#but again hate is a strong word… i’m just tired of this grandpa

[deanofsam]

aww it sucks that you hate cas so much, i'm a wincestie myself but i love him 😭😭😭😭 hes such a cute little dork and honestly i think he's cute as part of a poly thing w them

i wouldn’t say i HATE him… i’m just tired of hearing about him! like u know what… i don’t care about the gay angel who gets 15 minutes of screentime per season dude i’m here for the actual show aka the weird brothers (who would both shoot cas in an instant if it meant the other would live btw).

i don’t mind wincestiel but it’s not something i seek out just bc i think the wincest bond is so much stronger than cas’s bond with either of them… feels a little pointless imo but that’s what blocking tags are for! i don’t have to see it and ppl who do want to see it can :)

no hate all love ❤️ i just sigh exhaustedly every time he pops up on my tiktok feed or slips through a blocked tag on here

[sprnklersplashes]

clean

cw for mentions of suicide, self-harm, death, drugs, and also for making out while naked (but not sex)

Seeing an accident happen in Sunnyvale feels unnatural. It’s like seeing a two-headed deer, or a car flying in the sky. Sam can’t even focus on how terrible it is, or hope that nobody was hurt. All she can think is how unnatural it is, to see such a horrible sight in such a near-perfect place.

It’s the price for a curse breaking, she supposes. The scales of fate are even now.

Her shoulders twitch, her feet move to go over and help, as is her instinct, but before she can, Deena’s hand is on her shoulder, a pained gasp escaping her mouth, that turns into a whimper that almost stops Sam’s heart. Again. She turns, her mouth running dry, and finds Deena’s free hand pressed against her stomach. She remembers, sees it in her mind like a movie, even if the picture is hazy. The tunnels. Her hands, Deena’s throat. Deena’s house. A drumstick breaking over her knee. Deena hitting the floor beside her, and her not caring.

“No,” she mutters. “Oh, no.”

“Sam,” Deena whispers. She sounds so tired, so beyond exhausted, yet she’s still strong. Her Deena. She’s always thought she was tough,everyone did, but now she’s learned she’s tougher than the actual Devil himself. “It wasn’t you.” Sam opens her mouth-to protest, to apologise- but Deena shakes her head, the movement making her wince, and that crooked half-grin she loves appears on her face. She always loved that smile, and would love it now if the situation weren’t so dire. “Don’t even try with me.”

She gasps again, her knees buckle, and Sam gently guides her to the ground, one hand around her torso, Deena gripping her other for dear life.

“We can talk about all that later,” she interrupts. She takes Deena’s face and tilts it towards her, trying desperately to remember her first aid training. Her eyes are clear, or clear-ish, but her skin is ashen and pale and her cheek is clammy against her palm. “Right now, we just need to worry about getting you to a hospital.”

For the first time in a long, long time, she feels like luck or fate must be on her side, because no sooner have the words left her mouth than the siren of an ambulance pierces the air, and a miniature fleet of the white vehicles comes into view. They’re all rushing towards the scene of the accident, obviously, but Sam sees into the window of one. A young driver looks through and her eyes double in size when she sees the pair of them, then triple when she sees Deena. What they must look like to her. They’d look a wreck to anyone, even the lowest of the low in Shadyside, but here in Sunnyvale, where not even the grass grows out of place, she’d wager they’re a scary sight.

Thankfully, this one ambulance pulls up beside them, and the driver calls something into the radio as she jumps out and runs their way. Sam would feel guilty for taking someone else’s help, but as she looks across the road, her guilt eases, for this anyway. There are three ambulances at the scene of the crash, and a siren signalling another’s approach. The lack of emergencies these past 30 years has clearly made them unsure of what to do in this case, and when folks don’t know what to do, they do everything.

“Are you two okay?” 

“She’s hurt,” Sam replies. “Please, please, help her, she’s hurt.” The paramedic runs to Deena’s side, and Sam watches her cringe as she moves her hand away. Sam takes a deep breath and hopes that the lack of practice for Sunnyvale’s medical staff doesn’t have any other consequences. Deena rests her head on her shoulder, and panic flares up in her for a moment before she sees her eyes are still open. Will she ever stop panicking? She’s been doing scared almost her whole life.

“Okay, sweetie,” the paramedic said. “The good news is, it’s not too deep and you got here in time.” The girl gives Deena what is meant to be a supportive smile and shakes her shoulder slightly, keeping her from slipping away. “And we’ll have to get you checked out at the hospital, but I don’t think anything’s ruptured in there okay?”

“Okay,” she pants.

“Good girl. Now, we’re going to get you into the ambulance okay?” She looks over at Sam, seriousness creeping into her face like clouds across a blue sky. “Can you help carry her?” She nods, her grip already tightening. She doesn’t say that she’ll carry her forever if she has to. It doesn’t feel fair to dump that on this poor unsuspecting girl. “Okay, great. On three, right hon? One… two… three.”

Sam hates hospitals. Hospitals mean grandpa forgot to take his heart medication again and it’s her last chance to say goodbye. It means another person was beaten up behind the school, or drank too much at a party, or popped all those pills she can’t name. It means someone has thrown themselves off the bridge because it was the only way out of Shadyside. It means she just watched her boyfriend get stabbed through the heart and is now running from an undead murder, brandishing a knife meant for her.

She hates hospitals, and this is no exception. Even if the news is good.

Deena sits on the bed, her skin as white as the sheets she rests on, her shirt rolled up to show the new scar that graces her abdomen. Right in the side, just above her hip. The doctor found specs of wood in it. Tiny splinters buried in the skin.

“Well, she’s incredibly fortunate,” the doctor says. He talks about her like she isn’t here, and on the one hand that annoys Sam, because it’s almost certainly linked to that ‘Shadysiders are subhuman’ bullshit. The curse may be broken, but assholes are assholes, and a prejudiced town is even harder to get rid of than blood magic. But on the other hand, Deena’s on so much pain medication she might as well not be here. Her eyes are clouded, but not from shock, and she alternates between running her fingers along her new scars and tracing patterns on the back of Sam’s hand. “Like she said, nothing was ruptured, although I’d say you got here in the nick of time. Good thing she patched herself up.”

Deena’s makeshift bandage sits on the table behind her, little more than a bloodstained cloth. Sam can’t bring herself to look at it.

“But I have to ask, Samantha,” he says. She avoids his eyes deliberately, keeping them trained on Deena and her scars. “What happened?”

She considers lying, because she’s too tired and how would she ever explain? How could she explain the hell they’ve been through in the past day? Who would believe her if she did?

She could lie, and maybe she should, but she doesn’t. Because this whole horrible, ugly story began with lies, and continued with them. They lied and lied, and this town was built upon it while Shadyside was ruined by it. It’s over, and she’s making sure it stays over.

“Nick Goode.” She says the words through gritted teeth, against a raw throat. The Doctor shakes his head, as if he misheard her. And Deena frowns, clarity beginning to come to her, silently asking what she’s doing. Sam just takes her hand, a whisper of a smile on her face. This must be what taking revenge feels like. Damn, it feels good.

“What happened to her was Nick Goode.”

Deena is discharged from hospital within a few hours. In that time, Sam gets a few things done. First off, she tells the lady at the front desk to put it under her mother’s insurance. Second, she waits until Deena falls asleep, a combination of her own body and the meds, and slips out to the payphone outside. She slides a quarter in and calls Josh, tells him that Deena’s okay, that she’s with her, that she’s in the hospital, and that she’s going to be okay. She rattles them off like they’re facts for a school presentation and doesn’t breathe until she’s finished, sagging against the wall of the booth. On the other line, Josh absorbs what she said and she said, her nails scratching against her wrist. She expects a colourful array of curse words, or for him to hang up on her without a word. She’d hardly blame him.

“And are you okay?” is what he says instead.

“Um… yeah,” she says. “Heart still beating. Lungs still breathing. And um…. I’m me.” She shrugs and rakes a hand through her hair. “It’s gone. It’s over.”

“Yeah.” He sounds so happy, so triumphant, and she can feel his smile even if he’s all the way over in Shadyside. “It’s over.”

Once those two words had broken her heart, spat at her by Deena in an angry, bitter wave, a final goodbye from the best thing in her life. Now they keep her heart beating, a promise that the darkness that ruined so many lives is gone now. Forever.

Having Deena Johnson in her house also feels unnatural. Like seeing a lion wandering around the mall. She looks so out of place here and well, so does Sam. Because this house, and everything in it, it’s all fake. It was all part of her and her mom’s so-called New Life, out of Shadyside. A Better Life, with a better school and better jobs and better extra-curriculars and better people. Better friends, her mom had said out loud. Better influences, she had said with her face. It was going to be better, safer, happier. Her mom believed it, and for the briefest period of time, she believed it too. Thought that the big house and the red cheer uniform would fix all of her problems.

She was never meant to be in this house, she realises. That’s why it didn’t feel right to her, even when all her things were moved in here. She was always meant to be in Shadyside, not because of the curse not letting her escape. But because of Deena. Wherever Deena is, that’s where she’s meant to be.

“God I need a shower,” Deena announces, her voice half-shaking with laughter. It’s also rusty and hoarse, from screaming and overuse and who knows what else. She holds out her arms, a shaky smile on her face. Her face is streaked with red, her hands caked in dirt, her nails rimmed with grey. Sam looks down and finds her own hands looking similar. Her clothes stick to her body, almost feeling like a second, grimy skin. Her body has been put through everything it can be put through, her bones feel so weary and fragile she fears she could break if she moves too suddenly. It’ll take weeks, months, years to fix herself, if she ever can. But a wash might be a good start.

“Me too,” she says, and she takes Deena’s hand and leads her upstairs.

They shower together, it’s decided with just a glance. Sam isn’t comfortable letting Deena out of her sight for longer than two minutes. It might be over, but they can’t be sure. They don’t know what could be sitting in the darkness, behind the corners, on the other side of doors. If the past days have taught them anything, it’s that nothing is certain. Nothing is set in stone. The curse wasn’t, in the end, but peace isn’t guaranteed either.

So Deena follows her into the little ensuite bathroom, letting out a low whistle as she enters.

“Fancy,” she says. “Like one of those little hotel bathrooms.”

“It’s not that fancy,” she mutters. But it is. Because of Goode. Her house, like everyone else’s in Sunnyvale, is built on the blood of those victims. This house was built some time in the 1920s, according to the realtor. 

Billy Barker. He was 1922.

The pretty house isn’t quite so pretty in this light.

“Hey.” Deena’s hand is on her shoulder, her hair tickling her cheek. Her other arm wraps around her waist and pulls her closer, and it’s only then Sam realises she’s taken her shirt off. Deena rests her chin on her shoulder and she feels, rather than sees, the coy grin on her face. “You need some help?”

She lets Deena pull her shirt off her body, her fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. In return, her hands slowly undo the button on the waistband of Deena’s jeans and pull them off her legs as she pulls her shoes off with considerably less grace. In other circumstances, the sight of Deena in her underwear would send her mind straight to the gutter, and she’d take her to the bed rather than the shower. But her mind has been invaded and pulled apart and literally brought back from the dead. So she just pulls Deena’s underwear off her, leads her into the shower, and lets the hot water run off them both.

She hadn’t realised how cold she was until the water hits her, a yelp escaping her body as it does so. It burns her skin, turning it from white to red. Deena’s eyes widen, and her hand reaches up to turn it off, but she just shakes her head, her hand grasping Deena’s. The water might be hot, but she can feel it. It’s the first thing, other than Deena, that she can feel since she first heard her name be whispered in Deena’s room, and so she embraces it. Deena doesn’t question it, an understanding in her eyes without anything being said.

Sam’s eyes roam over her girlfriend’s body, but it doesn’t bring the rush of heat to her cheeks it normally would. Instead all she can focus on is the dirt and dust smeared across her skin, followed by trails of blood. It almost forms a barrier around her body, save for the pristine bandage on her side. Without thinking, her hand reaches out and her fingertips graze the fabric, her touch gentle over the wound.

“You’ll get it wet,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. The doctor gave me a couple more just in case.” Sam nods, but doesn’t look away from it until Deena lifts her chin, making her eyes meet hers. “It’s okay,” she says, more forcefully this time.

“Okay.” She looks at Deena again before lifting a bottle down from the shelf and squeezing  a generous amount onto the palm of her hand, a gentle orange fragrance filling the air between them. “Here.” She rubs her hand over Deena’s shoulder before running it down her side, and watches as the dirt of the past few days begins to strip away. She keeps going, her hand moving across her stomach, over her hip, along her chest, bending down to get her legs. She keeps looking up at Deena, searching for a sign to stop, but she doesn’t get one. She only gets a soft, contented smile, and so she keeps going. She only applies pressure where she needs to, where stubborn bits of dirt refuse to come off. She gets them, and watches with satisfaction as it peels away, revealing the brown skin beneath. She lifts Deena’s hand and turns it over, her fingers pusing between Deena’s, her thumb rubbing at her girlfriend’s wrist until it’s clean again. She takes the chance to press a kiss to the skin, the gesture quick and simple. She smells faintly of oranges and overwhelmingly like her, like the jackets Deena used to hang around her shoulders.

Excitement curls her toes when she thinks about the possibility of wearing that jacket again.

“Here,” Deena says. “Turn around.” Sam does as instructed, and then feels Deena’s hands on her skin; her fingers running down her spine and back up before she pushes her hair off her shoulder and scrubs at the back of her neck, on her shoulders. She hadn’t realised how dirty she was, nor how much she needed this. Not just the wash. Deena’s hands on her body. Not fighting or begging or holding her back. Gentle. Careful. Handling her like she’s something precious, rather than pushing her away. How much she needed to care for Deena too, after everything. To embrace her rather than claw at her neck, not stopping until it snapped. It wasn’t her, Deena said, but she now knows exactly how it feels to have her hands wrapped around Deena’s throat.

She closes her eyes and pretends the water running down her face is from the shower.

“Babe.” Deena’s hands are on her hips, rubbing in slow, small circles. “You okay?” Sam exhales slowly. She doesn’t answer because the word ‘okay’ seems to have lost all meaning now. ‘Okay’ now just means ‘alive’. Not perfect, not sane, maybe not safe, but alive. She doesn’t answer, instead turns around in Deena’s arms. She reaches up to caress her cheek, wiping away the grime as she does so. She still looks the same, despite everything they’ve been through. Wrecked and exhausted and broken, but still her. Still Deena. Still perfect.

“I love you,” she says. Deena smiles, and opens her mouth to say something else, but her lips touch hers before she can. The kiss is desperate, hungry, making up for so many lost months and driven by raw need for both of them. Teeth tug on her bottom lip, a small moan escapes the back of Deena’s throat. Sam tilts her head as her hand comes up the back of Deena’s neck, tangling in her hair. It all comes crashing down, the past days hitting her like a waterfall; everything she did, everything they lost, everything Deena risked, and it just makes her kiss her harder. Like she’ll die if she doesn’t feel her touch again. Their bare legs tangle until they’re only standing up through luck and will power, their hips pressed against each other’s like jigsaw pieces.

“I love you too,” Deena replies when they come up for air. “Here, let me do your hair.”

She turns around as Deena’s fingers comb through her hair, shaking out the knots and the God-knows-what-else. A shiver runs up Sam’s back as she works, and she doesn’t need to turn around to see the teasing smile on her girlfriend’s face. 

“We should do this more often,” she says. It almost slips out without thought. “You. Me. Showering.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Deena replies. She feels the water on her head, followed by Deena’s fingers running through the now-clean strands. “Will you do me?”

She obliges, of course. She delicately works the shampoo through her curls, pausing to ask if she’s hurting her. Deena chuckles warmly and assures her she’s doing fine. Her fingers catch on knots and she undoes them gently, and she rubs and rubs until the blood matting her hair is gone, leaving only soft, glossy curls behind.

While she works, Deena lifts her hand and writes in the steam on the door. She writes an S and a D, and a cross between them. She draws a heart, big enough to capture their two initials. Sam laughs, really laughs, and it feels both wonderful and alien.

“That is so middle school,” she says.

“I think we’ve earned a little middle school,” she replies. She turns around in her arms, the water soaking her newly-cleaned hair. She leans in, slowly, and begins the kiss tentatively, as if it’s their first. Sam responds in kind, too tired to go any further.

Soon, they’ll realise they can’t stay in the shower forever, and they’ll get out and dry off. Sam will hand Deena a sweatshirt and her cheeks will turn pink. Soon they will fall asleep on Sam’s bed, still on top of the covers, their exhaustion finally catching up with them. Deena will wake first, images of Sarah Fier tangled in her mind, so much she needs to say to this girl who lost so much. Then Deena will fall back asleep, and then Sam will wake, a scream caught in her throat. Deena will hold her, and whisper that she’s here, that she’s okay. Deena will doze off, and wake with Kate’s name on her lips this time, and this time Sam will hold her until the tears stop. Eventually they’ll pick a video, something easy they liked in middle school, and watch it on the TV in Sam’s room, bodies pressed together, Deena’s head on Sam’s shoulder, two shaking hands joined atop the covers. Sam’s mother will come in, and bawk at the sight of Deena, and Deena’s chin will raise triumphantly. And Sam will fall in love all over again.

But that’s for later, and for now they just kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

support me on ko-fi

[sauzwriting]

if you're lost, you can look and you will find me

The echo of a corner that at some point had been part of his life. He could almost hear the hustle of life seeping through. Voices. Laughter.

Now it was all silence.

--

Megumi watches Yuuji go through a breakdown in the ruins of Shibuya. He tries his best to ground him. He tries his best to show how much he loves him. Despite it all.

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Yuuji/Megumi

Tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, music, childhood memories

Warnings: self-harm,a bit angsty, manga spoilers of shibuya arc 

ao3 link

There was so, so much silence.

To him, it was deafening, overwhelming. His heart fell everytime he stopped to listen, realizing how it was his fault.

He knew. This silence was his.

Yuuji walked through the streets, deep in thought. The only light reaching his eyes, a pale yellow tint dying the night sky. He didn't know what hour it was. He didn't care.

He just dragged his feet forward.

Ahead of him were the silhouettes of the people who kept saving his life, somehow. He wondered why, once more. He wondered, but never said anything about it. All he could do, all he had left to do was offer up his tainted hands to them, so he could make up for all of it. So he could feel like, maybe, he was allowed to live for a little bit more.

Yuuji could barely look at the debris around them.

It reminded him of all the voices he silenced. Every little piece of the ruins oozed life, memories lost to a power that words couldn't even describe.

But, for once, he stopped on his tracks and dared to raise his gaze and regard the wrecked city before him.

He met cracks, lost shoes and the wind howling at his heart. His breath hitched as he shifted the whole weight of his body, turning around to see, to watch what was left.

A flicker of color hit his eyes, getting his attention.

It was a neon sign of what seemed to be some kind of shop. It was barely hanging from its original place, half of it was completely broken and resting miserably on the ground. But the rest of it was still standing, seemingly fighting to light up the street. Blues and reds flickered, illuminating Yuuji, coloring him, his body, his hair, even his scars. It almost looked like it was alive. The colors, beating, like a human heart.

All it lacked was blood, to pour out of it.

"Hey," he felt something on his shoulder. A touch so soft it was barely noticeable. But still, the fingers lingered. "You're staying behind. Is something the matter?"

Yuuji turned around, slowly. Megumi was looking at him, his uniform stained with dust and ripped in some places. God, he looked so tired. Under the neon flickering lights his features popped up even more and Yuuji could notice dark eyebags painted just below his eyes. How many days has he gone without sleep, he wondered.

"I'm fine." He teared his gaze away from Megumi, back to the sign. "You can go on ahead, I'll catch up in a bit. It's okay." It was strange, hearing his own voice among all the silence. His lips trembled as the words came out of his throat. It felt foreign, like it wasn't his.

"No, it's not." Megumi took a step forward, getting a bit closer to him. Yuuji heard the rubble crumble under his feet. "I'm not doing that." Something inside Yuuji's chest shrunk and shivered. Just a sudden twinge of pain.

There's no way you could leave Sukuna's vessel by himself, he thought, eyes fixated on the ground. He understood, after all.

"I'm not leaving you alone." Megumi hit him lightly on his chest with his fist. "Okkotsu and Choso are strong. They're going to look for a safe place to spend the night. It's not safe to stay here by yourself." Yuuji looked up at him, surprised.

All he saw was a furred brow crowning tired green eyes glaring at him. Somehow, it was the same gaze as always. Slightly annoyed, warm, fond. The same green as always. It hadn't changed.

He was not looking at a murderer or Sukuna.

Yuuji wanted to cry. He didn't deserve that.

"We can catch up later, together." Megumi sighed. "Why did you stay behind?"

Yuuji kept silent for a bit before walking up to the ruins of an entrance right below the neon sign. He bent, moving a boulder that was stuck there, blocking the way.

"Itadori. What are you doing?"

Pieces of rubble fell down to the floor as Yuuji pushed the rock away. His fingers were calloused, blood coming out from irritated, patches of flesh that had been peeled off. It hurt, touching something as rough as stone. But he didn't mind.

"I hadn't realized before, Fushiguro." His voice was raspy and low, inbetween sighs. The knot in his chest made it hard from him to breathe, for the words to come out. "But I know this place."

There were no lights inside. Everything was dark, except for the intermitent colors of the sign, leaking surreal lighting inside the abandoned shop. And yet, Yuuji didn't need to see to remember the shapes of this place. His memories were vivid, painting over the darkness; the echo of a corner that at some point had been part of his life. He could almost hear the hustle of life seeping through. Voices. Laughter.

Now it was all silence.

Yuuji just stood there, while Megumi followed him inside, turning on the flashlight on his phone so he could find out what all this was about. White washed up the darkness and the memories vanished from Yuuji's sight, replaced by the harsh reality.

Here, too, his hands had spoiled it all.

Yuuji wanted to laugh. He wanted that awful sound to tear up his throat, to dismantle and claw at his insides. Sukuna probably found this amusing. In his rampage, in a lost of control, he had even shattered pieces of him.

"I came here once with grandpa. When his — well. When he was...better."

Megumi stayed silent but Yuuji felt his eyes on him. He looked around too, drinking it all in.

"Was this a music shop?" Megumi muttered, walking carefully towards Yuuji. His voice was lower, softer.

There were records, album covers with different colors and styles, CDs scattered all around the floor. Broken, reflecting the light of the flash and creating ripples of rainbows on the ceiling.

"Yeah. He took me here once, years ago. He was really grumpy, he never quite liked the music I listened to." He laughed, bitterly. Still, there was a touch of fondness in his voice. "He came here, with me, and shared his favorite songs with me. He constantly spoke of this place...He didn't even know how to use his phone...so we just...came here, picked up some Cds and..." Yuuji kneeled over the pieces of cds on the floor and tried to gather some up. "I know it's stupid. To feel like this after — well, after I. I — I have no right to feel sad over this. I did this." He breathed in and flinched when he cut his finger with one of the fragments. "It's just shitty. It's so shitty. He's gone now and now I just erased and destroyed part of him."

"It's not your f—"

"It doesn't matter." Yuuji closed his eyes, held the shards tightly, so tight they pierced his skin. He didn't care, he didn't care because he hated his voice, he despised hearing his own shame. He had no right to these feelings. The pain grounded him, because up until now it was all he'd felt since Shibuya. And he'd gotten used to it. And he wanted it to be a comfort, because it was all he felt he deserved. "Do you know— he was actually such a big, damn softie. He loved ballads, god. Do you know Time after Time ? He— I— ," his voice cracked. He cracked. He tried, with trembling, bloodied hands, to cover his face as his breathing became erratic. Tears mixed up with blood, running down bruised skin. He whimpered, trying to keep down his pathetic voice, bit his lip in an useless attempt to stop crying. His whole body, even his soul, felt like it was shaking without control.

"I'm. I'm sorry. I just— there is no way, no way I can say it enough. To anyone." He could hardly speak. It was barely a whimper. "It doesn't matter. Nothing's the same anymore—I'm not the same, I can't go back. It doesn't matter." Silence. "I barely know who I am anymore."

"Yuuji. Fuck."

Megumi said his name. He kneeled right beside him but Yuuji didn't want to look at him. He tried to take his hands away from his face but Yuuji flinched, scared of his touch. Scared of himself.

"Please."

Megumi's voice was so soft, so tender, he just frozed up. He could feel Megumi's breathing brushing his hands. And then, long fingers reached for them, slowly taking them away from his face. The touch was so gentle and careful, it made Yuuji stop trembling altogether. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this.

He'd almost forgot he had yearned for this, for so long.

"Stop hurting yourself."

Yuuji saw his face. Megumi had left his phone on the ground and the light was illuminating him from the back. He looked mad.

But his voice was so kind. His hands were on his, cleaning up the wounds and wrapping some bandages around them. Even after that was done, Megumi didn't let go of his hands. He slowly traced the shape of them with his fingers, caressing them with care. His eyes went up, checking Yuuji's face just for a moment. The tears were still flowing, his gaze still watery.

"Don't you dare apologize." Megumi looked down again, just to carefully touch the scars that ran up his arms. "You're Yuuji." He sighed and breathed in. "And you deserve so much better than this."

He looked up and locked his eyes with Yuuji's.

"I still don't regret saving you. And I won't, ever ." Yuuji's tears stopped falling. "This is our reality. It's unfair. But you're still you. I know that. I didn't doubt it for a second." Megumi reached up to clean the tears off his cheeks. "So for god's sake, let me carry that weight with you."

A knot, deep, deep inside Yuuji's chest untangled.

"But Sukuna—"

"No buts. I trust you." He muttered. He inched a bit closer to him, carefully. "Stop running from me."

Megumi looked away and remained silent. Yuuji couldn't move. He didn't want to, but he felt like he had to. But as soon as he tried to shift away, Megumi pulled him closer and embraced him.

Yuuji knew. Megumi wasn't good with words. That's why he said nothing more. But there was an unspoken feeling in how he could feel the warmth of his body against his. He could hear Megumi's heartbeat ripple through his own chest. It was almost like a song.

Yuuji was tired, too. He had no energy to fight back. And he wanted this.

So he gave up.

They stood like that for a while, in silence. In each others' arms, hearing each others' breathing. Megumi slowly rubbing circles in Yuuji's back and Yuuji holding him tightly, his head in the crook of his neck.

And then, Megumi started humming someting. Low, barely audible.

But it sounded familiar.

Ah, he realized.

Eyes closed, Yuuji hummed back. His voice cracked, it was probably off key. But god, it felt so good. It felt so relieving. That he could still do this, remember this.

This feeling would probably only last for a little longer but it was warm, so, so warm.

And well, knowing his grandpa wasn't the only one liking sappy ballads made his heart flutter. It made his heart feel just a bit like it used to. Just a bit.

Yuuji smiled. It was a weak smile but Megumi could feel it on his shoulder. So he moved, pulled away to look at his face and gently place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, right where an ugly scar had sunk in his flesh.

"Let's go back."

Megumi brushed pink hair away from brown eyes and helped him up.

He didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the night.

That hand in his, that warmth. It seemed to give back a bit of his humanity.

He was Yuuji.

And Megumi loved Yuuji.

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [22]

Chapter 21 - Chapter 22 - Chapter 22.5 OR Chapter 23 [Finale]

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

There’s quite a few things that you hate.   You like to say you’re a somewhat well-mannered individual who wouldn’t use such a strong word, such as hate, to describe objects, people, and things in general. But there’s a number of things that just absolutely grind your gears. One of such examples are small spoons used to eat ice-cream or crème brûlée where you can never get a satisfying mouthful. And another is—   “Fuck this yeast. Seriously.”   “Hey, what did yeast ever do to you?” Jungkook laughs, finding your rage all the more amusing.   “It won’t foam up.” You tap the measuring cup with a long sigh. Sure, the mixture is bubbling, but it’s nowhere near as good as you want it to be. “It’s been five minutes too.”   “Did you put in sugar to feed it?”   You scoff. “Who do you take me for?”   You hate making bread, hate making laminated dough, hate anything that has to yeast. It’s just horrible to work with and you don’t understand how anyone can like bread in the first place. No one can eat bread on its own. It’s bland as hell. It’s boring.   But aside from your personal vendetta, it just didn’t make sense — you and Jungkook have the same dry active yeast but when he proofs it, it’s perfect. You wonder if these tiny organisms hate you.   “I hate yeast and bread and everything to do with it.”   “Quit whining.” While Jungkook brushes past you, he taps your bottom. “Less complaining, more working.”   “Easy for you to say.”   Jungkook continues the recipe. He whisks together three tablespoons sugar, a tablespoon of salt, and three cups flour. In the meanwhile, you stand there, tapping your glass and wondering if you have to re-do the entire process.   But then another thought comes into mind.    And you slyly switch yours with Jungkook’s.   “Whatever, we’ll see what happens.” You clear your throat, discreetly shifting past him to grab the salt.   “Who knows, it might end up fermenting properly,” he says and a noncommittal sound is made at the back of your throat.    Quickly, you make your dry mixture and pour the yeast in with some oil. It forms into a soft dough, bouncy to the touch, and just the right texture. At the same time, Jungkook returns to grab the yeast and immediately frowns.   “What the fuck is wrong with my yeast.”   He brings it up to eye level, frowning. You shrug. “Yeast is finicky. Was your water too hot when you poured it in? Might’ve killed it.”   “But it was fine befor—” Jungkook’s voice halts. His eyes dim. He redirects his gaze towards you and deadpans, “You switched it, didn’t you?”   “What?” You laugh. “No, I didn’t.”   It’s frightening how he figured it out in an instant. You ponder just how much Jungkook can see right through you. “You took it, didn’t you?!” Your boyfriend playfully throws his arm around your neck and pins you under his armpit in a choke hold. You giggle, grabbing onto his forearm.   “I didn’t!” “You’re still trying to lie to me now, brat? I expected better from you!” He laughs and you squeal.   “Jungkook!”   Finally, he lets go of you, but not before huffing out in frustration. You’re unable to recover when he ruffles your hair roughly, disheveling your entire head and sighing again. “Now I have to re-do mine.”   You pout, watching him grab the container of dry active yeast. “I have to make sure my bread rises.”   He smiles softly. “So now you admit stealing from me?”    You dust off the flour from your hands and approach slowly. When the opportunity is right, you grab Jungkook’s arm and loll your head to one side, fluttering your lashes. “You wouldn’t be upset with your wonderful girlfriend, right, Kookie?”   “Don’t try to act cute with me.”   You lean against him. “I’m not. I just love you.”   Jungkook scoffs, but a tiny smile still lifts on his features. The corner of his mouth is timidly quirked and you know you’ve won.   The dough is kneaded until it’s elastic. Then the bowl is covered with a damp cloth and put in a warm place where it rises for an hour and a half. Afterwards, you punch the dough down on a lightly floured counter, shape it, and bake it in greased loaf pans.   For hating everything yeast, you must admit that the smell of fresh bread filling the kitchen is mouthwatering.   “It rose!” You peek through the oven in its last minutes, observing the way the crust is turning golden brown. “It looks so good.”   Jungkook looks over your shoulder. “Not bad. We’re going to have to do it again though. Or at least you do.”   “What?” The oven closes and you whirl around. “Why?”   “You can’t use my yeast during our exams.” Your boyfriend’s expression is impassive and you open your mouth to retort, but end up closing it. There’s no way you can argue against that.   “Ugh!” Your feet stamp childishly. “But I hate it!”   He smirks and brushes past you. “Should’ve done it right in the first place.”   “Shut up, Jeon.”   The scent of bread baking in the oven only serves to mock you now.   Jungkook tears his teeth into his bread, having lightly buttered it before eating. It’s still steaming hot and looks soft inside. You’re jealous, but also thankful when he stays around and watches you try a second batch all on your own without stealing any of his yeast.   “Too much salt or sugar could slow down the yeast,” Jungkook says. “If the water is too hot, you’ll kill it. If it’s too cold, it won’t activate.”   You sigh. “Why is it so difficult?”   “It isn’t. Just keep trying. The best upcoming pâtisserie chef isn’t going to give up on something as simple as bread, right?” Your boyfriend smiles when he sees you can’t even feign a pout, that your mouth twitches at the compliment.   Motivation flares through you. “That’s right.”   You check water twice, ensuring that it’s the perfect amount of warmness and after you add the godforsaken yeast, you measure out sugar carefully. There’s little agitation before you set up a stool to watch it move.    You pray these microbes will do your efforts justice, that they’ll release their carbon dioxide and ethanol, that they’ll bubble and ferment and make your dough rise later on.   “Are you going to sit there and watch it?”   “Shush,” you hiss at Jungkook as if the yeast could be scared to death.   He smiles, plops a kiss at the top of your head and walks away to clean up his pans and bowls. In the meantime, you wait for five minutes, and then another two just to make sure. By then, it’s bubbling.   “Is this good?” You bring it to Jungkook, not sure anymore.   He peers inside the bowl. “Looks okay to me.”   “Then I did it!” You throw yourself at him for a big hug and the yeast mixture nearly sloshes above the rim of the bowl onto the ground. “We can go now, right?”   Jungkook snorts. “You still need to make the bread, sweetheart.”   You pout. It’s such a pain. But it’s worth it when dough rises, the bread bakes perfectly in the oven, and Jungkook claps for you. When all is said and done, you feel lucky that Jungkook’s here for you, a personal cheerleader of sorts, always rooting you on.   You didn’t know bread could taste so sweet.

“Jungkook.”   “Hmm?”   He’s nodding off, head rested in his palm, elbow on the counter, slumped on the stool. He’s trying hard to keep his eyes open, but he’s been dozing, hair flopping around as he tries to keep himself awake. It’s painful to watch him.   “Go to bed.”   “’t’s okay.” Jungkook straightens his spine and stretches above his head with a yawn. “I’ll wait for you.”   “I’m not going to be done my cakes for a while. Just go back and sleep. Aren’t you tired?”   “Only a little.” He slides off his stool anyway, oddly obedient when he can’t be bothered to put up a fight.   Still, Jungkook comes over and you instantly know what he wants. He leans down, propping his chin on your shoulder, and you hug him as he folds over you. His body is nearly covering your entire frame like a blanket, but it’s warm and comfortable. “I wanted to wait for you,” he mumbles sleepily into your shoulder.   “You’ll see me tomorrow, you big baby.”   He makes a disgruntled noise, eyes shut, squeezing you before letting go.   You smile at him. “Here.” And you help Jungkook undo his white apron. He turns around so you can undo the strings and once it’s free from his body, you haphazardly toss the apron on the counter.   You press your hands against his cheeks so his mouth puckers and you place a brief kiss to his lips. “Okay, now go back and sleep.”   “Okay.” Jungkook relents and retreats away, barely dragging his legs along. A soft smile finds its way on your face, but right when the door of the kitchen closes, your nose scrunches.   There’s a smokey smell in the air.   Immediately, you whirl around to where you’re working and a gasp rips from your lungs.   Jungkook’s apron that you tossed, the one he once told you was precious and lucky to him, is caught on fire. The cloth is curling right on the stove, burnt off, red flames engulfing it.   After a delayed second, you finally lurch forward and grab the edge of it to dump it in the sink. The smoke rises as you turn on the tap and you watch, completely stunned and speechless.   “Shit. Shit!”   //   You’re at a loss of what to do.   You’ve stuffed the dirty thing in your bag, went home and tried to recover it. But the white apron has a huge gaping hole right at the center and there’s nothing to be undone. You tried to read the tag too, to find the brand, to find where it was manufactured, but it’s been worn and faded.   So you consult help. “Jimin, do you know where Jungkook’s apron is from? The one he usually wears.”   “No idea,” the boy says and you’re flooded with complete disappointment. “Didn’t his grandpa give him that thing before he passed away? I think it’s why Jungkook started baking in the first place.”   Blood drains from your face. You feel worse than you did before.   Jimin notices the way your expression crumples, how you’re on the verge of tears and his eyes widen. “Are you okay?! What’s wrong?”   “Don’t tell Jungkook….but...I…..I accidentally burnt his apron.”   There’s a quiet pause. “Oh shit.”   “What do I do, Jimin?” Guilt and remorse eats you whole, chewing and spitting you out to leave you nude and mortified. “I just took it off of him and threw it on the counter. I didn’t know it would land by the stove!”   “You can’t read the tag?” When you shake your head, the boy sighs and his voice softens in sympathy you don’t want. “I’m sure Jungkook won’t be upset with you, Y/N. It was an accident.”   But you can’t come clean with him.   You can’t bear seeing Jungkook’s disappointed face. The inevitable expression that’ll arrive if you tell him you destroyed a precious belonging. If you tell him you ruined his late grandpa’s last gift. If you tell him you wrecked what started him on this journey.   “I can’t say I’ve ever seen something like this before.” Aeri holds it up, studying the pathetic piece of cloth in the light and ignoring the giant hole in the center. She’s the next person you turn to and perhaps your last one.   Yoongi would just laugh in your face and call you an idiot. Taehyung can’t keep a secret for his life. And Hoseok has more than enough on his plate than to deal with your antics. Jimin and Aeri are the ones who are understanding and kind enough to actually help you in your dumb crisis.    “Have you tried searching online?”   “I found one similar on amazon but it’s not the same. The pockets are placed differently. He’ll know.”   “Doesn’t Jungkook have the standard one from school?”   “It’s...not the same.” You exhale in defeat and fall back onto her bed. You cover your face with your hands to shield away the sunlight that comes through the windows. The nice, autumn weather felt like it was mocking you. “What should I do? What if Jungkook breaks up with me over it? I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”   The girl laughs. “He wouldn’t. Jungkook’s not that kind of person. I’m sure if you just told him, everything will be okay, Y/N.”   That’s what everyone reassures, and in the back of your mind, you know he can’t be upset with you for that long. But Jungkook trusted you with a personal belonging of his — something so special and you burnt it to a crisp.   You feel guilty. There’s no amount of apologies that can bring the apron back to how it was. You’ve ruined it like how you ruin everything else in your life.   //   “Hey, have you seen my apron?”   Jungkook’s digging into his belongings a few days later, having searched his locker and is now looking into his drawers and into his closet. You swallow hard, knowing that this was imminent.    “N-nope.”   “Weird. I swear I had it here….”   You glance at your backpack. There’s a new apron that you bought, had it shipped to you in a day’s time. You picked the nicest gift bag to put it in too, but you haven’t had the courage to confront him about it.   You wonder what Jungkook would do if he decided to end the relationship over this. Maybe he’ll cite that he’s done with your shit, that you’re irresponsible and too clingy. That you’re too emotional, how he can’t trust you with anything, and perhaps he'll say he needs space.   You’ll survive — you know that much. You’ve been through enough in your life to know you’ll make it out, but surviving is not the same thing as living.    Jungkook’s become such a big part of your life — your boyfriend, partner in crime, best friend — you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready to be without him.    You love him, more than you’ve ever loved anyone else before.   “What’s the matter?” Jungkook’s suddenly squeezing your face together, the cheesiest grin painted across his own visage. “I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes. Are you thinking about someone else when you’re with your boyfriend?”   You blink at him, eyes becoming glossy. Jungkook’s confusion takes over when you don’t make any snarky comebacks, when he realizes you’re not in the mood to joke around.   He slowly lowers his grip and sits down on the edge of his bead, concern taking hold. “Is everything okay?”   Your breath staggers out from your mouth. “Don’t be mad.”   His brows furrow deep. “What’s wrong?”   You open your mouth, but realize that you can’t say it. So you lean down and grab the gift bag from your backpack. You hand it to him and he takes it in his bewilderment, peeking inside.   You tear your eyes away. You can’t bear to see his face. “I’m sorry. Really. I am, Jungkook. The….the other day when I took off your apron, I threw it on the counter without looking and it caught on fire. I was trying to look for another one, but I don’t know where it’s from and I know it’s special to you, and I’m so sorry.”   There’s silence.    Then the noise of his chuckling.   You lift your head and you’re instantaneously engulfed into Jungkook’s arms, hugged by him. “I love it, thank you.”   You’re stunned — and it takes a moment for you to snap back to reality. “You’re not mad at me?”   “No.” Jungkook scoffs lightly and pulls away with a grin. “I was wondering why you’ve been so quiet the entire day. I was more worried than anything. You didn’t get burnt, did you?”   “No.”   “Good. Then that’s all that matters.”   He’s humming happily, unfolding the new apron and pushing out the folded wrinkles. Then Jungkook stands up while holding it out on his body, checking how it looks in the mirror.   You can’t comprehend how he can be so forgiving. “Wasn’t the other one from your grandpa? You started baking because of him, right?”   “Kind of. He cooked a lot and told me I should find something I love to do and make it my job. It was a bit of a whim.” The boy turns around, doe eyes twinkling. “But that old man gave me a whole box of stuff, not just the apron. And honestly, it was kind of getting old and worn, so I’m glad I have a new one now — plus it’s from my amazing girlfriend, so how can I not love it?”   It takes three seconds.   Three seconds and then you burst out crying. You’re not sure exactly why and it causes Jungkook to be alarmed. He tries to comfort you, but he’s obviously uncomfortable as he pats your back and caresses your hair awkwardly. It’s only when you’ve calmed down a bit where he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs and asks if it was something he said.   When you tell him you’re not quite sure, the next question he asks is if you’re on your period — and you almost slap him.   The pair of you don’t talk about your meltdown again, but in the middle of the night while you’re still awake, you’re finally able to pinpoint your emotion.   It wasn’t that you were afraid of Jungkook being angry or breaking up with you — you were afraid of disappointing him, of breaking his heart, of hurting him.    You know anyone else in your life would’ve been let down. But not Jungkook. And for that, you feel relieved, reassured, comforted. You feel fortunate that he loves you, and most of all, you realize just how much you cherish the boy named Jeon Jungkook.

In the middle of your bread and viennoiserie class, while your floured hands are folding laminated dough, Taehyung looks up from the counter with a sudden question.   “What kind of wedding cake do you guys want?”   “The hell did that come from,” Yoongi grunts beside him, his beloved silence now broken.   “Well I was just thinking salami and prosciutto would be so delicious with bread, because I love myself some deli meats and there’s this super cute girl at the deli I go to, but I’m pretty sure she has a boyfriend. Anyway, I started to remember the cakes they had on display at the bakery section and there was a funfetti one with a cartoon rabbit on it that looked a lot like Jungkook.”   “What?”   Taehyung keeps rambling, literally thinking out loud, “Then I realized he and Y/N are probably gonna get married someday, and I wondered if I was going to be a groomsman at the wedding and what kind of cake they were going to have, so yeah. What kind of cake do you guys want?”   Yoongi's expression is disconcerting as if he’s wondering how Taehyung lives peacefully with a brain like his. “Do you ever get tired being yourself?”   “Hey, you asked.” The tall brunette is unbothered by the insult and turns to the two of you for an answer. “What kind of wedding cake are you guys going to have?”   Your mind is reeling.   Getting married to Jungkook seems so far away from now. The pair of you are barely in your twenties, and you’re not particularly inclined to get hitched so young. But in terms of cake — your own specialty — you’ve had one in mind since the beginning of time.   “Well obviously, we’re going to have chocolate.” — “Fresh strawberries and cream.”   You and Jungkook both answer at the same time over top each other.   Your heads turn, eyes meeting, stares connected.   “Of course we’re going to have chocolate.”   “Aren’t you sick of it? I make chocolate for you all the time,” Jungkook argues. “And you eat some every other day.”   “I could never get sick of chocolate.” You frown. “Since when did you like fresh strawberries and cream?”   “Always.” He shrugs. “And when we worked at Kim's cakes, that flavour always tasted the best to me. It’s fresh, but still sweet. I think everyone would like it. It’s versatile.”   “Yeah, but what matters is that we like it.”   “I like it.”   “Yeah, but I think chocolate is just more fitting for us.”   Yoongi sighs, looking over at Taehyung. “Here they go again.”   “What?” You direct your attention to the sleepy man, a sharp bite to your words. “What do you mean ‘here we go again’?”   Taehyung’s eyes widen and he begins to slide away from the counter, not wanting to be in the face of your wrath. Yoongi, on the other hand, has never been intimidated by you in the least bit. “The both of you are always fighting.”   You glance at your boyfriend. “No, we’re not.”   “First it was about cookie dough and then pineapple on pizza, soufflés and now this.” Yoongi spits straight up facts without sugar coating it and you’re left stumped. You didn’t realize how it looked to outsiders. You know there’s never animosity between you and Jungkook — it’s just debates, but you suppose the arguments happen frequently.   You stare at Jungkook and he smiles tenderly at you.   The man turns back towards his friends.   “I like getting Y/N riled up. Isn’t it fun to watch her?”   “Excuse me?” you scoff, not expecting that kind of response.   “Ugh.” But Taehyung takes his words in a completely different meaning and his face scrunches. “So this is a kink you guys get off on? Making other people suffer by listening to your bickering?”   Jungkook doesn’t say anything and merely wiggles his brows. It makes your face hot and Yoongi appears disgusted as well next to his baking partner.   Your boyfriend looks off at you. “How about chocolate strawberry cake then? We can have chocolate cake layers and alternate between cream and ganache in between. We can frost it in strawberry buttercream with strawberry roses as decoration — and of course, a pile of chocolate strawberries as the topper.”   You grin at him, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips. “Brilliant. As usual.”   “Ugh.” Taehyung groans even louder. “Nevermind. Go back to hating each other. I can’t handle you two being sappy and gross.”   “Well get used to it,” you tell him proudly while Jungkook drapes an arm over your shoulder, approving your message.   It’s only when the teacher brushes past all four of you and reminds all of you to continue kneading your dough do you remember that you’re in class with everyone eavesdropping in.   But you don’t mind shamelessly flaunting your relationship with Jungkook — you’re proud of him and of loving him.   //   It’s later that night when you’re snuggling while watching some show playing on his laptop, that you verbalize some doubts that Taehyung’s snuck into your mind. “Do you think we argue too much?”   “What?” Jungkook turns his head. “Not really. I like arguing with you — well, not in any way that makes any of us upset or anything, but I like our heated debates. Why? Don’t you?”   “I do,” you hum. “I was worried you didn’t. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m always picking fights with you.”   He laughs and the sound is melodic to your ears. Jungkook’s grip on you tightens, making sure he’s holding you close. “You are. But I don’t mind. We don’t need to agree on everything to be together.”   You lean into his warmth and a content sigh escapes your lips.    Of all the things that you disagree with Jungkook on, you think he would agree that the both of you cherish being with one another. Future wedding or not, you want to savour every moment and all the antics you have together. That’s all that really matters.

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Comfort and Care

𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

(𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆!𝑫𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒅 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

Blurb: Dominique comes over to help the reader feel a bit better after a bad week

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: so this is very self indulgent! I haven’t been doing too well mentally and that isn’t really portrayed in the fic but I wrote this because of that... I hope you enjoy! (Also I may write more lost girls content? We will see what happens! Let me know what you’re all vibing with!)

You cried yourself to sleep. You could barely focus on your studies and you didn’t even have the strength to brush your teeth. 

You wanted it all to stop. The feeling to pass. You hated it and you hated yourself for it. 

You didn’t want to get up and move, but you knew you had to. 

—

You groaned and got up from your bed. Your reflection was sad— reflecting your current state— your hair was oily, a sign you needed to shower, Your skin was breaking out again, and your pajamas looked wrinkled and worn from you wearing them for days on end. 

You didn’t have the strength or energy to change and make yourself presentable, but you had plans to meet your friends at the boardwalk. 

You didn’t want to go. But you had to. They’d be upset you canceled on them. You hadn’t seen them since last weekend. 

“Ugh! Fuck it!” They probably wouldn’t care anyway. 

You went to the kitchen to grab the landline and dial-up the Emerson’s home phone. 

If Grandpa hasn’t wrecked it yet. 

It rang. It rang, and it rang, and it rang, and it—

—it stopped. 

“Hello?” 

“Michelle?” You asked. 

“Hey, (Y/N)! What’s up?” 

“Oh um, I don’t… I don’t feel good… I don’t think I’m gonna go to the boardwalk tonight.” 

“Okay… I’ll tell the others. Do you want Dominique to come over? She’s gonna be pissed you didn’t show.” 

A wave of guilt flashed over you. You hadn’t seen your girlfriend in a week… 

She was going to be upset, and you didn’t want to upset her, but you really didn’t want to go out.

“Um, I’ll see her tomorrow…” 

“Okay. Hope you feel better!”

“Thanks…” you put the phone back on the hook and went immediately back to your room. 

You turned on your small tv, not bothering to see what was on, and buried yourself under the covers, and tried to fall asleep to the sounds of the television. 

—

“(Y/N)... (Y/N)...” 

You groaned as you slowly awoke. “Hhhhhhhh…” You rubbed your eyes and opened them. 

Above you was Dominique. She was straddling your lap, her hand cradling your cheek. 

“You’re up.” 

“What— what are you doing here?” You asked. 

“Michelle said you didn’t feel good,” She stated. 

“Yeah, but—“ 

“I brought you snacks, some blankets, your heating pad you left at the cave, I even brought some movies from Darcy’s collection.”

“Thanks...” 

Dominique frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired. Tired of everything. I’m so overwhelmed but I don’t do anything! I feel so alone all the time. Which is stupid as hell, but—“ 

“Oh, Kitten, it’s okay… I get it…” 

“It’s so stupid. I’m stupid. I wish I got to see you more often,” You frowned. “My parents are just arguing all the time and I’m worried they’ll drag me into it. I don’t know if I can take it.” 

“Where are they now?” She asked. 

“My mom went to her sister’s and my dad is at my grandpa’s. It’s just us.” 

“Come here,” Dominique helped you get up and lean against your pillow. “It’s okay. This feeling will pass…”

“It feels like it never will. I was doing fine for so long and now I’m not! It’s pathetic.” 

“No. You are not pathetic. You are amazing and strong and doing your absolute best.”  

Dominique tried to give you a kiss, but you flinched.

“What is it?” She asked. 

“I haven’t brushed my teeth today… my breath probably smells awful.” 

“I don’t care. Pumpkin, I’m dead. My breath smells bad all the time. My eyebrows disappear when I vamp out. I kill people.” 

“But still… I’m disgusting. My skin is breaking out again and I look like an oily rat.” 

“When was the last time you showered?” She asked. 

“I don’t even remember. Maybe Monday? I don’t know…” You felt so helpless. You felt so embarrassed in your girlfriend’s arms. 

“How about we take a warm shower? That sound good?” 

“Okay.” 

Dominique led you into the bathroom and helped you strip out of your dirty pajamas. “Have you eaten today?” She asked. 

“Yeah. I had some peanut butter and apple slices.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Coffee.”

Dominique frowned, tossing her shirt off and throwing it with your clothes, “Coffee isn’t a meal, kitten.” 

“Yeah, but I needed the caffeine.”

“After your shower, I’ll make you something to eat. Come on.” 

Dominique stuck her hand out to see if the water from the tub faucet was warm enough. When she decided it was, she pulled the diverter valve, letting the showerhead run. She held your hand, helping you into the shower. 

You stood directly under the showerhead, letting it beat down on your hair. Dom grabbed your shampoo bottle, squirting some product into her hands, before lathering it into your scalp. 

Her body pressed against yours. It was cold. Her hands in your hair were just as chilly. 

You had become used to the feeling, but you still shivered. She was a stark contrast against the hot water coming down.

You rinsed out your shampoo and applied conditioner to your ends. You thought about shaving, but Dominique said that could be done another time. 

You ran your fingers through your hair, washing the conditioner out of the ends when you noticed Dominique’s mullet no longer styled. 

“Oh, your hair!” You cooed. “It’s all soaked.”

“It’s fine.” She waved off. “I’ll fix it later.” 

You turned the water off and Dominique grabbed a towel for you. 

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” You both dried off and looked in your room for some clean clothes. 

“Here’s one of your sweatshirts…” You sheepishly handed over. “I think I have some of your sweatpants too…”

Dominique chuckled. She gave them to you to keep, you didn’t have to be so shy about it. “Thanks, Kitten. What do you want to eat?”

“I dunno…”

Dom restated her question. “What do you have?” 

“Uh, I think chicken strips…”

“Pumpkin…” She warned. 

“What?”

“You cannot eat chicken strips for every meal.”

“I didn’t! I made pasta this week, and I even had a vegetable!” 

“Good! Good, I’m proud. Sit at the counter and I’ll find something to make.” A small smile snuck its way onto your face as you got yourself an empty glass and filled it with water. You sat down, watching Dom look through your fridge and cupboard. 

“Want me to make salmon? Or was your mom saving that?”

“Oh, um, if it’s in the freezer go ahead.” 

You watched Dominique take out a baking tray, and place a piece of foil over it. She poured olive oil over it and added some spices to season the bottom side of the salmon. She cut up a lemon into thin slices, placing some on the pan and saving the rest for the top of the fish. She placed the salmon onto the tray and added more seasoning. 

“I’m going to steam some veggies too. Can you get them out for me, Pumpkin?” 

“Yeah,” You got up from your seat and opened the fridge. “We just have carrots and broccoli… um, there’s also some rice leftover from… I think Thursday…?” 

“Get it out. I can reheat it.” 

You placed it all on the counter for Dom to have access to. You sat back down and continued watching her cook as you absentmindedly sipped on your water. 

As Dom steamed the carrots and broccoli, heated the rice, and cleaned up, she just had to wait for the fish to finish cooking in the oven. 

She turned her attention to you. 

she cupped your face with one hand gently, “You look tired.” 

“So do you,” You teased. 

Dominique squinted her eyes. “Are you trying to cause trouble?” 

“No…” You had to hold back a giggle. She rolled her eyes and kissed your forehead. 

“Lemme get you some more water.” She took your cup and refilled it. 

“Thanks.” 

“Mhmm,” Dominique glanced at the oven timer. There was a little less than two minutes left for the salmon. 

“I’m going to see if it’s done. It probably is.” She opened the oven door and—

“Use an oven mitt!” You reminded her. 

Dom almost scoffed, “Kitten, my skin will heal in a week—“ 

“It will smell like burnt flesh for weeks if you don’t use an oven mitt. And I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Dominique found it sweet how much you cared about her, even if it was in a minuscule moment like this. She grabbed the nearest oven mitt— yellow, with a sunflower design all over. It clashed with her aesthetic for sure, but safety before fashion. 

Dom pulled the salmon out and poked it with a fork.

“yeah, I think it’s done. I’ll take it out and let it cool. Get yourself a plate.” 

You did as you were told, and you filled your plate up with vegetables and rice and your piece of salmon. 

“Are you going to eat anything?” You asked Dominique. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“You sure?” 

“If I want some food, I’ll take it from you later, and besides, I only need blood to survive.” She reminded you. 

“Have you drank lately? Do you need to? You can have some of my blood while we watch a movie, I don’t mind,” You told her as you took your plate and headed to your bedroom. 

“I’m fine, pumpkin.” She shut the door behind you, put a random movie in the tv’s tape player, and made herself comfortable on your bed. 

“Besides, I don’t want to drink from you right now, it will affect your mood… and I want you to get better… Okay?”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Dominique stroked your cheek, “Don’t feel bad, (Y/N). I can get blood from anyone… but I can only get one of you, and I want you to be happy. You’re my girlfriend, I care about you a lot.” 

You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or not. 

Dom wasn’t always the best with words, and she had a bit of trouble saying “I love you”, which you didn’t mind. She showed she loved you in other ways than just words. Like coming over with movies and blankets because you said you weren’t feeling good, or washing your hair for you, or cooking you dinner. 

“Thank you. I love you.” 

“Mhmm,” She wrapped an arm around you and kissed your forehead. 

[jaehyunspeachparty]

daddy jaehyun

iv.xxxiii (a)

"Daddy not so fast." Sunoh was hanging by the hand of his father, who was dragging him through the hospital corridor. 

"Sorry Sunoh." He tried to slow down a bit and looked over at you in panic. You couldn't say anything because you were in shock. You just hope it has nothing to do with the brain tumor you accidentally knew about and weren't allowed to tell Jaehyun.

"Room 403. Here it is." Jaehyun stopped and took another deep breath. You could see how nervous he was. He hugged Geon, who was lying on his shoulder, close to him. Geon clenched his fingers to his collar as if sensing that his father needs him now. Kiwoo, on the other hand, became restless. There were too many impressions and strong smells in the hospital.

When Jaehyun, you and your three boys walk into the room, Jaehyun's father jumped up and hugged his son.

"I'm glad you're here." With tears in his eyes he looked at Jaehyun, but he felt that someone was pulling on his pants.

"Hello grandpa." Sunoh greeted him with a smile and Jaehyun's Dad looked down to him and picked the boy up.

"Hello Sunoh, nice to have you here." At that moment the older man was getting very sentimental. That Sunoh looked like Jaehyun as a kid made him reminisce.

"What happened?" You ask and move closer to the bed. Jaehyun's mother was lying there, asleep, and she was attached to several devices.

"She passed out suddenly and they tried to operate on her, but she hadn't responded well and so she had to be put into an artificial coma." Jaehyun's father lowered his head and set Sunoh down again.

"But why? What happened? All of a sudden?" Jaehyun didn't understand any of this and you bite your lip because you are ashamed. You should have told him that his mother was sick. Jaehyun's dad looked at you and you got nervous.

"I have to pick Miga up from school. I'll take the boys with me." You don't quite know what to do yet. A flood of guilty conscience overran you.

"Okay," said Jaehyun and looked blankly at you.

"Come on Sunoh, say goodbye to your father and grandpa", you send your son off to say goodbye and meanwhile take the twins with you.

"Is that okay?" Jaehyun asked carefully as he laid Geon on your shoulder.

"Yeah. I'll take care of the kids, okay?" You look at him worriedly as you position yourself with the two babies in your arms.

"Thank you," he said softly, then kissed you and then the little heads of your twins.

"Bye Daddy," Sunoh said and Jaehyun crouched down while his son hugged him.

"Help your mummy, okay?" Jaehyun gave his son a tight hug and then kissed him too. You couldn't look at it any further. There were tears in your eyes and your heart was beating fast because you had such a guilty conscience.

After you picked Miga up from school, you made everyone something to eat, breastfed the twins, done homework with Miga and tried to do some household. Jaehyun also came home later, just as the twins were starting to take their afternoon nap. Miga and Sunoh were watching TV while Jaehyun greeted them gently. He looked tired and exhausted. He was with his mother all day.

"Is everything halfway okay?" You ask him carefully and he nodded.

"I made something to eat. Come on, I'll warm it up for you." You briefly check the babies that slept peacefully and you got up. You go into the kitchen with Jaehyun and prepare something for him to eat. Your husband sat at the armchair and looked into space. It was hard to see him like that because he was so vulnerable.

"Eat something," you say and put a plate in front of him. He just nodded and started with the first bite. You sit next to him and try to be there for him. Jaehyun didn't say anything until he finished eating. He then leaned back and looked at you.

"I just can't believe they didn't tell us ..." He was suddenly so angry and you bite your lip because you knew it.

"She's had cancer for half a year. They've known it for half a year!" That surprised even you too.

"Jaehyun, I ..." You had to tell him, you just had to. Even if it was tough.

"I knew it too ..." You bow your head full of charm.

"What?" His voice was still low but he was very surprised.

"I found it out by accident." You couldn't even look Jaehyun in the eye.

"How long have you known?" He asked you and you could feel the anger.

"Since we came back from Switzerland. When I was changing Geon and Kiwoo in the bedroom if your parents, I found the note from the doctor. Jaehyun, I'm so sorry ...:" You start to cry, you never wanted to hide it from him.

"And you never got the idea to tell me maybe?" He got up from the chair and paced nervously.

"Your Dad wanted to tell you himself. I didn't have the right to interfere."

"We are a family. We have four children together ... of course you have the right to interfere."

"But they wanted to tell you themselves."

"THEY DON'T HAVE THAT!" Jaehyun suddenly became very loud and you could see his vein pulsing in his throat.

"It was a difficult decision, I just didn't know what to do." You keep sobbing and regretting what you did.

"After so many weeks of still not knowing, you should have told me."

"I wanted to, but ..."

"BUT? WHY COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT MY MOTHER HAS CANCER?"

"I am so sorry." You knew you made a mistake and you would love to give your all to undo it.

"Do you know what my last words to my mother was?" He looked at you, but it was so hard to look into his eyes.

"I said I didn't have time right now. I didn't have time, meanwhile she had no more time." It looked like Jaehyuns was hating himself right now.

"Please Jaehyun, I'm so sorry ..." You try to meet him, but he immediately turned away.

"I don't know if I can forgive you if those were my last words to her." Jaehyun was so upset and you could understand. But in your argument you forgot that the children were in the next room. Suddenly you hear Sunoh crying and when you turn around you see Miga holding her brother in her arms.

"Mummy, Daddy, don't fight." She also starts sobbing and is so sorry to see her like that. You quickly take a handkerchief and dry your tears.

"Daddy and I are just discussing. It's all good. Shall we go upstairs and play something?" The two nodded and you immediately go up the stairs with them.

Jaehyun didn't sleep with you that night. He had arranged everything to sleep in the study. It hurt you, but you could understand.

You look through the kitchen window into the study. Since your house was relatively glazed, everyone could see inside very well. Jaehyun was sitting on the sofa, his hair messed up. You wanted so badly to help him and be there for him, but you made a big mistake.

"Good morning, Mummy." Miga just came to you in the kitchen, already dressed in her school uniform and smiled.

"Good morning my dear. Can you bring this to Daddy?" You give her a small tablet with breakfast and coffee for Jaehyun. After all, you want him to eat something. Miga was kind and took the tablet and went over to the study. In the meantime you are preparing Miga and Sunoh's breakfast, but at the same time you are watching your daughter. Jaehyun opened the door immediately and took the tablet from her. He took Miga in his arms and kissed her head. It was sweet to see them like that, almost harmonious. However, it did not take long before Miga was with you again.

"Mummy?" She asked when you were giving her breakfast.

"Hmm?" You smile softly and give her a hot chocolate.

"Is Daddy sad?" She looked at you worried and you press your lips together.

"Yes because of his mummy."

"But Grandma only sleeps long, doesn't she?"

"Yes, but it could also be that she doesn't wake up anymore." Explaining death to your children wasn't easy. Seeing Jaehyun like that wasn't easy either. You can see that he took the coffee, but he didn't eat anything. You wanted to help him so badly. You knew what it feels like to lose a loved one.

"Mummyyyyy ..." You see how very sleepy Sunoh came to you. His eyes were still very small and his hair stood up.

"Good morning my big one." You smile and spread your arms. Sunoh sobbed and ran into your lap.

"Oh, what is wrong?" Somehow the mood in the house was strange.

"I had a nightmare." You pick up Sunoh and he buried his face in your shoulder.

"I hate nightmares," Miga then said and patted her brother's leg.

You look at the clock while you are eating and see that it was already late. You had to take Miga to school, but Jaehyun was so unstable that you didn't want to leave the three boys with him.

"Miga? Do you think that you are already that big and that you can prepare everything for school yourself? I have to get Kiwoo and Geon." You smile and Miga nodded very confidently.

"Very good. I'm sooo proud of you." You give her a kiss and go up to the bedroom.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Follow The Sound

BTS OT7 x Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,737

Release Date: April 13, 2020 @ 7 pm

Follow the sound of the pipe, follow this song. It’s a bit dangerous but I’m so sweet. I’m here to save you, I’m here to ruin you. You called me, see? I’m taking over you.

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, harassment, and child k*dnapping. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

           “We must do something! Surely there is someone who can help.”

           “Do you not think we’ve exhausted every possible option.”

           “The rats are eating our rations and overrunning our fields. At this rate, we’ll starve before winter comes.”

           “I always said that this was something we shouldn’t overlook, but all anyone did was call me the crazy rat lady.”

           “You all are over exaggerating. They’re rodents, not mythical beings.”

           “This is all a trial put forth by god to test us. We have sinned and this is our punishment.”

           YN glanced over to her son beside her, Felix was busy tugging at a string on his pants, he likely had toned out all the ‘adult talk’ though what was currently happening resembled more a screaming match, then a town hall meeting. Gently, YN patted his hair and the small child leaned against her, closing his eyes. It was past his bedtime, but YN had no one to care for him so she’d dragged him to the town meeting. Aware of how they would all look at her, the second she presented with the small child next to her. Felix was still too young to understand why the townsfolk resented him. Too young to understand that his parents youthful recklessness had led to his birth and their alienation from town. It was only once Hyunjin died that they’d accepted her back into the community, though very reluctantly.

           The mayor cleared his throat, causing the commotion to die down as they all looked upon the man. He was of short stature, pudgy, and balding. He’d helped the town survive through other disasters but the man now much older and less astute than when he was elected, was out of his depth. “I’ve contacted help, they should be arriving soon. I’ve been promised that within the week, all the rats will be gone.” Murmurs erupted throughout the whole crowd, Felix grumbled before settling more comfortably on the wooden bench. It wasn’t until Mr.Hart, the farmer, stood up that more questions were voiced, “How much is all this going to cost?” When the mayor remained silent, chaos ensued.

           YN dug her nails into her palm at the talk of money. Their town wasn’t the wealthiest, most of them managing to scrape by. So if the price was too high, they wouldn’t be able to pay but that brought along more issues. An infestation would ensue and ravage their homes. Finally the mayor spoke again, his voice resonating throughout the old wooden church. “Prices will be discussed once the magnitude is assessed. There is no need to worry, all of us will pitch in with what we can. They’re very reasonable people.” That seemed to calm most people, but YN saw the nervous twitch of the mayor’s brow. She’d long been able to detect whenever the man lied, she had to after all Hyunjin’s father was a deceitful man hiding behind the title of mayor.

           Their eyes met and YN looked away quickly, focusing on her son beside her and how he’d managed to fall asleep despite all the chaos around him. The sound of the doors opening indicated that the meeting was adjourned, but YN waited until everyone else shuffled out of the church before waking up her son and walking out with him.

Something gleamed in the moonlight, at first YN couldn’t tell what it was but the iridescent material shined in a way nothing else did in the darkness of the town. There were two figures standing near the middle of the road, but as YN got closer she realized there were more people, they just blended into one another. Each stood tall with a robe adorning their figures, each a different color. YN couldn’t tell anything else from them in the dark lighting, but they all stood surrounding a man - one much shorter in stature. Who looked familiar. Felix, seemingly intrigued by the same thing she was, immediately recognized the man. For a child’s eyes are always sharper and keener, than that of an adult. “Mommy it’s grandpa.”

That very sentence struck fear in YN’s heart, she should’ve turned around but she was already so far from town and her house lay more down the road. She would have to pass the men. “Felix come, I’ll carry you.” The boy didn’t complain as it meant, he wouldn't have to walk. YN moved off the paved ground, trying to get far enough where they might not be able to notice her. Sadly it was too late.

“Ah, there you are.” Mayor Hwang beckoned her closer, reluctantly she neared. Now she could see seven figures, not including Hwang, and they all looked at her with dark expressions on her face. YN tightened her grasp on Felix and pushed his head into her neck. “Good Evening Mayor. What can I help you with?” Her voice came out strong, surprising YN herself. She focused on the mayor trying to read him, but she gathered nothing from his gaze. “These men here,” he gestured to those behind him, “are the ones I’ve enlisted to help with our rodent problem.” YN finally met one of their gazes, the tallest one, his features stretched to a polite smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, I hope the problem can be resolved.” She said, speaking to all of them.

“Yes, yes.” The mayor shot her a pointed look. “They require a place to stay, whilst they deal with the rats. I’ve offered them hospice at the Inn, free of charge of course. I was wondering if you could escort them there, are you not on your way as well?” Any outsider might’ve assumed the Inn was just that, but that was how the mayor referred to her home. The one Hyunjin had built with his bare hands as part of his plan to help the town, of course, they’d all ridiculed him until they saw how beautiful it was. After he’d passed it became an Inn for those traveling or diplomats. It was the only way YN could scrape some money together, here the mayor was inviting seven strangers into her home. There had to be more to it. However, from the pointed look he sent toward Felix she’d have no choice but to oblige.

“Of course, follow me please.” YN turned around and began to walk towards her home. She hoped Hwang had the decency to accompany them, but it seemed the man was insistent on proving her wrong at every point. “Well, I bid you goodnight then. YN is an excellent hostess, enjoy yourself, fellas.” There was something hidden in those words, but YN refused to dwell on it for it might spring tears to her eyes. The eight of them walked in silence, for the most part, it wasn’t until Felix began to groan and complain. “I’m hungry mommy. Tired too.” YN tried to shush him, but she knew how grumpy he could get. She tried to adjust him in her arms but struggled to keep him up much longer. Her arms shaking slightly.

One of the men stepped forward, walking beside her. “I could carry him if you’d like.” He looked young, though still older than her. A smile played on his lips that made him look harmless, it reminded her of Hyunjin slightly. “I’d hate to -” But the man insisted, reluctantly she handed Felix over who seemed much more comfortable in the stranger's arm. He even whispered softly, “You smell nice Mr.” Which caused the group behind her to let out small chuckles. YN didn’t want to admit, but it set her nerves at ease just a bit. Finally, the Inn was in sight and YN took out the keys from her pocket, she’d have the men settle in first. Her room and Felix’s always remained locked so there would be no fear the men would go in there.

They quickly poured in once she entered, now in candlelight, their robes looked black and YN wondered if her eyes had tricked her before. “Um, the bedrooms are to the left. If you need anything feel free to let me know. Breakfast is served at seven, lunch at noon, and dinner at seven.” The tallest of the group smiled, dimpled cheeks on display. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll try not to intrude too much.” YN waved him off, though it was more out of politeness than anything else. “Please, you're guests. Once again thank you for helping with the rats.” The men all nodded, they all excused themselves to go into rooms except for the youngest who remained by your side.

“Where should I place him?” He asked Felix had fallen asleep on him. Soft snores escaping him. YN stepped forward, “It’s alright I can take him now.” A smile was on the man’s lips again, “Please it is the least I can do.” YN led him to her room, unlocking the door and letting him step in first. Felix was placed on the bed before the man stood straight again.

“Thank you…”

“Jungkook. It’s nice to meet you, YN.”

“Same.”

Before much else could be said, Jungkook excused himself and left her chambers. YN let out a sigh of relief once her door was closed and locked. She stripped off her clothes and put on her nightgown, slipping into bed with her son beside her. As sleep began to overtake her, a sweet melody invaded the room. YN wasn’t sure where it came from, but it was the final push she needed to slip under.

 YN soon became accustomed to the men, enough to learn their habits and routine. Something she found strange as they’d only been around for three days, yet each time YN woke up she felt closer to them. Truthfully it also had to do with Felix. Her son didn’t have many friends, most of the townsfolk kept the other children away from him, YN had once tried to explain to him why but at only four years old it was difficult for him to grasp. However, it seems having the seven men around delighted him; it meant he had more people to play with and indulge him that wasn’t just his mother. Felix had favorites though, he’d confessed as much to you last night as you tugged him into bed. All of the men indulged him, but none had managed to capture him the way Yoongi did.

Perhaps, it was because his demure nature reminded Felix of his late-father but he enjoyed spending time with Yoongi. Even if the child was far too energetic for Yoongi’s docile nature.

“Yoongi let’s go play.”

“Yoongi can you read me a book.”

“Yoongi, how tall are you?”

“Yoongi, why are you so short?”

The latter always tended to ignore him, but once in a while he’d throw Felix a smile and ruffle his hair. That was how he’d kept his favor. Of course, YN always scolded Felix for ‘tiring out the guests,’ but the men would shrug and say they had fun with the child. “He keeps me young.” Seokjin would say, attempting to ease her. Truthfully it was an attachment that YN feared: that Felix would grow dependent on the men and they would leave, just like his father had. It was on their fifth day there, that her worst fears came to fruition.

YN had come back late from the town meeting where they discussed the growing rat problem, the men had promised that by the seventh day all the rats would be gone. The town was growing impatient though and talk of payment was scarce. YN, herself, didn’t know how she was going to pay the men but she would figure something else. It wasn’t about money, but respect, after all the men had done for Felix it was the right thing to do. YN quietly opened the door assuming they would all be in bed but was surprised to find them in the main area by the fire.

“Mommy misses him a lot though she doesn’t talk about him.” Felix was sitting on Yoongi’s lap, leaning back against his chest. YN felt her throat constrict at the scene. “She tries to smile, but it isn’t a happy smile.” Felix turned to look at the men surrounding him and shrugged, “Daddy said that I should be the man of the house when he left, but sometimes I forget so it’s up to mommy to do those things.” Hoseok flashed the little boy a pained smile, which the youngest reciprocated. “But it’s okay because since all of you have been here mommy’s smiled more. She looks happy now. I’m happy too because I finally have friends now.” YN struggled to hold back her tears, instead, she snuck past the group heading to her room.

“Ah YN there you are.” Jimin found her in the hall, tears strolling down her face. He gave her a knowing smile before helping her get on her feet. “Taehyung made some tea. Don’t you want some?” Jimin didn’t give her much of a chance to respond before dragging her back to the main area. YN sat next to Taehyung who offered her a cup, slowly Felix crawled down from Yoongi to his mother’s lap. Snuggling up beside her. The nine of them remained in silence, simply letting the sound of crackling firewood echo around the house. The tea was a bit spicy, but YN drank it nonetheless thankful for their kindness towards her and her son. Felix’s eyes began to droop and lull around the way they did when he tried to fight his sleepiness.

“Shh,” YN kissed his forehead tenderly, “Go to bed baby.” Felix nodded and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep. YN looked at the men before her, all gazing at her with pure warmth radiating from them. “Thank you for taking care of him. I don’t know how to repay you.” Namjoon shook his head, “No need to repay us YN. It’s our pleasure.” YN thanked him nonetheless. It was Hoseok who spoke up this time, “Felix was telling us about his dad. Did he pass away?” YN wanted to speak, but whenever she opened her mouth the words died in her throat. “Don’t feel pressured, YN. It’s alright.” It wasn’t though, she could see the curiosity in their eyes. The burning questions they had.

“Hyungjin’s never quite fit in around here. Never conform to the status quo. Both he and I fell in love at a young age and wished to marry. The issue is Hyungjin wasn’t religious, so the church refused to wed us and kicked us out of town. As a result, Felix was deemed a bastard. Money wasn’t easy to come by either, Mayor Hwang wanted his son to fall in line and refused to offer employment if he didn’t. So Hyungjin worked himself to the bone, trying to build both himself and the town. While traveling looking for money he caught the sweat, Felix and I never saw him again.”

YN didn’t realize she was crying until Jungkook wiped the tears off her face. The look of pity in his eyes caused YN to tear up more. Sensing the somber tone, Seokjin tried to lighten it. “How about some music?” Though the other’s still seemed on edge, YN laughed. “Please.” Out of his pocket, he pulled out a wooden flute. It was carved with intricate detail and inscribed at the very bottom were the words ‘Ego Tibi possidendam.’ Gently Seokjin placed his lips upon it and began to play. The tune was hauntingly beautiful, almost whimsical in nature yet still grounded. It entranced YN, she felt her worries lifting off her chest and a strong sense of ease overtaking her.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as YN felt something brush the shell of her ear. “It’s okay YN. Go to sleep.”

 “We shall not pay. How do we know the rats didn’t leave on their own?!”

“It might be a trick, maybe they released the rats.”

“I don’t trust them. They must be warlocks.”

YN couldn’t believe her ears, as she glanced around the room at the crowd. The rats were gone, but it seems the vermin had remained. The mayor stood up, “They have shown me the dead corpses of the rats. Drowned in the river.” Oh, thank god. At least someone had common sense and could guide the people the right way. It would be wrong not to pay the men when they’d completed their work accordingly. “However, I am concerned about how they managed to lure all the rats out. There were simply too many, more than we were aware of. I do believe this may have been planned.” YN didn’t even bother waiting until the meeting adjourned, rushing home despite the harsh stares sent her way.

The sun had just set when she’d arrived home, Felix was asleep and the men were nowhere to be found. YN just hoped she wasn’t too late, she rushed to her bedroom and lifted her bed taking out the bit of cash she had stored there. YN exited her bedroom and walked towards Namjoon’s quarters, hoping he was still awake. Hoping he hadn’t left yet. She raised her hand to knock when suddenly the door was yanked open, YN met Namjoon’s cold gaze and saw the others with him inside the room.

“I’m sorry to bother, but…” YN raised her palm, showing him the money. Instantly Namjoon’s gaze softened, but his eyes remained hooded. “I know it isn’t much. Nor is it what was promised, but it is all I have.” When Namjoon refused to take it she placed it in his palm, giving it a quick squeeze. Namjoon didn’t let go of her hand and tugged her into the room. Slowly the door closed behind her, the men were all sitting on the bed staring at her. The air in the room was tense and YN knew the men were upset they’d been cheated.

“We’ll be gone tomorrow morning.” Taehyung spoke, words sharp and clear. Though it was clear to YN that his aggression wasn’t directed towards her, it still made her flinch. “I understand. I will prepare something for you to take on your travels, so you don’t get hungry.” Yoongi shook his head, “No we’ll be gone by the time you wake.” Now she understood what this was. YN nodded, “I see. Well thank you for everything you’ve done for us, for me and Felix, I know he will miss you dearly.”

Jungkook stood up walking towards her, “Will you not miss us too?” There it was. The loaded question. “I will.” They all smiled at her, but it didn’t reach their eyes. Cautiously Jungkook reached out and grasped her hand, before lifting it up towards his lips and placing a kiss. YN felt her heart skip a beat, as the blood rushed towards her cheeks.

“YN look at us,” Her attention turned toward Jimin in the center of the bed. “Lock your doors tonight.”

 YN awoke to a pounding and screams, the sun had barely risen yet there was a loud commotion outside. She rushed out of bed and dressed quickly before rushing to open her bedroom door. “Where are they?!” YN was at a loss for words as an elderly woman screeched at her. “What? Who?” YN looked around frantically, only to see that most of the town had assembled in her house. “What do you mean who, you wench. The children? The men? Where are they?!” YN’s eyes widened as the woman’s words dawned on her. Quickly she pushed against the hoard to Felix’s room, throwing the door open - he was gone. “Where’s my son?” She turned around to look back at the townsfolk.

“All the children are gone. Those men have taken them.” YN fell to her knees, shock spreading through her form. No this can’t be happening. Mayor Hwang stepped out from the crowd, he walked towards YN and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It is alright child, we’ll find them. Just tell us where they are?” The squeeze he gave her shoulder might’ve been meant to be comforting, but instead, it spread dread throughout her. “I don’t know where they are.” Sending her one last pitying glance, Hwang stepped back allowing the angry mob to have their way with the innocent girl.

 It was evening when YN could move her limbs again, she struggled to get on her feet and deduced she must have several broken bones. She tried to limp to her bedroom but froze when she heard something. The townsfolk had left the Inns door open, not caring if an animal wandered in and finished her. They were probably hoping for it, now that she thought about it. An enchanting melody filled YN’s ears, beckoning her to come closer. YN practically crawled out the door, unable to resist the call. Even if she’d wanted to, her body seemed to behave independently of her mind. So YN walked and walked until she’d left the Inn and town far behind her. It was when the sound began to fade that YN became aware of her surroundings, she’d walked to a clearing where the moon shone brightly on a lake and the opening of a cavern lay. There she saw Felix standing among the seven men, dressed in fine garments and with a smile on his face.

“Mommy you made it!”

YN ran with all her might, ignoring the pain and bleeding, not stopping until she reached her son and embraced him in her arms. “Mommy, why are you hurt?” YN simply cried, shaking her head and holding her son as close to her as she possibly could. “It’s okay mommy, we’ll be safe now.” YN glanced up at the seven men, crying harder when they looked at her with nothing but affection. Seokjin patted her head, “Let us go now, YN. It’s no longer safe for the two of you to stay here.”

YN wanted to ask about the other children, about what they’d done but was unable to form the words. As she gazed at the bright smile on her son’s face, she smiled too before nodding. Jungkook picked Felix up in his arms before Hoseok carried her. The nine of them slowly entering the cave and disappearing from sight.

Sorry it took so long to upload this. My computer was giving me major issues, but I hope you like it @thebiasrekkers. I worked really hard on it.

[stillchaoticlogic]

Falling: Chapter 3

Pairing: Raihan x Reader

Falling in love is easy…

It’s falling out of love that’s the hard part.

As you try to run from old feelings you meet someone who is determined to bring the spark back into your eyes. Raihan isn’t sure what happened in the past and he doesn’t care. He’s got one shot to make you his and he’s going to take it.

First Chapter: Here

Second Chapter: Here

Cry for Me

Gazing down at the phone on the table you watched as it lit up again for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. You heave a sigh when Hau’s name pops up on the screen. Leaning forward you pull the phone towards you and answer it. 

“Hello?”

“(NAME!) YOU ANSWERED!” his voice loud in his excitement.

“Yeah sorry for leaving so abruptly… and the radio silence… I got a job opportunity and had to act fast. Things got crazy quickly. How are you? How’s being champion?”

“I-I wish you were here… When will you be back?” His voice is rife with self-consciousness. He’s scared.

“I...don't know…” your answer is hesitant. 

“But! I need you here! We all do! We miss you!”

“And I miss you guys too, but I need to do this for me. I need this opportunity.”

“Is this because I took your job?” he sounds guilty.

“Hau… Alola is no place for me anymore and I need to move on. This has nothing to do with you.”

“But...you left… Are you mad at Kukui? He said something seemed to be bothering you…”

“I’m not mad at Kukui, I just needed to leave. I have opportunities here that I didn’t in Alola. I need a break and to heal from some things.”

“Heal? What happened?”

“I’m tired Hau… I’m just overwhelmed with things and I have some things to sort through…”

“So you won’t talk to me about it, what about grandpa?”

Thinking of Hala, the island Kahuna and Hau’s grandfather makes you feel even guiltier. He had become like a grandfather to you and while he had encouraged you to leave, you hadn’t told him of your plans either. 

“Hau, I’m going to be fine. If I need to talk to Hala about anything I’ll call him okay?”

“So you aren’t coming back?”

“I have been offered a job in Galar and I’m taking it.”

“But isn’t that guy their champion?! What are you even going to do!?”

“I’m the new...chairwoman… of their league.”

He’s silent for a moment. 

“You’re really not coming back…”

“...No…I’m not…”

“I’ve got to go… I have a match… I’ll…”

“Hau! Wait!”

“Bye (Name)...”

You close your eyes in pain at the sound of the call ending. He’ll be fine, you know this, but you wish you had handled this differently. In your desperation to get away from Kukui you had left everyone else without an explanation too. 

“I can’t believe I fell in love with a married man…” you grumble to yourself as you throw your phone onto the table. Rotom buzzes in annoyance and you quietly apologize to him. 

Your phone rings again this time it’s Leon calling. 

You answer it and put on a brave face, “Hey Leon! How are you?”

“Hey! I’m good! I heard you had a good day with Raihan!”

“I did!” you say with a laugh remembering the banter between you and the Dragon-type gym leader. 

“Well, we’re going to start touring the gyms tomorrow! I figured we would start with the first three and then go down the line. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good! How long will the tour take? I need to start looking for a place to live and I should probably start prepping for the next tournament right? It’s a month away?”

“Don’t worry! This shouldn’t take more than a week… You can also scout places to live while we travel around!” 

“Sounds good! What time can I expect you tomorrow?”

“Does eight work for you?”

“Yeah that works!”

“Perfect! I’ll meet you tomorrow morning then!”

You say your goodbyes and the two of you hang up. The light padding of Aurora your Alolan Ninetails alerts you to her presence. Ember your non-Aloan Ninetails following close behind. The duo finds themselves on either side of you on the couch. You lean back as the fire and ice foxes endeavor to curl up next to you. 

“You know the two of you aren’t Vulpix anymore right?”

They both look mildly affronted before they settle themselves half on you and half on the couch. 

“Yes… well, I’m so excited about this bonding time…”

They promptly ignore you and continue to lay happily in your lap. You close your eyes and recall the day you just had. Raihan seems to be a fun guy, you can see yourself being friends with him. You’ll need those here, friends. You recall the way he held you while you watched the sun go down and you try to recall a recent moment when you laughed as much as you did today. A ping interrupts your musings and Rotom hovers in front of you. 

Dragon Boi: So did you have fun on our first date? Is tomorrow too soon for a second?

You: It was a rather good first date… too bad there wasn’t a kiss at the end… Where is that Leon?

Dragon Boi: Still?! You know if it’s a kiss you want I can be there in about twenty minutes right? 

You: Twenty minutes? I thought you were in Hammerlocke?

Dragon Boi: I’m staying with Leon tonight since we’re starting the tour so EARLY tomorrow!

You: Oh? Tell him to come. 

You: I’ll be waiting eagerly!

Dragon Boi: I thought we had something but you’re using me to get to Leon, aren't you?

You: Yep. 

Dragon Boi: Damn that’s cold… I thought we had a better time than that…

Dragon Boi: I thought we were going to get married, but if you really want Leon…

You: So dramatic…. 

Dragon Boi: Dramatic?!

Dragon Boi: Naw I am… I’m not gonna lie to you about that…

You: hahahahahaaa

You: I did have fun today and if you’re there tomorrow I’m sure I’ll enjoy the tour. 

Dragon Boi: Wait.

Dragon Boi: did you just ADMIT to having fun…

Dragon Boi: With ME

You: Well not if you’re going to make a big deal out of it…

Dragon Boi: Still.

Dragon Boi: You had fun today.

Dragon Boi: With me.

You: Yes…. congratulations… 

Dragon Boi: Thank you thank you

Dragon Boi: Our wedding will be spectacular

You: All I ask is that we fly away on your Flygon after the ceremony. I want a truly memorable exit!

Dragon Boi:  Ugh! I woman after my own heart. You can have anything you want my queen!

You: Queen?

Dragon Boi: Don’t like it?

You: Oh no… quite the opposite… I could get used to that…

Dragon Boi: Good. You deserve to be someone’s queen. I don’t mind volunteering for the role of your king either… just sayin…

You: Very funny Raihan…

Dragon Boi: I’m being serious! I’m just sayin if the position is open… I will happily fill it. 

You: I’ll consider it…

You: Good night Raihan…

Dragon King: Good night my queen. 

You bite your lip to keep the smile at bay, you can’t get involved with a man you just met as a means of getting over Kukui. Even if that man is sweet, funny, charming, handsome, strong and kind. Nope. Absolutely not. 

Your screen lights up indicating Kukui is calling you and without even thinking about it you mumble the word that you’ve felt all along. 

“Reject.”

Falling into bed that night your pokemon curl themselves around you the best they can. They’ve been extra concerned about you lately and they rarely leave your side. You can feel their protective auras surround you and you love it. You love them. You don’t like that they are worried, but feeling their concern makes you feel loved. 

The next morning you are greeted by both Leon and Raihan in the lobby. Raihan is quick to greet you with breakfast and coffee, both of which you take happily. 

“Ahh my hero has brought me coffee again!”

“Of course milady!”

You chuckle as you take the breakfast sandwich from him and the coffee. Leon chuckles at the interaction before he interjects. 

“You kids ready to go?”

“Hush Leon, I’m being pampered right now! Can’t you see that? You get me up at this ungodly hour and then try to deny me being showered with adoration. I think not.”

“You heard the lady, Leon… She wants me to adore her… this might take a while.”

Leon rolls his eyes at yours and Raihan’s antics, “The taxi is waiting.”

“Oh? Are we taking the goth bird taxi?” You ask as you take a bite of your sandwich.

“They are called Corviknight, and yes we are,” Leon answers.

“I want one… Where can I get one?”

“They are pretty common...They evolve from Rookidee.”

“Hmm… Rookidee…”

“We should be able to find you one today,” Raihan pipes in.

“That would be delightful! I really want to train some Galarian Pokemon…”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Dreepy! An Applin! I heard they evolve depending on the type of apple they eat. A Ponyta…” you continue to list the pokemon as you head out to the taxi.

“Dreepys are kind of hard to find… I’ll show you where they like to hide,” Leon says as he opens the door for you. 

“I have a pair of Volcarona…. Nothing is more annoying than searching for their annoying ass… I’m sure I’ll be fine!”

“You have 2?!” exclaims Leon in shock. 

“Yep… I have a pair. I was going to breed them, but they hate each other.”

“They hate each other?!” says Raihan in surprise. 

“Oh yeah… if I put them anywhere near one another they just fight.”

“That’s insane! Why don’t you ever battle with them?”

“Well I had a League sanctioned team that I had to use in Alola, and they weren’t on it. It was mostly to keep people from trying to go out and catch them. They live at the foot of volcanoes so not exactly the safest place for young trainers.”

“I can’t believe you have one let alone two!”

“I got bored…”

“Bored?”

“Yes… bored…”

“So you caught two pseudo legendary Pokemon?!”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“I really just want to know when our wedding is…” Raihan interjects as he gazes at you as if the sun rises and sets with you. 

“Wedding?!”

“Quiet Leon, can’t you see the man’s trying to propose?”

“Propose?!”

You arrive at Turrfield and head into the gym. You are greeted by a stout looking trainer with a dazzling smile. That’s why he’s the first gym leader, he instantly radiates comfort. 

“Milo! This is (Name), our new chairwoman. (Name)! This is Milo, he’s our first gym leader!”

“Very nice to meet you, Milo! I’m excited about touring your gym! Especially since I really want to know more about the gym challenges.”

“Likewise! Let me take you on the tour and explain my logic for the challenge.”

You stop in front of a large field and notice a bunch of sheep-like pokemon. 

“How cute!” you exclaim as you approach them. 

“My family is Wooloo farmers, we raise them for their wool. My challenge is to have the trainers herd about twenty of these little guys to the other end of the field.”

“What is your reasoning for having them herd them?”

“It shows patience. These young trainers have a long road ahead and a lot of work to do. Not to mention training new Pokemon is not easy. They need to prove they have the patience and discipline to advance.”

“That’s an excellent point!”

“So you approve?”

“It doesn’t matter if I approve, it’s your gym, you clearly know what you’re doing.”

“Why don’t you give it a shot?” Raihan asks as he comes up behind you. 

“Huh?” you murmur as you turn back to look at him.

“That’s a great idea!” exclaims Leon. 

“I don’t…”

“I think you should give it a shot!”

“Oh dear…” you mutter. 

You eventually relent and take your place. 

“This is ridiculous…” you mutter as you begin to herd the Wooloo towards the gate. You huff as one goes rogue and you have to chase after it. A couple of others break away and you have to roll them back. After a little back and forth you finally get all twenty at the other end. You trip and hear the men laughing at you as you pull yourself back up. The Yamper end up scaring the Wooloo and you pout as about five of them break away and scatter. With a huff, you rush back down the field until you are back at the beginning. 

“You know the Wooloo is down there?” Questions Raihan as he holds back a laugh. 

“Very funny…” you pout as you grab his and Leon’s hands and drag them behind you. 

“You’re going to help me though! Chop chop Milo!”

The three guys follow you out onto the field and you all head over to the Wooloo who are eyeing you all warily. The four of you end up laughing as you chase the wooly Pokemon up and down the field. Each one of you getting in the others way and changing directions at a moment's notice. You notice Raihan’s Rotom filming the event as you all rush around happily chasing after the Wooloo. When you had all of the Wooloo at the end of the field you all collapse at the end and laugh until you can’t breathe. 

“Was that what you were expecting?”

“It was something all right!” 

You leave the gym chuckling to yourself before you all head over to the Hulbury gym and meet Nessa. The Raging Wave is everything you would expect her to be. 

“So, you’re whipping these boys into shape?” She asks as the two of you head out of her gym. The afternoon sun drying your damp clothes after completing her gym challenge.

“Oh, you know it…”

She laughs as she bumps your arm, “I love it! So the real question is when are you going to battle Leon? You could be our next champion…”

You chuckle, “I have no intention of being a champion right now… Perhaps in the future, I’ll take him on, but right now I’m just enjoying life.”

“Like you could beat ‘The Unbeatable Champion,’” Leon says as he poses. 

“Are you posing? For no reason…?” you ask in confusion. 

“He does that… So weird…” you mumble before waving to Nessa. 

“Let’s get lunch soon! I’ll need some girl time before this is all over!” 

Raihan drapes his arm around your shoulder as you head off down the road. 

“You got it!” Nessa yells back. 

“Aww, you made a friend…” Raihan says as he pulls you close to him. 

“It would seem so…”

“That’s good, I’m glad it was Nessa?”

“Why is that?”

“Well, Nessa and I go way back…”

“And?”

“No reason…”

“He’s already asked Nessa to put a good word in for him,” Leon says with a grin as he walks along behind you.

“He did?!”

“BRO?!”

“Oh yeah…”

“BRO?!”

You throw your head back and laugh, “Dragon Boy is pulling out all the stops…”

Raihan looks away from you and goes to pull his arm back. 

You chuckle as you wrap your arms around his waist and look up at him through your lashes, “You know Rai…”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t need a good word…”

“I don’t?”

“Of course not… We’re getting married remember?” You ask as you pull away from him and rush down the street. 

“Hey wait!”

“No way!! I heard there were Vulpix at the Motostoke gym! I want to pet the baby floofs!” you yell over your shoulder as you rush off down the street.

“So how bad do you have it?” questions Leon with a laugh. 

“Pretty bad… I mean I’m pretty sure she’s perfect…”

“Yeah, I figured… you’ve already proposed and you’ve only known her two days!”

Raihan laughs as he scratches the back of his neck, he can see your silhouette as you rush down the pathway back towards Motostoke.

“Yeah… that’s a... uh…. Running joke…”

“Well, she seems to be running with it too…”

“Nah… She’s not serious… She’s been hurt and she’s dealing with herself right now.”

“Then be there for her. Be the friend she needs now and who knows man, when she’s ready maybe you will get the chance to propose to her?”

Raihan laughs, “So we’re just jumping straight into marriage.”

“Were you or were you not straight-up pampering her this morning? Just adore her and treat her like she’s the most sublime woman you’ve ever met and if things fall into place then you know.”

“She is the most sublime woman I’ve ever met…”

“Are you saying that as her fan or as a man? Remember, just like you’re more than ‘Raihan the Dragon-Type Gym Leader,’ she’s more than ‘(Name) The Alolan Champion.’”

“I know that!” 

“Just… remember to treat her like a person and not just your idol. She’ll love that too.”

“Since when did your single ass get good at giving dating advice?”

Leon glared over at Raihan, “I date!”

“Since when?”

“Shut up…”

By the time the duo arrived at the gym Kabu was chuckling as you clutched about three Vulpix to your chest. 

“I want to take them all home with me!” you exclaim as you bury your face against the soft fur. 

“I don’t think you need 5 more Vulpix when you have two Ninetails already,” Leon says in exasperation. 

You gasp dramatically, “Leon! How dare you? You can NEVER have too many Vulpix!”

Raihan laughs, “What if we head to the wild area tomorrow and find a Dreepy for you?”

You narrow your eyes but nod, “That’s acceptable.”

“Why do I feel like we just got played?” questions Leon. 

“Because you did… I was doing some research, I would also like a Toxel!”

 “Shouldn’t we be focusing on the tour?” Leon asks. 

“Oh, come on Leon! The Wild Area is right outside the city, plus we can explore while we head back to Hammerlocke,” Raihan interjects. 

“It would be nice to be able to start familiarizing myself with some of the native pokemon as well,” you chime in.

“Still…”

“Leon… I’ve been running a league for the past 3 years… Don’t worry I’ll have everything taken care of. Plus I wanted to check out the area around Hammerlocke, since it’s central, I think it would be a good city to move to.”

“Really?!” questions Raihan. 

“Yeah! That whole gothic castle look is to die for too. I’ve had my eye on it since I got here!”

Raihan smiles as he watches you go back to playing with the fire foxes, ‘Things are looking up…’ he thinks happily.

Note: Hey everyone! I hope you all had a great Holiday! I know I did! I’m having way too much fun playing FFX for the Switch. If you haven’t ever played it...highly recommend! I like this chapter but the next one will be even better! Raihan is totally catching a Dreepy isn’t he? Love. Please as always let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you all!

[cakesunflower]

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 18

A/N: so sorry for the......6 month wait omg. hope y’all missed Aspen, Calum, and Luna as much as i did. yeeeee happy reading!

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Chapter 18

“IT’S LIKE PULLING teeth, trying to get them to talk,” Mali whispered, leaning towards Aspen as she spoke, eyes on the scene in front of her rather than on the wine glass she was cleaning with a dish towel. “It’s painful to watch.”

Aspen’s throat worked. She could only see Calum’s profile from where she was standing, his dark eyes set on the television as it played Home Alone. He sat on the single lounge chair, while his mom sat on the smaller couch opposite of him and his dad and Luna occupied the other couch opposite of the TV. The two of them seemed to be in their own world, Luna having gotten along with her grandpa exceedingly well, talking amongst themselves about the movie. Calum was pretending to pay attention to the movie, while Joy was pretending not to be staring over at him occasionally.

That’s how dinner had gone. It was awkward and seemed to drag on forever, but at least Aspen had Mali on her side, the two of them making up for Calum’s silence at the table. It wasn’t like he didn’t speak at all, dropped a sentence or two here and there, but he didn’t directly speak to his parents. Well, at least not to his mom, anyway. He was still upset with his dad by association, but the true object of his anger was Joy, and he wasn’t too subtle about it either.

Not even the pretty Christmas lights they’d decorated the apartment with could bring a sense of tranquility and joy. Not to this group, anyway.

Aspen would be exasperated by his lack of trying if all of this wasn’t her doing to begin with. She called his parents behind his back. She’s the one who invited them for Christmas dinner and ambushed Calum with it. Shit, what had she been thinking?

The sound of Luna’s giggles broke through Aspen’s thoughts, and she felt herself relax a little bit. At least she could count on her daughter to lighten the mood.

“I don’t know what to do,” Aspen responded to Mali quietly, gripping the bottle of wine. She was ready to down the whole thing by herself. With a disgruntled hand running through her hair, Aspen added, “This was a terrible idea.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Mali disagreed, wiping the last glass. “You’re just trying to save Cal’s relationship with our parents, like any caring partner would want to do. It’s not your fault they’re being stubborn about this.”

Aspen wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, but—” She sighed, eyebrows drawing together in distress, looking towards the living room before her gaze met Mali’s again. In a quiet voice, she added, “I knew he wasn’t ready to move forward and I pushed him anyway. I didn’t—” Aspen paused, frowning as her gaze dropped to the counter, twisting her lips as the guilt started creeping through her veins. “I didn’t give him enough time to be angry—”

“He needs to let that anger out before it becomes too much,” Mali told her. “He needs to say his piece and try to move on. What’s done is done and no one can change the past, no matter how much we all want to, and the sooner Calum accepts it, the sooner he’ll feel that burden lift from his shoulders.”

Aspen took a breath, processing Mali’s words. She was still afraid of pushing Calum, not wanting to push him too far and have him be upset with her again—truthfully, she wasn’t even sure if they were okay from the last time they argued about the very situation. Ever since the arrival of his parents, he’s been in an off mood, which Aspen had expected, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed with his lack of trying after he said he would try. She knew she was at fault for springing all of this on him, knew that if he didn’t hold up his end of the promise then she couldn’t entirely blame him. Still, the dismay was present when all throughout dinner Calum didn’t really make conversation, didn’t engage if it wasn’t with her or his sister or Luna.

Before Aspen could say anything to Mali, Joy’s voice sounded from the living room. “I think it’s time we get going; it’s getting late.”

“No.” Aspen didn’t realize it was she who had protested Joy’s statement until all eyes were on her. Though, all Aspen could feel were Joy’s surprised ones and Calum’s irritated ones as he looked at her over his shoulder. Taking a breath, Aspen offered an encouraging smile. “We haven’t had dessert yet and I was just about to open the wine. Please stay, at least for a little bit.”

She figured, in that moment, she didn’t really want Calum’s parents to leave until at least there was some kind of step forward made. Was she pushing it? Maybe.

“We can’t force ’em if they wanna go, Aspen.” Her eyes met Calum’s dark ones, noted the silent way he told her to just let it go. To let them leave. There was a hint of edge present in the undertones of his casual voice, and Aspen fought from rolling her eyes because she knew he could’ve pretended harder if he wanted to.

“Noooo, I want Grandma and Grandpa to stay!” Luna whined, sitting up on the couch with a frown and pout on her face. Looking at Joy with a puppy dog look the five year old had terrifyingly mastered already, Luna begged, “Please stay! There’s cake and cookies.” Looking at David, she added, “Home Alone isn’t done yet.”

“Lunes,” Calum started, tone genuinely becoming soft as he addressed his daughter. “It might start snowing soon and they can’t be on the road when it does.”

Mali and Aspen both exchanged flat expressions at the lie. It wasn’t going to snow, Aspen knew for a fact, and Calum lying to Luna about it just so she’d possibly drop the subject was ridiculous. So with a lick of her lips and trying to keep her tone even, Aspen said, “Hey, Cal, can I talk to you for a second?”

His gaze met hers once again, the tension in the room returning as she nodded towards the hallway. She noted the way his throat worked in annoyance before pushing himself to his feet, and Aspen shot everyone else a quick reassuring grin as she walked out of the kitchen. They went to Calum’s bedroom and Aspen felt his presence behind her looming as they reached the room, and she shut the door behind her before turning to face him.

Together, both of them demanded simultaneously, “What the hell are you doing?”

Calum exhaled forcefully as Aspen’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? I’m trying to salvage your relationship with your parents.”

He shook his head, jaw tight before retorting, “That’s not your concern, Aspen.”

“We’re partners, Calum, so yeah, it is.”

She saw the anger flash across his face, accompanied by a sense of hurt she hadn’t expected as Calum returned, the edge back in his voice, “If we’re partners then you should be on my fuckin’ side!”

Aspen blinked on an expression of incredulity, lips parting as she inhaled a surprised breath at Calum’s accusation. There was a brief numb silence in the space of the room before Aspen’s brain caught up with her. “I am on your side, Calum,” she exclaimed, fighting to keep her voice low enough so it didn’t travel to the living room where everyone else was. But it was hard to keep her voice from raising with the surprise Calum’s accusation brought. For him to think she wasn’t with him was upsetting and insulting. “I just—I want you to say what you need to say to them and try to move past this.”

Calum gave a shake of his head, slow and defeated. “There’s nothing left to say, Aspen,” he said, voice lower yet still carrying that same level of intensity. He licked his lips as his dark eyes flickered past her and towards the door, thinking of who was currently in his living room, and he expelled a breath. Looking back at Aspen, he continued, “I’ve already said how pissed and upset I am. I’ve told her how she’s fucked up and she’s apologized and I don’t know where we go from here.”

Her heart bled for Calum and the pain he still so obviously was in, attempting to hide it behind anger and stubbornness. But she knew Calum, and as much as it hurt to see him hurt, to see how difficult it was for him to have his parents here, Aspen knew for a fact that he wouldn’t truly feel better until all of this was done with. Calum had always been so close with his parents, was a family oriented man that could be seen in his relationship with Luna, and to see his relationship with his parents crumbled into dust was heartbreaking.

Forgiving Joy wasn’t something Aspen ever thought she was capable of. For the longest time, she hated the woman for everything that happened. But holding onto those kind of strong, negative emotions wasn’t doing her any good. It was only weighing Aspen down, sometimes suffocating her, and it wasn’t until things with Calum had been mended and she finally decided to forgive his mom that Aspen could feel completely okay again. And it was no secret her accident played a big part in Aspen wanting things for Calum to be alright, too. Life was too short to remain under a dark cloud of anger.

“You move forward, bub,” Aspen told him, her own tone growing soft as she took a step towards him, green eyes never leaving his brown. “We can’t change what happened, but we can change how we go from here. I know how much it hurts you to not have your parents, your mom, in your life like you used to. I—”

“I have you and Luna,” Calum cut in, eyebrows drawing together in a subtle frown.

Aspen pressed her lips together into a kind, genuine smile. “You do,” she agreed with a nod. Calum’s throat worked as Aspen looked at him, and she felt herself take a breath. Her shoulders sank in acceptance, her hand finding his. A warmth spread through Aspen as he looked down at their joined hands, maneuvering his fingers to interlock with hers, the sensation of his cool rings one she never tired of. “And if you genuinely feel. . . Complete. . . with us—which is totally and utterly fine—then I will go back into the living room and tell your parents goodnight.”

Calum blinked a couple of times at her words, taking a breath as he lifted his chin, eyes never leaving Aspen’s. She didn’t look away, either, wanting him to know that she genuinely meant it. Sure, Aspen wanted Calum to make amends with his parents, and maybe it was a little too late to realize, but she shouldn’t have pushed him on the matter. She understood why he’d been so pissed off when she told him she’d invited his parents, understood that she’d crossed a line. If Calum genuinely did not want to engage with his parents, if he was content with not restoring a relationship, then Aspen would support him. She couldn’t force him more than she already had, not if she wanted to fuck up their relationship.

Supporting Calum was all that mattered.

“You would?”

Aspen’s smile softened, squeezing his hand, taking yet another step towards him. Her heart thudded within her chest at the look he gave her, uncharacteristically shy and looking so small, and it only reminded Aspen of how difficult this was for him. She nodded. “If that’s what you want, then yeah.”

He was silent as he considered her words, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as he chewed at it thoughtfully. She let him have his time, let him carefully think about what he wanted their next move to be. It concerned all of them, but this was Calum’s decision to ultimately make. Aspen felt badly about taking the choice away from him in the first place, and the least she could do was be by his side and support whatever he chose.

She watched the muscles in his jaw tighten, her eyebrows drawing together worriedly as he squeezed his eyes shut, head lowered as he shook it. Through gritted teeth, Calum confessed, “I want to move on but I just. . . I don’t know how.”

Aspen’s free hand lifted to cup his cheek, lifting his head to connect their gazes once again after he opened his eyes. She offered him a sweet smile. “We can figure it out together.”

They entered the living room, the credits for the movie on TV now rolling, everyone’s eyes on Calum and Aspen as they walked back in. Expectant expressions were painted across all of their faces, and Aspen took a breath before smiling at her daughter. “Hey, Lunes, why don’t you go show Aunt Mali all the presents you got, huh?”

The five year old grinned, jumping off from the couch with Duke hot on her heels as she ran over to where Mali stood, grabbing her aunt’s hand as she tugged. “Come on, Aunt Mali!”

The blonde grinned happily, letting her niece pull her along as her dark eyes met Calum and Aspen’s briefly. She understood the need to get Luna out of the room, happy to comply as she silently agreed to keep the little girl occupied.

An anticipating silence fell upon the room as Luna’s giggles soon silenced behind the closed door of her bedroom. Joy and David watched them patiently, and Aspen glanced at Calum in time to watch him take a breath before gesturing to the couches. “We should, uh, sit down, I guess.”

His parents shuffled around the coffee table, settling on the smaller couch against the wall as Aspen followed Calum to the one diagonal of them. It was silent in the room save for the ever so subtle thick clinking of the chains Calum wore, disappearing under the neckline of his full sleeved dark red sweater. He ran his fingers through his curls, ruffling the shaggy dark locks before he interlaced his fingers together. Calum bowed his head, lips parting as he ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, running the words through his head before he finally spoke.

“I’ve told you how I feel. . . And I know how sorry you are.” His words were slow, careful, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he uttered them. Aspen watched him, knowing he was thinking while he spoke, making sure whatever was running through his mind, whatever he was feeling in his heart, was properly articulated. “I just don’t know where we go from here—how we find. . . A sense of normalcy in all this.”

“We find it slowly, son,” David spoke up, his voice a wave of smooth calmness as he looked at Calum. He glanced at Joy before looking back at his son, adding, “This won’t be an overnight thing, we understand that. Still, we would. . .” David let out a soft sigh, his hand finding Joy’s before nodding at Calum. “We would like to try and earn back your trust.” His eyes met Aspen’s. “Both of yours.”

“That’s—” Calum breathed out with a shake of his head, wringing his fingers together as he let out a forced chuckle. Aspen pressed her teeth together as she watched him, wanting to jump in with something. Anything. But Calum needed to do this. So she resorted to resting a hand on his knee, a comforting act of encouragement. “That’s not goin’ to be easy.” Calum looked up, looked at his parents, expression a mixture of the conflict he was fighting and tiredness from it all. “You gave me everything I could’ve asked for, but took away the family I never knew I had.” Twisting his lips, Calum added, “Trust and forgiveness, that’s gonna take some time.”

Joy nodded, looking desperate for some kind of relief, some kind of step forward they all were in search for. “There’s no rush,” she assured with a somewhat nervous smile. She looked between both Calum and Aspen, and even though this was about her boyfriend getting back on the right path with his parents, Aspen was appreciative of Joy and David making her feel included in this. Her and Calum were partners; she was glad his parents saw it, too. “Take all of the time you need. Whatever you think is best for your family, it’s how we’ll deal with this, okay?”

Aspen watched as Calum rolled his lips into his mouth, considering their words. She knew that Calum, just like her, was taking note of how Joy and David were giving them the power, a vast difference from the part they’d played in when it came to the situation that led to all of this in the first place. They were in total control over what was to happen, how they were going to move from here, and the importance of that wasn’t lost on Aspen or Calum. They had basically been kids when they’d unknowingly gotten into this mess with his parents; now they were adults, with a daughter to think about and a family they had no intention of ever losing. They were finally in control, just like they should’ve been since the beginning.

Calum nodded, biting the inside of his lower lip as he sat up, shoulders straight. He sniffed, rubbing under his nose with a finger as he looked at his parents once more. Then his gaze shifted over to Aspen, his expression softening once his brown eyes met her encouraging green. A small smile tilted at his lips, hand coming to rest on top of hers that was on his knee. He took a breath, decided and sure. “Baby steps.”

She nodded along, mirroring his smile, turning her hand under his to properly hold his hand. “Yeah,” she agreed, returning the meaningful look he cast her way before shifting her gaze to his parents. “I’m sure we’ll figure this out.”

For the next hour or so, they brought Luna and Mali back out before they divulged into the wine and desserts Aspen had promised. The shift in the air was noticeable, the tension from before having dissipated significantly. Aspen sipped her wine, watching Calum finally be at ease for the first time since his parents’ arrival, Luna sitting on his lap as he held a plate with a slice of chocolate cake, feeding both himself and her. Mali had decided on playing some music, finding a Christmas playlist on Spotify, to keep the light mood in the air. Aspen figured she was maybe worried that lack of it would bring back the tension from before. Aspen found the gesture cute—and probably needed.

Joy and David didn’t leave until everything was cleared out, both Joy and Mali insisting on helping out in the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes and put the leftovers in the fridge. When it was time for Calum’s parents and sister to head out to their hotel, they all gathered by the door, Luna insisting on hugging her grandparents and aunt goodbye. As Mali pulled Aspen in for a hug, she rubbed her back before whispering, “Good job.”

Aspen let out a quiet, breathless chuckle at that, Mali grinning as they pulled away, the two of them sharing a pointed look. And then Joy stepped up in front of Aspen, bringing her a step away from everyone else, and Aspen still felt a prickle of surprise when Joy took her hand in hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” the older woman whispered, the sincerity crystal clear in her eyes. “It means a lot that you invited us. And it shows just how much you care about Calum.” A sadness swept over Joy’s face as she gave a regretful shake of her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it before.”

Throat working, Aspen felt her heart stop for a brief moment at Joy’s apology, taking a breath. The sense of relief was only growing at this point. “I know you are,” Aspen nodded, offering a kind smile. “Thank you for coming.”

Luna ended up in her arms after hugging her grandfather goodbye, and Aspen rubbed at the little girl’s back as Luna rested her head in the crook of her neck, tired after the day’s festivities. She gently swayed her, the movement subtle yet still soothing Luna, as she watched Calum bid his mom goodnight.

“Our flight isn’t until seven tomorrow night,” Joy was saying to Calum. Aspen watched them, trying and failing not to do so, noting how small Calum’s mother looked in front of him. Not just because of their physical height difference; she took in the way Joy, a woman she’d always known to be assertive and bold in her own right, seemed to fold into herself. She hugged herself, as if she was protecting herself from any oncoming rejection, totally uncharacteristic and Aspen understood why as Joy added, “Would it be alright to see you before we go?”

She spoke with trepidation, not wanting to push her luck after only just beginning the process of making amends. Aspen watched on as Calum looked at his mother for what seemed like minutes that stretched on forever, until he finally answered with a single nod, “Yeah.”

Joy smiled in return, shoulders sinking in relief, as the goodbyes and goodnights came to a close, Calum’s parents and sister leaving with smiles and waves as they closed the door behind them. Calum let out a sigh as he locked it, the night coming to an end, turning around just in time for Aspen to whisper, “Hey, you wanna put her to bed? I’m gonna clean up the living room.”

Calum nodded, gaze shifting to a near slumbering Luna, as he stepped forward and reached for his daughter. Luna easily shifted from her mother to her father, arms lazily going around Calum’s neck as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. He felt and heard her take a breath before snuggling closer to him, and it easily brought a gentle smile to his face as he walked down the apartment and towards her bedroom.

He settled her down on the bed, switching on the bedside lamp that provided for a dull glow as opposed to the harsh brightness of the ceiling light. Calum brushed some dark curls out of Luna’s face as she sleepily smacked her lips together, and he suppressed a fond chuckle as he made his way over to the dresser to get her pajamas out. He sat down on the edge of the bed, murmuring quiet encouragements to the little girl who was seconds away from completely falling asleep as he changed her into her pajamas.

But just as Calum laid her upper half back down after putting on her shirt, thinking she was already mostly asleep, Luna spoke up. “I had fun today.” She spoke in a slow, tired drawl, a bit of a wistful hum in her voice as Calum settled her blankets over her.

He sat right next to her on the edge of the bed, hands on either side of her as he looked down to see her dark eyes blinking open. Calum smiled at the sight of her; for her to be this tired, he knew she did have fun. Despite his own issues, Calum had seen, much at the expense of his tightening jaw, that Luna had been enjoying her time with Mali and their parents. Calum hadn’t made for a much pleasant host to his parents, but Luna made up for it with a newfound excitement towards them. A childlike thrill that had, for the most part, put everyone at ease. “Yeah?” Calum mused, smiling down at her teasingly. “You liked all your presents?” They may or may not have spoiled her—Calum more so than anyone else; his first Christmas with his daughter had proven to be his favorite despite the initially unwanted presence of his parents.

“Mhm,” Luna responded, pulling the blanket up to her chin as her brown eyes met Calum’s. “I like Grandma and Grandpa, too.”

Something tightened in Calum’s chest at that, not entirely sure if it was a good or bad feeling as he heard Luna’s words. He’d been struggling with his emotions ever since his parents had arrived, knowing he hadn’t done a good job in keeping his promise to Aspen in trying to be civil. To actually try. But it hadn’t been too bad towards the end. They had made some progress, as much as they could tonight, and Calum had even agreed to see them again tomorrow before they left. That was more than he’d expected to do. And even though he’d been upset with Aspen over inviting his parents without even telling him, Calum knew his anger had dissipated at this point. Not entirely gone, of course, but slowly crumbling away. Slowly.

Calum took a breath before smiling, finger brushing away a stray curl from her face, brushing along her cute, soft little cheek. “They like you, too,” he told her truthfully. Because they did. He could tell. He wouldn’t agree to seeing them tomorrow if they didn’t. “Come on, bug, get some sleep.”

Luna hummed, giggling ever so softly as Calum leaned down and gave her a sweet kiss. He bid her goodnight after switching off the lamp and turning on her nightlight, leaving the door just slightly aja before stepping out into the hallway. He glanced in the direction of the living room, realizing all of the lights were off and that Aspen was probably back in the bedroom.

He walked in, shutting the door behind him just as Aspen emerged from the bathroom. Her makeup was already off, changed into her pajamas, which only consisted of sleep shorts and one of his shirts, and she offered a small smile as he took in the sight of her. “Hey,” she greeted softly. She nodded towards the door. “She’s down?”

Calum nodded, pushing himself off the door. “Out like a light,” he confirmed.

Aspen smiled, running her fingers through her hair. “Good, that’s good.” Licking her lips, her smile turned a bit shy, and she added, “I, uh, have something for you. One more gift.”

Calum blinked, fighting the urge to laugh because of how similar they were. He watched as she walked towards her bedside before his gaze shifted towards his own bedside, more specifically, under the bed where he’d hidden his last gift for Aspen. They’d exchanged presents in the morning, of course. Gifts they’d bought one another by knowing the other’s likes, gifts they’d both loved. He was gonna give her the last gift before bed, but looked like she had beat him to the punch.

Calum approached the bed as Aspen climbed onto it on her knees, him doing the same on his side, eyes going to the very familiar book he’d seen in her apartment. It was Luna’s baby book, and Calum’s eyebrows furrowed together as she held it out to him, slowly taking it from her but not before shooting her a confused look.

Aspen let out a breathless chuckle, rubbing her hands down her sides as she said, “Just look inside. I, uh, added some more pages.”

His eyebrows raised at that, settling back on his legs as he opened the book. He’d seen the familiar pages, all of Luna’s firsts and the pictures that went along with those moments, until he got to the pages that were definitely new. Calum could feel Aspen watching along in anticipation, in nervousness, except all he could focus on was the pages he was looking at and the tightness of his throat.

There were pictures added in there that Calum knew about, and some he didn’t know anyone—Aspen—had taken. Pictures with the labels of “First Spaghetti Sunday w/ Dad”, or “Dad’s First Gift”, or “First Birthday w/ Dad”. Aspen had added all of these pictures of Calum with Luna, or of the three of them together, of moments that had become some of his favorites. A warmth spread through Calum as he took in every picture, every word, heart picking up its pace. He could hear his own breathing, heavy with the emotion that suddenly washed over him, fingers brushing against the photographs of him with his two favorite girls. Aspen had made sure to make him as much a part of the baby book as he was in their lives, and while Calum was not much of a crier, she did a good job in springing the tears in his eyes with this thoughtful gift.

“Aspen,” he breathed out, voice thick and throaty with appreciation and adoration. “This—” Calum let out a short, disbelieving chuckle as he looked at her. He saw the hopeful expression on her face, eyes wide and small smile, and Calum shook his head. “Thank you so much, sweetheart. I don’t—I love this.” He put the book down on the mattress before reaching for her, pulling her into a hug and keeping her close as he said, “I love you.”

He heard her let out a relieved laugh, returning his hug, and Calum shut his eyes as she squeezed him, the smile on his face hurting his cheeks as she returned, “I love you, too. We’re in this together, right? You and me.”

He pressed a kiss to the skin of her shoulder where his shirt fell off. “You and me.” Calum sniffed as they pulled away, and Aspen let out a soft, adoring laugh at the flush in his cheeks, cupping his face as she shot him a grin. “I’ve got somethin’ for you, too,” he told her, prompting Aspen to blink in surprise.

He shifted backwards, one foot touching the ground so he could bend down and pull out the gift bag from under the bed. Aspen raised her eyebrows as he handed it to her. She took it with an anticipating smile of her own, and right as she reached into it, Calum said with a nervous chuckle, “It’s really cheesy, okay? So don’t laugh.”

Aspen rolled her eyes at him, dismissing his thought. “I’m not gonna laugh,” she said, hand reaching past the decorative red tissue paper to grab onto the gift.

Calum pressed his lips together, watching as Aspen pulled out the medium sized decorative jar with a gold lid on top. He watched as Aspen observed it, took in the custom made label on it that read a simple and cheesy message of My Love For You. He felt the heat spread across his cheeks at that, mentally chastising himself for writing something so utterly cliche on the label. Then again, the entire idea of the gift was utterly sentimental and cheesy.

“It’s, uh,” he began explaining, chuckling shortly. “There’s a message on every slip of paper inside for you. Like, uh, reasons why I love you and stuff. There’s, um, one thousand six hundred and forty three little slips in there. . .  One for each day we, uh, weren’t in each other’s lives.”

He watched the way her lips parted at his words, eyes widening as she returned her gaze to the jar she held in her hands. He wasn’t sure why he felt so shy about giving her the gift, the vulnerability not something he was entirely fond of, though when it came to Aspen, Calum was quick to realize facing these types of things was a lot better than running away from them. His throat worked, waiting for her to say something, heart jumping when her glassy green eyes met his dark brown ones.

“Calum, it’s—this is so sweet,” she breathed out, her voice thick with awe as she let out a gentle laugh. Her voice took a teasing tilt, wanting to lighten the emotional mood as she playfully asked, “You have over a thousand reasons why you love me?”

Calum cracked a small smirk, quirking an eyebrow despite his racing heart. “It’s funny that you think I can run out of reasons.”

Her expression softened, a soft chuckle escaping at his words as she gave a shake of her head. Before she let the tears escape, Aspen put the jar down before one had found his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. Calum returned it eagerly, softly, arms winding around her waist as he kissed her, settling back on his legs once more before using his hands on her thighs to lock her legs around his hips. She tasted like mint toothpaste and he reveled in the familiar softness of her lips, in the touch of her hands on his face as they kept each other close.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he found himself whispering against her lips, wanting nothing more than to melt into her.

Aspen sighed against him, utterly content. “Merry Christmas, Cal.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @sweetcherrymike​ @meetashthere​ @valentinelrh​ @softforcal​ @astroashtonio​ @hereforlukescruff​ @novacanecalum​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @calntynes​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @imfuckin10plybud​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @old-zeppelin-shirt​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @gorgeouslygrace​ @cocktail-calum​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @madelynerin​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @theagenderwhocriedwolf​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @fluffsshawn​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @tea4sykes @lukeinblue​ @mysteriouslycali​ @hoodcentral​ @rosecoloredash​ @hearts-to-the-sky​ 

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

You suck, you should fix that | d.m (requested)

Request: yes (@ brycelahelalover)

“Hii, I'm a new follower of yours and I have a request. So the details are: my reader's name is Orchid Sterling. She has achy blonde kind of hair, green eyes. And she's a Gryffindor for the sake of the story. Draco Malfoy. Where the reader is Dumbledore's granddaughter and part of the golden trio. And she and draco go from enemies to lovers kind of thing. She never really bothered with his insults and always ignored them by rolling her eyes or something? Anyways, thank you”

World count: 2805 

Do you know the feeling when you just want to stay in bed all day long and do absolutely nothing? Well, it was one of those days for me. Most of my weekend was spent with Harry, Ron and Hermione at the library, working on a big essay for our Potions class with Professor Snape. And if all the school work wouldn’t be enough, Harry wanted to wander around the Castle because he thought he heard weird noise coming from the walls even after the Chamber was officially closed, and wanted to found out what it really was or where it came from. Of course we all went with him, and almost get detention for not being in our dorm rooms past our curfew.  We hardly had any time left to relax and have fun by the Great Lake. So when Monday rolled in, I only wanted one thing: to be done with the day.

- Don’t you look just drop dead gorgeous this fine Monday morning, sweet Orchid? – I groaned at the voice which greeted me when I stepped into the Great Hall to have breakfast with my friends.  I rolled my eyes at him when I walked past Draco and his group of fans.

- I’m so tired – Harry put his head in his hands and I was positive he was seconds away from passing out. We only slept for a couple of hours before we had to wake up to go and attend our classes – We shouldn’t have stayed awake for that long last night.

- Oh, you don’t say? – I asked, my voice filled with sarcasm. We were lucky, that we weren’t caught last night, sneaking out of our dorms once again, but this time to go to the library to find something odd about the Castle that might be an explanation for the voice Harry had been hearing – Maybe we should just sleep at night, instead of going on little adventures. Snape will literally hex us if he finds one of us outside of the Gryffindor’s Dormitory past out curfew again.

Ron and Hermione tried to stay out of the conversations, both of them being quite busy with eating or reading something. Harry thankfully dropped the subject, and instead of talking, he took a few minutes nap on the dining table. I was enjoying my morning pumpkin juice, when all of a sudden, a paper cane came flying in front of me. I slowly opened it:

“What? No witty comebacks for my lovely morning greeting? – D”

I sighed and torn apart the message. Draco and I had been enemies ever since we arrived to Hogwarts at the age of 11. It started with me talking back to him, and Malfoy not liking the fact that someone wasn’t afraid of him. There wasn’t a day without us fighting about or over something. He irritated me with his arrogant and selfish attitude, but at the same time I found something very amusing in the way he always got so angry and frustrated at something I said or did. The fact, that Dumbledore was my grandfather, didn’t really helped to develop our relationship with each other. Draco finding every possibility to come at me with this fact. In exchange, I never failed to remind him to go and tell his father about someone who talked him back. I swear to Merlin, telling his father everything and anything was his hobby.

- You know – Hermione giggled, when she figured out the reason behind my sudden annoyance and anger - Malfoy and you are the living proof that you can hate and love someone at the same time. It’s very amusing to watch how you both cannot go a day without bothering the other.

- I have no idea what you’re talking about – I drank the last of my juice and started to pick up my stuff to leave for my DADA class, when the huge doors of the Great Hall flew wide open and a rather angry Professor Dumbledore barged in. All eyes were on him.

- Orchid Sterling-Dumbledore – his voice echoed through the huge Hall. He stopped right in front of us, and his usually kind eyes now were filled with anger and worry.

- Hi, Grandpa – I smiled at him innocently, but I knew it was already a lost case when he put his hands of his waist. I looked at Hermione, who was already looking at me with a “what have you done now?” look.

- Don’t Grandpa me now – he said – You, Mr. Potter, Mr. Wesleay and Ms. Granger go to my office in this second – he ordered. Love of Merlin. We all knew why he was so pissed at us. Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly picked up their bags and followed Professor Dumbledore.

- You too, Mr. Malfoy – Dumbledore said to the smirking blond and dragged him with us by his robe. The four of us were changing confused glances between each other, not knowing why he had to come with us as well. Mentally, I was prepared for my Grandfather’s speech about the dangerous of sneaking out of the dorm rooms at night, knowing very well that Voldemort was back and tried everything to reach Harry and kill him. Along with everyone who would try to save him. All five of us were sitting silently there, watching Professor Dumbledore walking around his room, listening as he went on and off about how many times we had already broke the rules of Hogwarts, putting ourselves exposed to anyone who would try to hurt us, and disobeying our Professors and Prefects’ orders. I knew for sure I wasn’t going to hear the end of this during Christmas break.

- And not to mention – he looked at Malfoy and me – Duelling at the courtyard? You two aren’t supposed to use your wands for such activities, only if you are in danger.

- Malfoy started it – I shrugged – I was only trying to protect my nerves from him. He tends to like getting on them and…

- ENOUGH – Grandpa yelled – All five of you, detention. Harry, Ron and Hermione you are going to help Professor Snape cleaning his equipment for Potions class, and will do as he orders. Three days. And I don’t want to see any of you out of your dorms after dinner, am I clear?

- Yes, Professor – they said in union and were free to leave, leaving Malfoy and I behind.

- As for you Ms. Sterling and Mr. Malfoy – he sat down by his huge desk – You two are going to spend your detention together. In that case, you might learn how to act like civilized witches and wizards. You two are going to put away the books in the library, so you cannot scream at each other.

- Excuse me, Professor – Malfoy spoke for the first time since we had arrived – I might have zoned out a bit, but why am I getting detention?

- For the same things as Ms. Sterling over here – he gestured to me with his hand – You were in the duel as well, throwing back spells, and also left your Dorm after the curfew. I know you had the best intentions by telling Professor Snape that they sneaked out, but you followed them, and broke the rules too.

If eyes could kill, Malfoy would have been dead by the time Dumbledore dismissed us. I rushed to find my friends and tell them it was Malfoy who snitched on us to Snape, and he was the reason we got detention. In the middle of my rage, George and Fred joined us in the courtyard, and watched me with smirks on their faces.

- Young love – Fred sang and danced around alone, while George tried to stop him from bumping into something. I scoffed at them and sat down next to Ron, who was eating chocolate frogs and looked like he didn’t care at all for getting detention and him being forced to spend even more time with Snape. Of course he didn’t mind, he had Harry and Hermione with him. He didn’t have to be with his sworn enemy for a whole week.

- It’s funny how much you love each other – George added and ruffled up my hair.

- Were you even listening? – I asked them angrily – I was literally going on and on for hours who much I hate Malfoy for being an arrogant git and…

- All we heard was, you talking about him nonstop – they giggled – Like you have been doing for the last couple of months. You know Orchid, the more you hide your feelings from someone, the more you fall for them.

I glared at my friends, who found my situation rather funny. None of them tried to help me out, confirming my hatred towards the Slytherin boy. It was like, they were all on the same page.

- Alright – I sighed – Maybe I don’t hate him. Hate is quite a strong word, and he might have his reasons why he’s acting like a total jerk, but still. I’m just not necessarily excited about Draco’s existence.

- Talking about me, Princess? – an annoyed groan left my lips when I heard him from behind me. There was his usual smirk on his face, and he looked quite satisfied with himself. I checked my watch to see it was almost time for us to serve our detention at the library – Grandpa dearest wasn’t too happy about you sneaking out in the middle of the night, right?

- Don’t mess with me now, Malfoy – I hissed as I walked past him, bumping my shoulder into his. I heard his footsteps following me and soon enough he appeared in front of me, walking backwards so he could face me.

- Or what? You’ll hex me? – he laughed and bit his lower lip – You are one of a kind, aren’t you? Black sheep of the family? Always getting in trouble, talking back and so on. I wonder if you weren’t related to Dumbledore, you still would have been sorted into Gryffindor. Or you might have been a Slytherin – he stopped when we reached the entrance of the library – You know, I offered my friendship to you on the train and warned you about who you are befriending.

- Oh shut up, Malfoy – I pushed him inside. We went to find Madam Pince. She told us our first task and asked us to stay silent for the sake of the students who came to the library to actually do school work or just read. I tried everything to stay away from Malfoy, but he always find a way to join me and bother me with the most nonsense questions or just tried to make me feel uncomfortable. For some unknown reasons, I started to think about all those things the twins and Hermione had been telling me. Was it possible? Did I really had feelings for him? Even if I did, it must have been Stockholm Syndrome, cause there was no way a normal mind would fell for such an arrogant asshole. But at the same time, on days, when he was too tired or was busy with something else, I missed his attention. Him always having something to argue about, picking on me, bullying my friends or just being himself and getting on my last nerves. So on days like those, I always find something to tell him. Most of the time we ended up being pairs in classes, and even though be argued through the whole class, we always managed to be ready with a high mark on our assignments, gaining House point for Slytherin and Gryffindor.

- Thinking about be? – he suddenly appeared behind me as I was collecting a few books from the furthest table in the library. He put his hands on my sides, locking me between his body and the desk, not having any exit for me to escape. My senses were filled with the warmth of his body, and with his signature cologne and mint scent – I don’t mind at all. You haven’t left my mind for the last couple of months… – his minty breath tickled my neck, and goose bumps appeared on my arms.

- Bullshit – I rolled my eyes and tried to escape, but Draco pushed me against the desk, his body brushing against mine – What do you want now, Malfoy?

- Well, I have a few things in my mind – he whispered in my ear and his hands found their way to my hips, squeezing it lightly – But I want to know why you hate me so much.

I turned around in his embrace, and I couldn’t tell if my cheeks were red because of the boiling rage in my body or I was blushing because of his touch and sudden mood change. I looked up him, seeing that he honestly wanted to know.

- Where have you been all this time? – I raised an eyebrow at him – We have been like this ever since we first met each other. You’re an asshole, and I cannot tolerate your arrogant and selfish behaviour, and I haven’t even mention the fact that you somehow find amusement in bullying everyone who isn’t a pureblood or a Slytherin.

- Come on, Sterling – he laughed a bit – We both know this is something you had gotten over a long time ago.

- Fine – I sighed - I’m not saying I hate you. What I’m saying is that you are literally the Monday of my life. Always pissing me off, always having something to surprise me with and…

- And? – he pulled me closer to his body. Draco’s icy blue eyes were shifting from my green eyes to my lips, than back to my eyes again. His light pink tongue ran along his slightly plump bottom lip as he played with the ends of my blond hair. I could feel the tension growing second by second and I was glad we were far away from the few students who were left in the library.

- You suck, you should fix that - I pushed him away from me and picked up the long forgotten books from the desk to go and put them away. I walked to the correct section and started to put away the books, when he appeared again out of nowhere, scaring me a bit.

- You know – he leaned against the bookshelf – When I think of you, I have this weird feeling. It’s like I want to throw you off a cliff, then rush to the bottom to catch you.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows. I wanted to throw some witty comeback at him, but I was caught off guard and all I could do was rolling my eyes at him. When I turned my back at him, Draco suddenly pushed me against the bookshelf with such force, a few books fall out of their places. One of his hands were on my hip, keeping me still, so I couldn’t leave, and the other pulled my hair softly, so I was looking into his now darkened blue eyes.

- Fuck – he breathed into my face – You drive me crazy. The way you roll your eyes at me, or when you bite your lip after a good comeback – his lips were almost on mine. I could almost feel how soft they might be – Or when you get all frustrated at me. Damn, I want to drive you crazy too.

And he did. When his lips met mine we both knew we were screwed. We kissed each other like there was no tomorrow. Lips moving in sync, while our hands tried to explore each other’s bodies as much as we could. I failed to cover up one of my moans, when Draco started to leave small kisses along my neck, and sucking on one point to leave his mark. My fingers were pulling on his platinum blond hair, leaving it a hot mess.

- What happened with throwing me off a cliff? – I asked jokingly. Draco growled and bit my shoulder.

- The only place I want to throw you at is my bed, woman – he answered and pushed his toned body against mine even more – But for now – he whispered – Shut up, Sterling.

- Make… - he didn’t let me finish it and kissed me again. This time with even more passion. They were right. Young love. From that day, we were the same. We argued, picked on each other, always bothered the other with something but there was something new. We kissed and held hands. He got overprotective and jealous, for which he usually ended up in detention, but that was his way showing how serious he was about our unfolding relationship.

[blackicephantom]

The black dragon and the coward CH. 9

I’ll just leave this here. Please excuse me. *running for cover*

tagged: @patolemus ; @runestarchild

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Still thinking about what he was told Tsuna sipped from his cup. The tea was still warm and soothed his nerves. Everything until now was before they took away his flames, before the coldness settled in his bones. It was about the very first time he met the others. Which means that there’s still something that’s missing. “Chief, everything you told me just now….. It was about my first `Great disappearance´. What about the rest?” Timoteo also sipped from his tea before he answered. “After that day things changed. The people….. They started rumors that you would bring destruction upon us. How else could you have escaped these bloodthirsty beasts? It doesn’t matter how often I told them what happened, they just wouldn’t listen.  And that you had developed the habit of sneaking away, always with that forest in mind didn’t help either.”  

Ah, so that’s what it is. There are a few blank spaces but he could remember some of his adventures, always accompanied by one of his draconian friends. Luce would always worry while Reborn would just roll his eyes with a rather gentle smirk. `He’s a boy Luce. Let him explore.´ He couldn’t help the smile that stole itself on his lips. They took him through the ocean, guided him through the forest and had shown him the freedom of the brilliant and infinite blue sky. At least until his world had changed yet again. Resettling himself in his seat he asked again. “What about the rest Nono? What about the day you sealed my flames, the day I ran away from my parents?” Usually strong shoulders sagged, Timoteos whole form crumbling right in front of his eyes. His poor posture spoke of pain, regret and grief.

The whole village was in an uproar.

Nono wasn’t sure how this could have happened but it did. “Iemitsu, are you sure that your precious boy lit up his flames?” Agitated and very stressed, the blonde yelled. “There was no mistaking it! It was a brightly burning sky flame!” 

In their village, there were different types of flames. These flames showed one's magical affinity. The brighter and stronger the flame, the stronger the caster it belongs to. But for Tsuna it is way too early to manifest his power…. While Timoteo was still thinking about it Iemitsu already came to a conclusion. “It must have to do with these damn dragons! There is no other explanation!!” 

“Why was this such a bad thing?” At his simple question the old man sighed. “The only other person ever known to have manifested his powers so early…..was Primo. Even your own father first lit his own flames at the age of twelve.” At twelve?! Shocked, he tried to think back again. All of his classmates, all the other children….. They all started to awake their powers at this age. Which means he was the abnormality once again….. But Reborn and Luce… they were so proud of him! So he wasn’t ashamed of it. Never.

“Your father was scared to admit it but he was afraid that you would suffer the same fate as Primo. But instead of trying to teach you more control, instead of helping you, he was adamant about the fact that the dragons had cursed you. And because of your young age your body had difficulties to contain your power. Strangely enough it only happened when you were home alone with Iemitsu. The result were sudden high fevers and fainting spells.”

That’s something that always was nothing but a black space in his head. The brunette knows that he often had fevers, his mother told him, but why did it only happen when he was with his father? Putting that aside for later he continued his questioning. “I remember the moment you sealed me. I remember the coldness and the sudden rush of helplessness. I even remember my escape from home, followed by the hurried steps of my parents. Tell me Nono, what did you do? What happened for everything to end in fire and blood?” 

His old legs hurried as much as they could, but he slowly lost sight of the poor boy he just roped of everything. Tsuna ran and he knew that he had just one destination in mind: the forest were no one would ever follow. Iemitsu was right beside him, calling and shouting for his son to stop, to slow down. But the brunette ran at top speed, stumbling every so often. Yet he continued, always rightening himself and still running faster, until he had outrun them. 

Both men came to a sudden halt right at the edge of the forest. They knew: if they kept on going they would earn the wrath of the dragons, something they were avoiding. But this was Tsuna they were talking about! Timoteo tried to think of something, anything! But no matter what came to his mind, it would end in disaster. Just in the next moment a deafening roar resonated through the trees. It was filled with rage and anguish. Next came several growls.

His blonde friend wanted to go in and take his child home, he could see it in his tense shoulders and his deep frown. He could understand, truly, but if he went in now he wouldn’t return. After the old man got his breathing under control he turned to leave. “Let us return for now.”  But his friend wouldn’t move. The slowly hardening eyes were firmly kept on the treeline, always watching for the dangers that are yet to come. “Iemitsu!”

A small shudder went through the chief at this particular memory. This one roar haunted him for weeks in his nightmares, always accompanied by the deep growls and the pictures of the following war. It took a very long time for him to sleep peacefully again…..

Tsuna saw the shudder and thought, not for the first time, that all this took more out of this old man that he was led to believe. There was still something fishy about the whole thing.

“There’s still something you’re not telling me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. Wary eyes slipped closed, tired lips parted. “You may not believe my next words. But I swear on the graves of my sons: I did everything I could to stop this madness. I put up a curfew for everyone, I probehited everyone from entering the forest. I even tried to keep your father caged in his office….. But nothing worked.” A single tear slid down a wrinkled cheek.

“No.” A single word with the meaning of hundets. But the other couldn’t be deterred. 

“Nono, if we don’t go in now they will definitely kill him someday!” Old hands crashed onto the table and rattled it’s whole frame. “I said NO! What on earth makes you think that they would hurt Tsunayoshi?!” The other occupants of the room kept their distance and their silence. No one was brave enough to interrupt these two men. It wasn’t often that their beloved and gentle village chief lost his cool. What happened even less was that, out of all the villagers, Iemitsu would start a fight with him. “They killed YOUR children! What makes you think that they wouldn’t hurt him?!” Shocked gasps rang through the sudden silence. The topic of his three dead sons was a rather sensitive one and was avoided at all costs.

Especially because there was no proof that dragons had killed them. Brown eyes narrowed and an aura of danger filled the big office. “Careful Iemitsu. You’re walking on very thin ice at the moment.” Timoteo tried to keep himself in check. It just wouldn’t do if he hit his own subordinate for something like this. But the fact alone that one of his closest guards, someone he considered family, would stoop so low was very telling about his mental state. He couldn’t let this continue. “I will say this one more time: No one enters the forest. It has been silent and if the dragons wanted to harm the child they would have done so the first time. They are very territorial creatures and it seems that our Tsunayoshi is very dear to them. They are not to be harmed!” Looking around one more time he gave his final orders. “If anyone goes against this orders they will be punished.”

Another tear rolled down. This time on the other side. “I’m ashamed to say that even the threat of a severe whipping was not enough to keep your father at bay. He went around the whole village and talked about justice. Justice for our deceased, for the abducted. For every poor soul taken way before their time. At this point it wasn’t about you anymore. They wanted to see blood, they wanted the justice I kept on refusing them.”

Tsuna couldn’t believe his ears. All this time…. Yes, Nono sealed his flames, took away his warmth. But it wasn’t him that led the massacre. He even tried to prevent it! This brought him a kind of relief he didn’t know he needed. The picture cleared itself, just a little bit. When he thought about it, when he really and truly tried, Tsuna could remember some things. When he was lonely and hid in the library he always read the books about mythology and fantasy, always the books about dragons. And everytime, as if summoned by these books, his father would storm inside, rip the paper away and take him home. He was forbidden from reading this trash, his father said. They tell nothing but lies, his father said… `He wanted to keep me away from them.´ He started to see the big picture, but he wanted to make absolutely sure. There was no room for any more mistakes. “Nono, chief, grandpa. Please tell me the rest.”

His words fell on deaf ears, the shouting was louder then any reasoning could ever hope to be. An angry mob had formed, people of every status came together to slay the dragons. Confronted with this hate and this anger he had two options: keep refusing them and be overthrown, unable to do anything or support them and betray every single thing he ever believed in. With a heavy heart and a guilt so heavy it would follow him for years he came to a decision. 

With his personal guards at his side he followed Iemitsu and his man. He watched the bloodbath, couldn’t stop Luce’s death and cried bitter tears when this noble dragon fell. His heart broke when the two children cried for their mother, slain cruelly right before their eyes.

He gave his guards orders to hold back and to stay as far back as possible without being suspicious. And yet it changed nothing. The outcome would be same. He resolutely kept his eyes on the black dragon, watched him try everything in his might to change the fate of their leader. Fear krept inside his soul when Luce took her last breath with a smile on her face and her gentle hand fell onto the ground.  

Fires raged and burnt the formally green forest, while blood sullied the former clean and healthy ground. The sky turned black and the sun hid behind the clouds. Pouring rain affected their sight, right alongside the suddenly appearing mist. The roar of the black Sundragon had every last one of them trembling. He changed right in front of them, his maw open and his eyes burning in bitter hatred and betrayal. To keep it simple: The dragons went out of control, berserk, whatever you wanted to call it. They killed and killed and killed even more. Now their thirst for blood was even greater than that of the foolish man that stood before them. Timoteo saw what they were doing. They kept the children safe, Tsunayoshi and the small girl. No matter what weather phenomenon appeared, the children would always stay unharmed. Then he heard the words that would burn themselves in his  head.

“Stop! Stop hurting them! Please stop!”

But no one would listen. 

Then Timoteo had to watch as Iemitsu finally reached his son, only for said son to reach for the still raging Reborn. But as the dragon noticed him he changed again and reached out as well. But it wasn’t meant to be. Those reaching hands never met. The blonde kept dragging the struggling child away But then a soldier snuck behind the still crying girl, he raised his sword and even the old chief would not watch a child be murdered. But before he could move a powerful magic was released. It was just for an instant, but just for this moment bright orange flames burst forward and burnt the soldier to nothing. The flames burnt so hot that even the child’s father couldn’t hold onto him. Iemitsu had to let go and called for his son, who started running as soon as his feet had contact with the ground. With all his remaining power he flung himself into the waiting arms of Reborn.

The tension rose between the two of them. The old man wouldn’t raise his eyes. To great was his shame, to big his burden. No one knew that he was against all this, because everyone just ignored that fact. But he did nothing to stop it either. “How did you take me back?” was the last whispered question. “It was your mother, yourself and my stepping in that finally put an end to this massacre.” Surprise must have shown in his face, because Nono had to chuckle. “Believe me, you aren’t the only one.”

It was in the moment that Iemitsu was going to grab the child out of the dragons protective hold that Nana stepped in. She’s not built for the battlefield, not used to the blood and the carnage. But she outright refused to stay home. Now she held her husband back and slowly approached the still growling dragon. Iemitsu wanted to grab her, to shield her but even Nono could see that she was a woman on a mission. So it was his turn to grab onto the blonde. 

Steeling herself  she kept going, but when those sharp yellow eyes snapped to her she couldn’t suppress her flinch. But upon seeing the silent tears she took another step forward. One step after another until she stood right in front of the dragon and her only child. There she went on her knees and did something that would forever be remembered. She knelt, she bowed, she cried. Then she spoke words that no human had said for such a long time. “I know that there is no way in heaven or hell for us to be forgiven. But for whatever it’s worth: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss, for your pain. I’m sorry for your wounds. I’m sorry for the blood you had to spill for a mistake we humans had made. I’m so, so sorry!” With every word that left her lips she became more and more silent. The last part was barely understandable, because of the silent sobs that wrecked her fragile form. 

The dragons stood still, for just one second, then they cried. In outrage, in sadness and in mourning. Even Reborns eyes went wide before he shut them tightly. Pulling Tsuna even closer he let the rain wash away his tears. 

Timoteo stood aside when Iemitsu tried to go to his wife again. He pulled her up, not looking at the great reptiles still pacing around them. Then he grabbed a sword that lay at his feet and approached the still kneeling dragon. Nana tried to hold him back, but he shook her gentle hands off. He raised the blade, looked the beast in the eyes and went to strike. Only the sharp “ENOUGH!!” stopped him. He froze right on the spot while Nana, Reborn and even little Tsuna turned to him. “That’s enough. This has to stop, now. There’s already too much blood on our hands and way too many bodies at our feet.” The village chief looked him straight in the eyes. “Don’t you see what your madness did to us?” It was a last plead for his friend to stop this nonsense. But he still wouldn’t listen. “These beasts have to die. If they don’t fall now, this will just repeat itself!” was the growled answer. 

“That’s the moment you stepped up. You let go of Reborn and crawled to your fathers feet. Once there you promised to be good, to stay home. Everything he wanted, if only he stopped hurting them. You would even start to learn how to be the leader of the village. Everything and anything as long as they were safe. It was as touching as it was heartbreaking.”

So that was the whole story. That’s the reason he started to study seriously again. He said he would do anything. And even though he has forgotten about it he did what he promised.

But there was nothing without a price. So he asked “What was the requirement of the dragons?” A smile stole itself onto those old lips. “You’re such a sharp minded child.”

As ignorant as Iemitsu was, even he couldn’t do this. Still his eyes bore into the creature that held his son, no matter for what purpose. Then he had an idea. His son would do ANYTHING to keep these things safe. So he bent down to his son and told him simply “You will never see them again Tsuna. You hear? If you never come back to this place, where the monsters live, and train to be our next village chief I’ll stop.” The words were spoken so sweetly, yet they teared him apart. Bright eyes dulled and shown with tears but he still nodded. “Everything.”

Nono told him that even the great Reborn was powerless against him, even at such a young age. They had a last goodbye, quick and rather impersonal, yes almost cold, but Iemitsu thought he had already won. But his dear wife couldn’t watch it. So she said that Tsuna should say goodbye properly. “You ran back to them and hugged them as tight as your small arms would let you. Then you thanked them, one after another, said something nice to each one and waved. The last one was Reborn. But instead of thanking him you apologized. His answer was calling you `stupid child´ so fondly that it hurt. He didn’t want to let go but a deal was a deal.” 

Thoughts rushed around one another, there one moment and gone in the next. So many things made sense now, while others were even more confusing. But one thing still didn’t add up. “If I was forbidden from seeing them, how come I was allowed at Luce’s funeral?”

Melancholy washed over the wrinkled face and sadness painted his lips.

 Iemitsu had his crying son in his arms, hoping to calm him down, and was already on his way back to the village. Timoteo saw to it that every survivor made it back as well, when the dragons made a last request. “Nono.” came the tired voice of the feared dragon. So he turned again and looked into now dull yellow eyes. “I know what we just agreed to. But we want to give Luce a proper funeral.” The fact that it would only be a proper one with her second child in attendance was left unsaid. “Just tell me when.” 

The Arcobaleno talked silently for no more than a few seconds before Reborn gave a response. Taking Aria in his arms he replied “One week. It won’t take long. But we want to give him this chance.”

So a plan was made between Timoteo and Nana, who has waited just a few steps away. 

In one weeks time Nana will dress Tsuna a little bit nicer. She made sure that one of the more lazy guards was on duty that day and hoped that everything would be ok. Nono made sure that her husband was occupied. And if he made absolutely sure of it by knocking him out, no one had to know. From his window he saw young Tsunayoshi running for the trees and felt this painful sting in his chest.

“After everything was over Reborn brought you to the clearing himself. That’s it. That’s everything I know.”

So many facts raced against each other:

His mother was not as clueless as she let on, while his father bore more than his fair share of guilt and fault.

Timoteo di Vongola, the village chief and the man that took away his flames, has tried and failed to stop the war. But he paid with his consciousness in tetters and his mind broken by guilt and sleepless nights.

The village he grew up in was filled with nothing more than bloodthirsty monsters.

His chosen family didn’t abandon him. He forced them to let go of him, no matter how much it hurt to do so.

“One last thing Nono. I know that everything was rather traumatic for a child my age. But why couldn’t I remember him? I was right in front of him and even if there was a feeling of familiarity, I just couldn’t place it. And if I’m right it was the same for Reborn.”

A low hum was his only answer for several minutes. Almost long enough that he thought he wouldn’t get a real one. Until he did. “Part of it is trauma, I’m sure of it. But I’m also positive that it’s also still part of your seal, which is still active. It has weakened that day but it hasn’t broken. Why Reborn couldn’t remember….. Hmmm. I’m sorry but that’s something I’m afraid I can’t answer.”

He looked genuinely upset about it so Tsuna let it go. Drinking the last bit of his now cold tea Tsunayoshi stood up and prepared to leave. He had things to think about and plans to make. No one and nothing would keep him here in this village. With newfound determination he thanked his village chief and left his humble hut. 

It was truly a shame that he forgot about the three figures that followed them the whole way…..

_TBC_

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I have absolutly no idea if everything is correct. But it’s almost 1 am and I’m tired. Please enjoy!

[purplesurveys]

1111

Something a little bit random and silly for my 1111th, just because.

survey by joybucket

List three things you love that start with each letter.

A: Art and most forms of it; anchovies, in most cases; and Angela.

B: Burgers, Beyoncé, and buffets.

E: Escargot, the name Eloise, and elephants.

F: FISH, Friends, and some folk indie.

S: Sleeping, signing off work at the end of my shift, and all kinds of seafood.

T: I’m obsessed with tteokbokki; trying out new food; and table tennis.

Q: I like the quiet time I occasionally give myself; quail eggs, especially in the form of kwek-kwek; and quattro formaggi pizza.

R: Rainbows, the rain, and riding planes.

O: Old movies, the ocean, and Okinawa milk tea.

List a phrase including an adjective, noun, and verb for each letter. Examples: "angry artist anticipating", "rude rascals running", "dirty dogs dancing", or "empty elephants eloping." Have fun!

A: Adorable animals appearing.

F: Fabulous fingers frolicking.

C; Chummy classmates cooking.

S: Suspicious self salivating.

R: Rambunctious raccoon running.

T: Tired turnip tumbling.

Q; Questioning quail quipping.

J: Joyful joggers jamming.

I: Inquisitive igloos imagining.

L: Luxurious lemonade luminescing.

Z: Zesty zebras zoning out.

E: Ethereal eagles embracing.

List three different occupations starting with each letter.

O: Orthodontist, oceanographer, opthalmologist.

E: Engineer, equestrienne, elementary school teacher.

F: Firefighter, flight attendant, farmer.

S: Scientist, singer, seamstress.

T: Talent agent, tricycle driver, tennis player.

I: Illustrator, inspector, IT technician.

E: Economist, editor, electrician.

L: Lawyer, librarian, lifeguard.

A: Accountant, actor, architect.

Y: Yoga instructor, youth pastor, yogurt maker?? if that counts, lol. Otherwise I got nothing else.

List three adjectives that begin with each letter.

A: Affable, abrupt, adequate.

B: Broken, blunt, bleary.

C: Crazy, clear, clingy.

D: Daunting, delirious, dark.

E: Existential, enraged, exemplary.

F: Fantastic, far-flung, flavorful.

G: Ghastly, gentle, gigantic.

H: Harrowing, healthy, hopeful.

I: Intelligent, identical, impervious.

J: Jovial, jaded, joyous.

List three nouns that being with each letter.

K: Kangaroo, keychain, kiwi.

L: Lemonade the album, lemon the fruit, and Liz Lemon.

M: Mall, maple syrup, and mop.

N: Nightingale, nest, napkin.

O: Ogre, olive, orange.

P: Piano, panini, and pizza.

Q: Queen, quill, quilt.

List three verbs that begin with each letter.

R: Running, raking, reliving.

S: Singing, sailing, surfing.

T: Tricking, tossing, teeming.

U: Understanding, urging, unwrapping.

V: Villifying, venerating, vaccinating - get vaccinated, folks.

W: Wandering, washing, wriggling.

X: I don’t know if there are any and I can’t bother to look it up.

Y: Yawning, yelling, yearning.

Z: Zipping, ziplining, zapping.

List three...

girl's names you love: Olivia, Mia, Emma.

boy’s names you love: Mason, Jacob, Lucas.

girl’s names you dislike: Karen, and our local versions of Karen, Marites and Marivic.

boy’s names you dislike: Chad, times three.

things you hate about summer things you hate about winter things you hate about spring things you hate about fall things you love about spring things you love about winter things you love about fall things you love about summer Crossing these out because my Southeast Asian ass can’t relate, but if you do decide to take this survey feel free to un-strikethrough them!

things you miss from your past: Having more freedom to make mistakes; not having to worry about the future; and friends I’ve since lost.

people who have really hurt you in the past: Gabie, my mom, Marielle.

names of people you have had crushes on: Gabie, Andi from 5th grade...and that’s it, really.

names of people you have gone on a date with: Only Gabie. And I guess maybe Mike? Since he asked me to go with him to his ball as his date.

places you've been and would love to go again: Sagada, Jeju, Bali.

places you want to visit before you die: Morocco, Spain, Thailand.

items on your bucket list: See Times Square, live in a condo, plan a solo trip.

health conditions you have: Scoliosis, lactose intolerance, and very possible depression.

health conditions you've had in the past but don't anymore: Dehydration, UTI, and some kind of weird low-platelet-count thing that was just that, and never diagnosed as anything.

things you are allergic to: Possibly some types of grass, and maybe face masks. Idk how to confirm it really; I just know my skin gets irritated around them sometimes.

youtube channels you love to watch: Good Mythical Morning; the KBS YouTube channel mainly for clips of Return of Superman and 2 Days 1 Night; and Binging With Babish.

favorite drinks: Water, coffee, Long Island Iced Tea.

favorite foods: Sushi, chicken wings, pizza.

favorite desserts: Cheesecake, MACARONS, cupcakes.

favorite holidays: The only one I care for and get super excited about is my birthday, if that counts. Christmas is fine, but I only get the excitement for it on the actual day itself.

favorite colors: Pastel pink, white, maroon.

people you would like to meet: Ysa and Bea, my teammates at work. I’ve met them only once before, and I wish we can be allowed to report to the workplace physically soon so that I get to see them more often and strengthen my relationship (both working and personal) with them. I’d also love to be able to chat and chill with Hayley Williams even for just 30 seconds.

people you want to meet in Heaven: I don’t believe in that, but I’d love to have met my great-grandfather on my maternal grandfather’s side. Also, Audrey Hepburn and Princess Diana.

good names for a dog or cat: Depends on their personality.

reasons why you get up each morning and keep on living: Because I’ve been able to see myself get better, and why stop all the progress?; because I’d want to be able see if the future will get better; and because I’m afraid of what will happen to/who will look out for my dogs if I’m suddenly gone.

For each name, think of three people you know with that name, and list their occupations.

Amanda: I only know one Amanda, and she’s a friend of my ex’s younger sister. She’s only in senior year of high school. I know an Amandine which is close enough I suppose?? and she’s a dentistry student.

Sarah: She’s a media contact and I’m constantly in touch with; she’s the editor-in-chief of a local magazine. I think she’s the only Sarah I know.

Ashley: Also a media contact. I’m not sure about her title, though.

Beth: @bionic-beth is a teacher! :) But I don’t know any Beths in real life, I think.

Katie: Well I know Kate, and I’ll sometimes playfully call her Katie. She works in a government agency and she’s one of their PR people. The HR person who recruited me to come work at my current employer is a Kate, but I have never and have no plans to call her Katie.

Matt: That’s too foreign-sounding a name where I live.

Emily: Don’t know any Emilys, either.

Chris: Media contacts. They run blogs or news sites of their own.

Mike/Michael: The one Mike I know is currently a med student. Not sure if he’s working on the side - I think he is, since I saw him post about a job update on his Facebook a few months ago; but I can no longer remember what he does, or if he’s still doing it.

Jessica: I went to high school with a girl named Jessica but I don’t follow her on social media, so I have no clue what she’s up to now.

Becca/Bekah: Rita’s sister is a Becca. I think she is currently a grad student.

For each name, think of three people you know, and list one adjective to describe each person. (Skip if you don't know anyone with that name.)

Laura

Michelle: Hilarious.

Victoria: Strong.

Tessa: Friendly.

John

Claire: Influential; motherly.

Briana/Brianna: Bitch.

Vanessa

Brittany/Britney, etc.

Allison/Allie/Ally, etc: Kind. 

Olivia

Jordan

Jo/Joe: Ambitious; pretty.

Corey/Kori

Sophie: Sweet; quiet.

Mitch/Mitchell: Tall.

Madison/Maddie/Maddi

Out of all the people you know or have met, list three...

redheads: Yeah, you’re not going to find them in most of Asia. West Asia and some parts of East Asia, probably, but definitely not for the rest.

tall people: Jo, Chesca, and Shaun.

people with really curly hair: I know Kleo has naturally curly hair from her Aeta roots, but it’s been straightened for a very long time now. I think Chesca also has curly hair, albeit slightly. There is also Liana.

sets of twins: My sister had two sets of twins in her high school batch, but I can no longer remember their names. I also had an English class with a pair of twins named Ardy and Thirdy.

of the cutest babies you've seen on social media: My workmate’s baby. My friend Jar has a super squishy niece/nephew pair of twins as well.

people you miss: Angela, Kate, my grandpa.

people with beautiful eyes: I can only think of my ex.

people with nice hair: God I have not been around people for so long, I can barely think of anyone for this.

people who are the same height as you: Aya, Hannah, Tina.

own one of the same clothing items as you: Angela since we went to the same high school and have several of the same school shirts; Laurice since we share a college org and we have our own trademark polo shirt; and my brother and I have our own pairs of Nike Cortez shoes.

make you laugh: Andi, Hans, and this girl I had a couple of history classes with, Rose.

List three celebrities who...

are the same height as you: Lady Gaga and AJ Lee are the only ones who are coming to mind. I wouldn’t call AJ a celebrity though.

have the same hair color as you: Mila Kunis, Kelly Rowland, Dita Von Teese.

look like you: Only based on comments I’ve gotten in the past and not because I necessarily claim these for myself, Lucy Hale, Anna Akana, and Kakie.

List three....

adjectives to describe you: Timid, stubborn, sensitive.

academic courses you enjoyed: Philippine social history, international relations, anthropology.

words you always forget how to spell: Rhythm, committee, accommodate.

things you wish you were better at: Singing, dancing, drawing.

things you are really good at: Writing, reading people, and knowing the best things to order at most restaurants hahahah.

jobs you'd like to have: Ideally, a lawyer or doctor. But realistically, I’d love to have a leadership position in the PR sphere.

jobs you've considered having: ^ Again, lawyer and doctor. Also a journalist or news anchor, back when I still thought I was passionate about journalism.

jobs you'd hate: Journalist, an LTO clerk, an assistant to an asshole celebrity.

things you miss: Being a student, many parts of the past, and deceased family members.

names your mom considered when naming you: Ariel, Kathleen, Katrina.

things people call you: Robyn, Byn, Bynbyn.

*Bonus*: what is your name? (first and middle)? I always feel like just sharing Robyn.

[demiwizard7]

We all have scars

Slayer Week 2020 Prompt: Scars 

Characters: features Laxus 

Side Characters: Mirajane, Natsu, Gray (mentions Erza, Makorov, Ivan)

Hints of Miraxus

For Slayer week 2020: @ftguildevents

Shouting.

 It seems like that's all Laxus has been hearing for as long as he can remember. He hates it so much because it is about him it’s always about him, it’s all his fault.

It’s his fault; that he’s so sick and weak, and that his dad and grandpa are always fighting when they think he’s asleep, but he hears them he always does. And it’s all his fault, just like it’s also his fault that his mom died and his dad was left alone. She died because he was born, he killed her. He was a murderer not worth the life he got by taking hers. His life for hers what an awful contradiction and one that wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth him. 

Weakness.

God the weakness it’s all he ever feels it’s pathetic. His dad and grandpa were fighting in the other room talking as quietly as they could so that he wouldn’t wake up but he did anyway he always did. He got out of his bed silently to hear what they’re fighting about this time. It usually was the same thing though him.

  He walked over to the door and put his ear against the smooth wood and heard his grandpas muffled voice from the other end arguing with his dad.

“It’s too dangerous and he is too weak he could die Ivan. No, I won’t allow this.” He recognized his grandpa's voice coming through the door.

What were they talking about? He thought, were they talking about him? Was he really going to die? And if he did, would it really be so bad? He wondered. 

He heard his dad take a sharp breath and then he spoke “Shut up old man!” His dad's voice boomed through the door and Laxus flinched on the other side of the door. It was about him again.

He heard his grandpa’s voice again next. “Don’t take that tone with me, remember child, I'm still your father and guild master. And shush I don’t want you to wake up Laxus with your yelling.” He said calmly. His dad huffed and started to speak again.

“I won’t just let him die.” His dad's voice cracked halfway through the sentence and his grandpa let out a sigh. 

“We won’t, but you know this as well as I do he’s not strong enough to survive.” His grandpa explained calmly.

“He’s stronger than you and me an-'' His dad's voice gets cut off by his grandpa.

“Yes, I know he is but physically he is too frail. The chance of him not surviving in his state it’s too high and you know this.” His grandpa said. Laxus felt so ashamed his own family thought he was weak. Of course he knows he can feel it but still it hurts to hear. He heard his dad's voice again and snapped out of his own thoughts and listened. 

“I-I can’t lose him.” He heard the sadness and defeat in his father's voice it made him ache to know he was the cause of that. “He’s the last thing I have of her, my last reminder of her.” His dad said sadness etched in his voice and Laxus felt his own eyes welling up at the mention of his mom. 

“Fine.” His grandpa sighs. “We’ll do it, we’ll put in the lacrima.” His grandpa says. 

5 Month Later 

He actually survived it came as a shock to everyone but he was a fighter and they knew it. He finally got the lacrima implanted after months of tests and needles and his grandpa constantly making sure he was okay. For the first time for as long as he could remember he was finally healthy and the only indicator that he wasn't was a scar. 

5 Years Later

He was sitting at the bar when he saw Natsu and Gray fighting...again. Rolling his eyes he looked around to see if Erza was there to stop them he scanned the guildhall and didn’t see her around. Sighing, it looked like he would have to take care of it Mavis, they were so annoying. He got up from the wooden bar stool and walked over to them. “Knock it off you brats!” He thundered(pun totally intended.) “You’re wrecking the guildhall with your dumbass fighting.” That got their attention and they stopped fighting each other and looked over at him. 

Natsu was the one that spoke, of course he was. “Go away Laxus unless you wanna fight me too!” Gray just stood to the side watching their interaction with a smirk on his face trying to hide his laughter picturing Natsu about getting his butt kicked to.”

“Shut up kid.” Laxus said in a tired voice getting annoyed at the young dragon slayer.

“Make me!” Natsu replied with his hand already on fire.

“If you really insist.” Laxus said with a bored voice raising his hand to summon a bolt of lightning striking Natsu out cold. “That's good enough for you.” He said walking back to his stool with a slight smirk.

“Thanks, Pikachu I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to take care of that.” Some white-haired girl said he saw her a few times around the guild fighting with Erza, but he didn’t know her name though. (Hey in his defense she was new to the guild and he was bad with names.)

He rolled his eyes at her in response and said “Pikachu, how original of you.”

“You want something original?” She asked him with a smirk “Because I can get you a whole list by tomorrow if you would like.” She said laughing at him “I’m Mira by the way.” She added.

“Laxus,” He said with a nod. “And a list? Please.” He scoffed at her trying to seem extra cool around this girl for some reason. 

“Yeah a list.” She said looking at him up and down. “Two pages single spaced easy, I mean look at all the ammunition I have.” She said, smirking at him again.

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Laxus asked her.

“If you don’t know what it means this list is going to be longer than I thought.” She replies cooly. “I mean you make it too easy with your stupid headphones,  your over gelled spiky hair, the fact that you can’t even register an insult without it being explained, being a pikachu, and who could forget that stupid scar. 

His eyes hardened at the mention of his scar, he doesn't like anyone talking about it. His anger at this girl skyrocketed and without thinking, he said “want a matching one.” In a threatening growl.

“Asshole! It was just a joke, chill, no need to get all touchy. We all have scars.” She was pissed off at Laxus for being such an ass all of a sudden.

“Pfft.” He looked at her “doesn't seem like you do.” He said.

Her eyes were just as hard as his and for a moment just as haunted. “You can’t see all scars.” She said coldly and walked off without another word.

[chibbybish]

Here With Me (Juice x Reader)

Part 3

Tw: death.

requested by @kchavez666

tag list: @everyhowlmarksthedead

[word count: 1898]

[reading time: 00:15:04]

-I recommend listening to this while reading, for extra crying and heartbreak-

A/N: I know nothing about pregnancies or what the doctors do when you're ready to give birth so if I said something funny or wrong please feel free to correct me in the comments!

"(y/n), wake up!" You heard a raspy voice. "Wake up, sweetie!" You felt someone shaking you.

"Please, I need a little more sleep, please." You said, covering your face with a pillow.

You felt a hand touching your huge belly.

"Look how big he is!" You heard Tig's voice.

"Ah yeah, look at that big guy!" Chibs was there to.

"What are you guys doing here?" You asked, trying to wake up.

"Today is the day doctors predicted you were gonna give birth." Chibs whispered excitedly.

"And we couldn't decide who would come to keep an eye on you so here we are!" Tig added.

"Is everybody else here too?" You asked, rubbing your eyes.

"No, just me and Tig." Chibs informed you.

You tried to get up but you had forgotten how hard that was the past few weeks.

"Let me help you, darling." Chibs held your hand gently and helped you stand up.

"Oh God." You mumbled and ran to the bathroom, for your morning routine.

"Women go through so much just because we accidentally nut in them." Tig sympathized.

"Some of them choose not to go through that, but this one? This one is strong." Chibs acknowledged. "Let's go make her breakfast." He suggested and made his way to the kitchen, with Tig following behind.

Pregnancy was the hardest thing you ever had to do. Throwing up was the worst part of it because, since a very very young age, you had emetophobia. Every time you would throw up in the middle of the night, you would cry and have panic attacks, yelling Juice's name without even realizing it.

You got out of the bathroom with your hand on you belly, lost in your thoughts.

"Good morning, Uncle Tig and Grandpa Chibs." You smiled when you saw them preparing breakfast for you.

"Good morning, love of my life." Chibs kissed your forehead with a fork in his hand.

"Good morning, beautiful." Tig greeted you and left a plate full of eggs on the table.

"Oh my god." You exclaimed when you saw all the food they had prepared.

"Who's gonna eat all that?" You questioned.

"Since you eat for two, they're all yours!" Chibs spoke and showed you a plate full of bacon.

"This is from Gemma, this is from Tara, this one's from Happy and this one is from Opie." Tig showed you a few plates with food.

"Do we have any ice cream?" You asked. Surprisingly, no matter how picky you were with food during those 9 months, you would agree to eat anything in the house if there was no way for someone to get you the food you were craving.

"Ice cream! Coming right up doll." Chibs took his keys and went out of the house. A few moments later, he came back with five big boxes of ice cream.

"I didn't know what flavor you like so I got most of them!" He smiled.

"I love you you guys!" You said and started eating the ones with the chocolate flavor.

You sat on your chair, enjoying the food and the company.

Tig and Chibs were talking about how they were gonna teach your son how to ride a Harley.

"I don't really know why but I'd love to see my little Theo riding a Harley. He's gonna break a lot of hearts." You said, picturing it.

"Theo?" Chibs tried not to tear up.

"Yes, after my father." You said.

"That's one beautiful name." Tig commented.

"Since the moment I found out it's a boy I instantly thought of that name." You smiled.

You felt something dripping wet from your pants.

"Okay, guys, don't panic but I think my waters broke." You smiled nervously, this time.

"OH MY GOD." Tig stood up and grabbed his phone.

"Bring everyone here, (y/n)'s waters broke, I REPEAT-" he started yelling but Chibs took the phone from his hands.

"Call an ambulance first, you idiot!" He hissed.

"No, no, Jax was gonna bring the van, we don't need an ambulance!" Tig started crying.

"Jesus Christ!" Chibs exclaimed.

In front of this surreal moment, you couldn't help but laugh, as you felt small waves of pain on your tummy.

"Okay, (y/n), I'm gonna grab a few things for you. Tell me what do you need sweetheart." Chibs held your hand gently.

"I don't know, get some clothes." You tried to control your breathing.

"You're gonna be okay, love." Tig kissed your forehead and helped you stand up.

"Okay little Theo, please don't be too hard on mommy." He caressed your tummy.

You heard the van stopping right in front of your house.

Chibs came with a small bag of clothes and Tig opened the door.

Jax and Happy ran to you and helped you get in the van.

Tara was there and helped you with your breathing.

"Um, it hurts so much!" You yelled.

"I know honey, please breathe." Tara was as calm as ever.

Jax was on the driver's seat while you were between Tara and Chibs, each of them holding one of your hands.

"You're gonna be just fine, sweetheart." Chibs kissed your cheek.

"Oh my god." Now, you could feel bigger waves of pain hitting your whole body. "It hurts!" You yelled.

"I'm going as fast as I can, darling, we'll be at the hospital in no time." Jax reassured you.

The rest of the guys were following the van riding their Harleys.

"Did you have time to wash her a bit?" Tara asked Chibs.

"No darling, everything happened too fast." Chibs responded.

"Guys, I think I'm gonna faint." You said and a few tears started rolling on your cheeks.

"No baby, you're gonna be just fine." Chibs caressed your hand with his thumb.

"Chibs, I want Juice, where is Juice?" You cried, feelings your heart breaking.

No one had an answer to that, everybody just stayed quiet.

"Why did Juice leave me? This is so hard without him." You kept crying.

The pain was now unbearable.

"It's gonna be okay, darling." Chibs squeezed your hand.

The van stopped and Tara, Chibs and Jax got you out. You could barely walk, with a baby just about to come out of you, but you didn't give up.

As soon as you walked into the hospital there was a nurse with a wheelchair waiting for you.

"Doctor Knowles, we're waiting for you!" She said as she was helping you sit.

Everybody else got into the hospital cheering for you.

"You're gonna do great, (y/n)!" Opie yelled.

"Yes, you're gonna bring a king to this world!" Bobby added and everyone cheered.

"Can the king please be more gentle?" You cried.

"The father can come with us, if he wants." The nurse announced.

Everybody stayed silent.

"His father is an asshole. Can any of us come?" Chibs asked.

"Chibs please come with me." You grabbed his hand.

"Of course. Doctor Knowles, please give him gloves and everything else he needs to wear." The nurse started pulling the wheelchair and got you into a room.

"Okay, sweetie, I need you to help me, now." She took your hand and helped you stand up only to lay down on an uncomfortable bed.

"Breathe, okay?" She held your hand.

As soon as you saw all the doctors entering the room you started panicking.

"I'm here (y/n), don't worry." Chibs said and held your hand.

The doctors helped you spread your legs, after undressing your lower body.

"Oh my god, it hurts so much, please make it stop!" You screamed.

"Honey, I need you to push now okay?" You heard Tara.

You started pushing as hard as you could but the only thing you felt was more pain.

"Push, again!" Tara kept saying.

"I hate him!" You yelled as you were pushing. "He should have been here with me!" You screamed.

"Push!" A doctor said.

"Oh shut up, I'm pushing!" You shouted, feeling just pain.

"Shit this hurts so much!" You whined loudly. "I need Juice here with me. Where is Juice?" You cried and you pushed again.

"You're doing amazing, honey, I can see the baby's head!" Tara said excitedly.

"He should've been here to see it too!" You yelled and went on pushing and crying.

"You're so strong, sweetheart." Chibs said. You could hear him crying.

"I'm gonna kick his ass, you hear me!" You yelled. "He should've been here with me!" You added.

Little did you know that Juice was already there, in the hallway.

"How can you show up right now?" Jax grabbed the collar of his t shirt and pushed him angrily against the wall.

"I know man, I am so sorry." Juice whimpered. "I regret leaving her so much." He cried.

The rest of the members and Gemma, wouldn't talk to him.

"Stay here." Jax hissed and walked away from him.

Suddenly the door opened and Tara god out with her uniform full of blood.

"We're losing her!" She yelled.

Everyone stood up, shocked. Juice ran to her in despair.

"You have to save her, you have to save her!" He yelled.

"Oh you wouldn't care!" Tig raged.

"Please, Tara, save the love of my life, please!" Juice kept yelling.

Tara got back into the room where the doctors were trying to bring you back to life, with Chibs crying his eyes out in the corner, not knowing what else to do.

"Don't you die on me, don't you freaking die on me..." He grieved.

Eventually, you heartbeat was back only for you to die again.

"Again?" Chibs shouted. "Save her!" He begged the doctors.

"Charge!" Tara yelled. "Clear!" Were few of the words that could be heard outside of the room.

"God, please help her." Juice silently grieved, waiting for Tara to come back outside.

"Bring her back!" Everyone heard Chibs' voice.

Some of the guys had already started crying and Gemma, trying to stay strong, was comforting everyone.

Tig, on the other hand, had walked away, crying somewhere in the hallway.

"Please don't take her." He sniffed.

A few minutes later, the door opened and an exhausted Tara came out.

Her hair was a mess and her eyes looked tired.

"She's okay." She said.

"Oh thank God!" Everyone yelled and started laughing, hugging each other.

Tig came back, still crying.

"You saved her, right?" He asked.

"Yes uncle Tig, don't worry." Tara smiled.

"Oh thank you, doctor." Tig hugged her.

"How's our little angel?" Gemma asked.

"Heathy and strong." Tara beamed. And then she turned to look at Juice, who was quietly celebrating.

"Why are you here?" She growled.

"I'm so sorry." Juice kneeled before everyone. "Please forgive me for being such an asshole. I was so scared, I'm so sorry." He cried.

"Get up, you idiot." Said Chibs whom was just exiting the room.

He grabbed Juice's arms and lifted him up.

"You are a father." He hugged him tightly. "Take good care of both the angels God sent you, okay?" He said, with tears in his eyes.

"Okay, okay." Juice hugged him back.

"If she takes you back, we'll all do." Gemma scoffed.

"Please, Gemma, don't be mad at me." Juice wept.

"You're fine, Juicy. Just, don't be an asshole now that little Theo is born." Opie said.

"Theo?" Juice uttered.

Everybody smiled.

"Congratulations, Juice." Tig laughed. "You're the worst dad ever and the kid hasn't even met you yet."

[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

Continue reading below or on Ao3...

“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Earthquake

Authors Note: Hello all!  I have another Ino Shika Cho drabble collection in response to the Mitsuki Disappearance Arc in Boruto.  I hated that Team 10 had such a big role but there wasn't any kind of scene showing how their parents responded to it... :sigh:  and so here we are.  If you haven't gotten that far in the anime I think that you can still read and understand it but proceed with caution if you don't want spoilers at all.   Whelp either way I hope that you enjoy it! 

Ino

Inojin stood at his parents' door wondering whether he should knock or not. He knew that his loss couldn’t compare to what both of them had experienced but right now he needed them. 

His need for comfort won out over his embarrassment and he knocked on the door.  “Come in.” He walked in his eyes downcast while Sai and Ino moved so that he could settle between them. It had been years since he’d needed to crawl into bed with them. 

Ino looked down at her son and pulled him into her arms the glittery tears in his eyes breaking their hearts. Sai had filled her in on everything that happened. Inojin had told them a little as well, the rest of his team filling in any missing details.  Her baby had been through a lot.

Inojin clutched onto his mother trying to hide the tears in his eyes.  “I know it’s stupid to be this upset because you lost grandpa and uncle but it hurts.” Sai and Ino held onto him a little tighter.  He was starting to learn what the Shinobi world was really like and how high the stakes could be. They knew that he’d have to grow up but it still pained them that they couldn’t protect him forever.

Ino stroked his hair comfortingly.  “It doesn’t matter who or what it was.  A loss hurts. Akkun meant something to you even if it was just a short time with him.  Sometimes the best relationships are only a snapshot in time.” Ino assured him trying to validate his feelings. 

Inojin was his father's son and emotions could be difficult for him.  Processing this was going to take some time. When Ino found out what was going on, she and the rest of the Ino-Shika-Cho moms stormed in and camped out in the Hokage’s office while their husbands tried to keep them from rushing to Iwagakure.

“Does it ever stop hurting?”  The pain in his voice was enough to level their foundation. They fought so hard for peace. So that their son wouldn’t have to experience the same heartache they did and yet here he was in tears. 

“I wish that I could say that it does, but time does help. Thankfully you have wonderful memories of what you shared with him when it becomes really painful.”  Sai tried to explain but knew that it might be of little comfort right now. 

Ino tilted her son’s face so that his eyes that were so similar to her own could meet hers.  “From what it sounds like you gave Akkun a wonderful gift. You gave him a heart. He was able to care about someone so much, to find something so precious to him that he put himself in harm's way, for you. And for us, to make sure that you came back home.  We’re thankful for him.” Inojin nodded brushing the tears away. It was true, that little creature was the reason that he was home safe with his parents, he’d always be grateful for him. 

Inojin nestled between his parents feeling their love and support surrounding him.  He was thankful that he had a heart, that he had people that were worth protecting. 

“I uhm I love you guys. I just wanted you to know.” Sai and Ino both looked at each other the tears matching in their eyes.  Sai held his family close as they all latched onto one another. 

“We love you too baby.”

Once Inojin fell asleep they tucked the blankets around him and made their way to the kitchen too overwhelmed to sleep. 

Ino fell into her husband's arms in tears needing him to be strong for her. While Inojin was gone she had to have faith in his skills and the other genin but the reality was that he may have never come back.  She didn’t know what she would have done if that was the case.

Sai whispered words of comfort while rubbing her back. “He’s okay my Love, he’s here and safe, let’s just be grateful.” Sai felt like a fraud saying that knowing how worried he had been, but his wife needed comfort right now.  When he was in the Anbu, even during life or death missions, he didn’t know fear, that emotion had been trained out of him. But while Inojin was gone that terror had a grip on his heart. He wanted to learn about emotions, to feel and express them but he’d be happy to never experience that again.  

Ino took a deep breath and nodded.  It was always so difficult when Sai went away now she had to worry about Inojin leaving too.  This was the life that they chose but it was still hard for her not to be concerned about the two boys in her life.  In spite of it all, they were both incredibly proud of him and it made her happy to know that he used the Yamanaka clan jutsu. 

“We’re going to really start training him. I need him to be strong and able to care for himself.”  Sai nodded kissing her forehead recognizing the sheer determination in his wife’s eyes. 

They may not be able to keep him safe from all the sadness and tragedies of the world but they would make sure he had all the tools he needed to fight the darkness that existed. 

 Shika

 Shikadai dragged his feet down the path towards his home.  He was nervous about how his mother was going to react to this last mission.  

“Come on son, it will be fine I promise.”  His father assured him but he was still hesitant.  His mom was scary on a good day after this last stunt he didn’t know what sort of level of rage she was at.  

“We’re home!”  Shikadai stood there eyes downcast as his mother made her way towards them.  

“Shikadai…”  He shut his eyes and steeled himself for the inevitable berating.  Instead, he was surprised when she kneeled in front of him and gathered him into her arms. 

“Mom?”  He asked surprised.

“I’m very proud of you my little fawn.”   An unusually soft voice told him.  

Shikadai stood there in shock.  “What?”

He looked up at her admiration shining in her eyes.  “You used your intelligence and skills to keep your friends safe.  Not only that but you helped save another village. You were steadfast and brave in the face of danger and despair.  You acted quickly and thoughtfully. My son, you represented your village and your family well.” Shikadai felt tears appear in his eyes at the sincere pride in her voice.  He had so much to live up to because of his parents’ legacy that the pressure could be overwhelming at times. Moments like this helped. 

Temari held onto him a little tighter.  Since he’d gotten older he shied away from affection.  She missed holding her little fawn. When Shikamaru had filled her in on what was going on she tried to remain calm trusting in her son’s abilities. That she and Shikamaru had trained him well.  As a shinobi, she could understand, as a mother she was scared. She wasn’t used to feelings of fear but it took a hold of her. What was worse was the feeling of helplessness because apparently you can’t just cross country borders without authorization.  She wasn’t surprised at how quickly and efficiently Shikamaru worked to get Naruto clearance. She could tell how worried he was. Thankfully he had enough frame of mind to get the help that they needed. The two Shikas in her life had both come such a long way. 

“I’m happy that you’re okay.  And that you’re home safe.” Shikadai held onto her a little tighter.  

“Me too Mama.”  She placed an affectionate kiss on his forehead. 

“Wash up, I’ll have dinner done soon.”  Shikadai nodded heading towards his room.

He turned back to look at his parents.  “Mom, dad, thank you.”

 Temari took a deep breath before facing her husband.  “This is going to be our new normal huh?” 

Shikamaru pulled her into a tight hug each needing the other to ground them.  

“Yes, he’s far too intelligent and talented not to use his skills as a shinobi.” 

“I guess we’ll just have to get used to it then.” She couldn’t have a panic attack every time that her son went on a mission. So she’d have to make sure that he was prepared when he was on one. 

“He's grown a lot.”  Temari sighed thinking about her little baby that would look at her like she placed the clouds in the sky. 

“Yes, he's a lot more motivated than I was as a kid.  It makes me tired. I must say though that we make good kids.” Temari grinned in response. 

He kissed her softly a teasing glint in his eyes. “We did such a good job with Shikadai.  You’re really sure you don’t want one more?” 

She laughed in response her fingers running through his hair. “Hmm pretty sure, but we should keep practicing just in case.” 

Shikamaru kissed her softly and sweetly thanking the universe for his wife and son, the life he was lucky enough to live.  “I like how you think Princess.” 

 Cho

 The Akimichi family was sitting together enjoying a quiet dinner.  Karui had cooked all of her daughter’s favorite foods. It was her way of congratulating ChouChou on her mission and to process her feelings.  She was proud of the kunoichi that her daughter was growing into but that was still her baby out there.  

“Mom?”

“Yes little bug?”

“I want you to help me train using your jutsu.”  Chouji and Karui looked at her, surprised by the request and her motivation.  

“Really?”

ChouChou nodded in response. “Yes, I was thinking about everything that happened and if I can manage to use both then I'll really be able to help my team and friends.  I need to get stronger.”

“Okay, you know that I'm not going to take it easy on you right?”

Her eyes met her parents, fierce and determined.  “I don’t want you to be. Akimichis are not weak, we’re strong and reliable and I’m going to work as hard as I need to keep the people I care about safe.”

Her parents looked at her sheer pride present on their faces. “Alright, we’ll start tomorrow then.”  The small family smiled at each other before resuming their dinner. Grateful that they were there safe and complete. 

 After ChouChou went to bed Chouji found his wife outside training under the starlight.  The light from the moon reflecting off her katana blades, her lightning sending shocks of light across the dark sky.  He watched her enchanted at how effortlessly she moved, switching between using her blades or her jutsu. He rarely got to see her use her ninja skills unless they were training.  They seldom went on missions together as they had done before ChouChou was born. He was just as amazed now as he was back then.  

“Don’t just watch, come train with me, don’t want you to get rusty Honey.”  She teased him with a smug smile. He made his way towards her pulling her into his arms.  Her strong sturdy presence calming his own lingering fears and worries. 

“Wouldn’t want that now, would we.  After that dinner you cooked I could use some exercise Sweetheart.  Don’t take it easy on me either.” She kissed him affectionately so thankful for him.  She not only had an incredible husband and daughter she had a wonderful clan and extended family that loved and supported each other.  While she, Ino and Temari waited for information about their children they all agreed that their training would start in earnest. This incarnation of Ino-Shika-Cho would be the strongest yet.  They would make sure of it. When Ino, Shikamaru and Chouji were younger their fathers had taken the bulk of responsibility for training them. This time around the moms would carry that responsibility as well.  The three of them were amongst the most talented kunoichi of their generation and their children would be a reflection of that. 

Their families had all experienced an earthquake but together they’d make the world shake under their feet. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702238