them.”

 “I don’t know how to play those games,” Gohan admitted shyly.

 “Yamcha will show you. ChiChi, I have a Goldfish, UNO and Old Maid for you. I’ll play with you but after I have my rematch with Master Roshi over Poker. He swindled two grand out of me. I’m getting it back today.”

 ChiChi suspected Bulma meant well referring child games to her as Goku’s friends didn’t see her as the adult games type of player but it would’ve been nice to be asked what and if she played  but like everyone always suspected Goku was too innocent to know anything, they thought that of her as well. Like Goku, she will use this to her advantage. “I wouldn’t mind sitting in on a Poker game.”

 Bulma was taken back at the suggestion. “If you want but Master Roshi is really good and plays for money. I’ll explain the game and after watching me and Master Roshi play a round or two, join in if you feel comfortable.”

 “Master Roshi wouldn’t take money from me.” If he tried, ChiChi would make him pay. “It would be cruel to take money from his former student’s widow.”

 “We always play for money but Roshi only takes it from me.” It shouldn’t matter to Bulma since she is rich and the two grand Master Roshi won from her was pocket change but it was the principle that old man outplayed a genius like her that infuriated her.

 “Oh, Trunks,” Bulma groaned at Trunks’ cake smeared face. “You’re such a messy eater.” She grabbed a napkin and wiped his face clean.

 There was a sudden chorus of roars at one of the video game consoles. Yamcha threw his hands up with Oolong, Puar and a woman ChiChi never saw before cheering him. She was a brunette with her hair pulled up into a ponytail. She wore a pretty summer dress that flattered her petite figure and stood very close to Yamcha. “They are really into the games,” ChiChi commented.

 “They’ve been playing since they got here. Oh,” Bulma smiled cheekily. “Yamcha brought his girlfriend. Not as pretty as me, but not many women are. He met her at one of his baseball games.”

 Trunks got fussy when Bulma pulled him away from the booth of sweets. She settled the child in her arms as she walked with ChiChi, Goten and Gohan. “I’m more interested in Krillin’s girlfriend.”

 “Why?”

 “They’ve been dating for over a year and Krillin’s so secretive about it. That’s suspicious.”

 ChiChi agreed it did sound suspicious but Krillin’s life was his personal business. “Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell us about her.”

 “And that makes it suspicious. Why hasn’t Krillin told us about her? What’s he hiding?” It was all an exciting mystery to Bulma.

 “Maybe he’s scared of what we will think,” Gohan offered his opinion. “Vegeta was upset with him not destroying 18 after the fight with Cell and…..” Gohan recalled the embarrassing thing he said on Kami’s Temple. “I accidentally announced Krillin’s feelings to 18.”

 “Whoever she is, we can be relieved it’s not 18.”

 Bulma brought them to the picnic area where her mother laid on a blanket wearing sunglasses, a crop shirt and mini shorts. A few feet away at the tables sat Vegeta surrounded by food.  

 “Let’s sit on the grass,” ChiChi pointed to a spot near Mrs. Briefs.  

 Gohan grabbed a picnic blanket off a spare table and spread it out. Goten woke up in the middle of this and his curious eyes looked around. ChiChi spotted that look in Goten’s eyes. She had ten seconds before Goten broke out in a full-blown wail. ChiChi unbuckled the carrier and pulled Goten out just in time.

 “What’s wrong with Goten?” Bulma asked curiously of Goten clinging to ChiChi.

 ChiChi rocked Goten gently. “Goten has to be held when he wakes up from his naps or he’s gonna scream.”

 “And fed.” Gohan opened Goten’s baby bag and handed ChiChi a bottle of milk.  

 Trunks walked over to Gohan as he pulled toys, snacks and bottles from Goten’s baby bag. Trunks grabbed a plush dragon and sat on the blanket to play with it. Seeing Trunks got himself a temporary babysitter with Gohan and ChiChi, Bulma said, “Mind watching him while I grab something to eat? I’m starving.”

 Before ChiChi could answer, Bulma was already walking away. “Mine!” Goten jumped out of ChiChi’s arms when he saw Trunks playing with his toy. Trunks stuck his tongue out at Goten and held the plush dragon close to him.

 “Let him play with it, Goten.” ChiChi grabbed a toy from the bag and gave it to her son. “When Bulma visited us, she let you play with Trunks’ toys.”

 “He broke it!” Trunks pointed at Goten.

 Goten tried to reach for the toy again but ChiChi held him back. “Oh, my,” Mrs. Briefs cooed seeing Goten. Today was the first time she met him. “He looks like Goku.”

 ChiChi tickled Goten to distract him from getting his plush dragon from Trunks. The baby squirmed and laughed, completely forgetting about his toy. “He looks and smiles so much like his Daddy. It’s almost as if he’s returned in some way.”

 Vegeta rolled his eyes. If she continued on like this, he will throw up his food. “Kakarrot’s isn’t coming back and you need to get over that. There isn’t any special meaning to Goten looking like Kakarrot. The second sons of a Saiyan look like their father.”

ChiChi and Gohan looked at Goten before turning to Vegeta surprised by this revelation. “Really?”

 “Saiyan genetics,” Vegeta explained. “Even that idiot Raditz knew. He knew he will recognize Kakarrot because he looked like their father.”

 That sounded familiar to ChiChi. “When he was in the hospital, Goku did mention his brother saying that.”

 Vegeta resumed eating when he noticed ChiChi staring at him in a peculiar way. “What are you looking at me for?”

 “I’m wondering if you are the oldest or second son of your father.”

 Vegeta turned away from ChiChi. It was bad enough Bulma asked about his past. He didn’t need ChiChi doing it, too. “Mind your own business!”

 “Krillin!” Bulma screamed. “What the hell?!”

 Alarmed, ChiChi, Gohan and Vegeta looked to see what happened. Master Roshi, Krillin and Krillin’s girlfriend, 18, arrived.

 18 dressed relaxed in her black skinny jeans and plum-colored halter top. The bracelets on her right arm jingled as she pushed back a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her sharp, pretty blue eyes surveyed the shock and suspicious stares at her as she arrived on Krillin’s arm. Krillin rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Hi, everyone! Nice group get together you arranged, Bulma.” Several pairs of eyes stared wanting an explanation. “We all know each other but I’ll introduce her again. Meet 18…. my girlfriend.”

 Yamcha pushed his girlfriend behind him. Oolong and Puar dived behind a game console.

 Gyu-Mao dropped his drink while Master Roshi ordered himself one.  

 Dr. Briefs resumed playing with his pets while Mrs. Briefs clapped her hands giddily. “Ooooh, we have another blonde in the group!”

 Bulma gripped her plate irate at Krillin. “Well, I see why you kept this a secret.”

 Gohan was the only one happy. He was relieved he didn’t blow Krillin’s chance with 18. “Krillin got her to be his girlfriend after all! That’s great!”

 A vein popped on Vegeta’s forehead as the metal can of cool drink crushed in his hand. “What the fucking hell?!” Vegeta rose. His hair turned blonde and with one leap stood beside Bulma. He wanted answers. “What the hell is this?!”

 “Listen, Vegeta.” Krillin tried to explain. “I know you don’t like 18 but it’s been over a year since she kicked your ass and she’s not a killer. She’s not a bad person.”

 “The hell she isn’t! She’s one of Dr. Gero’s monstrous creations. Have you forgotten what hell she unleashed on us a year ago?!”

 “It wasn’t that bad. She’s not like the ones Trunks fought in his time.”

 Not that bad? She broke his arm!! She humiliated him, the Prince of Saiyans! “You would say that. Your cowardly ass stayed behind while the rest of had the guts to face her and her tin can brother.” 18’s pretty blue eyes thinned at the insult. “Oh, does the tin can have feelings?” Vegeta mocked. “Did I hurt you telling you the truth about yourself?”

 “Look,” Krillin warned him. He expected hostility but Krillin wanted it directed at him. Not 18. “Everyone can change. You did worse than 18 and we forgave you. Bulma had a baby with you even though you are responsible for her ex getting killed.”

 Yamcha whistled. “I knew someone would say it but I didn’t think it would be him.”

 “Seriously?!” Bulma screamed. “You bring that up after you couldn’t destroy the remote that would’ve saved your best friend’s life?!”

 Here we go again. Gohan slapped his forehead. When will this stop? “Pack Goten’s things,” ChiChi told Gohan. “If they start fighting, I want you to get Goten away from here.”

 “Don’t worry, Mom.” Gohan felt the escalation, too. “It won’t come to that.”

 “I don’t care if you stay or go,” Vegeta raged at Krillin, “but I don’t want that robot in my house!”

 “It’s not your house,” Krillin refused to leave. “And 18’s not a robot.”

 “Well, I don’t want her in my house.” Bulma pointed behind Krillin. “Get out!”

 If only they didn’t insult 18. “It’s not your house either,” Krillin shot back in a smartass tone. “It’s your Dad’s house.”

 Bulma flinched at Krillin’s sharp tongue. Where did this behavior come from? All she had to do is scream and Krillin would cower but now he stood in front of 18 defiantly.

 Dr. Briefs lit up a cigarette amused. “Oh, let them stay, Bulma. He’s right. Vegeta’s has done worse.”

 “Why are you taking Krillin’s side?!” Bulma yelled. “I’m your daughter!”

 Krillin standing in front of 18 humored Vegeta. “You’ve gained a lot of confidence.” And he knew why. “You fuck that robot.” He laughed cruelly. “I guess if you’re desperate you’ll fuck anything.”

 18’s sharp eyes smoldered. She didn’t care what Vegeta said to her, but he crossed a line going after 17 or Krillin. “I do regret things I did but when I think of you, Vegeta, I have no regrets.” She stepped closer to him where her breath fanned his face. “You still talk too much.” Even though she invaded his personal space, he didn’t move as 18 circled him. “Sometimes I think of you. I think of the look on your face before I slapped you into a mountain. I think of you when I broke your arm. I smile and think, ‘That’s one good thing I did right. What would it be like to do it again?’”

 “YOU WANT A REMATCH?!” Vegeta’s body illuminated as his rising Ki created trembles and hurricane force winds in the backyard. Bulma was knocked back several feet. Yamcha pulled his girlfriend behind a game console. Gyu-Mao and Master Roshi shielded themselves behind the liquor booth. Trunks moved closer to ChiChi. As the ground shook, debris from booths flung over the yard, game consoles began sliding from their spot. Some even tipped over. A blonde Gohan stood protectively in front of his mother and brother. He shielded them with his power as he waited for the moment he will have to step in.

 Vegeta’s body pulsed with energy. He wasn’t at half his power but it was enough to deal with 18. “TAKE THIS!” Vegeta roared as he threw the first punch. His fist barely moved forward when Gohan caught his wrist. Vegeta raised his Ki but the ten-year-old was still too strong for him. “Get your damn hands off me!”

 “You’re causing a lot of damage, Vegeta!”

 “Me?!” Vegeta tried to move but Gohan restrained him. “She caused this!”

 “You’re instigating a fight!” Gohan thought yelling would get through Vegeta. “You’re causing damage and scaring everyone!”

 Vegeta looked around at knocked over game consoles and blown over booths. Bulma climbed out of one blown several feet away. There were dazed robots and everyone staring at Vegeta as if he was the one wrong. “Fuck off!”

 “It’s not Vegeta’s fault.” Bulma returned to Vegeta’s side and pointed at Krillin and 18. “They started it. Krillin deliberately kept this a secret!”

 “There wasn’t a right time to mention I’m dating 18,” Krillin tried to explain. “ChiChi was pregnant when we last saw each other.”

 “You still could’ve told the rest of us. We could’ve kept it quiet from ChiChi like we used to do.” Bulma spotted Master Roshi by the liquor booth. “Same for you, Old Man! You knew and said nothing!”

 “That’s enough of that.” Dr. Briefs joined the group. “As long as everyone behaves, there’s no reason we all can’t get along and enjoy this party.”

 Dr. Briefs wasn’t a physically strong man. He had a very relaxed personality and let his family and Vegeta do what they want and accommodated them if he can. So when he kindly put his foot down, no one argued against him. Not even Vegeta.

 “If she makes one move, she’s dead,” Vegeta threatened. He returned to base form where Gohan still held him. Vegeta snatched his arm away from Gohan. “Get your hands off me!”

 Vegeta stormed off to his table but Bulma remained. She had a few more words for Krillin and 18. “Where’s your brother? Should I expect him to crash the party and kill us?”

 18 flipped her hair. “My brother has no plans of coming here.”

 Bulma didn’t believe 18 and she looked at Krillin as if she didn’t know him. “Thanks for ruining the party, Krillin.”

 Bulma left to catch up with Vegeta. While the most hostile group walked away, the eyes of everyone else weren’t welcoming except for Gohan and Master Roshi who knew the secret.

 “Come sit with us, Krillin,” Gohan offered.

 “With your Mom?!” Krillin reacted with fear. “If Bulma wanted to tear my head off, ChiChi will kill me.”

 “It’s not a good move anyway,” 18 observed Bulma sitting on the blanket with ChiChi.

 Krillin saw it and groaned. He imagined the two teaming up against him later. ChiChi may literally throw him out! This reunion was spiraling into a disaster. “18, how about we go somewhere else?”

 “No.” 18 refused to run. “We didn’t do anything wrong. They need to get used to seeing us.” Headstrong she was, 18 was sympathetic to Krillin’s plight. “But I know you have to talk to your friends. You can do that better without me.”

 Without another word, 18 left his side. Walking alone, 18 saw Yamcha, a woman, Oolong and Puar stare at her with fear. When she arrived in the picnic area, Mrs. Briefs waved while Vegeta scowled while stuffing his mouth with food. Bulma clutched Trunks as if protecting her from 18. 18 mentally scoffed. Bulma really thought she will kill her child? 18 spotted the other woman she knew to be Son Goku’s widow. She held her child, too, but she didn’t look at 18 with fear. 18 didn’t bother deciphering her look as she sat at the farthest table with her back to everyone.

 Lapis told you but you didn’t listen. 18 cursed herself as she recalled her conversation with her brother.

 “You’re crazy, Lazuli.” 17 told her. “Absolutely crazy. They are not gonna accept you. All they will see is what we did after we were freed and what they think of us because of Trunks.”

 18 casually sat in her chair with her legs crossed and hands behind her head. She asked Krillin when he will introduce her to his friends. Krillin always said the time wasn’t right and each time 18 gave him the cold shoulder. Now on the verge of meeting his friends, 18 had second doubts.

 “I’m not doing it to be accepted.”

 “I’m your brother. I know when you’re lying. You act all cool and unaffected but you want to be accepted. You want to show you are different and not what they think.” 17 sat on the railing of his porch. “I don’t know what you see in Krillin but you want to be welcome in that circle.”

 “After everything that’s happened to us, I deserve something good and that’s Krillin.”

 17 rolled his eyes. “If you say so but those friends of his won’t accept you. Vegeta’s doesn’t strike me as the forgiving type and from what Krillin told you, Vegeta’s a lot stronger now. I won’t be able to help you if he wants a rematch.”

 “Krillin and I can handle him.”

 “Hmph,” 17 snorted.

 “What about you, Lapis?” 18 questioned. “Don’t you want something different? Do you enjoy living in the middle of nowhere? Alone?”

 17 laughed. “What’s wrong with this?” He stretched his arms out at the cabin they were in. “It’s quiet, away from civilization. As for alone,” he grinned, “not always. You’re just not a nature girl.”

 “You weren’t exactly an outdoorsman either,” 18 reminded him. “16’s death affected you more than you want to let on.” Krillin told 18 about 16’s sacrifice and how his death changed the course of the Cell Game. She thought of how 16 tried to save her before Cell absorbed her. 17 never saw any of this but he took 16’s death harder than she.

 “What are your plans with Krillin, Lazuli?” 17 changed the subject. 18 noticed her brother did that lot whenever 16 was mentioned. “What are you trying to do with him? Are you looking for marriage? A family? Can you even have kids?”

 “You know there are still parts of me that’s human. Just like you.”

 “Hmm. Dr. Gero certainly made sure of that,” 17 said cuttingly. The horrors of what Dr. Gero did to them will never be forgotten. Brother and sister handled it in their own way. 17 engaged in petty robberies and entertaining female company. 18 dealt with the trauma by focusing on happier things. Her and Krillin. “How much does Krillin know what Dr. Gero did to us? Does he even know your name?”

 “Krillin knows enough.”

 “If he doesn’t protect you at this gathering, I’m including Krillin in my revenge.”

 Krillin doesn’t have to worry about my brother but what do I do now? 18 asked herself as she sat alone. She could hear Krillin laughing with his friends. At least someone is enjoying themselves.

 After the disturbance of Krillin and 18’s arrival, the reunion happily resumed. Game consoles, food and liquor booths were occupied again. Mrs. Brief relaxed on her blanket. Dr. Briefs played with his animals. Krillin chatted with Yamcha and Gohan and received some light teasing from Oolong.

 The mood was subdued in the picnic area. Vegeta watched 18 like a hawk. Bulma and ChiChi stared at 18 curiously, too, while they cared for their children.

 “The nerve of Krillin inviting 18 and not telling us he’s dating her,” Bulma grumbled. “There’s no way she’s into him. She’s using him to get close to us.”

 ChiChi cut the food on Goten’s plate into smaller bites. “I don’t agree with Krillin keeping this secret. I don’t like secrets.” Goten didn’t wait for ChiChi to put his food on a fork. He grabbed the food and stuffed it in his mouth. “Oh, Goten,” ChiChi wiped Goten’s messy face. “I know what it’s like to be left out on things but you were hypocritical yelling at Krillin.”

 “Hypocritical?” Bulma felt she was right. “18 almost killed Vegeta. She and her brother hunted down Goku. You should be mad and on my side.”

 “I’m not picking sides but everyone forgave Piccolo and I was looked at as the bad person because I didn’t when he kidnapped my son for a year. I wasn’t understanding to let my five-year-old son who was just reunited with me after a year apart to go into space. You and Krillin said it will be a safe trip because the Namekians are peaceful but no one took into consideration that being a safe trip meant my son didn’t need to go. In spite of how you treated me, I forgave all of you.”

 Bulma winced at the emotional slap of words. She still held a grudge about that. “It wasn’t like that, ChiChi. We did think it was a safe trip and we didn’t see the harm in Gohan going.”

 “Because he wasn’t your child,” ChiChi steered Bulma to understand her view. “If it were Trunks, you wouldn’t have let him go.”

 “Zoom!” Trunks flew a toy car in the air like an air ship.

 Trunks was so happy playing with Goten’s toys. Bulma would’ve argued against Trunks going off into space at five years old. However, Bulma felt she had some wiggle room to argue her side. “I wouldn’t but Gohan is Goku’s son. Maybe subconsciously, we did think we need Gohan just in case our trip wasn’t peaceful and we were right. We did need him. Anyway,” Bulma wanted to stay on topic, “it doesn’t excuse what Krillin did.”

 “Vegeta did a lot worst.” ChiChi didn’t understand Bulma’s blindness to that. It was starting to aggravate her. “I’ve noticed forgiveness is very quick with you all as long as it doesn’t affect you. When it does, your behavior isn’t different than mine when it only affected me.”

 ChiChi could feel her temper bubbling. The hypocrisy! Playing victim. Will it ever end? ChiChi wanted to get on better terms with Goku’s friends but sometimes they made it so difficult. Instead of lashing out, she picked up Goten and walked off. She needed to cool off or she will be screaming like everyone expected of her.

 ChiChi passed booths of food and games. Her father was drunk and sharing stories with Master Roshi she wouldn’t subject her innocent child of hearing. Yamcha and Krillin stood over Gohan, showing him how to play a game.  She had Goten but ChiChi felt lonely.  

 When it was just us, Goku was always by my side. At the festivals at my Dad’s village or when we went to different cities, Goku was with me. Would it be the same if we were with his friends?

 ChiChi distracted herself by taking Goten to the petting zoo of Dr. Briefs’ animals. While Goten played with the animals, ChiChi talked with Dr. Briefs. The patriarch was kind, very chill and seem more interested in his animals and keeping the peace than socializing.

 After feeding and playing with each animal, Goten and ChiChi left the petting zoo. Krillin and Gohan were playing against each other in an interactive game with Oolong and Puar cheering them on. Yamcha and his girlfriend were sharing a meal at a food booth. Bulma played with Trunks with her Mom. Vegeta kept eating and watching 18 who sat alone.

 She and Goten were at the petting zoo for an hour. In all this time, ChiChi wondered, did anyone approach 18?

 Isolation from Goku’s friends. ChiChi knew what that was like. Until last year, she felt very isolated from them. She was wife to the friend they loved so much; the mother of his children but for years she wasn’t accepted. She was judged, didn’t fit in and ChiChi saw history repeating itself with 18.

 ChiChi decided to change that.

 18 looked at her watch. This is boring. She drummed her fingers against the table. 18 thought Krillin should speak with his friends to explain things but she thought he would’ve returned. He was gone for over an hour talking and playing those games. He should catch up with his friends since he hasn’t spent time with them in months but I’m important, too.

 18 contemplated going to Krillin when she felt someone near. She turned, saw ChiChi and Goten and looked away. 18 only knew what Krillin told her about ChiChi. Great. Another volatile greeting.

 “I guess this isn’t the welcome you wanted.”

 That wasn’t a yell. ChiChi sounded sympathetic. Was this a trick? 18 studied ChiChi for a moment before turning away again. “Aren’t you afraid I will kill you and your child?”

 “If you wanted to, you would’ve tried and failed already.” ChiChi sat next to 18 which caused the blonde to turn back with skeptical eyes. What was she up to? “I know what it’s like being the new person in this group. No one knows you. No one understands you. No one wants to be your friend or give you a chance.”

 Goten reached to grab 18 but ChiChi adjusted Goten in her lap. “I was Goku’s wife for ten years. I wasn’t accepted by his friends until he died last year.”

 If 18 was surprised, she didn’t reveal it. “They are an interesting bunch. In some ways, I see why Goku called them friends and enjoyed adventures with them but I also see why he could go years without seeing them.”

 Goten reached forward and touch 18’s bracelets. He gripped on it and pulled. “Sorry,” ChiChi apologized pulling Goten’s fingers away from 18’s bracelet. “Goten’s at that grabby stage.”

 Goten reached for 18’s bracelet again and whimpered when ChiChi pulled him away. “No,” he whined.

 “It’s okay.” 18 extended her hand so Goten can touch her bracelets. “Not that I care what anyone thinks but are you saying I have to wait ten years before everyone stops looking at me as if I will kill them?”

 “I think ten years will only be for me. They’ve matured some so you’ll never go through what I went through with them.”

 Krillin only shared ChiChi being Goku’s wife with a bad temper who hated all of them. He mostly talked about Goku, Gohan, Yamcha and sometimes Bulma. What Krillin told her about ChiChi and what she saw was different. “I know you don’t get along with them. What did Krillin do?”

 “I’m not gonna badmouth your boyfriend to you,” ChiChi wasn’t falling for that trap. “There were things I wished was handled better but Krillin has to tell you.”

 “You could tell me.”

 ChiChi shook her head too smart for that. “I could but if I talk badly about your boyfriend, would you believe me or defend him?”

 18 removed one of her bracelets and handed it to Goten. “You don’t think I’m open minded to hear both sides?”

 Goten gripped the bracelet in his tiny hands. ChiChi and 18 were humored with Goten’s fascination of it. “I think you should question why Krillin told you one side and not the whole story.” ChiChi groaned when Goten bit the jewelry. “Goten,” she scolded her son while pulling the bracelet from his mouth.

 18 thought over what ChiChi said. Krillin said ChiChi hated all of them and she has a bad temper. When 18 pried for more information, Krillin mentioned the remote incident and 18 accepted that was the reason but now she felt there was more to this hate. “So, this isn’t over just the remote?”

 ChiChi shook her head wryly. “Talk to him.”

 18 decided she will. Krillin will tell her everything or else. She smiled suddenly not feeling bored anymore.

 “Did you enjoy my dress?”

 18’s eyebrows wrinkled at ChiChi’s question. “What dress?”

 “When Goku, Gohan and I returned home, our home was a mess. I noticed one of my dresses missing.” ChiChi bounced Goten in her lap. “I was angry at first but I got over it. I have plenty of dresses even though I really did like that one.”

 Oh. That dress. 18 remembered holding the dress in front of a mirror in Son Goku’s home. The rose qipao dress was very pretty and with it being her size 18 couldn’t resist taking it. “You have a closet full of clothes. I didn’t think you’d noticed one missing. Besides, I was locked up in Dr. Gero’s lab. I deserve a new wardrobe.”

 ChiChi knew nothing about 17 and 18’s experience with Dr. Gero but knowing what a psycho he was with his desire to seek revenge on her husband, she suspected it wasn’t a great experience. “Dr. Gero sounds like a monster. It couldn’t be comforting living with him. I guess you are staying with Krillin and Master Roshi.” 18 didn’t answer but ChiChi suspected it’s true. “Master Roshi is an upgrade over Dr. Gero but Krillin owes you a new wardrobe having you live there with that lecher and not in a place of your own.”

 This time 18 lips turned up in a sly smile. 18 got the vibe Krillin wasn’t a big fan of ChiChi but 18 decided, she liked her.

 ****

 18 found herself alone again when ChiChi joined Bulma and Master Roshi in a game of Poker. Gohan sat next to ChiChi with Goten in his lap. While the sons cheered on their Mom, 18 watched from afar knowing she wouldn’t be welcomed.

 Krillin sat in the spot once occupied by ChiChi. He sipped his beer as he watched the game. “How did you get a Full House?” Bulma screamed as ChiChi showed her winning hand.

 “I didn’t know ChiChi played Poker,” Krillin sipped his beer as ChiChi celebrated with her sons. “She doesn’t seem like the type to know how.” While he played games with his friends, he saw ChiChi talking to 18. He didn’t hear any screaming from ChiChi. He hoped it meant they got along but he needed to be sure. “How did it go with ChiChi?”

 “She wasn’t what you warned me about.”

 Krillin was relieved to hear that. “That’s good. She doesn’t like me and I never expected her to talk to you without screaming you tried to kill Goku.”

 Krillin warned her but after talking to ChiChi, 18 felt she didn’t get the full story from Krillin. “What did Bulma mean when she said, ‘We could’ve kept it quiet from ChiChi like we used to do’? It didn’t sound like Bulma was only talking about the remote.”

 Oh, boy. Bulma and her big mouth. He thought 18 forgot about that but she was too sharp, observant and her suspicious eyes told him she wasn’t letting this go. He had to tell her the truth. “When Goku died the first time, we didn’t let ChiChi know he was dead or Gohan was taken by Piccolo.”

 “For how long?” Krillin told her this story but a loose version of it. Goku died saving his son and Piccolo trained Gohan to prepare for the fight against Vegeta and Nappa. The details were always glossed over. He never mentioned ChiChi.

 “A day.” Six years later and it still sounded bad. “ChiChi came to Master Roshi’s island wanting to know where they were.”

 “Taken?” 18 repeated. “As in kidnapped?”

 “Taken is a nicer word.”

 A nicer word? 18 gazed at Gohan. He was ten now but when this happened, he was so much younger. Knowing Gohan was a very young child kidnapped triggered her own painful memories with Dr. Gero. No wonder ChiChi didn’t like them! “So, you let ChiChi wander all night where her husband and son were? She had to go to you to find out what happened to her family?”

 18 was upset. Krillin knew it and will pay for it later. “Yeah, and ChiChi wasn’t told what was really happening on Namek.” Krillin decided to get it all out in the open. Sooner or later, 18 will find out. “She thought Goku and Gohan were playing around but that part wasn’t my fault. That was Bulma’s.”

 With the way Bulma greeted her, 18 didn’t find this surprising. All this gave 18 a deeper perception of ChiChi. “She’s generous.”

 “Generous? Who?”

 “ChiChi. If you knew my brother was dead for a day and let me confront you instead of telling me immediately, I would’ve killed you.” 18 said it so casually but Krillin knew it was a threat and something she will do if he ever did this to her. 18 pushed back a lock of her blonde hair as she turned her attention back on the Poker game. “ChiChi invited me to visit her. I think I’ll do that.”

 Krillin nodded okay as he drunk his beer. Lazuli and ChiChi talking and becoming friends? I don’t know if this is a good thing for them or a bad thing for me.

 At the Poker table, ChiChi, Bulma and Master Roshi had an audience. It grew from Gohan and Goten to Bulma’s parents, Gyu-Mao, Yamcha and his girlfriend, Oolong and Puar. Vegeta remained far away as usual. Hearing Master Roshi and Bulma curse at their losses to ChiChi had them intrigued. Two of the games ChiChi bluffed to victory which infuriated her opponents they were fooled by someone they considered very emotional and easy to read.

 Master Roshi pushed in his remaining chips. “I’m ready.” Older with more skills, Master Roshi didn’t like losing. Two of the game losses, he did blame himself looking at Bulma’s breasts in her tight shirt with poking nipples and ChiChi’s fuller breasts. This time he had the hot hand.

 “Already?!” Bulma nearly screeched. Last time ChiChi bluffed her way to victory. Now Master Roshi was doing it. Bulma looked at her cards. It was a good hand. No. It was a winning hand. She pushed in her chips. “I’m in.”

 All eyes were on ChiChi. “Well, I wasn’t ready,” she grumbled irritated, “but I guess I don’t have a choice.”

 ChiChi’s frustration made Master Roshi gleefully cackle. This was the first time ChiChi showed anger in a game. That meant she knew she lost and he won! He flipped his cards. “Beat this!” Jack, ten and a pair of nines.

 Bulma cackled victoriously. She had this one! “Gotcha, Old Man! Two pairs of tens and nines! Whoo!” She stood up to dance. “You owe me and I’m not letting you off the hook because I’m rich!”

 “But Bulma,” Gohan interrupted Bulma’s victory dance. “Mom hasn’t revealed her hand.”

 So busy celebrating Bulma forgot about ChiChi but from her sour expression, it was obvious ChiChi lost.  “Sorry. I celebrated too soon. I’ll celebrate after you show your hand.”

 ChiChi looked at her cards and sighed. “We were playing for real money?” ChiChi asked again. “I owe you?”

 “No,” Bulma laughed. She would never make ChiChi pay. Gloating was payment for Bulma. “I won’t make you pay, ChiChi. If you won, I would pay you. A few thousand zeni is nothing to me but since you didn’t win and I did.....”

 ChiChi placed her cards down. “But I thought two pairs of Kings and nines are higher than two pairs of tens and nines.”

 Everyone leaned over to read ChiChi’s cards. Gohan picked up a little of the game watching ChiChi. He didn’t understand everything but he did know his mother’s hand were the best ones. “Mom, you won!!”

 Goten clapped and giggled. “Momma won! Momma won!”

 Bulma dropped in her seat. “What the hell?” She studied her and ChiChi’s cards. ChiChi’s cards were higher but Bulma was still in denial. “But I won.”

 Yamcha laughed. He took more pleasure than others in Bulma getting a loss. He patted her shoulder. “Oh, too bad, Bulma.” Bulma’s icy glare made Yamcha flinch and clamp his hands over his mouth.

 “Does that mean I really win?” ChiChi wanted to be sure. “I win four thousand zeni?”

 Bulma rolled her eyes sourly. She gave her word. “I guess so, but how are you so good at Poker? You learned how to play today.”

 ChiChi couldn’t resist smirking at her victory. “You assumed I didn’t know and volunteered to teach me. Goku told me he likes letting you all think what you want about him. I decided to do the same.” ChiChi clapped gleefully. “I can’t believe I won! This money will come in handy. I can buy that computer for you, Gohan, get new clothes for everyone…..”

 As ChiChi gushed over what she will spend her money on and receive congratulations from everyone even Master Roshi, Bulma’s temper cooled. It still bothered her she was conned but it was funny and gave more insight into ChiChi. The woman was a guarded fortress. Bulma couldn’t get anything out of her but seeing another layer removed, seeing another lighthearted side of ChiChi had Bulma thinking the loops she was going through to be friends with ChiChi was worth it.

 ****

 As time passed in the afterlife, Goku grew less like a visitor and more as someone comfortable in his new home. Like King Kai said there were so many people to talk and learn from. Goku felt more comfortable with the warriors at Grand Kai’s home and spent less time in the land of only the good people. Even his visits to Grandpa Gohan lessen.  

 Being among the fighters kept Goku busy. He was a sponge, studying and learning anything beneficial from other fighters. Most times he spent alone pushing himself further. Gohan inspired him to go beyond a Super Saiyan. In death, he was free from the limits of a mortal body and vowed to reach Gohan’s level.

 King Kai observed Goku as he sparred in the air with a fighter from the West Kai quadrant. Fighters from the west were notoriously strong and the only fighters besides the ones in the North quadrant to give Goku a challenge.

 Fighting was common in this place and no one batted an eye when warriors spar but when Goku fought, others took notice or held onto something since Goku’s fights usually cause quakes.  

 It was these tremors that irritated East Kai’s arrival with her newest fighter.

 “Does this land always suffer from tremors?” the warrior elevated over the ground while East Kai struggled to stay upright on her scooter.

 “No,” East Kai wobbled on her scooter. “This is Son Goku. He’s fighting someone again. There are other places on the planet he can go fight without rattling the planet but that jerk Kai of the North wants to show off his best student.”

 The fighter reach out to feel the Ki. Both were very strong but one succeeded the other. As East Kai and her fighter strolled the area, other warriors took notice of the new fighter. One stared while walking into a wall. Another nearly dropped one of his heavy weights. The East Kai fighter ignored the attention but East Kai cackled. “I knew you will make a splash here. If you impress by your looks imagine the reaction when they see your skills, Kimani.”

 Kimani was very aware of her beauty. Her lithe, muscular frame, sleek black hair and cerulean eyes garnered attention but she thought in the afterlife in a land among warriors, her beauty wouldn’t be as captivating as her skills as a fighter.

 “I thought it would be different here, but as long as there are fighters I can learn and develop from, I’ll be happy.”

 “There are plenty of them here,” East Kai guaranteed. “As much as I hate to say, your best challengers will be fighters from the North and West quadrant. You are a rare breed from my quadrant. My fighters are known for speed but you are on another level with your strength and skills. Your speed gives you a great advantage.”

 When East Kai and Kimani reached the courtyard of the palace, the tremors resumed again. This time East Kai fell off her scooter. Kimani kept her balance but the source of the tremors caught her eyes. Two fighters, one East Kai called Goku were engaged in an intense battle. Their punches in the sky clapped like boisterous thunder. They were both very good Kimani observed. The way they moved their bodies, blocking and striking each other were of individuals with years of battle experience.

 “I can’t see them!” Kimani heard a fighter say. They couldn’t see but Kimani did.

 The stronger fighter Kimani guessed as Goku expelled a bright sphere of Ki from his body. His opponent deflected the attack with a punch that shattered the sphere in a massive explosion. Meteors of Ki rained on everyone below. Fighters scattered, ducking for cover and dodging the raining Ki. One hit the ground not far from Kimani and created a foot-deep crater. More rained in her direction and Kimani sliced the raining Ki meteors away from her and East Kai with her knifehand strike. Through it all Goku and his opponent didn’t miss a step in their fighting.

 Impressive there are fighters like these in the afterlife. Kimani smiled as she gazed at the battling warriors. I think I will like it here.

 Part 34: Waiting For You

#dragonball #Dragonball Z #Goku #Son Goku #ChiChi #Gohan #Life With You #Part Thirty-Three #son family #fanfiction

[dregstrash]

Knife in the Back (ch. 3)

a/n: Here’s chapter 3 of the collab fic I did with @wafflesandkruge for the @grishaversebigbang. Definitely check out all the art that came with this in the first chapter! Hope you guys enjoy!

AO3 // Chapter 1

Anyone can make a mistake. 

That single thought spun in Inej’s mind as she drove back to the station after her brief meeting with Kaz Brekker. 

No one was infallible. Human error was always going to be a factor. Even self-proclaimed experts could make the stupidest mistakes. Brekker shouldn’t be an exception. It should have been simple to believe that he had taken off his glove after dumping the girl, and had thrown it away by accident.

If she could manage to believe that, and when Wylan was done analyzing the glove, she could have enough evidence to bring Kaz in with one concrete piece of evidence. It could be enough to prosecute him for this murder, and then tie that back to the unsolved murder from five years ago which she had always suspected he was behind. In one fell swoop, she could bring Kaz Brekker down. But, unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to believe that someone as meticulous as him would ever just take his gloves off at the end of a job, and leave them out in the open. 

She’s spent the better part of three years following the murky and unclear path of Kaz Brekker, and if she knew anything about the Bastard of the Barrel it was that he always got the job done, and he always left no trace. Rumors say that he was a sleeper agent from Shu-Han, waiting for the right moment to strike against the Kerch. Others say that he was tied to dozens of murders of high dignitaries and ambassadors, and that if you ever wanted to make someone disappear, he was the best. Inej has spent countless hours pouring over the stories and the hearsays, but nothing could ever point to anything conclusive. 

And with this one perfectly wrapped crime scene sitting on her lap, it was hard for her to take it as it was. She pulled up to the police parking lot, and headed straight for the forensics department. Wylan had texted that he had something promising, and Inej was ready to hear about anything that didn’t have a massive question mark attached to it.

“Hey, Inej.” Wylan called from the back of the room as the sliding doors let Inej in her friend’s office.

“Wylan,” Inej greeted as she reached where her friend was hunched over his computer looking at a document that made Inej’s eyes swim. “You said you had something for me?” 

He looked up and his sky blue eyes danced excitedly, making his red gold curls appear more disheveled than usual. 

“Yes! You were right. The glove does match the DNA evidence that was found in your cold case from five years ago. So it’s definitely Kaz Brekker’s.” Inej didn’t even have time to be surprised before Wylan continued. “With the state of the body, I think you can probably guess to the cause of death.” He pointed to the bullet hole through the hear of the corpse. “But there was a significant penetration at her kidney that happened ante-mortem.”

“Torture?”

Wylan lifted his shoulders, “Most likely.”

Curious, Inej thought. The murder was almost exactly like her cold case, but while she was positive Kaz Brekker was the culprit to the former, she couldn’t be positive about him being responsible for the latter.

“What about the clothes? Did you get anything on those?”

At this Wylan’s eyes dimmed slightly, “Unfortunately no. I can only really tell you that they had been freshly washed. No traces of hair or any carpet fibers or anything. If Brekker really did this, then he was pretty careful about taking out any evidence that could even remotely connect him to this murder.”

“Except for the glove.” Inej reminded him.

Wylan tilted his head and nodded. 

Inej sighed, “It just doesn’t make any sense. How can all the evidence point to Brekker, but then not point to him all at the same time?”

Wylan shrugged, and ran his hands through his hair, the gesture making him appear younger. It was so easy to forget that Wylan was just a little younger than Inej. He was the youngest forensic expert to ever work in their precinct, and he was a kid genius on top of it all. If things didn’t make any sense to him then something truly wasn’t adding up. 

Inej stared at the glove sitting innocently in an evidence container and tried to iron out the doubts that were sitting restlessly in her mind. Forgetting everything else, if the culprit wasn’t Kaz Brekker, then who would it be? And why go through all the trouble to frame him?

Her thoughts were disrupted as she heard the sliding doors of Wylan’s office slide open.

Matthias appeared with his usual scowl, and Inej suppressed a smile at Wylan’s suddenly straight posture. Wylan would never admit it aloud, but Inej suspected he was still afraid of Matthias.

“The CCTV footage has been sent over.” Matthias told Inej. 

“Great.” She said. “Thanks for all you help, Wy. Let us know if you find anything else.” 

“Will do.” He saluted and turned to face his computer.

“Also,” Inej brought up before she could leave, “Try to lighten up on the coffee.” She gestured to the three empty coffee cups on his otherwise organized desk. It didn’t escape her notice that they all came from Brekker’s Brews. “That stuff will kill you, you know?” 

Wylan blushed a bright red at Inej’s insinuation, but he only offered a nod in acknowledgement. It seems that even if she had told him who was the owner of that particular establishment, it couldn’t quite keep their lab tech away.

“What did Wylan say about the glove?” Matthias said as he sat back on his chair, waiting for the grainy video to hint at any clue that could help them in their case. 

Inej didn’t turn to look at him, but she responded anyway, “He said that it could point to being Brekker’s and could link him to the murder that happened five years ago.”

“But you don’t think it’s him, do you?”

Inej sighed, “I don’t know what I think. I want it to be him. I want the evidence to be nice and clean and I can finally put his ass behind bars. But I’ve been on Brekker’s tail for a long time, and he’s not this sloppy.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Matthias responded. And while that was exactly her thought, she just couldn’t get herself to believe it, even if it came from her trusty partner. 

Inej was about to tell him her doubts when a movement happened on screen.

“Okay looks like we got something here.” Matthias said. 

There were two figures that entered the periphery of the camera. One was clearly shorter than the other, but built like a brick wall, while the other had the stature of a football player. Despite the grainy footage, Inej was still able to discern the faint presence of a tattoo on both of their forearms. 

She held her breath as they both looked over their shoulders, clearly looking on the lookout for something. The football player smiled and nudged his friend roughly. The other shook his head and shoved him away. He walked to where the body was found and made another comment to his friend. The shorter man walked off screen, and before the video could continue white static filled the screen.

“What--”

“The wires got cut around there, unfortunately.” Matthias sighed. “This was the only street cam facing the alley, and there was nothing that showed up on the closest street cameras. But did you see those tattoos?”

Inej nodded, “Razorgulls. Do you still have contacts in the gang unit?”

“No need.” He said. “I remember those guys from my gang unit days. They hang around the docks. If we don’t find them there, I know a couple more popular hangs for these guys.”

“Let’s go.”

By the time Matthias and Inej had caught sight of the two figures from the surveillance cameras, they were a little late. It had nothing to do with the fact that they had been scouring the city long enough for the true dark of the night to descend upon them. It had to with the fact that someone had gotten to the two gang bangers first. And that someone was Kaz Brekker. If that wasn’t bad enough, it looked like he was in the middle of beating them to death. 

“Hey! Stop! Police!” Matthias’s deep voice cut through the cries of pain coming from the two men. But it was like he said nothing at all because Brekker used the cane in his hand to swing down on a shin. Inej struggled to prevent her shudder as she heard the distinct sound of bone shattering. 

“I’ve told you all that I know!” The man screamed through his pain.

“I consider myself a good judge of character, Geels, and I know for a fact you’re lying.” Kaz opened his mouth to say something else, but Matthias was almost on him and he growled in frustration, “Looks like we’re going to have to continue this conversation later. That is if you can post bail.” 

Kaz broke for a run just as Matthias got within arms reach, and Inej had to hand it to him, for someone who needed a cane to navigate through the world, he moved faster than shadow. But unfortunately for him, Inej knew she was faster. 

“Matthias arrest those two,” She gestured to the two injured men, “I’ll take Brekker!”

She broke out into a run, and while Kaz had a head start, she would argue she knew this harbor better than anyone. Including Kaz. So when he had turned a left into a row of cargo containers in an attempt to confuse her though the maze of metal boxes, she just smiled to herself and climbed one with practiced ease. It took her almost no time to see his path and even less time for her to sprint and jump and land right on top of him.

His body cushioned her fall, and if her mind wasn’t so preoccupied with the bruise she knows she’s going to have on the knee that took some of the fall, she would have had room to ponder at the heat emanating from him, as well as the way she felt his muscles freeze in what seemed like panic when her hand brushed against the exposed skin of his wrists. 

“Kaz Brekker, you’re under arrest for the assault of two key witnesses in a murder.” Inej grunted reaching around her waist for her handcuffs. 

She waited for his inevitable comeback, but for the first time of ever talking to Kaz Brekker, he was silent. Inej studied him, and noticed the clench in his jaw and the glazed expression in his eyes. She’s arrested her fair share of criminals, and one way or another they had the same panicked, trapped expression. But Brekker wasn’t acting like a trapped criminal, he was a cornered animal that looked like he might pass out at any given moment. 

Is he okay? 

No sooner had she thought it, Matthias materialized at her shoulder breathing heavily.

“Leave it to the great Inej Ghafa to catch the most uncatchable killer.” He said. 

Inej wrenched her mind away from Kaz’s strange behavior and scrambled off of him after securing the metal cuffs.

Matthias grabbed Kaz roughly and had a tight hold on his shoulder.

“Watch his hands, Helvar. He’s a slippery one.” Inej managed, still puzzled by Brekker’s uncharacteristic silence.

Matthias nodded, but Inej’s focus wasn’t on him. She just watched Kaz get led to the police car, pondering the simple fact that the great Kaz Brekker seemed to be having a panic attack.

#grishabigbang20 #knife in the back #soc #six of crows #KANEJ #kaz x inej #matthias helvar #wylan van eck

[spaceysp]

Saying random stuff to feed into the hyperfixations; pick one of these statements to rant about because I wanna read :)) if u want,

How skeppy must feel with everyone meeting up cause BaD JUST COME ON ,

Opinions on bad planning to take skeppy to dinner and all that jazz ,

Skeppys newest video on the skep channel where bad and skeppy are surprisingly sweet to eachother (and how lately in general bad has been less angee with him) ,

Literally the whole discount skeppy situation , bad being literally in love,

Ride with U,,,,,hetero,,,,explanation,,,, anywhere?

ANONNNNN I OWE YOU MY LIFE ILY 

im literally going to talk about all of these so im sorry but read more at your own risk

one: skeppy, i am so sorry a mf does this to you. but seriously, i can only think of a few reasons (that dont sound entirely made for fanfic) that bad keeps putting off meeting skeppy 

1. (the most unlikely) theyve already met and they keep the bit going so the fans dont find out. i can get that they wouldnt want to tell at first because its their own business, but i seriously doubt they would wait very long to confirm it, because ppl honestly can put a lot of pressure and hype on the meetup (esp with skeppy’s “surprise”) so i think theyd release something just so everyone knew that it finally happened! they didnt lie!

2. bad just doesnt want to meet skeppy (actually nvm this is the most unlikely) 

bad seems to be genuinely excited to meet skeppy, even claiming skeppys the one to keep putting it off, not him (which skeppy immediately disproved but) and saying over and over he wants to meet up with him, but always avoiding actually making plans (every single tweet about the meetup) so its clear he does want to meet skeppy eventually, which makes trying to figure out why he wont even harder

3. its not the right time/ waiting for a specific date

leading up to this, i was thinking that there was a pretty good chance theyd meet up on their anniversary, but that never happened rip. the issue is with this is that they guaranteed they would meet up before the end of the year, and at this point theres only one “event” left, but they still dont seem to have any plans to meet. if bad was waiting for the perfect time to do it, why not just tell skeppy to confirm a meetup date? it would get him (and maybe the fans, if they told them) off his back. another variant of this is that there is a set date, but they havent told the public, but again, skeppy seems to be just as much in the dark about this as everyone else

4. health issues 

bads apparently been feeling pretty under the weather lately, with his arm and kidney stones, its very plausible (and reccomended, imo) that bad doesnt want to travel when hes having these problems. of course, skeppy could visit, but he could either not want to spend their time together sick or the plans they have could also be too straining. i think this is probably one of the most likely atm, go see a doctor bbh im begging you

5. bads nervous

this is also one of the more plausible to me. for whatever reason, bads just anxious about it, whether it wont be the same as talking online, or be super awkward or whatever, he could just keep putting it off for that (its still weird and kinda doesnt make sense but in a more realistic way this time)

i know i totally went off track but this brings me to my point, skeppys kinda just waiting for bads confirmation at this point, so seeing his friends have fun meeting up is probably just lowkey depressing and i could see him using it as more the reason they should meet up. really the only thing he can do in this situation(at least, as far as i can tell) is what he has been doing, annoy bad about it or he take advantage of bads jealousy and meet up with someone else. the other option is to randomly come to his house, but it doesnt seem like skeppy is gonna do that, maybe to respect his boundaries? if he was planning on it i think he wouldve done it by now

OKAY NUMBER TWO LETS GO

this kinda ties into my point in the “reasons why bad wont meet skeppy” thing, that bad seems really excited to meet him yet still wont?? its clear he really values any time spent with skeppy, but he also make sure skeppys having a good time too! that why he never does any actual work with skeppy around (i.e. building statues or gathering materials for such), he knows its boring so instead theyll wander around the server telling stupid stories or punching each other off stairs for 20 minutes. im sure itll be the same irl, he mentioned wanting to meet somewhere like a nature reserve or amusement park, probably to make sure theres never a dull moment or time wasted. dinner seems much more low-key, and i wouldnt be surprised if bad just wanted to have an excuse to try and impress him with a nice totally-platonic date

NUMbeR tHree *airhorns* 

they really do be the best of friends! ive noticed that skeppys def been trying to halt arguments fairly quickly now, saying a lot to appease bad and move on, and while bad seems to like to start fights for fun, hes also been a lot more chill lately, im guessing because hes been oh-so desperately missing skeppy and big s was also in Baby mode (aka if bad disagreed with him hed probably just cry until he got his way((sand))) i think that vid just showed them being a lot more natural and happy to talk (plus bad usually is more argumentative when theyre competing, while in that vid they were either just hanging out or working towards a common goal) 

n u m b e r f o u r 

where to even BEGIN with discount skeppy. well, bad actually first came up this idea a few months ago, in either july or august on an idots smp stream when he crafted an ‘artificial skeppy’ in his snack shack that he could talk to whenever skeppy was gone. as we all know idots smp is now rip, but the idea of replacement skeppys remained, just this time they can talk and also ship skephalo. it actually seemed like more of puffys idea at first when she put on skeppys skin as a joke, which bad didnt like the first few times, but when she brought it up again he actually requested it (missing skeppy brainrot 🤔?) this could be either cuz bad wanted to bait some shippers so gave in or he thought it was a pretty funny bit so went along with it (or he actually missed skeppy that much.. surely not ??) either way i think we can agree puffy is not only a comedic genius but a top tier friend and slight wingman, and getting some good jealous skeppy content out of it is also top tier. in conclusion, love and appreciate discount skeppy, badboyhalo has only skeppy on his brain and his friends have to deal with that, hoes (skeppy) mad even though the whole bit is how much bbh is into him

NUMBER FIVE im really doing all of them

What, can be said, about ride with u. GODDAMN. im not tryna insinuate anything, but if someone told me that song reminded them of me i would have no choice but to marry them immediately. i really really want someone to ask bad what songs remind him of any of his other friends (dream, sapnap, george, ant, puffy, etc.) because there are three options

1. theyre just cool platonic friend songs and bad is just in love with skeppy

2. he cant think of any songs for them and bad is just In Love with skeppy

3. they have equal romantic undertones and bad is just Like That with his friends (even so i bet people would be picking out the most minute differences between the songs that make one more.. You Know than the other) 

i know FOR SURe that if i was in bads position (where even the person who made the lyric video assumed they were gay in love) i wouldve curled into a ball and never made another public appearance again, but he really owned that shit, singing it and making unprompted references to it (”i already have a bonnie” YOU AINT SLICK SIR WTF) 

i just wanna know if skeppys listened to it (i mean, hes surely at least heard of it, i know he wouldve seen it all over his timeline) and what he thonks about it. pls tell us big s do you also feel the love in this chilis tonight (ALSO when is someone gonna ask skeppy what song reminds him of bad. im waiting ((hed probably say something like a faster remix or something equally memey (((unless???)))

ANYWAY SORRY FOR MAKING YOU READ ALL OF THAT HOLY SHIT i dont wanna reread this to check for errors so it might be incoherent but again ty for letting me infodump about this it was super fun im in love with you anon

#tw caps

[okimargarvez]

I’M CHOOSING MYSELF (INERTE)

Original title: I’m choosing myself (inerte).

Prompt: post 15x1. Penelope decides she needs to leave the BAU.

Warning: possible spoiler for season 15.

Genre: sad, angst, drama, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 66 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘

Song mentioned: Troppo buono, Tiziano Ferro.

Note: I written this after have seen episode 15x1 (and also 15x2) and spoilers about the next ones. I needed to let the anger and the bitterness out. Ok, we get that garvez scene during the (not) baby shower... but Luke said that name. I can’t stand this situation, both for Lisa and Pen. I talked with friends and my mother and this is what came out.

GARVEZ STORIES

I’M CHOOSING MYSELF

 Half of a lie is not the truth, so in spite of everything I will no longer be able to love you^

He enters without knocking, but you don't jump, because maybe you expected it. You hate the ease with which you learned to recognize and distinguish his steps from those of others, and how you became attached of that sound so trivial, which can announce joys as pains. In this case, you perfectly know why he is here. Not for this do you turn towards him, on the contrary, you continue undaunted to archive files. You are certainly not the type who leaves an unfinished job, their burdens on other people's shoulders.

You listen to the patter of his shoes as he approaches your chair and then he stops. You feel his gaze on your back, for a long time, as always more than necessary. So, a sigh. -Garcia, is it true what Emily said?- while he asks the first question of an infinite interrogation, you let your emotions flow freely along the body. Anger, disappointment, and above all bitterness, which lingers in the lungs, kidneys and hurts. -Do you want to leave the team?- you are aware that not looking at him will not make things easier, so you push yourself with your feet until you turn the chair in his direction.

-Technically I have already done it.- you answer, in a neutral tone that in your opinion doesn’t reveal anything of what you feel, or in any case, not enough. It's nice not to have to be afraid to look him in the eyes anymore, those light brown eyes where it's so easy to get lost. It's nice to no longer have the need to censor, hold back, dissimulate. -This will be my last week here.- you announce, even if he had already made his math. Yet he is unable to keep his mouth shut. It is like a fist that hits him in the chest, instantly emptying his lungs of all the oxygen that was contained in it.

He shakes his head, unable to accept it as a matter of fact, to understand that it doesn't concern him. -But... But why?- you watch his wonderful eyes dilate enormously, that pain peeking over his mouth, but you will not allow yourself to be moved by him. Because... believing that I love you is not enough for me. And it cannot be enough. It must not.

You stand up, displacing him, so much so that he backs off, not even you were a zombie came out of the grave, a bat that has turned into a vampire before his eyes. -Why, Luke?- you repeat, enjoying immensely in pronouncing his name, that for a long time you have forbidden yourself even to think. But now none of this it matters anymore. -I don't want to answer you.- you cross your arms and you don't notice that your breast is bring out. His gaze falls on the neckline, he quickly goes back to your hard face, as never before he seen it. -You don't deserve to receive an answer. And believe me, it's better this way.- you are giving him the opportunity to get away of this easy. You first don't want to tackle this thorny topic. A couple of agents with relationship trouble is enough in the BAU. Although JJ and Spence seem to have solved their own... pretty much. How can you suddenly forget that your best friend has loved you for years in silence?

Luke could get out of it so easily, literally coming out of this room, simply accepting the fact that in a short time he will no longer be able to meet you in the elevator, or listen to your voice explaining the bloody facts of an assassination, between one joke and the other to play down. But that "simply" doesn't exist in Agent Alvez's mind and maybe you even guess it. -No, I...- only once have you seen him so fragile and lost, after he had just lost Phil. -Why don't you want to tell me?- he takes a step towards you. -Do the others know?- he presses you. You just shake your head, making your hair dance in an (unconsciously) seductive way.

-No, nobody knows.- you stare at him, hold his gaze, don’t let yourself be moved by his puppy eyes that have cheated you more than once. -And, I repeat, it is better if certain things remain unspoken.- you believe it, as much as you are the queen of Sincerity, if these truths hurt only you, then it is acceptable to keep everything inside. But then you can't resist. -You should know it well.- and your lips bend in a sarcastic smile, but not at all friendly or nice. It is not a Garcia’ smile, not at all.

Luke looks at you as if he can't recognize you. Well, he certainly doesn’t have exclusivity as regards dark sides. -Why should I know?- you can't understand if he plays the role of the stupid or if he really is, so naive that he didn't get there.

But you are tired, nervous, depressed and being alone with him is certainly not good for you. It was a bad day, with a bad case and an even worse ending. You just can't make a nice smile on your face and pretend the world is wonderful. I'm sorry, Garcia is out of service tonight, unavailable. Try again later. -You say a little too many times “why”, Alvez .- you point out instead of answering him. -I hadn't noticed it before.- he is too close, he has violated your airspace, your safe, comfortable area, as he has been doing too often lately. This was the straw that breaks the camel, which filled the measure, making the situation no longer bearable. -Don't make me talk.- but maybe it sounds like a challenge, in his ears. And maybe it's really what you want. You are testing him without realizing it, even if you know that tackling it will not be good for anyone, it will dig such a deep abyss that distance and time could never have put among you and him.

In recent times Luke also seems to have lost part of his brakes. Part of it must be because Lisa was never present, not at a single team event or party, with invited families and friends. The wedding of Rossi and Krystall, the babyshower (which is not a baby shower, don’t forget), the first evening when Reid had brought Max to introduce her to everyone... just to give some examples, the most striking ones. -I should let you go and stay forever with this doubt?- after asking yet another question, he stretches out his hands and grabs you by the shoulders, a firm grip, which is difficult to get rid of. That's why you don't even try.

-No doubt.- you lighten it by simply using your eyes, and you know that he cannot resist you, that there is something magnetic in the way your pupils look for each other, chase each other, escape and then return to the starting point, falling into the same well. -If it were, you would wallow in it perfectly.- you accuse him, but it is an insinuation too veiled to grasp every nuance. -But since you're so stubborn... You will regret it.- it sounds exactly as it should: a threat. He doesn’t break eye contact as well as tactile contact. You feel his fingers move slightly on your arms. -Last chance.- in another moment you would tremble, you would cry even in frustration. But in another moment, you wouldn't even be here.

And maybe he wouldn't answer that way. -I prefer to know.- inside his eyes you see reflected your last moments together, the joy and serenity in taking Roxy and Lou for a walk, and you feel that shock as if it had just happened, when you had stumbled and he had grabbed you a moment before you fell down, preventing you from hurt yourself, and you felt the warmth of his chest spread down his back. And for a moment you two stayed there staring at each other, and for a moment you managed to forget that he was engaged... and probably also Luke. And that competition for hackers he'd heard of; the fire in his eyes when other men had congratulated you, the red and green fire of jealousy. A day without cases was such a rarity, yet Lisa hadn’t managed to be there not even that time. In your head it seems that an eternity has passed since these events, instead it is the day before yesterday. Strike three, the definitive one, of elimination.

As at that moment, even if with a sexually charged difference, you look at him without adding a word. Then you break the silence. -Really brave.- and you raise your arm, placing your hand on his chest to give him a push and move him away. This doesn’t bring him back to his senses, doesn’t make him understand that he is behaving well out the lines.

His only reaction is to swallow and tighten the grip; perhaps (with good reason) he fears that you can go away, even if this is your office (for a little while) and he is the one who has to leave. -Why are you being so brusque to me? I thought we had fun at that game together...- here the sports metaphor takes on a much more concrete sense. Yes, there had been that damned baseball game and that anxious look that he had thrown you when the reporter announced the kiss cam moment. You realize that the distance has decreased even more, there will be no more than ten centimeters between your bodies, your hand still on his chest, as if you wanted to listen his heart beat.

-You hit the mark.- you run your tongue over your lips, because you feel its dryness and it bothers you; but Luke's eyes follow the movement like those of the prey that caught too late the presence of a snake. - Of course, I had fun with you. I'm always fine in your company.- he almost sketches a smile, but you hurry to turn it off, you don't allow him to delude himself. -But that wasn't my place. There should have been Lisa with you.- a shadow passes in front of his gaze when he hears you say that name, the one that should turn him on, activate him, make him behave like a fool, as person in love... if he were.

Instead reflected in his pupils there are only guilt and melancholy. -I know, but she had to work and she prefers billiards, anyway...- he can't believe it's really that simple. With the hands you push to get rid of him. Luke instantly captures both of your wrists. And this triggers the umpteenth flashback: because in the end a case arrived, that day off, and it was bad and you processed it badly, as usual... and he took your hands in his, stating with belief that everything would be fine. Beautiful words. Vane. He was wrong.

You swallow as you ascend the past and emerge in the present. -Then with Matt. With anyone, but not with me.- for the first time since he entered, you too staggers, in words and physically. If he wasn't holding you so hard, you probably would have already fallen to the ground. You hate the effect he makes on you, how weak he makes you. Love can really suck. And loving someone in particular is even worse.

His eyes become shiny. He has never really cried in front of you, but it is certainly not the first time that you see him so upset, shaken, troubled. He is totally unable to mask this kind of emotion, he has never tried to hide it, although he is the best agent in undercover actions... according to his file. -Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I definitely didn't want to but it's not a reason to leave...- again, he's getting closer but it's going around the core of the matter and you can't understand if it's a thoughtful strategy or the opposite. It's damn good to see concretely how much the thought of having (in his opinion, involuntarily) hurt you makes him feel physically bad.

The contact between his skin and yours causes electrical discharges impossible to ignore. But you make every effort to stay focused on what you have to say, since he has clearly expressed his willingness to know. -Everyone makes mistakes. But it's not that simple.- you sigh, take a breath and throw everything out. -I won't go to any event with you anymore. I will never play the role of your girlfriend again, nobody will think we are a couple.- yes, it had happened more than once, more than three times (according to Mrs. Christie's theory that three clues make a proof and no longer a coincidence), the last with some friends of Luke at the game, one of which had really called you Lisa, while another had said that was clear how much you loved each other. Did Alvez correct them? Certainly not. -It took me over four years, but I think I'm pretty sure what I'm saying.- he is silent and lets you speak; coward until the end. -I'm not the only one who feels something here.- you bite your lips. You could still take everything back, you could easily make him believe that you meant in a non-romantic sense... to wallow in the grayness a little more. Instead, you go ahead until you cross the no-return threshold. -I'm not the one who stares at you continuously even during cases. I wasn't the one who told you that I would like to be the someone to go to when you want to cry. I never did anything to stop you from being with Lisa or another woman.- each sentence is a stab in the male chest, precise, targeted, hits every non-vital point, causing pain without killing him. The latter, however, seems to shake him particularly. You nod, answering his silent question. -Yes, I know. I know you didn't want me to go out with Phil.- another unspoken that it would have been better to remain so. -I wondered for months if there was another reason, but I didn't find it.- you challenge him to bring evidence to prove you wrong in front of the witness stand. You almost wish he would. The half who would like not to lose him and to think of him only the best; but not that other part, the one that prefers to suffer but bask in the belief of being reciprocated (uselessly). But Luke doesn't move an inch, he barely breathes. -And in any case, I didn’t want to reopen that wound.- but you did. He forced you to do it. This doesn’t make you feel better. -I would never do anything to make you suffer.- unlike you, your eyes add. -Never.- you repeat instead. But thinking about Phil was a serious mistake. That pain, driven back into depth, re-emerges even more powerful, squeezing the tear ducts to make you cry, as anyone would expect from you, and at the same time tickling your throat, so as to make your words confused.

Luke notices the change and the comforting mode is instantly activated. His hands go up along your arms, stroking them comfortably, but you don't allow yourself to close your eyes, because you know that in that case it would be over, you would succumb to the desire to immerse yourself in his embrace and forget everything. -Penelope, I...- you reject him, you don't know how, with what willpower, you detach his fingers from you, preventing him from intertwining them with yours, as he seemed intent on doing. Because it's not fair, because you're not together and you're not even best friends. Nobody ever made it public. And in any case, there is too much sexual tension between you to be just good friends.

He is standing there staring at you with that look always lost and also... not disappointed, more confused. Betrayed. You cross your arms over your chest again, more protective than before. -C’mon, speak, I'm waiting.- and it's not the only difference. There is also your trembling tone, fragmented like a windshield on which a spider web formed after an impact. Still together, but so fragile that the slightest pressure would be enough to shatter it. You feel exactly like that. -I want to hear what you have to say. I won't stop you.- and there is also the clouded vision, because your eyes have decided not to collaborate anymore, however much you try to prevent the tears from coming out. -I am not convinced, however, that you really have an interest in doing so.- and despite your generally destroyed appearance, the latter arrow hits the target straight in the center. Ten points.

He is there with his splendid face and his splendid body and his (slightly less) shining soul in front of you, thus giving you reason. But then something activates him. -Penelope, you can't leave BAU because of me.- did you say this clearly? No, but he still made the connection. So, when he wants, he knows how to be smart. As you promised, you keep quiet. -Just because I've been... A complete jerk.- a nice choice of adjective, but hearing he self-insulting is not enough. Although it was rather self-centered that he thought he was the only exclusive motivation.

However, you ignore this last aspect. And you prefer to turn it over, because it is easy to hate and not understand others, if you don’t try to really put yourself in their shoes; you can't understand. But he does it by trade. -Would you go instead of me?- you watch him nod. -No, I don't want this. You can, indeed, you must stay.- the man is trying in the meantime to get even. -This is your place. But it is no longer mine.- and however, you have managed to pretend until now that it doesn't touch you, but now the mask of indifference has started to melt, to dissolve and under Garcia there is only Penelope. You don't think that's enough. You never believed it. But you have to start doing it, somewhere you have to start too. Little steps. The first is to be reconciled with the past. Even if it is still present.

He succeeded in his intent, his hands are on your body again, but now you have understood that this will not make you change your mind, perhaps nothing will be able to do it. -You are the one who holds the team together.- he shakes you, shaken in turn by his fears turned into reality. -Without you we could never do it.- it comes out a sharp and malicious laugh, while you see Emily tell you more or less the same thing. You are not the cup, you are the glue that holds the pieces together. But who cares about the feelings of this substance when it’s alone?

Despite the shocked expression, he doesn't let you go anyway. -You will have to learn instead.- you reply, regaining part of the security and decision. But only in the voice, the eyes continue to follow an alternative path. -And I'm sure you will be doing great.- are you really sure or is it just a sentence of circumstance? A little of both. It has never been easy to go on without a piece of the puzzle or the chessboard... an image that fits perfectly just doesn't come to your mind.

However, he focuses on another point. -We have already lost JJ! You can't leave too!- for a moment you think if you should take advantage of this, protesting that he wants you to stay only because without you and JJ solve the cases will be much more difficult. But then in your head that imperative verb resounds.

You shoot like a reptile's tongue on an insect, lightning-fast and relentless. -I can't, Luke? Do you want to decide some other detail of my life?- you are now the one to shake him, with all the energies you have left. -Should I submit every man I want to date to your judgment ?- SBAM. Another backhand hit.

He lets himself be beaten, partly because he is aware that you cannot do seriously hurt him, partly because he is simply too shocked. -It wasn't what I meant... I...- this doesn't make you calm down, but you give him a push strong enough to free yourself, once again. How many more will you have to do it?

-I have no idea what you meant. But I'm glad you mentioned JJ.- yes, if he believed that the worst had already come out, he only deluded himself. -Because I'm not going to end up like Reid.- confusion. -I won't be waiting for you unnecessarily forever.- and understanding. -Are you happy with Lisa?- you don't give him time to respond. -I will be for you, but not here.- and here the world regains its alignment. The tears flow down your cheeks, but he doesn't dare dry them, even if you see that he would like to do it more than anything else. -Not here, I can't be here anymore.- you take off your glasses, a mistake you've made too often. You place them on the desk behind you, but remain partially turned. -I'm... I 'm sorry.- you don't even know if it's a strange way of apologizing to him, to the world, to yourself. -Please go now. I don't want to cry and least of all in front of you.- but you're already doing it. What's the point in rejecting him?

If only he understood it. Instead he stands there, inert, motionless. When he would like to embrace you, kiss you, make love with you until you two forget everything in the world, except your taste and your perfume. -God, Penelope, no.- he finally replies. -Don't say that, I beg you.- his lips start to tremble, first the lower lip and then also the upper one, then his whole body is shaken by a series of chills and finally the rain arrives. -You're killing me.- he mumbles.

You cry both, close yet always too far apart. -You've been killing me for four years.- you can't see him well, between your eye problems and tears. -Definitely three.- you correct yourself, to be fair. -Ever since Lisa appeared , and you haven't changed your attitude towards me.- you cracking a smile, your first of the day, sweet and melancholic at the same time. -It was nice to dance with you at Rossi's wedding. Much more than nice.- you admit, with a chuckle that soon turns into a sob. Luke takes a half step towards you. You don't do anything to block him. Another step. -But when I get home, I only have Sergio waiting for me. And it cannot be enough.- a louder sob, as if they were eviscerating you from the inside. -I don't know if you can understand it, I love my cat, but it can't be enough.- the tips of your hair have changed color, they look almost brown. -Don't you think I need someone to go out with after a case? I have four step-brothers who don't understand me, my parents are dead and I haven't been with anyone in the last four years.- how many four in one life. Will it be your lucky number? -I absorb everything we see, like a damned sponge. And it's killing me.- you are not exaggerating, you have medical evidence, unfortunately. -I can't do this anymore.- and then, apart from your health deteriorating, there's an even more important reason. -I can't concentrate and soon someone will pay for it. I just don't know if it will be a victim or one of you.- and you don't even know which of the two perspectives is worse.

Two more steps and you're practically stuck again, even more than before. -Why...- and he does something even more unexpected, unpublished. He takes your face in his hands, getting them wet, but not stopping crying. -Why have you never told me about it before? I don't think all this was born out of nowhere.- you put your fingers on his with the intention of removing them, but you don't know how, they end up intertwining.

However bad he may have hurt you, willingly or not, you cannot cease to love him. -Of course, it is not! It has been hatching inside me for much longer, well before you popped on the horizon.- there are too few centimeters of distance between your noses. And a kiss would solve nothing, quite the opposite. -Ever since I've been here, Morgan has struck a good blow to my soul, but you gave a shot of grace.- you are not blind enough to not see every detail of his eyes, so close. -I fell twice, twice, but the latter... really deep.- you don't notice a slight smile at the thought that what you feel for him is more intense than what you heard for his predecessor. -Maybe I imagined everything.- you hint then, suddenly insecure again. -I lived in a long mental film projected exclusively in my head.- he leaves go your face, without losing the opportunity of a caress on the cheek. In any case, the result doesn’t change. I have to go away.- the imperative is needed for more than one reason.

He uses your own verb, but from the previous sentence. -Would anything change if I admitted my part in this?- he manages to control himself slightly better, than you. His eyes are still bright as he waits for the answer, but he is no longer crying.

-You can't get away with the conditional, Luke.- you warn him weakly. -You admit it, or you don't.- unfortunately you can't give him any compromise. Too many cards have now been put on the table, to pretend not to know who was holding the royal flush. -I am for the shades, usually, but you want to continue living in the gray. I'm not in.- Luke nods. One last sigh and he throws himself. He really throws himself, for the first time, completely.

-I... I admit it.- he never looks away, he doesn't blink. -I admit everything. You are not a visionary. I...- he stops, shakes his head, hating himself deeply. -Why is it so scary to tell you even after... after being sure that you too... do you love me?- you have no idea if you have to understand it as a question addressed to you or to himself.

In any case, you decide to answer him sincerely. -I'm going to leave BAU, Quantico and you too, so yes, Luke Alvez.- it is perhaps the first time that you call him by full name, in front of him. -I love you. I am in love with you.- how many times have you imagined telling him, in none of them did you have such a neutral tone, so dull, like you were talking about the least important thing in the universe. But not for him.

-Penelope...- he only whispers, taking you in his arms and pressing your head on his chest. You don’t pull him away, but nor hug him back. It would be like admitting part of your guilt, to participate in this sort of betrayal.

-Don’t force me to use the back holidays to avoid the last week.- you answer, letting your nostrils fill with his natural aroma, which gently caresses your skin. Your heart could stop beating and it would be fine.

One of his hands fits into your hair. -I know... I know that I have no right to ask, to demand anything.- he massages your skin while he speaks, confusing you. It is difficult to stay focused. -But please, I beg you not to go away.- you feel his lips slightly wet on your forehead, and it's too much. -I can't... I can't imagine my life without you.- you detach yourself so suddenly that you stagger and fall against the desk, hurting your ribs.

-Your life without me?- you almost cry, but not in pain. -You were fine until four years ago.- you point out in no uncertain terms. But you still feel the warmth of his kiss on your skin. -And I'm not the first person you see in the morning, or the last person you say good night with a kiss.- he looks at you with his eyes shiny again.

-But you are the first one I think of in the morning and the last thought before going to sleep.- you shake your head, which starts to spinning around as if you were on a carousel in the amusement park. You retrieve your glasses and wear them, to face them better.

-Do you think this makes things more... more acceptable?- he opens his mouth without saying anything, like a fish looking for air. -No!- you shout, answering in his place. -It's the exact opposite! Because it sucks!- that's that hurt expression again. -It sucks a man who shares a bed with a woman while he is thinking about another!- and even more to feel the jealousy move in your chest as the image is formed in your mind. -It makes me even more disgusting to love such a man!- you clench your fists until blood flows from your palms. -It sucks even if that other one is me!- indeed, even with more intensity, in this case. -It is not fair to Lisa, as well as for me. Are you really like that, Luke?- you don't know what to wish for. -Because I would never have fallen in love with someone like that.- you bite your lips until you no longer feel anything.

He can't stand the sight of such self-flagellation. He nods spasmodically, trying to stop you. -I know, I know, I know I’m suck. But... but I didn't know...- in the fight, your nails leave red marks on the exposed part of his arms.

-You can only say "I know", and you are hiding yourself behind fears and uncertainties.- you retort, unyielding, only wishing that he will disappear, that this turns out to be a nightmare. -But it's you, the one busy, among us.- since it doesn't happen, you put a finger in his chest. -You didn't have the right to feel something for me!- not really true, you don't choose who you fall in love with and you know it well. But Luke still grasps the concept behind that phrase. -Nor to manifest it, in a more or less ambiguous way.- he doesn’t start crying again, but his lips tremble again and become the center of your universe. Why must everything always be so complicated? Why can't you just love each other even in the real world?

-I didn't do it consciously, nor I wanted to make you suffer or...- he swallows, stumbles over every word. -Please believe me. Not even... that Phil thing.- it's as obvious as just saying that name is still a tough mission for him, despite almost a year having passed since the death of his best friend.

-Do you really expect me to buy this nonsense?- you cannot feel pity for him, nor pity him, besides the fact that it would not be a nice thing, it would not increase your esteem for him. -On the first... ok, but the second...- not even making the greatest possible effort you could do it. -Luke, before he died... that day, when we were alone... we talked.- it didn't seem possible, yet here he opens his wonderful light brown eyes, in surprise. -He asked me out. I didn't tell him that you had lied to me about it.- you go on, ignoring everything, otherwise you would have to stop and then... who can assure you that you will be able to get back on track? -But I understood. I realized that he had been trying to convince you to tell me about him for about a year .- you shrug. -Put in a good word.- and out of nowhere rises again all the anger and bitterness that you felt in the first moment of realization. -But no, I can't be with you because you're already in a relationship... but you don't like your little toy to become someone else's interest, do you?- he welcomes the hint with grace.

-No, no, you have never been just a toy, for me, you...- you prevent him from continuing the sentence with some absurdity like... You are the most precious thing I have, which would also be a lie, at least partially... because it sucks to belong to someone who simply contemplates you, dusting the glass of the cupboard in which you are locked up.

There is only one positive side. You really stopped crying, there are only a few residues on your face, irrefutable evidence of what happened in this room. -I want to hope that you are really so naive or stupid. But that's what your actions suggest.- and Luke should be trained to read people's behavior. Of course, even for a doctor it is difficult to cure himself... -You have been selfish, unjustifiably jealous, a very bad friend. For both.- and Phil's smile suddenly comes to your mind, when you accepted his invitation, feel again the strange warmth that had spread from the cheeks to the ears, before both of you concentrated again on the case.

He repeats for the umpteenth time that very short phrase, which has entered the top ten of the ones you most hate. -I know, I know, I know!- he takes his head in his hands, looking towards the floor, like someone who has now thrown in the towel. -And there is no way to fix it, right?- you watch his Adam 's apple move as he swallows.

And you keep playing the bad part. -Not for Phil.- his eyes catch yours again. It is practically impossible for you two not to stare, not to look at the other, regardless of the situation in which you find yourself. -As for me... I don't know.- and you're sincere. -There must be a reason why you stayed with Lisa. I hope it's more than one.- you add at the end.

And Luke catches the hint, it almost doesn’t seem true to him to have this opportunity. -Things have not been going well for a while... she's too busy and me too.- he chuckles in front of such a childish excuse.

-When you love someone, you find the time.- you retort, thinking of many examples: first of all Morgan and Savannah, which are perfectly comparable to Luke and Lisa… since both women are doctors. But even Emily and Andrew, since both are heads of a unit, have big responsibilities and consequently not much time to relax. Yet their relationship is booming. You know within yourself that Mendoza is the right one for Prentiss, as Will is for JJ. And yours? Are you looking at him right now?

Is he making his head go up and down, agreeing with you? -You are right. In fact, this made me think about many things...- and he's asking you to trust him even if he knows he doesn't deserve it at all. -But I don't think I am more able to be alone.- here is a new excuse, beautifully packaged, wrapped and with lots of ribbon and bow. -I have been for too long...- yeah, and your eyes are asking him why he couldn't have stayed single longer for a while. But without Lisa would you have reached this point? Would you have realized what you felt for him?

You don't give him any way out. -So, would that be your motivation? The loneliness?- you put your arms folded. -It is not enough.- and you decide to have spoken too much. Without your noticing, you go into silent mode. And it's his turn to make a nice monologue.

He caresses your arms without squeezing you, as if he were afraid of breaking you even just by touching you. -God, Penelope, for me it was love at first sight. I mean with you.- not even a second goes by before he adds this specification. -I fell like a cooked pear just hearing your name pronounced by Hotch, months before I joined the BAU.- he smiles and you understand that he is remembering those moments, when everything was decidedly simpler. -And going forward has gotten worse.- yet his smile widens. You read his face as if you were in front of a mirror. You know exactly what he is seeing in his head. -But I never thought I could be enough.- and it would be nice to be able to think he is a liar. -I am still convinced. And I didn't want to drag you down the abyss with me.- but it was the charm of the mystery and darkness that you caught in him that led you here; he should have given you the chance to choice. -And I was too afraid to shatter even that little bit of friendship that you had granted me.- he continues in his explanation. -Then Phil forced me to go out with Lisa and... I definitely convinced you didn't care.- of course, because of the way you reacted. You had no simulated sympathy for your "rival", but Luke should have understood that you were still uncomfortable, that you were not completely yourself, the usual Garcia. -And it was nice to have someone who was.- how can you be happy for them and at the same time feel a lot of pain? -But this couldn’t make me stop worrying about you, thinking about you, staring at you and all those things you said.- you open your lips, but you close them again. -It should have been so, I wished it had, but it wasn't.- the screens behind you went on standby. You can't remember another time it happened. -I thought I was the only one to suffer from it, that's why I did nothing.- you understand it's late, it's time to go.

That's why you use an overly hasty tone. -Are you really convinced that this has not in the least affected your story with Lisa?- his face remains neutral. -She is a fantastic woman and... you know that we became friends.- yes , despite the fact that it hurt hell to listen to her talk about him, about him, someone who would never have been yours. -We talked about you too. You have had many shortcomings towards her.- far from the ideal boyfriend. -I wonder why it should be different with me.- but do you really want to know? Do you seriously want to open up this specific Pandora's box and make the last hope fly away?

You don't step back, you don't renege your words, and he doesn't either. -Because, this is even more disgusting to say... because what I feel for you is so great... that I would suffocate you with attentions.- and what is scary is that you both know it's true. Your fantasies merge into one, so realistic as to seem real.

Finally, you leave those few centimeters near the desk to reach the bag, the coat. You are preparing for the farewell. -I don't want to be the reason you and Lisa break.- you clarify it before bending down to start the system shutdown. And despite the fact that you are offering him a fantastic view of the lower back, his eyes remain blank, directed towards nothing. -You don't have to do it because you love me, you have to do it if you don't love her enough.- and he knows you're right.

He says it. -I know. I know.- he repeats. -I have to do it for her.- she who was a name more than a person, but she is real, she is not the character of a fanfiction. You walk to the exit, go through the first door and he behind you. You close it, waiting for him to reach you. You type that code knowing it's the last time.

Then you let your eyes wander over that face and that body. -Good luck, Luke.- you get up on your toes, laying a kiss on his cheek, you don't even know why, but you feel in the bones that it's the right thing to do. Luke moves his head slightly and your lips touch, but only the edges.

It can't be considered a real kiss, right? You hope for it with all of yourself.

You look at each other for a moment, your faces always too close, so you move away from the right (just barely), but he keeps you by the wrist. -You won't come back, will you?- you slip away from his fingers, and without adding anything else, even from his life.

It is true it is complicated to hate you, nobody in the world can deny it, much less today me ... it is true it is complicated to love me, neither you or me can, I for my whole life, you for nothing ...^

A month later

 She cut her hair. This is the first thing you notice about her. But she always wears the same kind of glasses and clothes. What is really different about her, however, is her smile. It finally comes up to the eyes, like when you met her. She is radiant, a ray of sunshine on a rainy day.

You stare at her for eternity. It's the thing you do best after all, isn't it? In addition to breaking the hearts of people who love you and cares about you. Too many weeks have passed, but much more time seems to have passed. Or a blink of an eye.

What was it that brought you here? Why didn't Prentiss send Spencer, Matt or Tara? Or the new boy, whose name doesn't come to your mind. Did your boss know she was here?

Penelope never left Quantico. She left BAU and you, but not that city. And she continued to deal with cases and victims, only more directly.

But you can't stand there peeping forever. You are here on business. You have to question a person and she will surely be able to point you to the right room. You take one step, another, open the transparent door. And her eyes fall on you. Who knows if she notices bags, wrinkles, some white hair. She lighted up, you definitely shut down. You didn't go overboard when you told her you couldn't live without her.

You broke up with Lisa that day and it was easy enough to make you feel even more guilty. She wanted the same. And being alone hadn't been so terrible... except that you missed her; you missed Penelope.

You raise a hand, in a neutral gesture of greeting. You don't know how to call her. If you have lost the right to use her first name. But at the same time saying her last name would be too strange. And it would send the wrong message. -Hello...- you dare then.

She notices the gun you wear on your belt and realizes that this is not a courtesy visit. But instead of repulsion or indifference, in her gaze you read... sincere joy in seeing you again. However, it could be simple affection. You try to glance at her left hand, looking for a ring that you are sure you will find on the ring finger... instead nothing.

-Luke.- your name on that mouth. It looks like a miracle fallen from the sky. -Who do you have to talk to?- her tone is as sweet as her quick and intuitive brain. You look at her from the bottom up, which you are not used to, since she is sitting behind a counter, with only one computer in front of her.

-Robert Smith.- you answer. And then, without brooding, you throw yourself. -But before... can I ask you how are you?- she smiles and nods. But she doesn't answer you as you imagined.

-How do I look?- maybe she's flirting, maybe she's trying to understand if that feeling between you hasn't been killed by the distance. But the separation made it even more intense, at least on your part. You decide it can't go worse. And that too many times you have put work first.

You brush her hand, stroking her fingers. You watch her close her eyes and vibrate. -You look great. You are beautiful.- she purses her lips and after a moment she goes around the piece of furniture to reach you. She grabs your hand and places it on her face. Then she hugs you.

She places her head on your chest. She is listening to your heart beat. It is irregular, sometimes too slow, sometimes too fast, or simply out of sync. She raises her eyes until they fall in yours, then she say, softly: -I need nothing more.-

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

TAGS: @martinab26​​​​ @reidskitty13​​​​  @thinitta​​​​  @garvezz​​​​ @mercedes-maldonado​​​​  @shyladystudentfan​​​​  @pegasus-scifichick​​​​ @paperwalk​​​​  @inlovewithgarvaz​​​​ @the-ellen-stuff​​​​ @astressedwriter​​​​  @symphonyashley​​​​ @jess-the-introvert​​​​ @veronicafiore88​​​​ @malice1329​​​ @kofforever​​​

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #tiziano ferro #troppo buono #she needs someone #post 15x1

[petersboyfriendsonofthor]

Safe

Mob!Tom x Male Reader AU

Written for @starksparker‘s summer writing challenge. 

Warnings: language, ethnic slurs (antagonist is a real asshole), violence, graphic injuries, mob/gang violence. (If I forgot to add any please lmk!!) (there’s some fluff at the end don’t worry)

Word Count: ~ 3.2k

Safe

“So tell us, mate, how are things with you and Tom?” Your friend Alfie asks as he slides you a pint from down the bar.

You smile, taking a sip.

“It’s been great,” you say, your smile growing wider. “He’s simply amazing. Such a gentleman, always polite, incredibly supportive, funny, charming. Honestly, it would be easier to list the things I don’t like about him.”  

“Alright then,” Alfie says, leaning into the bar with a grin. “What don’t you like about him?”

“Easy. Nothing,” you say. The boys laugh. “He’s the best there is. The past eight months have been the best time of my life. I honestly don’t know what I would do without him.”

“Aww look!” Lorenzo hoots. “He’s blushing!” Your friends had their laugh while you look down into your glass, cheeks red and warm.

“So tell us,” Alfie says once they settle down. “You getting it good in the sack?”

You cough on your drink, nearly spitting all over the bartender. Lorenzo whistles and claps you on the back.

“Our boy has got to be getting it good, right?”

“I… I uh,” you stammer. “I hardly think that's any of your business!”

“Oh come on, mate!” Lorenzo groans. “We tell you about our girlfriends, it’s time you paid us back with some riveting sexploits of your own!”

“I never ask to hear about your sex life, Lorenzo,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder. “You just never shut up about it. ‘Oh Lorenzo, oh oh oh’ Jesus mate, I’ve seen what you’re packing, and it can’t be enough to make her sound like that every night.”

Alife doubles over in laughter while Lorenzo tries to hide his rosy cheeks. He waves over the bartender and orders more beers.

“Why do I have to take all the heat for this?” Lorenzo asks, taking a pint from the bartender. “Alife boasts just as much as I do.”

“Alfie though,” you say, “Alfie’s got quite the member. Must be from his dad’s side.” You and Lorenzo laugh while Alfie feigns offense.

“Y/n, are you insinuating that I have a big dick just cause I’m half black?” Alfie gasps and clutches at an imaginary pearl necklace. “Could that be racism I sense from my dear old friend?”

“Well, you didn’t get it from your mother!” you fire back. “Also, I’ve seen it first hand. Remember when I walked in on you and Sophie last year? I reckon yours is damn near twice as long soft as Lorenzo’s is standing up!”

Alfie burst again into laughter while Lorenzo hangs his head in defeat. You rub his shoulder to let him know you’re just taking the piss, and offer to buy his next drink. Over Lorenzo’s shoulder, you catch the eye of a large man in a wife beater and leather pants at a nearby table. He and his friends are staring at you, and have been for the past few minutes. You peel your eyes away and throw a smile back on your face.

“But really though,” Alfie says, refocusing your attention. “Is he good to you? Doesn’t hurt you, does he? I’ve heard stories about his temper...”

You were touched that Alfie cared so much. You have been friends for years, having met back in middle school. A rumor had spread that you were the son of Al “the Ray”, a notorious Italian mobster who controlled a nice portion of London and had properties all over Central and Southern England. His name comes from the Italian word “re,” which means king. He inherited the many landed properties in England through some old dynastic claims that connected those old families to your ancestors in the Italian nobility. His grandfather, your great-grandfather, started a street gang in London after the First World War. His brother inherited the family lands and fortunes in Italy, so your great-grandfather decided to strike out on his own. Through blood and sweat he carved out a territory for himself in London and called himself “Il Re,” The King. His sons and grandsons expanded, and the kingdom reached its height under your father, Alonzo.

With a family such as that, it was hardly surprising that you did not have many friends growing up. People were too afraid of your father to get close to you, until Alfie. He started sitting with you at lunch, and from then on you were the best of friends. Your father, who had softened somewhat with age, was so delighted to hear you had made a friend that he saw to it that Alfie’s family had protection and money. Alfie was always looking out for you, as you were just as important to him as he was to you.

“No, I think I’ve actually tamed his temper,” you shake your head. “He would never hurt me.  He is so tender and caring, especially the first few times. You know that I’ve never done it before him, so he was sure to be extra careful with me.”

Alfie smiles. “Glad to hear it, mate. Glad to--”

“Oi!” The man at the other table shouts, startling you and your friends. “If you three fags don’t shut up about your cocks, I’ll cut ‘em off and stick ‘em in your mouths.”

The bar falls silent. Everyone shifts their eyes to you three, awaiting your response. The bartender steps in to buy you some time.

“Easy now, friends, I won’t be having a scene in my pub,” he declares. “These young lads are doing no harm, and I won’t have you threatening them.” He gives you a nod.

“Stay out of this, old man,” growls Biker Dude. “Or have you forgotten who runs the place ‘ere?”

A chill runs down your spine. You turn to Lorenzo, who looks equally as terrified. The bikers rise from their table, six in all, and receive some reinforcements from the pool tables, increasing their count to ten. They advance on the bar, taking their time and sizing the three of you up.

“Alfie, you didn’t tell me this pub was in--”

“I didn’t fuckin know it was in Johnny Rast’s territory,” Alfie panics. “I thought his turf started three blocks west. Thought we were still in Holland’s. Shit, I’m sorry mate.”

“Shut up!” Johnny Rast barks. He is only a few feet away now. The rest of the gang stops, but Johnny keeps walking. He leans in a few inches from your face. You can smell the whiskey on his breath. He flips out a switchblade.

“Now, in my pub, we have certain rules about who can and cannot enter,” he explains, sliding the point of the blade up your shirt. “We don’t allow Degos like you and your friend ‘ere. It's hard to get grease stains out of these leather seats.”

You gulp as his men laugh. Lorenzo’s face is as pale as a ghost. 

“We also don’t like fags,” Johnny continues. He brings the point of the blade up to your neck, lightly dragging it over your soft throat and over your jawline. It finally settles in your eye socket, just under the bone. Your eye is closed and he applies light pressure, making you wince. Your heart is thumping so fast you’re sure he can hear it. He gives the knife a twist, threatening to stab out your eye. All it would take is a little more pressure and out it would come.

“Let him go!” Alfie shouts. Loyal, brave, stupid Alfie. Two men near him seize his arms and drag him before Johnny, who pulls the knife away from your eye. You rub it and let out a breath you weren’t aware you’d been holding.

Johnny punches Alfie in the stomach, doubling him over. One of his captors jerks his head back so that he can meet Johnny’s eye.

“You know,” Johnny says, running his thumb along the edge of his knife. “If there’s one thing I hate more than degos and fags, it’s gotta be stinking, half-breed ni--”

Alfie’s head connects with Johnny’s mouth, stopping him from finishing his slur. He slips out of his captors’ grasp and shoves each of them away. He punches Johnny hard across the face and keeps at him. Lorenzo turns and punches the biker nearest him, but is met with a flurry of blows from the other bikers.

You grab your beer mug and toss its contents in the face of a biker in front of you. You shove it into another’s face and smash in some of his teeth. He screams and grabs his mouth, blood and broken glass slipping between his fingers. You kick the dazed and wet biker into the bleeding one, but that is when your element of surprise wears off. The next two bikers block your punch and one shoves his knee into your groin. You shout and fall to the ground, where they rain fists and steel-toed boots onto your writhing body. You can barely make out Alfie get slashed with Johnny’s knife before being thrown to the ground. Kicks came in from every angle. A steel toe hits the bone above your eye, and another shatters a rib. Someone kicks your kidney and you arch your back out of instinct, opening up your balls and belly to more abuse. Every attempt to rise is met with more punishment, and you feel yourself starting to slip from consciousness.

The blows stop at the pump of a shotgun. The bikers look up behind the bar to see the old bartender holding a pump-action 22-gauge bird hunting shotgun. From far away, this wouldn’t do much damage, but up close it’s enough to tear a man’s head from his shoulders.

“I’ll remember this, old man!” Johnny screams. “You don’t have enough shot in there for all of us. You pull that trigger and you’re dead. Leave us to our business.”

“You idiots really don’t know who that is your kicking?”

The bikers look puzzled.

“That’s the Ray’s son you’re beating, and he’s dating Tom Holland. The Tom Holland. Have you not been listening all evening?! Do you have a fucking deathwish?”

The bikers’ eyes widen in shock. They are a small time gang and can in no way challenge Al the Ray and his Italians, and certainly not if the Ray joined forces with the Hollands.

“I--I--I didn’t know,” Johnny stammers, backing away. “Bloody fuck, I’m sorry sirs I didn’t know I didn’t--”

The doors fly open with a crash as a dozen armed men rush into the pub led by a blond haired man a few years older than you. You manage a weak smile at the sight of your friend Harrison Osterfield, Tom’s right-hand man.

“Take the bikers,” he orders. “And bring in petrol. We need to send a message to anyone who thinks they can get away with jumping a Holland, honorary or otherwise.”

“Haz,” you rasp. “Don’t. Bartender...helped us…” you hack up blood, covering yourself and the floor. Haz rushes to your side.

“Y/n, mate, what did they do to you?” He cradles your head in his lap. “Tom’s gonna go ape shit when he sees you like this.”

You snort. “Do whatever to the bikers...leave the pub...bartender...” you throw up “...saved my life…”

“I’m also the one who phoned you lads,” the bartender says.

You hear a groan from your right and see Lorenzo clutching his arm, which is all mangled from his beating. His hair is messed up and his face bruised, but he is well enough to stand with some help. Alfie, on the other hand…

He is lying in a pool of his own blood with a gash across his face. He’s bleeding from multiple head wounds and his hair is matted down with blood.

“Alfie…” you croak. “Alfie get up.”

One of Haz’s men checks on him. “He’s got a pulse, but we need to get him to the Doc ASAP.”

“Get him in a car,” Haz orders. “Gently. Follow us to the manor and get him stitched up. Ryan, help me with Y/n, and Mark, get Lorenzo here to a car. He’s coming with as well.”

Haz and Ryan lift you up and you throw your arms around their shoulders. You can only drag your feet behind you as they move you to one of the black SUV’s parked outside. Haz’s men stuff as many bikers into the trunks of the cars as they can. They’ll receive a different kind of attention where they’re going.

The ride back to the manor was quick, as the Holland gang’s vehicles were escorted by police officers that take bribes from Tom. You rest your head on Harrison's lap, which was now stained with blood and bile.

“Sorry,” you croaked. “I ruined your pants.”

“Hey hey,” he said, gently brushing your hair with his fingers. “It’s not a problem.”

The car is silent for the next few minutes until Haz speaks again.

“Ryan called Harry, who by now has told Tom,” he says. “He’s waiting for you. I’m sure he’ll have your bed all made up for you and Doc will see you as soon as he’s done with your friend.”

You start to cry at the mention of Tom and Alfie.

“Shh shh,” Harrison coos. “Its alright mate, you’re safe now. I got a text from Dan, he says they’ve slowed Alfie’s bleeding. He should be fine once Doc gets to him. You’re safe now. You all are.”

You sniffle and shake your head. “Not that. Tom. I don’t want him t-to see m-me like th-th-this. I’m all battered and weak and I just…”

“Mate, you know Tom loves you. He’ll take care of you. Just hold tight, we’re almost there.”

Holland Manor is a large estate outside the city, fenced in from the road so that unwelcome guests could not enter. The fleet of cars drive past some hills and follow the drive up to the front doors of the manor. An elaborate fountain stands in the green in the center of the driveway loop, and wide stone steps lead to the large double doors of the manor’s entrance. Men hurriedly take Alfie inside to see the Doc, and you’re helped up the stairs.

Tom arrives at the doors just as you reach the last step of the staircase. His face morphs from worried to concerned to angry and back to concerned all in a moment.  He rushes over to you and gently cups your face with his hands, careful to avoid cuts and bruises.

He examines your face. Your left eye is swollen shut. You have a gash on your cheek and forehead that are still oozing blood. Your nose is bent awkwardly and swollen black and blue. Most of your face is bruised or cut, and both of your lips are busted. Your hair is matted with coagulating blood, and your clothes are all torn and dirty. A trickle of blood runs from your right ear down your neck and is slowly coloring your white shirt collar red.

“Tommy…” your hoarse voice cracks and your eyes yet again brim with tears. He takes you in his arms and holds you, muttering “y/n, y/n, y/n.”

He takes Ryan’s place and takes you to his room with Haz’s help. He sets you down on the bed and props your back up with pillows. You’re still crying as he pulls you in for another embrace.

“I got you, love, I got you,” he murmured and kissed your head.

“Erm, Tom,” Harrison says, standing in the doorway. “What should be done about the biker gang?”

Tom turns to his friend, his blood boiling. “I’ll come down there and sort them out.” His hands ball into fists.

You touch his wrist and he softens. “Stay, Tommy. Please. I need you.” You sniffle, tears leaving clean streaks down your bruised and bloody face. Tom returns his attention to you.

“Do what you want,” he says, never taking his eyes off of you. “But leave Rast to me. Also, have Lorenzo identify the ones who did this to my baby. I want them too.”

Haz nods and shuts the door behind him. Tom reaches over to the side table and takes a damp cloth to your face, gently wiping off the dirt and dried blood. He gives a kiss to each area he cleans, and he gently places a kiss to your busted lips. It hurts but you need him, and you deepen the kiss. Tom can taste the blood in your mouth, and he nearly breaks when he runs his tongue over yours, feeling the spot where you had bitten a chunk out of after one of the bikers had kicked your jaw. He breaks the kiss to change into sweats and no shirt, and he carefully removes your shirt as well.

He gasps at the bruises all over your stomach and chest. It was an ugly rainbow of red, blue, purple, yellow, and brown. There was an especially nasty mark left over the bruised and possibly broken rib. “My god, y/n, what did they do to you?”

You recount the whole story, sobbing half the time. Tom pulls you in for a comforting hug, his bare chest warm against your cheek. He kisses the top of your head.

“I’m here now, love,” he coos, letting you sob into his chest. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Please don’t leave me,” you sob. He only holds you tighter.

“I’m not going anywhere, little Prince,” he says, kissing your forehead. You smiled through your tears at his little nickname for you. “I’ve got you.”

“It feels so emasculating,” you sob. “I tried to fight back but I could barely do anything and they just kept kicking me and kicking me an--”

“Shh shh shh. Don’t worry about that now,” Tom said. “I’m with you now, no one is going to hurt you anymore. Listen to me.” He pulled away and gently brushed your tears away with his thumbs. “I’ve got you. I love you, y/n.”

You stared into his caring brown eyes through your own watery ones. You pull him in for a kiss, your body shaking with aftershocks from your previous hysterics.

“Hold me,” you say, burying your head into his chest. He falls back onto the bed, and you cuddle in close to him. He wraps his bare, muscular arms around your battered frame and pulls you close. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest. You place a kiss of gratitude under his collarbone. “Don’t let go. I don’t want to leave.”

“You never have to, love,” he says. “I want you to move in with me. I want to keep you safe, and I need to have you close. Would you like that?”

Your arms squeeze tighter around Tom’s back, soaking in the warmth of his skin. “Yes, Tom. Want you to keep me safe.” You feel yourself starting to cry again, and Tom kisses your head.

“I will. I promise.” The determination and love in his voice were enough to send you to tears once more. Tom starts to hum a soothing tune, and you find yourself drifting off to sleep. The last words you hear before drifting off are a soft “I’ve got you. I love you.”

Tomorrow, Tom would bring hell to the bikers that nearly killed you, starting with the ones who beat you. But tonight, right now, all Tom has on his mind is how much love he has for you and how much he wants to keep you safe. Your father is the feared Il Re, but you are just Tom’s little Principe, and he will do everything in his power to keep you safe.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x male reader #male reader #mob!tom #mob!tom x male reader #tw: violence #tw: ethnic slurs #tw: racism #kayleessummerwc

[schraubd]

Collected Thoughts on Excluding Omar and Tlaib

I've got another kidney stone. It struck on Monday, and then I felt pain Tuesday, Wednesday, and today. Thursday was my only pain-free day this week, and I have to assume that was the universe balancing the scales and recognizing that the Israeli government's truly terrible decision to exclude Reps. Ilhan Omar (D-MN) and Rashida Tlaib (D-MI) from the country was plenty enough aggravation on its own. I went on a pretty vigorous tweet storm all through yesterday. Below I bullet point most of what I expressed on that site (which, as you may know, I've taken "private"), but my main takeaway is this: There's no serious case that either Congresswoman present a security threat to Israel (I've seen some people insinuate that they might incite a riot at the Temple Mount which -- I'm not sure I can physically roll my eyes hard enough). In practice, the "risk" Omar and Tlaib present is simply that they will hear  mean things about Israel and then say their own mean things about Israel. That's the locus of the complaint about the "balance" of the trip; that's the locus of the accusation that they merely want to rabble-rouse. What people are concerned about is they will go to the West Bank, hear people saying mean things about Israel, and repeat those mean things back to American audiences. But -- and I mean this in all earnestness -- so what? So what if that's what happens? To be clear: I don't think Omar and Tlaib were coming just to say mean things about Israel. But even if they were -- there's no security threat. The state will survive (how pathetic would it be if it crumbled?). It'd be speech. It'd be discourse. That's the price of living in a liberal, free society. Sometimes people say mean things about you. Sometimes those mean things are unfair. Sometimes those mean things are entirely fair. Whatever. It comes with the territory (pun initially not intended, but I'll own it now). It's not a valid basis for a travel ban. It used to be that Israel was emphatic that "come see us and you'll think better of us". Now Israel is terrified that if people come see them--at least, see them unchaperoned, without a constant guiding hand ensuring they see only the choice parts--they'll think of worse of them. That's the sign of a society in decay. To be sure, I think Omar and Tlaib probably would come away from their visit with a rather grim appraisal of Israel's treatment of Palestinians. But then, there's ample basis to appraise that treatment grimly--there's no inherent foul there. People can come to the West Bank and be honestly appalled by what they see. Only police states confuse "people saying mean things" with security threats. A free society can survive--and perhaps even learn from--critics giving it grim appraisals. People talk a huge game about how Omar and Tlaib could "learn" from their trip to Israel and Palestine -- and no doubt they could. But the flip side is that Israel, too, can learn from the testimony of Palestinians laboring under occupation, and from efforts to bring that testimony to the fore. It is wrong -- not to mention insulting -- to treat discourse about Israel/Palestine as if it were a one-way street, where wise, omniscient Israeli/Jewish teachers dribble knowledge onto benighted, ignorant Muslims and Arabs. Below is a recap of my other collected thoughts on the matter (many but not all of which were on Twitter):

This was a terrible and unjustified decision. Let's lead off with that and give it its own bullet point all to itself.

There is no reason to think that this decision was "what Omar and Tlaib wanted" since it made Israel look authoritarian and repressive. That is projection, to avoid speaking the more uncomfortable conclusion that "Omar and Tlaib might have had a point" in suggesting Israel acts in an authoritarian and repressive fashion.

I neither think this decision was solely Trump's doing -- Israel "caving" to his pressure -- nor do I think he played no role in the decision. I think he successfully convinced Netanyahu to do something that he already kind of wanted to do in the first place, even knowing it probably was a bad idea. Trump was like the frat boy friend egging his buddy into doing another shot flight. That Bibi was probably dimly aware it wasn't the wisest decision in the world doesn't mean that he wasn't ultimately fulfilling his own desires. Ultimately, this was a decision of Israel's right-wing government and they deserve to take the full brunt of punishment for it.

I understand why everyone is calling this "counterproductive" from Israel, since it will undoubtedly give a huge boost to the BDS movement. But, as I wrote in the Lara Alqasem case, that really depends on what Israel is trying to "produce". In many ways, Bibi benefits from an ascendant BDS movement, just as they benefit from him; and he likewise benefits from a world divided between conservatives who love everything he does and liberals who loathe him. So the fact that this decision puts wind in the sails of BDS, while further lashing Israel to a purely right-wing mast and alienating it from erstwhile progressive allies, is not necessarily a miscalculation -- it's the intended and desired effect.

On that note, remember the other day when 21 Israeli MKs wrote to Congress and said that a two-state solution was "more dangerous" than BDS? Well, if you ever wanted an example of what it looks like to trade "increased BDS support" for "kneecapping two-state solution support", this was it (even though Tlaib isn't a two-stater -- Omar is -- this act was aimed like a laser at the most prominent base of support for two-stateism in America: that is, Democrats).

On the other hand, shouldn't these right-wing Israelis be more excited to welcome Tlaib than most other Congresspeople? After all, she opposes the "dangerous" two-state solution! Oh wait, I forgot: in her one-state world, everyone gets to vote. That won't do at all, will it?

I love Emma Goldberg description of how Israel will slide away from liberal democracy via Hemingway's description of how he went bankrupt: "Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly." And by love, I mean it gives me a sick feeling of recognition in my stomach.

Justifying the ban on the grounds that Omar and Tlaib's visit wasn't "balanced" because they weren't meeting with Israeli or Palestinian government figures, only NGOs, and these are bad NGOs -- spare me. To tell visiting U.S. politicians "you can come, but only if you speak with the 'right' people/visit the 'right' sites/speak the 'correct' words" sounds like something you'd hear from the North Korean embassy. Omar and Tlaib should be entitled to visit with whomever they want to visit, and come to whatever conclusions they end up coming to. If those conclusions are unfair, we should trust the ability to defeat them with more speech, not enforced silence. But again: we can't conflate "unfair" with "critical". It's entirely feasible that a fair-minded individual hearing testimony from West Bank Palestinians will come to a sharply critical conclusion.

Some of the attacks on the NGOs Omar and Tlaib were scheduled to meet with are the usual chad gadya (has a leader who's linked to a group which kicked the dog ....) nonsense, but there are some groups with some genuinely bad history. I've consequently seen people suggest that we need to also hold Omar and Tlaib accountable for their part in this fiasco for meeting with members of those groups. Fair enough: I'm happy to hold them accountable, weighted and prioritized in proportion to their relative culpability. In keeping with that metric, I might get around to returning to criticizing their draft itinerary sometime in 2035.

Fine, one more thing on the itinerary: Am I correct in reading it as taking Omar and  Tlaib either solely or primarily to the West Bank and East Jerusalem? If so, it's entirely understandable why they'd refer to those locales as "Palestine".

Rep. Tlaib initially applied for a humanitarian waiver to visit her family, which was approved, but then she backed out given the conditions the Israeli government was going to impose on the visit (basically, not engaging in "boycott activities"). The usual suspects are crowing: she cares less about her family than she does about boycotting! I say (a) Rep. Tlaib is well within her rights to not prostrate herself to the dictates of a foreign government seeking to humiliate her, and (b) what about the past few days gives anyone the confidence in the Israeli government's ability to fairly adjudge what qualifies as a "boycott activity"?

The argument that Israel, as a sovereign state, has a "right" to exclude whomever it wants substitutes a juridical argument for an ethical (and practical) one. Sovereign states are formally empowered to do all sorts of terrible and/or stupid things. This was one of them. Hearing nominal anti-BDS folks make this claim -- which could as easily be applied to "universities and academics have the right to collaborate (or not) with whomever they want to" is probably causing another kidney stone to develop as we speak.

The other thing is that Israel is proving itself completely incapable of exercising this "right" in a reasonable manner that distinguishes between genuine threats to national security and unhappiness that people sometimes come to Israel and then say mean things. One of the reasons we liberals seek to limit unchecked government power is precisely because of the suspicion that it won't be exercised responsibly or non-arbitrarily.

Of course, the fact that Israel also exercises the practical authority to exclude people not just from Israel-proper, but the West Bank as well, gives lie to the notion that Palestinians even conceptually could have their right to self-determination vindicated solely by voting in PA elections.

Silver lining: pretty much the entirety of the American Jewish establishment -- AIPAC, AJC, ADL, J Street, Simon Wiesenthal Center -- came out against this decision. Huzzah for that.

Tarnish on even that silver lining: the Conference of President's weak-sauce statement on the matter. "Many of the organizations expressed disagreement with the government’s decision", but "Ultimately, the government of Israel made its assessment of the countervailing arguments and acted upon their conclusion." Really, that's what you're giving us? It's amazing how the Conference doesn't care about the "consensus" of the Jewish community when that consensus is a progressive one.

When a prominent member of or institution associated with an outgroup does something awful, it is natural for members of that outgroup to feel acutely vulnerable. In part, that's because they know that this awfulness will be wielded against them; in part, that's because frequently they have feelings for or connections to the target person and institution, and it is painful to see them act in such a terrible fashion. Of course, that feeling of vulnerability needn't and shouldn't be the primary story as compared to those directly victimized by the awful behavior. But it is not per se wrong, or "centering", to acknowledge and validate the existence of the sentiment; nor is such an acknowledgment necessarily one that stands in competition with recognizing the direct damage of the instigating act.

The next time a Democrat occupies the Oval Office, I have to wonder what sort of penance is going to be demanded from the Israeli government for years upon years of insult and humiliation. It's not going to be back to as it was before. It's not even going to back as it was in the Obama administration. Democrats will -- rightfully -- insist that Israel pay a price for what it's been doing these past four (if not twelve) years. The flipside of recognizing the importance of preserving Israel as a bipartisan issue is that Israel aligning itself fully and completely with the Republican Party is going to come at a cost. It will be interesting to consider what that cost will be.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2ZcVv85

#Ilhan Omar #Israel #Palestine #Rashida Tlaib

[trashcanband4]

Training Sessions: Session 4

Session 1 Session 2 Session 3

Summery: You and Daryl have a quiet date night. Pairing: Daryl x Reader Warnings: Insinuation of sex Wordcount: 3,444

When you got to your house the first thing you did was take a relaxing hot shower and wash every bit of dirt, grime and walker blood down the drain. When you were finished with that you blow dried your hair, then tied it up into a simple style. Now that you felt like your clean self again you got dressed in a pair of frayed jean shorts and a black ribbed tank top. You had just put half a pack of fettuccini noodles on the boil when you heard a knock on the door. You were expecting Daryl, but when you opened the door Olivia’s face was reveled.  “Oh, hey, what’s up?” you asked a little confused as to why she was at your door.

“You forgot to bring the weapons back to the armory. I was just wondering if you were going to claim them as yours.” She said before she held up the clip board in her hands. “If so you need to sign here.” She pointed to where there was an x marked on the paper next to a line.

“Oh, yeah, they pretty much feel like mine now so I guess I’ll claim them.” You said as you took the board and signed. You tucked the pen into the top of the clip board then handed it back to her with a smile. “Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

The woman just smiled and took the clip board then walked off. You were about to close the door when you saw someone move down the street and you craned your neck to see Daryl headed your way. He wore a clean grey shirt and his vest and you couldn’t help but think how different he looked when he cleaned up and didn’t have his bow on his back.

You wanted to sat there and wait for him to get to your door, but you heard water boil out of the pot in the kitchen. So you left the living room door open to let him know he could come on it and headed to the kitchen and* started the timer. “Where you at?” Daryl called from the front door.

“Kitchen.” You called back and you could hear his footsteps as he walked into the kitchen. “Hope fettuccini Alfredo is okay.” You told him before you turned around to see him standing at the bar with a plastic container in his hand.

“Carol made me bring these, said it wasn’t polite to show up without something.” He said with a shrug as he slid the container across the bar to you.

You opened it to see that it was some of her cookies. “Awesome.” You said with a smile as you put the lid back on. “I’ve been wanting to try these ever since she got here. The housewife down the street raved about them for forever.”

“Alfredo sounds good.” He told you with a nod so you turned to the cabinet behind you and grabbed the can of sauce that you’d been hording for the past few months, out of the cabinet.

“I hope it doesn’t taste too bad without some kind of meat in it.” You turned back around to see him grabbing glasses out of the cabinet and fill them with ice. “All I have is water other than alcohol.” He didn’t ask what you wanted, but instead filled the glass’ with ice and water and set them at their places at the table.

“So, what are we watching tonight?” he asked as you waited for the noodles to get done.

“There’s a stack of movies on the coffee table if you want to choose.” You told him as the timer on the stove started beeping.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked as he pulled out a bar stool and sat down, not going to pick a movie. He enjoyed the view of you backside where you stood at the stove with your back to him.

You pored the noodles into the strainer then into a bowl. “It really doesn’t matter to me.” You turned from the stove to set the bowl down on the bar. “I’ll watch whatever. I’m not picky when it comes to movies.”

“Alright.” He told you with a nod then things fell quiet between you as you finished up the simple meal. Once the table was set and food was dished out you and Daryl sat down and started eating in silence.

Although it was a comfortable silence, you felt that you and Daryl should be talking more given that you were having what you assumed to be a date. So finally you asked, “So, where did you grow up?” you asked before you took a bite and slurped the noodle into your mouth.

“Georgia.” He answered as he chewed. “What about you.”

“Mostly grew up in Texas, but then my foster family moved here.” You answered looking down at your plate as you thought about the family you’d lost. “My foster father’s job transferred him.”

“So you were in foster care?” he asked with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Yep, thankfully I had good foster parents. A lot of the kids that I knew weren’t as lucky as my foster brother and me.” You answered then took a bite.

“Where’s your brother?” Daryl asked as he finished off his dinner.

“He passed before the turn. Kidney cancer.” You answered and Daryl nodded. “What about you? You have any brothers or sisters, mom, dad?” you asked and Daryl grimaced.

“Mom died in a house fire when I was a kid. Dad got taken in the beginning and my brother, Merle, got killed by a duchebag that called himself the governor about a year after.” Daryl replied.

You felt like the two of you were bonding over the fact that you had no biological family left. In an attempt to pick up the mood you changed the subject. “So what did you used to do for a living?”

“Nothing.” Daryl answered with a shrug.

“Really? Nothing?” you asked.

“I was a nobody. I just hung around with my brother getting into trouble.” He answered and you decided not to push it further. “What did you do?” he asked turning things back to you.

“Are you sure you want to know?” you asked with a hint of mischief in your tone as you got up from the table.

“Mmhmm.” He hummed as he grabbed his plate and followed you to the sink where you both placed your plats.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was a stripper?” you asked as you turned around and leaned against the cabinet.

Daryl stared you in the eyes for a full thirty seconds before he shook his head. “No.”

You just smirked and continued to hold eye contact. “I that your final answer?” you asked, hoping to throw him off.

“There’s no way.” He said sounding like he was starting to doubt his instincts. “You’re too…quiet.”

“But don’t they always say that it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for?” you asked as you walked around him, breaking eye contact.

“Your messing with me.” He said, following you into the living room.

“Am I?” you asked turning around to walk backwards for a few steps. “What do you think I did?” you asked turning around, knowing that the coffee table would be behind you.

“Librarian?” he asked and you shook your head no. He looked around the room as if he could find a clue. “You’re a nail tech.” he guessed and you smiled.

“How you figure?” you asked and he nodded to your nails.

“Your nails are healthy and there’re chips of paint left behind on ‘em. There’s also five different bottles of nail polish sitting around in this room.” You felt your jaw slack a little. “I’ve also noticed the nail powder and monomer on the bookshelf.”

“Are you sure you weren’t a private detective before?” you asked and Daryl laughed and shook his head. “Well you should’ve been.” You sat down on the couch “Because you’re right” and slid the stack of movies you had pre-picked over to Daryl. “Pick.”

He sat down next to you and started picking through the movies. Eventually Daryl slid two movies toward you. “You pick.”

You let you eyes travel between the cases of Legion and Paranormal activity. “So you like scary?” you asked and Daryl just shrugged clearly indifferent. You thought the decision through more than you probably should have. On one hand Legion was a good movie, but paranormal activity had good jump scares and it had been a long time since you had watched it. So deciding that you needed and excuse to get close to Daryl you picked up Paranormal Activity and popped it into the dvd player.

After fast forwarding through the previews to get to the menu you pressed the play button and sat down on the couch next to Daryl. Thirty minutes into the movie you realized that the lights were still on in the living room. “Is it okay with you if I turn the lights off?” you asked and Daryl motioned you to go ahead. So, feeling nervous all of a sudden you quickly stood up and grabbed the pull chain of the lights and turned them off.  You were sitting back down when all of a sudden Daryl’s arm looped around your waist and pulled you into him.

A little shocked you looked up at him with wide eyes. “This okay?” he asked and you felt your lips pull up into a small smile as you nodded and pulled your feet up onto the couch, tucking yourself into his side.

Now, you found yourself no longer paying attention to the movie. Instead you were lost in the feel of Daryl. How his hand that lightly held your side would gently grip your hip when a jump scare got him, his heart beat against your hand that you rested on his chest and how every once in a while you could feel him look down at you. Eventually when you didn’t look up at him he quietly asked, “You awake?”

You looked up at him and smiled a little. “I’m awake.” After you answered the credits and accompanying music started playing. You just stared at each other for a few seconds. The way he was looking at you sent a tidal wave of butterflies through your stomach. “What are you thinking about right now?” you asked as you reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

He looked down as if he didn’t want to tell you before he finally looked back and you with smoldering eyes. “How beautiful you are.” His low gravely voice sent a shiver down your spine and a blush warmed your cheeks. “Especially when you do that.” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down your cheek. You smiled and leaned into his touch. “What are you thinkin’ about?” he asked as he slid his hand down to rest on you neck.

“A lot.” You answered with a sigh as you moved around to lay on the couch with your head in his lap. “Some of it’s superficial the rest of it, not so much.” You smiled when he placed his hand on your forehead and brushed your hair back. “So what do you want to hear, shallow thoughts or deep thoughts? Either way they’ve all got something to do with you.” You told him as you grabbed his hand that wasn’t playing with your hair and placed your palms together.

“Deep.” He answered as he watched you line your fingers up with his.

“I feel like your too good for me.” You didn’t look up at him and just kept playing with his muscular fingers. “like I don’t deserve you.”

“What?” Daryl asked as if you had just told him that the moon was made of cheese. “You think I’m too good for you?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “I mean I’m… I’m no one… just a useless shut in. But you?” you finally looked up at him. “You’re someone, a survivor. You can protect this place and help provide for people.”

“You’ll become a survivor too. Just takes time.” Daryl twitched his fingers in yours moving his fingers so that he could close his hand around yours. “That’s why you asked me for help, right?” he asked.

You nodded and looked back at his hand in yours where he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. “And because I wanted an excuse to be around you.” You added with a small smirk to lighten things up a bit.

“I’m glad one of us had the courage to come up with an excuse.” His quiet words caused a smile to cross your face. “Game on?” he asked and somehow you knew that he was meaning that he wanted to play the game that you had been playing earlier that day. So you sat up and turned around to face him with one of your legs pulled up into the couch.

You nodded and smiled he motioned for you to go first. “Did you plan the camping trip just so you could get me alone?” You asked the first question that popped into your head.

“No.” he answered and you felt a little disappointed. “And yes.”

“Okay break the rules of the game and explain that one please.” You suggested.

“You really did need the training, so no, I didn’t plan it just so we would be alone, but I did also want uninterrupted time alone with you so yes.” He explained making you smile. “Last night, you’d moved over in your sleep and cuddled with me. Why’d you move away before I woke up?’

“That’s not a yes or no question.” You told him and he rolled his eyes. “Fine.” You glanced down at your hands where they laid in your lap. “I woke up, pressed into your side and you weren’t touching me or cuddling me back. I figured you didn’t want me touching you, but were too nice to make me move. So I moved.”

“I told you before. You can fall asleep on me anytime. You didn’t have to move.” He told you so you nodded letting him know you understood.

“Did you plan on more happening in that tent than just sleeping?” you asked needing to know.

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” he answered you question with a question.

“No.” you admitted with a shy smile. “Because it was all I could think about all night.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly and you nodded so he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back. As the kiss deepened he placed his hand on your sides and pulled you a little closer. You let him manipulate you as if you were a puppet. When his lips left yours it was only to start kissing his way down your neck.

Laughter bubbled from your lips when all of a sudden Daryl gripped your hips and picked you up, moving you to sit on his lap. You pressed your face into his neck as he slid his hands up your back then back down to slide up under your shirt. You sighed at the feeling of his warm hands on your flesh. “Are you sure about this?” your mouth asked the question without your minds permission.

“Yep.” Daryl grunted from where he was kissing your shoulder. “Are you?” he asked between kisses.

“Yes.” Your tone wasn’t quiet right and Daryl could tell. So he pulled back to look you in the eyes.

“You said yes, but I heard no.” he slid his hands down your back to rest on your hips again. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” You told him with a shake of your head.

“Told ya in the beginning, ya gotta learn to talk.” Daryl said moving his hand to rest on your cheek. “So talk to me.”

“I feel like…your just going along with this because you know I like you and Carol and Rick seem to be pushing us together.” You admitted some thoughts that had been floating around in your head since the two of you started getting closer. “Like I’ve been pushed on you.”

Daryl ran his thumb down your cheek. “You are beautiful.” His words pulled your eyes up from where you had been staring down at your hands were they rested on his chest. “and smart. You’ve had my attention since the first time I saw you out there runnin’.” He said making you blush he noticed and smiled a little. “You looked like you were lost in your own little world, skin slick with sweat. Trust me, I want you and no one made me do it.” He insisted and slid his hand down your face to grip your neck.

“Say that again.” You whispered still looking him in the eyes.

“No one made me.” He repeated.

You shook your head no. “Not that, the other part.”

“I want you.” Daryl whispered back sending a chill down your spine to your core. Your eyes slipped closed and you smiled. “So what do you want?” Daryl asked and you opened you eyes back up.

“You.” You answered as you slid your hands up his chest to his neck.

“huh?” he asked pretending like he hadn’t heard you.

“I want you.” You told him louder right before he pressed his lips hard into yours.

His kisses were so needy and passionate that you no longer questioned him. You were once again putty in his hands as he gripped your ass and stood up. As you wrapped your legs around his waist he broke the kiss to ask, “Where’s your bedroom?” then started kissing your neck pulling a moan out of you.

“Hallway.” He bit your neck fogging your brain. “Door at the end.” You wrapped your legs tighter around him as he started walking you that way, making out with you the whole time. How he managed to hold you, make out with you, walk and navigate all at the same time, you didn’t know but you didn’t care. You just reached behind him, grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Eventually though, you felt your back hit the door and to keep from him having to put you down to open the door you took one of your arms out from around him to reach behind you and open the door. He broke the kiss long enough to locate the bed and lay you both down.

~~~~~

You both lay on the bed covered in a light sheen of sweat that the thin sheet covering you stuck to. You were tucked into the crook of Daryl’s arm tracing the letters of the tattoo on his chest when Daryl finally broke the silence. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

You rolled over onto your stomach so that you could look at his face. “I’m an open book.” You replied as you propped your head up in your hands.

“How’d you end up in foster care?” he asked and you turned your eyes to the mattress.

“My , my father… had a gambling addiction. He constantly owed someone money, most of the time he couldn’t pay up. So he…sold me, to people.” You admitted, not looking him in the eyes. Daryl reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “You see that scar on my side?” you asked and he ran his fingers up the long rigid, raised scar. “When I was fourteen a man tried to kill me. He told my father “Give me my money or I’ll gut this bitch like a fish”. Without missing a beat my father told him to go for it. So the guy did it. Slit me from my hip to my armpit.”

You felt Daryl hook his finger under your chin to tild your head up and place a gentle kiss on your lips. “So how’d you not bleed out?”

“I practically drug myself to the neighbors house and demanded she drive me to the er.” You answered. “From there CPS was called and I never set foot in that house again.”

“You’re already a survivor, ya know that?” Daryl asked and you simply shrugged, not believing him.

“Does that mean our survival training is over?” you asked a little sad.

“Hell no.” he rolled over to hover above you then started up another passionate kiss.

Training Sessions Tag List: @itsmysticalmystery  @txnii-hxrdyy

Daryl Tag List:  @jodiereedus22 @mtngirlforever @zzeacat @winchester-angel @moodygrip @beegnc @hells-mistress @lighthope08 @sapphire1727 @luisadontcurr @chloebabyboo @ilkaeliseb @twdeadfanfic @ravengalaxia @1lluminaticonfirmed @my-current-fandom-is @nikkiloves-bailey @coffeebooksandfandom @lonewolf471 @gruffle1 @mblaqgi @calumstuffs @beltzboys2015-blog @neontiger007  @lonewolf471 @sourwolf-sterek32 @khloekiddo

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fan fiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon & reader #Daryl x reader #daryl & reader #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fan fiction #daryl dixon x reader fanfiction #the walking dead & reader fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd fan fiction #twd fanfic

[sseizonsha]

five times kissed ~

Disclaimer: this drabble features a lot of triggers. You’ve been warned.

one.

   Physics demands that moving objects remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. When he’s not in the thick of everything, it often feels like the sheer force of will alone keeps him going.

   The return flight from Greece makes a long and uneventful thirteen hours, but after the riots and discourse that saw him fetching the Economic Officer from a compromised location, doing absolutely nothing at all beats getting punched in the back by an M84. Turns out a bruised kidney and a number of fractured fingers are actually enough to earn a leave of absence.

  Mister Diplomat exits the plane first, all smiles and PR-worthy waves for the waiting cameras, and Leon steps gingerly out after him as the first of several protective agents in detail. It burns the question to know how the press would’ve played the narrative differently, were it public information that the rescued man pissed himself after a firebomb detonated close enough to ignite his jacket. But Leon’s lips are sealed: a matter-of-fact promise offered to soothe the hysterics out of a stumbling man coming up at twice his weight.

  “You live to fight the good fight another day, Sir. There’s no shame in that.” Pretty words for the sole benefit of a man who’d only ever been caught in the crossfire. Leon holds no truth in them for himself.

   It’s not a sizeable envoy of congratulations and well-wishes that greets him off the tarmac’s edge, but she’s more than a welcome sight. He sees her coming: spots the worry lining her brow and the red denim jacket that’s almost faded to pink in its age, and his pace quickens faster than is probably recommended. Rushing into a reunion hug is a pipedream when his back screams the way it does, but Claire shoulders that burden by meeting him more than halfway. She folds herself into his edges, mindful, and Leon groans in relief as she tugs his backpack from a white-knuckled hand.

   “You’ve gotten scruffy,” she says.

   He flashes a smile laced with aching and shoots back the reminder that ladies love the stubble. He’s gotten too old, too rough around the edges, to keep the boyish charm of a baby face. As for a full-on beard? Well. It’s not for lack of trying. “How do you like it?”

   Claire’s smile twists, unceremoniously flirtatious. “You’re a dreamboat. Who could possibly resist that jawline? Now give me a proper hug so we can get out of here, and maybe I’ll wax poetic on the drive back.”

   It’s an opportunity if he ever got one, and Leon seizes it—hungrily and with both hands. He slides his touch from her wrists and higher: along her bare forearms and up proud shoulders, to both sides of her neck.

   Claire’s hair trickles between his fingers, splashes over his knuckles. Her pulse ticks just this side of wild, and if he could he’d gather the rhythm in his palms and carry the memory of her back to a drab, empty apartment. She feels real. She feels warm. She feels here, welcoming, open—anything but mindless or hostile, and when he tips her head back to lay his mouth against her brow, Leon closes his eyes.

  And he breathes in a lungful of home.

two.

   Sometimes the force thrust upon an object is violent and sudden and out of anyone’s control, and the only thing left to do is rediscover ground zero, pick up the pieces, and heave it all straight into a fucking fire.

   Ten years to the day of Raccoon City’s destruction, the US government and subsequent do-gooders publicly announce the plans to construct a memorial site outside the quarantine zone. When Claire sends a resentful text about the entire thing sounding like a capitalization on “lessons learned” and “better tomorrows” before the upcoming election, Leon agrees in half as many words: that’s exactly what it is.

   Leon’s position as a government agent guarantees a secure place out of the spotlight, but Claire’s rising influence through TerraSave lands her right under the hottest beam of it. Tell us about the gravity of it all, Miss Redfield. What was it like, surviving Raccoon?  “It was…a nightmare,” she says at first, reluctantly agreeing to answer touch-and-go questions between public appearances. “I wouldn’t want to wish the experience on anyone. It doesn’t make a good story.”  

   The buzzards disagree. Demands for exclusive interviews swoop in every time she changes location and when one particularly chaotic pursuit resulted in a broken camera, Claire calls him mid-way through an anxiety attack. He’s on a plane within the hour.

   Adam grants him an official order to accompany her to and from every PR function that month. Press conferences called to discuss TerraSave’s latest global and local community cleanup projects derail off topic once Claire Redfield opens the floor. It’s all about Raccoon City and the final hours before the fire. Did anyone else escape? Did you find help any children? Did you have to kill—?  Claire stops answering questions after that.

   She takes a vacation. Leon’s orders still stand, but they’re nothing more than a letterhead: a favor granted with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have left her side—authorized or not.

   Despite the invitations, they don’t attend the ribbon cutting ceremony. Or agree to promote any of the sensationalized media plugs in the weeks following. Leon would’ve preferred to keep the tv off, but Claire insists they watch it beginning to end. Maybe she thought the anger would be easier to mute with a screen and several hundred miles of distance between.

   It doesn’t. She watches the tv, he watches her, and for the first time in a long time he worries that ghosts have finally clawed their way in to make a home.

   The program fades out on a sober but hopeful note that carries on as the shot pans into a cloudless sky and one lasting message: We survive. We remember. We endure. Remote in hand, Leon sends a picture of the American flag collapsing in on itself, and his chest pangs with the dread that she might end up doing the same.  

   Wordlessly, Claire unfolds from the couch and slips into the other room. Her silhouette spills across the floor when the bathroom light flicks on, and as the door closes, the light wanes into a needle-thin sliver. Then even that piece of her is gone.

   Five minutes pass. He checks his watch. Ten. Pushing a hand through his hair, Leon stands and paces to the kitchen twice and checks his watch again. He paces. Spins on his heel. He paces right up to the closed bathroom door, lifts a knuckle, and raps gently upon the wood.

   “Claire?”

   “Leon.”

   He lets himself in. Thick, warm air fills his mouth as he takes in a deep breath and glances about the room. Nothing looks out of the ordinary for a woman taking a bubble bath. He worried, God, but he worried—and that’s something he doesn’t apologize for. Even if he does feel like an idiot. “I thought you were…”

   “Making a break for it out the back window?” Claire smiles without teeth, and she tips her head back onto the water-speckled tile. Her hair, though damp and dark at the ends, sits in a messy knot at the top of her head. One stray piece falls loose along her collarbone. “No. I haven’t done that since I was fifteen.”

  Leon shakes his head and strides farther into the room. He tries again. “I thought you’d—”

   “Drowned in the tub?” Claire hums, thoughtful. When she inhales in preparation for a long, cathartic sigh, the bubbles froth and hiss around her bare shoulders. “Sometimes I think that might be easier. I’m doing what I can to keep my head above…everything.”

   Leon nods. He turns, sinks down to press his back up against the cool porcelain, and balances both arms on either knee. A splash and a trickle of wet heat spreads down the back of his shirt before Claire’s fingers curl into his hair. He turns into the touch—and freezes when her mouth brushes against his jaw.

   The idea of Claire floundering as she sinks into a place he can’t reach twists something ugly in his belly. It grabs and twists so hard that his dinner lurches and burns on its way up and gets stuck at the back of his throat. “You aren’t alone here.”

   “No,” she agrees, moving to settle her chin against his shoulder.  “It’s just you, me, and all the demons we forgot to burn.”

three.

   Real survival stories don’t nicely wrap up with ribbons and foiled edges trimmed in sunrise gold, and the people in them don’t walk into the horizon so much as into a space free of the darkness where monsters liked to hide.

   There’s always something to wear by the end of it: a smile for the picture, a medal for the commendation, a splint or two for the fractured bones. He never remembers how he gets there—only that the smile is the always first of those things to go.

   Smiles insinuate there’s something to celebrate; and living when others have died in his place never gave him much cause to pop the champagne. But guilt? Relief? One feels like being drawn and quartered, and the other like the release after waking up from that god-awful fucking dream, only to realize—no, no, it wasn’t. None of it was.

  It feels like being frayed at every seam and that smile is the last thing that needs stitching. At least the pieces that are left aren’t not sloughing off so badly that it’ll take a well-placed warhead to fix.

   For the first time in ten years, they drive to Raccoon City, and it feels like everything’s come leading up to this return—this inevitability. Only it doesn’t feel like they’re coming home; it feels like they’re walking back into the graveyard they’d crawled out of. If it wasn’t for the chain-link fence and the quarantine wall rising up behind that, maybe the city would’ve opened a hundred thousand pairs of fire-glassed eyes, gnashed a hundred thousand sets of teeth, and finally succeeded in swallowing them both whole.

   He parks his Jeep a few dozen yards from the memorial site. Kills the gas with a sharp turn of his wrist. Beside him, Claire releases a shaky breath.

   In the distance, a rainbow of sun-faded ribbons snaps and waves along the chain-link fence. The flowers planted there have already wilted and died in a cracked plot; nothing grows around the edges anymore.

   He wants to blast the whole granite slab from its base and tear it out of existence. He wants to smother this shining fucking beacon of hope—and the government’s greatest theatrical excuse for an apology along with it. He wants to crush each and every fucking one of those ribbons under his shoes and cut his hands on that rusted chain-link fence. That’s what the city wanted, right? Blood? Maybe then the ground would drink. Maybe then it’d take its fill and finally leave him—and Claire—alone.

   “We’re here.”

   “Yeah.”

   “Do you want to get out?”

   “No.”

   Slender fingers slide across his hand, and it’s only then that he realizes it’s been closed into a fist this entire time. He lets go. Color bleeds back into his knuckles, and feeling too, and then his seams are torn, ripped open. His eyes are burning—he’s blind, all but for the warm splash of red that turns him bodily and rises up to shoulder his brow.

   I’m sorry, he says, I’m sorry.

   Claire thanks him for the apology. She combs her fingers through his hair and presses her lips to his crown, and when she hums a soft, mindless tune, it reverberates behind his ribcage like she’s found all his cracks and poured herself between them. When he quiets, gradual and sputtering like the last dregs of a heavy storm, Leon wraps his arms around her, tightening his grip in a hungry, silent squeeze.

   Monsters aren’t the only ones who refuse to let him go.

four.

   Two objects can only gravitate closer and closer so many times before collision becomes the inevitable result. Leon counts his lucky stars for a well-recorded history of crashing into things, and for a while he believes it’s his experience in avoiding the pitfalls that keeps their relationship from steering off course.

   By the time Claire careens into him, welcome and without warning, Leon quickly realizes she’s been the one at the wheel from the start.

   Uninterrupted furloughs are so rare that when opportunity presents itself, it takes everything in his power not to board up the windows, uncork a bottle, and unplug the phone. The only variable stopping him from doing just that is respect to his councilor to get out there, get busy, get lost anywhere else but his own idle headspace.  But when Claire visits? When Claire visits, having a quiet, uneventful evening is the best thing he could hope for.

   Hope never feels more within reach than when he’s with her, and reach he does—mindlessly and often. When Claire curls up beside him on the couch, Leon frames his palm around the nape of her neck and works his fingers into the tenseness he finds. It bleeds out of her posture like ink across water, quietly bubbles up from her mouth in what he dares to call a sigh of pleasure.

   His mouth quirks up at one corner. “You need a massage.” Before she has a chance to point out the technicality, Leon adds, “A real one. From a professional.”

   She reaches up to pinch his chin between thumb and forefinger, and Claire gives him a little shake. “And you need more than one good of sleep. You’re starting to get eye bags.”

   “We could just call it a night right now.”

   She hums an insinuating note that twists up in question, and the sound draws his attention like the slide of a fingertip across his jaw. In the cool light spilling out from the tv, Leon fixes his gaze on her expression. Somewhere quiet, nestled between his breath and the allowance of a shrug, he hears himself say, “You make it easier.”

   Claire softens. Her mouth sets into the thoughtful, stubborn line he’s seen a million times before, but then she leans close—really close. Her breath warms his mouth, her lips are soft, and where her palm slides up against his chest, it feels like he’s taken a nosedive off a cliff and made a break for water. Except there is no water at the bottom; she keeps kissing him and he keeps falling, and it’s getting more goddamn difficult by the minute not to drag her over the edge with him.

   When she pushes up and mounts his lap, Leon hisses in a breath between clenched teeth. He’s excited and they both can feel it, and fuck, he can’t decide if the worst thing to do right now would be to stop her or let her continue.

   “Claire—”

   “I’m here,” she says. “Aren’t you?”  

   He wonders if this is what feels like, coming alive a second time. His arms wind around her waist, and it’s all he can do not to tangle her hair between his fingers and tighten them into a fist. Claire rolls her weight down into him. Again. A firebomb goes off in his chest. Flames spread, licking up and over his eyes, in his mouth, across his tongue.

   I’m here, she told him. No. She isn’t—she’s not just here. She’s above him, on top of him, in his lungs every time he comes up for air. She’s shaking in his hands and arching against his chest, and her gasp shudders in his ears more than even his own pulse.  She says his name to warn of the head-on collision, and when he doesn’t get out of the way, Claire shatters—

   Everywhere.

five.

   Physics demands that objects at rest remain at rest unless acted upon by an unbalanced, outside force. Given who they are: one rescuer, one fighter—two survivors trying to do more than just exist again? Leon suspects none of this ever will truly stop. Not until they do.

   He’s never liked the big cities; they serve too great a reminder that there are innocent people waiting to be trapped like rats in a goddamn science experiment—that there are too many variables and too many wild cards for one man to account for twice. But when he’s with Claire? When he’s with Claire, her smile lights up like a clear horizon free of nooks and crannies.

   When he’s with Claire, those skyscrapers look less like rows of jagged teeth and more like the fingers of an outstretched hand.

   She takes him to a cafe that’s got a good view of the cityscape before it wakes up. Claire corrects him on that note, reminds him around a mug of tea that New York never truly sleeps—in fact, it’s almost as restless as he is.

   Restless. A good word for a man who never stops moving long enough to enjoy a coffee on the government’s watch. His phone rings. Right on time.

   Claire turns her face toward the window and smiles into the sun, and something about that expression feels like surrender, like acceptance. Leon’s chest pangs. She never did like the finality of goodbye, and so they never say it, content to substitute it with temporary noncommittals. Call me later. Don’t be a stranger.

   “Gotta go,” he says. Leon dips his head into the unfolded frame of his sunglasses, chair scraping as he gets to his feet. Claire doesn’t rise to meet him. He doesn’t mind.

   Her mouth is warm where he presses a kiss to the corner of it, and Claire’s exhale quakes at the touch. She won’t cry. He doesn’t either. Tears are for the couch and for the car—you don’t pour them over coffee when it’s there’s already one bitter taste on your tongue.

   “Try not to get killed.”

   “You, too.”

#sls60 #cleon #tw ptsd #tw drowning #tw death #tw riots #tw body horror #nsfw. #One week. This took me. A whole week. To write. #sls-60 #drabble.

[sidpah]

Mirage Part 2

Tumult seemingly over, voice gone from the air along with the tingle of rampant electrons looking to escape their bounds, I rise, cradling my back with its heavy pack and a stomach that’s aching something fierce.

I walk a few steps but the sharp stabbing pain grows worse with each concrete tile that passes beneath my feet.

To my right is an upscale eatery of fine repute. Their bathroom would do nicely should that be the impending crisis. Likewise, I’m sure someone will call an ambulance if it turns out that I’m currently closer to death than even I often fear.

So in I go, feeling altogether filthy and disheveled and unwelcome, though no one seems to impose that opinion on me so much as I see myself as if I were one of them on soft velour benches in their freshly dry-cleaned and ironed blouses, shimmery, and business casual polos and blazers, tastefully drab.

How unkempt I must look and smell through all the showerless days in sickrooms and bamboo cages...

In the vestibule of this expensive restaurant adults clinging to their gentile children and chatting to business acquaintances are separated into two opposing lines, both patiently waiting to be seated. I check in, whereupon I’m told by an unattractive madam-type in deep crimson smoking jacket in the most conciliatory tones she can muster that there’ll be a significant wait, her hand, gripping a monogrammed ballpoint sweeps the masses as proof. I say “That’s okay, I’ll wait,” to which she suggests I try to make myself comfortable.

Inspired by my indulgent predecessors, I slip a hand into my front pocket and extract a lone bill, crumpled, stained, but watermarked, and apparently legal tender though the color and art seem wholly foreign to me. I have no idea of its value, but if it gets me seated immediately then my stomach values it at a small fortune. Hoping it’s sufficiently greasy for her proverbial palms, I make a great show of folding the bill into quarters, balancing it like a French cigarette between index and middle fingers, and then pushing the bill deep into her warm damp cleavage.

Her eyes narrow as she tightens the grip on her pen, but the left corner of her mouth turns into a tiny, narrow smile.

“Stay close by; I think I found an opening,” she tells me with a tight jaw…

I step away from the podium, realizing I need to pee; the feeling is starting to clarify itself beyond doubt, but I don’t want to leave my post and possibly miss them calling my name now that I paid for a table, and I am so damnably hungry; this realization comes in quick succession, and I must eat soon, lest I faint away once more... But the backpack is pressing on kidneys, and my belt is squishing bladder, and I am going to let it out either way.

So with no suitable alternative, I turn to the palm tree against the wall behind me, casually unzip, and look around as if admiring the framed art whose artists I don’t recognize; the actual paintings seem to change every time my eyes are diverted and return. And after a moment of tense negotiations with the musculature of penis and related waterworks, I begin urinating into the palm’s red pot.

A sharp finger taps me on the shoulder to suggest rather rudely that what I am doing may be considered improper. I mean to turn to suggest to him that I am merely admiring the decor and have no idea of what he might be insinuating, but I turn too fast, proceeding to not only douse his legs, but send a long yellow stream across matching crimson Persian rug, striking the other line of starving patrons.

A Japanese mother holding her tiny baby against her shoulder crosses through the stream and I feel horrible as I pee on her bare porcelain ankle and black scruffled-down sock.

A brief moment of disorientation follows when I discover that I’m not actually the only one to blame… Everyone is now either pissing or being pissed on.

There are parties of three or four otherwise stodgy-looking spouses with their maws wide, filling up like yellow birdbaths. Women too join in the fun with hiked skirts and thrust hips, peeling folds of skin away to direct their own fan-blade streams. I'm holding an erect hose one or two feet from two small open mouths, barrages of piss droplets ricocheting off dull white teeth.

A weird rush of exhibitionist freedom passes through me like a chill. Shamelessly displaying to all these strangers things usually kept so carefully hidden behind locked doors... Where is all this piss coming from? Am I draining the blood from my veins?

Everyone is completely drenched, but there is no sign of their stores nearing exhaustion either...

By the time the last squirt has dribbled on steaming carpet, I am head to toe, saturated in the urine of two-dozen strangers; my white shirt sepia and clinging to hot body... But now I wonder: who would eat like this? First I need to wash my hands.

The maître de calls my name, asking me to follow him. Torn, directionally, I choose the dining room, weaving through rows of wealthy mastication, forks held inches from gaping lips, their eyes least censored in revealing their unabashed shock at the sight and stench of my appearance.

So now they come to judge!

At what is to be my table, a circular one with four place settings, the maître de pulls out a chair, apparently choosing to ignore my current odiferous condition.

I don’t want to sit down like this. I look at the chair and thank him and nod my head, indicating that I am okay, that he’s free to help someone else. But he stands there absently, waiting for me to sit so he can grunt and whoof and push me in.

Finally I apologize and say that I really must excuse myself and run to the restroom before I can sit down or order. He nods a rather affected certainly, and waves a long arm out to point the way to the men’s pissoir. I rush in the direction he points, a long line of drizzling urine streaming from my clothes…

In the men’s room, I saw the rippling reflections of caustics on the mirror before I realized how deeply submerged I was… The prisms of sunlight just barely made it across the glass as I was made to drag around the giant conch shell fastened permanently to my scabbed and blistered back all along the bottom of this lifeless ocean.

Just because I’m a nomad doesn’t mean I should be subjected to the torture of a hermit crab... I didn’t sign on for this.

And where are all the fish? Is this all just a strange bird of paradise ballet to help keep the species alive? Why else would I be scooping up shimmering trout eggs floating around like tiny clear bubbles, or sunspots in the crystalline water? Humanitarianism gets you only so far before it sucks the breath from your lungs. It’s a vampiric organism. You breathe the first humble wisp of life into its fragile little body, and before you know it, it’s twice your size, drinking your last ounce of blood before discarding you for bigger and juicier donors…

“Fuck it. I give up!” I yelled, tossing the small butterfly net aside.

Bladder empty, I became thirsty beneath the waves. So thirsty the urge to drink rivaled the urge to breathe… I opened my mouth, swallowing a gorge-full of the salty water, immediately regretting my stupidity. The surface of my tongue cracked, releasing a cloud of pink dust across tonsils. I was a hundred times thirstier than before... I thought I’d known what thirst was, but I had absolutely no idea...

#flash fiction #fiction #dreams #nightmare #surrealism #writing #absurd

[saraaboo]

The Last Time

All things are poisons, for there is nothing without poisonous qualities. It is only the dose which makes a thing poison.

Genre: Fluff and angst

Part one Part two Part three  Part four

Suho?” you chimed walking down the last few steps of the hall. “ I know I said thanks in advance, but I didn’t think you would be here this -”

“Suho?” you chimed walking down the last few steps of the hall. “ I know I said thanks in advance, but I didn’t think you would be here this -” You were cut short not by what, but whom stood before you. “ I hate to burst your bubble kitten, but I’m not Suho.” Wendy was the last person you expected to see at the moment. How did she even get in your home? “Why are you here?” You sternly asked, you stance was rigid as if you were ready to fight her, but you didn’t really understand why. Maybe it was the tense atmosphere between you both. “It’s quite simple really”, she began, “you have something I want, so I’m here to collect.” “What are you talking about?” “You see, I like Sehun and I plan on using him to better myself, but how can I do that if he is still infatuated with you?” Shit. That was supposed to be a secret. “I still have no idea what you are talking about. “ She just laughed, it was light a melodious, but it still got under your skin. “Oh please ________, don’t act like I haven’t caught you both sneaking out of storage rooms or janitor closets adjusting yourself and reeking of sex. It’s so obvious. Although the spot of office whore has been stripped from you, it doesn’t mean you are innocent. All I need from you is to get Sehun to like me more than you. Once I have that I will use him until I have what I want in the company. It’s quite an easy plan really, I just need your cooperation. Can you do that for me ______? Or do I need to expose you to everyone?” 

She held a manipulative smirk on her face. It pissed you off and made you laugh at the same time. She could expose you all she wanted, you were leaving the company anyway, so what good would it do? But then there was Sehun.. what would the news do to him and his reputation? Exo’s reputation? This could all come back on Suho, and that was the last thing you wanted to happen, especially after all he has done for you. Defeatedly you looked back into her twisted face before whispering “what do I need to do?” If possible her sneer grew even more. You sincerely hoped karma would come for her in full force. “Like I said, make Sehun mine. I don’t care how you do it, so long as you don’t touch him. He is mine after all. “ she concluded walking towards your front door, her heels clicking across your foyer in a taunting manner. “Bye ________” was the last thing she said before slamming your door, it’s echo filling the void of your now empty house. _____________ Suho smiled at his phone when your name had lit up his screen. From: Y/N♥️ 

Hope practice is going well ^^ Not to insinuate anything, but thai food would be much appreciated tonight! Thanks in advance! He didn’t reply to your message, but instead decided to end practice early so everyone can get some rest. His announcement to the boys was met with considerable agreement. Except from one member. “Where are you going that practice had to end early?” Sehun had cornered the leader while he was gathering his belongings. “What’s it to you?” He replied standing as tall as he could. Even though Sehun was the maknae, he was still taller than Suho could hope to be. “Your going to see _________ huh?” This irked Suho. What right did Sehun have to you? Especially after the way he treated you in front of him. Not to mention he so easily replaced you with Wendy. Suho had always disliked her, but that was Sehun’s business, and you are his business. “What I plan on doing is none of your concern. See you back at the dorm.” With that he turned on his heel and left Sehun in a disgruntled mood. _____________ To say he was excited to see you was an understatement. He had picked up Thai just like you asked, and had just pulled up to your place. That’s odd... why is her door cracked open? Suho cautiously approached the door, not knowing why it would be cracked. It was too cold outside for you to have the door open. “You see, I like Sehun and I plan on using him to better myself, but how can I do that if he is still infatuated with you?” That’s Wendy... what business does she have here? Suho did his best to hide behind the hedge next to your front door, trying to hear the best he could without being seen. “I still have no idea what you are talking about. “ He heard Wendy laughing. He could not stand her, she made his skin crawl. “Oh please ________, don’t act like I haven’t caught you both sneaking out of storage rooms or janitor closets, adjusting yourself and reeking of sex. It’s so obvious. Although the spot of office whore has been stripped from you, it doesn’t mean you are innocent. All I need from you is to get Sehun to like me more than you. Once I have that I will use him until I have what I want in the company. It’s quite an easy plan really, I just need your cooperation. Can you do that for me ______? Or do I need to expose you to everyone?” Although he couldn’t see her, he knew she had that stupid conniving grin on her face. Please don’t give into her ________, she is just using you too. He though to himself. “what do I need to do?” Dammit __________ why did you say yes? “Like I said, make Sehun mine. I don’t care how you do it, so long as you don’t touch him. He is mine after all”. “Bye ________” was the last thing she said before slamming the door and walking past the still hiding Suho. Once he was sure the coast was clear he carefully removed himself from the shrubbery and made his way inside. You weren’t in the foyer anymore, so his next beat guess was the room. “______________?” “In here” he heard your meek response. Sure enough, you were curled up in your bed. Suho didn’t know if he should bring up hearing your conversation with Wendy or not. He didn’t want to pry as it wasn’t his business, but he still wanted to protect you at the same time. “I know you heard me and Wendy” you began, voice trembling. “What do I do Suho? I don’t want her to ruin your reputation as well as the rest of the group, Sehun included.” By this point you were full on crying, hiccuping every other word. Suho couldn’t help but feel bad, he knew you didn’t want to help her, but he also knew how much you loved the boys. Even after all the crap Sehun said to you, you still cared. That’s what he loved about you, you didn’t have a hateful bone in your body. “Hey it’s ok, he cooed, laying the food to the side and gently wiping the tears from your face. “We’re going to figure this out ok? I’m not going to let her manipulate you or Sehun.” He continued to console you until your sobs subsided, still relieved that he didn’t have to hide his eavesdropping from you.  “By the way... how did you know I was here?” He finally questioned once he knew you were calm enough. He heard you laugh, something he did not expect despite the circumstances. “I smelled the food” you replied still laughing. “Come on, let’s eat, I’m starving.” -Sara

A/N: Well here it is, part 4. I just wanted to give ya’ll an update. My health the past few months has been terrible. I had a kidney infection that got so bad my kidney swelled up, then once i started antibiotics to cure the infection, the pain came right back. Now it turns out I might ulcers and I have a mass on my liver. I have been a hot mess the last few weeks to say the least. I’m sorry that I took so long to update this, please forgive me. 

#exo scenarios #exo scenario #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #oh sehun #sehun #exo #sehun scenario #sehun angst #sehun fluff #sehun fanfic #Suho #exo suho #suho scenario #suho scenarios #suho fanfic #suho fluff #suho angst #joonmyeon #exo junmyeon #joonmyeon scenario #The Last Time

[writerpyre]

 I’m getting truly sick of being insulted by my mother. I honestly don’t know why I bother waking up in the morning when the person I’ve dropped my entire life for (because she’s been sick and I’m her daughter and she needs me to be her bitch so her other daughters don’t go into care and she doesn’t fucking end up dead) continues to believe that I’m meant to pull miracles out of my arse.

According to her, I’m meant to do everything that all three of them need to do, plus house chores, plus go with her as moral support to her doctors appts, plus jumping when she says jump and wants to go and do things that ‘need to be done’, but I don’t get to do my things I need to do, and yet I can be ‘too lazy’ to do the things I have to do in sorting my room so I can actually sleep in it again instead of on the lounge floor, and yet when I dare to say anything about any other godforsaken thing she wants me to with sorting and replacing the crap she wanted to move around with new furniture when she couldnt stand up much, she tells me that I do ‘nothing’ for her.

This is of course, on top of the things that I, as someone who will be supposedly going back to jobsearching when Mum is back on her feet has to do, plus work, plus somehow create content for my folio, plus get enough sleep, plus not complain when she asks me to drop everything to do things for her, then have her complain when I’m ‘sitting on my bum’ and trying to just breathe for reasons she knows about. She then thinks she can insult me by daring to insinuate I’m lazy and self-absorbed when I take an hour at night to sit down at my computer and try to unwind before I go to sleep by doing something I enjoy because oh ‘you’ve got so much to do…’, and yet she can also fucking insult me by saying that I’m not going to cope with full-time work, because it takes me ‘hours’ to get ready in the morning.

Oh, lets see, that happens because I get so hung up about my appearance so no one can see what a fucking mess I am inside, that I’m so 'slow’ to start my day because she and my little sister stay up until all hours and yet accuse me of oversleeping, and yet if I only fixed my bedroom chaos with things I need to cram back in cos she decided to (get us to) clean the walls, I could go to bed early. When am I meant to get to this, get my bedroom done without someone else’s needs getting in my way, when work isn’t taking up my time, when I need to run an errand that only I can do because I’m the only one with the brains or the physical ability to do it, because Mum doesn’t fucking bother asking any of her friends to help with anything, it all falls back on me. Yes, any other adult has to run a house and do chores and work. I understand that. I do. But I’m pretty much following the whims of three other people and not being able to care for myself, with said three people berating me all the time, in their own ways. Yes, sure, I’m not the only one with problems. Yes, great, there are things to do, yes, they’re not getting done, no I haven’t gotten to them yet. When am I supposed to get them done. With what time? And with what fucking energy?

I have been struggling to get out of bed, to go about my day and get trying to get through it, for over two and a half years now, and I have no motivation, no drive, no hope that anyone is going to care aside from those thousands of kilometers away, who can’t help. Last year, I had to tell my mother, in the dark of night that I wanted out, I want to fucking top myself, and she promised that she’d help me, she promised she’d do anything to make sure I’m okay, that she’s here for me and I’m ‘not alone’. She’s done completely the opposite. She’s done absolutely nothing to show me aside from the fact that 'she arranged’ (aka got me a couple of pamphlets) counselling for me, that she cares about anything in my head whatsoever. To her, in her words, I’m ‘twisted’ in my thinking and I’m being overdramatic when I say that something is hurting me. That I’m complaining and that I need to suck it up.

She has made no effort to give me any slack or consideration or sympathy or empathy, when I give her all of that and more, and she continues to berate me on anything and everything, not back me up when my idiot of a little sister is being a bully and always makes me out to be wrong, no matter what the circumstances. I am over it. Every single fucking time Mum needs something, I drop everything to help her. Every fucking time Mum doesn’t like something, (God forbid I use swearing as a coping mechanism, because God knows I don’t have any other fucking outlet in this world), I get picked on and degraded and told I’m lazy and rude and disrespectful, every time I do something she disagrees with, or I say no to cos I’m busy with something else (usually something for her right then, or just fucking trying to breathe) she cracks the shits and tells me what an awful person I am for daring to stand up for myself.

Though wow, she tells everyone else how proud she is of me, how much she appreciates what I’m doing. I have to kowtow to everyone else in this house, and yet I’m not allowed to try and breathe for one damn fucking moment, and say how much I’ve got to do, but not have one single moment’s metaphorical break to try and deal with what the fuck is going on in my head? I am done. I am so fucking done. She doesn’t seem to care what I am dealing with anymore as long as it doesn’t fucking inconvenience her because she’s been ill. I cannot literally do anything further than what I am doing for this family right now, I’ve taken over care for my older disabled sister officially this time, I should hopefully be getting a letter next week to confirm it, and that is still not good enough for Mum because she’s ‘not getting a payment’ (never mind that’ll be going straight into the family anyway cos that’s what we do, pool our fucking resources to keep a roof over our damn heads), and she’s apparently worried she’ll have to reapply to be her carer etc, so she’s dragging me down to Centrelink next week, so of course I’ve done that wrong too, even if she later blamed them for ‘misleading us’ her first instinct was still to get mad at me because I didn’t do everything exactly as she expected me to mind-read that she wanted.

She loves me, I know she does. I know she’s scared and hurting and has been through the goddamned wringer, no I am not surprised she’s sick and tired of things, and that the girls aren’t exactly a picnic in terms of their emotions either, but everything is falling on me, I have to pander to everyone else and bend and step back on what I’m doing wrong because it hurts them. It probably sounds pathetic and selfish and awful, because I’m not the one who’s been in and out of hospital, but I’m sick and tired of sucking my feelings and fears and everything up for my family, and not getting one whit of anything in return.

This is sucking me dry and I don’t know what to do. Even before Mum got sick I was floundering and this has just made it worse, and I’m a thousand more times scared for the future than I ever was before. Mum’s in kidney failure and is refusing dialysis when the time comes, which means this will all fall on my shoulders again, her foot is still stuffed cos of a whole ‘nother issue cos of the home nurses and podiatrists not listening when something fucking isn’t working, but everything falls on me no matter what, I’m always Mum’s punching bag and emotional target and I’m tired.

I don’t want to live anymore, I’ve lost all interest in finding a job in my career field, God forbid I ever have the chance to have a good enough folio for that (last year was my plan to do that while doing Honours; well fuck, that went down the drain didn’t it, even though I wouldn’t hold being damn sick against my mother, just her behaviour) but I have no time, and no inclination anymore, and I’m lonely and scared and terrified of losing my mother, and being stuck and dealing with two lonely, terrified girls, and there’s no one to help.

I want something to end one way or another, and if I have to take things into my own hands, if I have to snap and do something irreparable to escape this living hell, then so fucking be it. I can’t do this.

#pyre talks #personal #negative #fuck #fuck fuck fuck fuck

[normal-ghost]

Ok, so I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here about abortion shit, but like, I get so fucking mad when people argue using presumptions that are just completely freaking false.

(note: below the cut is long and disgusting, just like pregnancy. TL;DR at the end)

First off, even in a “perfect” pregnancy, it’s not that whoever’s pregnant is slightly inconvenienced for nine months and then have to go through painful labor. Constant and acute nausea is guaranteed. Though the term “morning sickness” insinuates that some have a rough morning every now and again, it is a constant. The medications used to treat this “symptom” will cause intense (like permanently damaging your anus, intense) constipation even assuming it works to ease the effects of the constant nausea. If you choose to take enough laxatives to combat the constipation, you now have constant diarrhea until this life is popped out eight months later. Again, this is all assuming a perfectly healthy pregnancy with a perfectly healthy host.

Again--these aren’t symptoms that develop a few months before the baby pops out, these are symptoms that arise after month one or two (if you’re lucky). Other symptoms- complete inability to control your bladder/bowls, “pregnancy head” (extreme forgetfulness, difficulty understanding the world around you, etc.), major sleep disorders (varying from narcoleptic tendencies to an extreme inability to fall asleep), body-wide aches (from the head, to the teeth, to the breasts, to muscles, to joints, to uterus, to vagina, to feet, to everything in between), painful swelling genitals, hemorrhoids, breathing difficulties after month five, and fequent kicks to the cervix.

Well golly, what does a kick to the cervix feel like? To quote skepchick: 

“That crazy sudden pain that almost made you collapse? That feeling that someone just sent an electric fireball down your vagina and through your legs? That, my dear, was your sweet little baby kicking you in the cervix.You can’t prepare for it. You can’t stop it. You can only hope that each time it happens, you are near something to break your fall. Or that you are in a place where no one cares if you scream.”

But of course nothing’s worse than someone getting kicked in the balls. 

And this is a healthy pregnancy. This is if everything goes perfectly. I feel as though I cannot stress this enough. If you want to read the horror stories of 95% of pregnancies be my guest.

I don’t want to get into when eggs and sperm end and life begins, because hell if I know honestly. Just please understand-

When people are controlling their birth, this is what they are trying to control. 

“But shouldn’t people just not have sex if they don’t want to be pregnant?” Holy fuck, you’ve gone and cracked the goddamn code. Without even going into nonconsensual pregnancies, this fallacy is completely ignores the sperm donor who also should have been a good little boy scout, recognizing the risk of accidentally creating a life that they may not be able to support. I have never seen anyone address this, but just because they don’t get pregnant, doesn’t mean the fault doesn’t also lay with them, too.

Additionally, not all abortions are carried out by mothers that did not want a baby. An integral point in protecting a life that you’re creating is ensuring it’s a life that they’d want to live and even can live. I don’t understand those who argue carrying a baby to term even if they’re guaranteed not to survive. Would you enjoy being pregnant with it since you love it so fucking much? If you can imagine the pain of pulling a dead fetus from someone, you can imagine the pain of pushing your own dead child from your body.

But what about those special babies that do live, sure they may have disabilities, but it’s a life that’s here now! Sons and daughters with disabilities constantly attempt to sue their parents and/or the government for forcing them to be born into the world (also called “wrongful life lawsuits”) x x x x x . Again, these aren’t children with depression or who are inconvenienced, these are people who look at their own life and the pain they endure, and decide that their existence is a mistake. Please let that sink in. Do some research and understand the weight of these people’s choices. 

Lastly- what about fathers’ who wanted the child, but the mother insists on an abortion. Let me remind you--even though yes, there is another potential person inside of the mother, you should not ethically force someone to bring it into the world. If a child was dying and needed a kidney transplant, and the only person that could give up their own kidney and save their life was their parent, they would not be required by anyone to do so. It’s that person’s body. It doesn’t matter if the mother wouldn’t even have life-altering affects from bringing this baby to term, while it’s still in someone else’s uterus, it’s part of their body. It doesn’t belong to anyone else, not the father, and not the government. I understand that this is slightly more opinion-based the the rest of this post, but I think it’s important to understand and think about. 

TL;DR- even healthy pregnancy’s guarantee 7+ months of extreme pain and discomfort, an unwanted child isn’t only it’s host’s fault, unhealthy pregnancies affect both the parents and the child leading them to challenge governments to argue that their life wasn’t worth saving because of extreme pain and disability that could have been avoided, and as long as the baby/fetus is parked in someone else’s body they rely on the rights and decisions of that person because in no other setting is this questioned. 

More sources for the rest of the article: x x x x x x x x 

Thank you.

#so I doubt anyone's going to read this so this is mostly a well-sourced rant #pro-life #pro life #abortion #pregnancy #I also tried to use as much trans-inclusionary language I could and I apologize if I missed something or it comes off as clunky #I also tried not to use words like 'fetus' because yeah it's a baby and a life but it belongs to the person that's carrying it #also I am up for talking more to people if they disagree or find faults in my logic #unless you're a cis man with no close experience with pregnancies and heated pro-life views #because if you are kindly read what I wrote again then fuck right off #this is normal