#trip's starting to feel the effects raising a kid has on his wallet

[duthea]

Another one for this AU, where Trip adopted Gold! They're trying out clothes in a store. This was meant to be a quick doodle but I got carried away...

[soundsgoodfeelslikeshit]

She Was Almost Right.

princezukohere said:

Can you do an imagine where the reader is dating JJ and while she’s on a short trip her mom pays a kook or some girl to basically set him up and prove that he’s not worth it. He doesn’t go through with it but he almost does or something but just like angsty and stuff 

Summary: You and JJ had been best friends since you met. Best friends quickly turned into more after the years of mindless flirting you both had done. Throughout all of this your mom never liked JJ, she’d mention how he was trouble and would only drag you down every chance she got. While she planned a weekend to the mainland to visit your cousin, she paid none other than Amelia Vanwhal, kook princess, to flirt with JJ and see if he would cheat on you. 

Warnings: cussing, teenage drinking, borderline abusive parents, mentions of cheating 

“Babe how long will you be?” JJ questioned as you threw random clothes into your suitcase. 

“Hopefully, just a few days. My cousin just needs help with baby shopping.” You said looking at him. 

He sighed and nodded. 

“That means I can’t kiss you for a few days.” He groaned, resting his hands on your hips. 

“You’ll be fine.” You smiled giving him a quick peck. 

He watched as you threw in some panties and bras and then zipped your suitcase. You sighed and then laid next to him. 

“You okay, Bub?” 

“Yeah, just not excited to be on a long ferry ride with my mom.” You sighed and turned on your side. 

“It won’t be that bad. You could always go and sit in the lounge away from her.” 

“She only has time to talk bad about you, and you know I can’t tolerate that.” 

“Just try to keep your temper under control.” He said, running his hand along your bare thigh. 

You sighed and nodded, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. He mumbled and pulled you closer to him, resting his chin on your head. 

................................................................................................................................ “Y/N get the fuck up now.” Your mom yelled, causing you and JJ to jump up. 

“What mom,” You groaned, rubbing your eyes. 

“You know I don’t allow sleepovers, he needs to leave by 12 and you need to put pants on. I don’t even want to know what you were doing.” She glared. 

“We didn’t do anything, but there you go again...always something you just can’t let it be.” You said standing up. 

“Oh please, he just wants one thing, he’ll probably cheat on you before the summer’s over. You know he’s nothing but trouble.” She said with a laugh. 

“Get out of my room.” You said walking towards your door. 

“JJ, I’m sorry. She doesn’t know when to stop.” You said with tears in your eyes. 

He shook his head and stood up, wrapping his arms around you carefully. He pulled your chin up and sighed. 

“She’s probably right. Wherever I go trouble follows, you deserve better.” 

“No. You don’t get to say that. There is no one better than you, my mom doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” You said, running your hands up his back. 

“I should go. Try and get some rest, I’ll text you when I get home.” He said placing a kiss to your lips before leaving your room. 

You wiped a tear from your eye and kicked your door shut. This always happened, but he never reacted that way to her words. You were stumped to know why they effected him the way they did now. You turned your ringer on and climbed in bed, pulling your blanket over your body as you tried to sleep. 

You stayed up all night waiting for a text that never came. You glared at your phone as you grabbed it and texted JJ, and then John B to see if he’d heard from JJ or if JJ had shown up last night. 

You grabbed your suitcase and your backpack before heading downstairs to load the car up. You sat in the car waiting for your mom and then you were on the road. You tried to ignore her words for the most part, but when she mentioned how JJ would fall for Ameila you glared at her. 

“Yeah, mom. JJ is totally gonna fall for a kook princess. He despises them, what is wrong with you? Why do you want this to go bad huh? You don’t even know him!” You said with a frown. 

“Your dad was the same exact way, surfer boy with no care in the world. Couldn’t be tied down. You don’t want to be with someone like him.” 

“Yeah, mom I’m sorry but I would much rather stay with dad than you. I think you forget he doesn’t treat me like shit. Oh but you don’t notice.” You said with a laugh as you got out of the car and headed towards the ferry lounge. 

You pulled your phone out to see a text from John B. 

John B: 

Yeah he got here last night, slightly drunk. Everything alright? 

You: 

Yep. Didn’t get a text from him last night, or a response this morning. Wanted to make sure he’s okay, thanks. 

You put your phone away with a sigh. Your thoughts running wild with everything that could go wrong while you were gone. Now wasn’t a time to go away when your boyfriend wouldn’t even talk with you. You shook the thought and tried to be positive while you approached the mainland. 

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

Once you returned back from your trip you made plans to see the pogues. It’d been a week and a half and you were excited to see your friends and your boyfriend. You hadn’t anticipated being gone that long. You sent a quick text, changed into a swimsuit and then headed to the Chateau. 

You were met with silence as you opened the door. The pogues sat no where in your sight and you looked around with confusion running over your body. Sighing, you turned towards the dock and saw them sitting by the boat. 

“Hey,” You smiled as you walked to them. 

“Oh hey, Y/N. Long time no see,” Pope said averting eye contact. 

You raised an eye brow as all the pogues looked around, avoiding eye contact with you. 

“Did I do something?” You questioned, sadly. 

“No, JJ and you need to talk though.” John B said patting your back as he walked away with Kie and Pope in tow. 

You looked at your boyfriend who hadn’t texted you once while you were gone. He couldn’t even look at you. You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“She was almost right, I’m sorry - so sorry.” He said, pushing your hand away from his chin. 

You stared at him with confusion on your face, and then it quickly turned to that of anger. You could see your friends standing close enough to break anything up, but far enough away for privacy. 

“Who was almost right J, I’m not a fucking mind reader.” You said, already knowing what he was meaning. 

“Your mom, she was right. I - I almost cheated.” He said. 

You took a step back and stared at him. Your silence caused him to look at you. He was worried because your face was completely blank. 

“I was gone for not even two weeks. Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t even go two fucking weeks without needing to be with someone. Who the fuck are you?! This isn’t the JJ I’ve known since we were kids, he - he would never do something like this.” You screamed throwing your hands up. 

“I -” He started, but you were quick to cut him off. 

“No I don’t care. I don’t want to hear your excuses or your half-assed apologies. I quite frankly don’t give a fuck anymore. You know how I feel about cheating, even if it didn’t fucking happen.” You said, your anger quickly causing you face to flush and tears to appear. 

Your friends were rushing towards you as you looked like you could hurt the boy sat in front of you. 

“Who was it with?” You questioned as he stared at you. 

“Who the fuck was it with JJ?!” You screamed. 

“Amelia. Amelia Vanhal. She - she was trying to push herself on me, I almost gave in. I was drunk, I thought she was you.” He said, letting his gaze fall to the ground. 

“She - she you know what.” You said with a laugh. You started to walk towards him and you were quickly pulled back by John B who was worried what you might do. 

“Let go, I’m not going to do anything to him. He’s not who I want to hurt.” You said with a laugh. Your friends looked at you like you were insane. 

“I’ll be back.” You said swinging your keys as you walked towards your car. 

“Uh, maybe we should go after her.” Kie said quickly. 

................................................................................................................................ You pulled up to your house to see if your mom was still home and smiled when you saw her car. You ran inside and looked at her talking with some girl in the kitchen. 

“Hey mom, we need to have a little chat.” 

“Hold on, I’m busy with Amelia. Almost finished.” She said pulling her wallet out of her purse. 

“I knew you fucking set that shit up. You’re a piece of shit, you know that? AMelia you’re the biggest fucking whore on the island, please try and be less desperate. My boyfriend would never stoop that low when he was sober. Funny you tried to take advantage of him while he was drunk. Also mom, funny you are paying minors to try and fuck another minor. That sounds like that could be bad if that got out.” You said with a laugh. 

“I’ve contacted dad. I won’t be staying here with you anymore because he agrees you aren’t fit to take care of children.”  

You heard footsteps behind you and then felt hands on your waist. 

“Baby, let’s go.” 

You turned towards JJ and followed him out. 

“I’m sorry, I knew my mom had something to do with this once I heard Amelia’s name. She talked about it on the ferry, said you’d leave me for someone like her. Compared you to my dad, which isn’t a bad thing.” You sighed, rubbing your hands on his waist. 

He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, I ignored you for almost two weeks and almost cheated. That’s terrible to do.” 

“Listen, we’ll work on it, alright. I’m just glad you didn’t.” You said pulling him in for a kiss. “Now help me pack my room. I’m moving in with my dad.” You said with a smile. 

He nodded and followed you back in your house and to your room. 

[patchwork-panda]

“I won’t do anything. Probably.” (BSD OdaSaku x Reader. Part 1/3)

Title: “I won’t do anything. Probably” Genre: Comedy/Romance/smut Rating: Part 1 is sfw BUT Part 3 will 18+ (aka nsfw) Reader-insert is written as afab/femme/shorter than OdaSaku and 20+ Plot: You are a member of the Port Mafia who has been sent on a “cleanup” job with Oda Sakunosuke, who you have a crush on but won’t admit it. You don’t finish the job until very late at night, at which point, you’re forced to check into a hotel. But there’s just one problem: There’s only one room left. And only one bed.

Mini Fic is written in 2nd person. AO3 link for fic: HERE

Inspired by the [OdaSaku] art of Tsumugi (@tumugi1 on Twitter). I saw this picture and my brain latched onto the whole, “I won’t do anything. Probably.” bit. And wrote a whole fic for it as I was falling asleep on the 24th and amazingly, KEPT writing it when I woke up on the 25th. So, here it is. Call it a belated Xmas gift bc it feels almost like Old Saint Nick dropped it into my head like a filthy piece of coal.

“You’re kidding me.”

The guy at the front desk shakes his head apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles, clearly looking every bit as remorseful as he sounds.

He shoots another nervous look at the gun holstered on your hip before catching himself and quickly looking back into your eyes.

He gulps.

Audibly.

“But there really aren’t any more rooms.”

You sigh and take your arm off of the counter. You’d considered draping it over the receptionist’s monitor in an effort to look more intimidating, but when you’d realized your arms were a little too short for that, you’d settled for the counter instead. Luckily for you, though, that one simple motion had been enough to reveal your gun.

Even now, the receptionist looked like he was going to pee himself, but even though your intimidation attempt had been successful, it still hadn’t gotten you the results you wanted.

Oh, well.

At least Nakahara-senpai would be proud of the way you’d conducted yourself just now.

The man you were with, however...

“Well?” you call out, tilting your head back slightly to look at him. “You heard what he said. What do you think we should do?”

You frown.

“Oda-senpai?”

The tall redhead looks up from his phone at last.

“Well, that depends,” he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

His sapphire-blue eyes find yours.

“How tired are you?” he asks.

You stop stifling your yawn immediately.

Today was a weird day. Even by your standards. And you were a teenaged runaway who’d gotten picked up by the Port Mafia several years ago.

Ever since that fateful day when you’d made the stupid decision to steal from that convenience store (how were you supposed to know a dump like that was a front for the Port Mafia?), they’d taken you in, given you a place to stay and a purpose. And that purpose was “doing whatever the hell it was they wanted you to do.”

Today, that was one of their infamous “clean-up” jobs.

You’d been on these sorts of jobs before so you didn’t think of it as a big deal at the time. But then they’d handed you the list. Which was a lot longer than it usually was. And then, they’d given you the location.

You hadn’t been sent this far out of Yokohama since that one time Nakahara Chuuya himself had requested you for backup. And even then, it had been an exception. Unfortunately, unlike that time, today’s job wasn’t quick. In fact, it had taken far, far longer than you had expected and you’d ended up working until late into the night.

So late into the night that all the trains back to Yokohama had long since stopped running.

And then it started pouring.

You are now effectively stranded for the night.

You sigh.

There was one bright spot...

You eye the man standing across the lobby, who takes his phone back out one more time in hopes of locating a cell signal.

At least they’d sent Oda Sakunosuke along with you.

“I’m okay,” you say, ignoring the fact that you’d just been yawning not two seconds ago. “Really.”

“Uh-huh,” Oda responds, his bright blue eyes flicking away from his phone once more to scan your face. “So you’re not here to see if you can find a place to rest for the night? You just wanted to get out of the rain until the first train comes?”

It doesn’t quite come across as sarcastic but you’re really not sure what else to call his tone. Humorless, perhaps? It’s hard to tell. Oda is pretty stoic on a normal day and you’ve almost never seen him smile. For one wild moment, you begin to wonder if he’s actually teasing you.

But then you remember you are talking to Oda Sakunosuke.

This is nothing more than a simple, honest question.

He puts his phone away and approaches the counter.

“Either way, walking into this hotel wasn’t a bad idea,” he says, reaching into one of the many pockets in his pale, yellow coat. “I wasn’t exactly looking forward to camping under a bridge in this weather.”

You note the big, muddy footprints his shoes leave in his wake.

The receptionist behind the counter can clearly see them but he looks like he’s still too scared to say anything about it.

Oda leans onto the counter next to you.

“I think we should stay here,” he says. “There’s no way we’re getting back to Yokohama any time soon and besides...”

He lets out a massive yawn. You think you can see a tear glistening in the corner of his eye.

“I’m tired too.”

“But you heard what he said,” you press, as the receptionist jerks away from you (and your gun). “There’s only one room.”

“Yeah, so that means there is a place we can take a nap here,” he says, already pulling out his wallet. “And the fact that there’s only one room here means we can save some money. I know what it means for those of us who get sent out on jobs like this.”

He picks out a card.

“It means we can stand to save a few bucks. Anyway, don’t worry about it.”

He lays the slate-gray piece of plastic against the counter.

“I’ll pay for tonight, okay?”

For a moment, you’re struck speechless.

“Th-that’s not the problem,” you stutter.

Oda just looks at you.

“So, then what is?”

You wonder if one of the hits he’d taken on today’s job had actually done something to his brain.

How could he not see it?

Having a man pay for your hotel room was already bad enough. But the implications of a tall, broad-shouldered, sexy man like Oda Sakunosuke paying  for a shared a hotel room with you??

You swallow dryly, hoping against hope that your cell phone wasn’t bugged and that if it was, there was no signal here.

If word got out that you spent the night in a cheap hotel with Oda Sakunosuke, a man who had the kind of rugged charm that would put Clint Eastwood to shame, you would never hear the end of it. You could already see Ozaki Kouyou smirking at you from behind one long pink kimono sleeve the minute you got back to headquarters.

And “I’ll pay for it tonight” he says?!!

As if this whole thing couldn’t SEEM any more suspicious!

You shoot a menacing glare at the receptionist, as if to say “don’t you dare get any ideas.” But the message appears to go right over his head when he sinks just a little further below the counter in abject fear.

“The problem is,” you elaborate, stunned that you even have to say it out loud. “That we’d be sleeping. In the same room.”

Oda continues to just look at you.

“So?”

You make up your mind to ask the Boss to check Oda for brain damage when you get back tomorrow. Mori used to be a doctor, right?

Oda sighs.

“Listen,” he says, sliding his card towards the receptionist, nodding kindly to the young man as if he were a timid baby bird instead of a grown human being. “I know what you’re thinking. And I thought about it too.”

He what?!

Without meaning to, you flush but Oda doesn’t appear to take any notice.

“But it’ll be fine. No matter how you look at it, we’re clearly just a couple of colleagues--”

“Clearly??”

“--who got stranded away from home while out on a business trip,” he finishes, taking his card back from the trembling receptionist. “So, like I said. It’ll be fine. I mean, we’re just sleeping right? We’re both responsible adults. I think we can handle just sleeping next to each other in the same room.”

He looks at you.

“Don’t you?”

You stiffen. Your eyes dart to the key card on the counter that the receptionist is now inching further and further away from. You’d think it was radioactive from the way he was acting...

“I--”

Oda raises an eyebrow.

“Unless...”

Oda inclines his head back towards the windows, where you can now see the rain lashing against the thick glass in the gale.

“You want to camp out under a bridge? Because if you do, I can go with you--”

“No, I definitely don’t,” you tell him, sweeping the key card up in one hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch the receptionist take another step away from you as you move. You roll your eyes.

“Let’s just go. It’s late, it’s raining, we’re both tired and you know what, you’re right. As long as you stay in your bed, on your side of the room, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem.”

And as you march down the hallway towards the elevators, you suddenly hear the receptionist calling after you.

“Ah, wait!”

The young man suddenly sounds alarmed.

“There’s only--”

“Hah?”

You turn and shoot him a look and he immediately clams up again, quailing behind the counter.

“N-never mind,” he mumbles, twiddling his fingers as he tries (unsuccessfully) not to look at your gun.

He shoots you a watery smile.

“H-Have a pleasant stay...”

[rynhaswritersblock]

brace-face | p.p.

summary: in which you get braces, peter is persistent, and mr. delmar gives you free slushees

warnings: like... one bad word. also fluffy/babey peter what's new

+ + +

"Let me see."

You shake your head before laughing, lips folded as to not expose your newly hardwared teeth. You grab your phone and go to Peter's contact, smiling with your mouth closed. His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. A laugh flies out of his mouth as he smiles, looking at you.

"You're fucking lying, let me see," he says, sassy.

You send him another text.

"You do a better Rosa impression? Yeah, you're right," he shrugs. "But let me see your braces! I guarantee it's not as bad as you think."

You shake your head and hum. The bell rings and you jump slightly before painting a smug smile on your face and saluting to the boy before running off towards your physics class. Peter sighs.

+ + +

The sound of your stomach growling makes Peter frown.

"Y/N, just eat something," he says, poking you in the shoulder.

You shake your head. You'd lasted half the day without showing Peter your mouth, and as far as you were concerned, you didn't want him seeing your teeth until they were straight and without the hideousness of metal brackets. Every class you had with him, he'd be talking to you, trying to make you laugh, and ultimately failing. He'd poke your sides, which always made you laugh. You still kept your mouth closed and a hand covering your lips in precaution. Communication from you only happened on paper or through text, in addition to weird movements that made you regret not taking sign language.

Nevertheless, he persisted.

"I have apple sauce?"

You make a face before grabbing his lunch bag and pulling out the GoGo Squeeze, giving him a smug yet thankful look. He playfully huffs as you untwist the cap.

"Don't you think you owe me for the food?" he asks, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows, face full of expectation.

You shake your head and carefully opening your mouth, careful to cover your teeth as you begin sucking on the pouch.

"You're killing me."

+ + +

The final bell rings and you and Peter worm your way out of the crowded building, planning to go get slushees at Delmar's and then head over to his place to play Minecraft.

"I still don't get the big deal," Peter whines, flopping his arms on his side. You let out a loud huff. "Come onnnnnnn!"

He stops and turns to you, hands grabbing your shoulders and shaking you back and forth. You bite back a smile, lips sealed, and defiantly shake your head. This only fuels him. He raises an eyebrow at you that shouts "Okay, you asked for it!" and slips his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and turning, beginning to skip down the sidewalk dramatically. You trip over your feet as you try to keep up with him, the boy practically giggling as he looks back at you. You give sympathetic faces to people walking past who furrow their brows with confused grins at the sight.

"Peter, slow down," you say through your teeth, trying to keep your mouth closed as much as possible.

"Nope!"

You decide to just skip along with him, and while your enthusiasm wasn't nearly as high as Peter's, the two of you were still having fun making complete fools out of yourselves. Delmar's comes into view as the two of you round the corner and Peter quickly looks both ways before shouting,

"Whoever's there last has to pay!"

You groan and take off, managing to beat him to the door. You give him a look.

"What? No, Y/N, I didn't let you win."

He swings the door open and holds it for you as you walk in and tilt your head at him.

"You do be fast anyways though," he says, "Hey, Mr. Delmar!"

"Hey Pete. Y/N, how's it going?" he greets.

You give him a lipped smile and a thumbs up as you make your way over to the slushee machines. Peter watches for a second before walking up to the counter.

Mr. Delmar frowns as he watches you fill up your cup. "What's up with her?"

"She just got her braces on and she's determined to not let anyone see them," Peter sighs.

"Peter," you yell, one arm covering your mouth as the other reaches for another cup. "What flavor?"

"Cherry!"

"Gross!"

"Shut up!"

Mr. Delmar laughs at the two of you. Peter notices and gets a little flustered, smiling as he looks down at his beat up Vans.

You glance over at the two of them talking as you put the lids on your drinks. Peter's leaning against the counter on one arm, laughing at something Mr. Delmar said. A smile pulls at your lips and you quickly close your mouth, thankful they weren't looking just then.

You bring the drinks over. Peter stops leaning on the counter and reaches to grab his wallet.

"Don't worry about it, kid. On the house," Mr. Delmar says, giving Peter a quick wink.

What on earth did they talk about to get him to do that?

The two of you thank him, bumping into each other playfully on your way out. Peter points at the bench outside the window of Delmar's and the you sit down, sighing as you sip on your slushees.

"God, this feels so good on my mouth," you sigh.

"That's what she said."

You give him a look and a closed-mouth smile before shaking your head and looking at all the buildings.

"Hey," he says. You turn your head back to him.

"Hey."

"What's it called when I climb walls?"

You shrug.

"Arachnobatics."

There it was.

It was out of your control. A bright smile finally slips out as you laugh, exposing the metal on your teeth that you were so ashamed of. Before you even realize what you'd done, Peter shoots up from the bench, running around, yelling, and pumping his fists in the air.

"I did it! I got Y/N to smile," he shouts, jumping over a trash can and whooping before racing into Delmar's. "MR. DELMAR, I GOT Y/N TO SMILE!!"

You smile as you hear the man go "Atta boy" from inside the building, yet you revert back to your old ways and grin, closed mouth.

Peter runs back out, large smile painted on his face. A father and daughter walk by and Peter jumps all around them, yelling "I did it! I made her smile!" The dad even gives Peter a high five, which the little girl does, too, after seeing her dad do it. The boy finally returns to you as they walk away, bouncing happily in front of you.

And then he sees that you're still hiding your teeth. Lips pursed.

"Hey," he says, grabbing your hands and kneeling down. His concerned expression makes you soften a little.

"They're horrible, I know."

His jaw drops and eyes jut out before he huffs and grabs your face in his hands, fingers running over your lips playfully before he pulls them up (while making a little "whoop!" sound effect), exposing your teeth. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you recoil. "No, stop it-"

"Y/N, you're beautiful. With and without the braces."

You slump in defeat. And slight embarrassment.

"Thanks," you whisper. Tears start to pool in your eyes-- he was the most kind and real boy you'd ever known. A single drop falls down your cheek and you smile, tired.

He gently wipes your tear with his thumb before taking a deep breath and nodding, grabbing his slushee with one hand and your hand with the other. "Ready?"

You stand, tightening your grip on his hand, flashing him a quick, toothy smile and nodding. The two of you start making your way towards Peter's apartment.

"Hey, can we finally turn on mobs in our Minecraft world?"

"Absolutely not."

+ + +

hi fun fact my kitty is in my lap rn and currently cuddling my arm so guess who's typing with one hand

[brokenjardaantech]

late at home

For @lehenne, Nolfalvrel, and Anonymous_IDFK.

summary: 

Hector goes home late. Fluff and late-night quietness ensues.

notes:

Unbeta’ed so all typos and mistakes are mine and please point them out if you see any.

Special thanks to nolf, lehenne, and anon for allowing me to wing it with their mer!connor ideas even though I haven’t been around for long. Without them, this will not exist.

By the way, on Hector’s appearance: please imagine a fusion between movie!aquaman and mcu!thor. That’s all I know on the matter.

also on ao3

----

The rain does nothing to wash a day’s worth of grime away. All it does is soaking Hector’s clothes, making them heavy and cold as fuck and weighing him down, but still he makes sure to shed all moisture he can from the fabric before opening the door and stepping into the house; his headache from both exhaustion and dehydration is killing him, and he doesn’t need Hank yelling at him for making a mess on the floor again. The surfacer always has a way to distinguish between the natural colour of the dark wooden floor and the stains on top of it.

He hangs his dripping coat on the brass hook on the wall by the door and goes straight to the bathroom, not to clean himself up, but to turn on the shower and drink straight from the shower head, pouring litres of much-needed water directly down his throat and somewhat relieving the pounding in his head that is threatening to turn his brain into mush. His headache now subsided, he moves to go to the kitchen to cook himself a serving of noodles or five. 

That is when his eyes swivel to the neat row of toothbrushes on the counter. Shit. He forgot that he actually has his children back now, and all the ruckus he caused during his short trip from the front door to the bathroom.

Hank will be so pissed if he wakes up the brothers.

Paddling softly to the corridor, he finds the door to the children’s room half-open, and when he holds the knob and pushes it so that the gap is wide enough for him to peek into the room just to find the lights out and the beds empty. Not again, he thinks as his heart thunders in his chest as he closes the door properly this time. He goes to the other bedroom which he and Hank share and immediately calms down from the scene in front of him: sitting up with his back against the headboard is Hank, a pair of wire-framed glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose as he reads from a cardboard picture book that looks tiny in his hands, and Connor, wrapped in a fluffy towel and suckling on its helm, curls close to his father’s belly, small fingers twisting into the fabric of Hank’s shirt, his eyes half-closed from what must be drowsiness. Nines is there too with a towel knitted from seaweed around his body and a protective arm thrown around his brother’s neck, though instead of listening to what his surfacer father has to say, he seems to be focused on glaring at the surfacer and crushing Connor underneath him with his slightly higher body weight, and Hector knows it’s an instinctive reaction on Nines’ part to protect Connor from harm. Getting Nines to trust his surfacer father isn’t easy, and not long ago did he start tolerating Hank’s existence around Connor; it will be a long journey before he trusts Hank completely. All the lights in the room are switched off except for the lamp on the bedside table on Hank’s side, casting a warm glow on the man himself and placing the brothers in his shadows. 

He doesn’t want to disturb the fragile peace in the bedroom, so even though Hank doesn’t seem to notice that he is home or at least doesn’t react to it, Hector goes to the kitchen to cook himself an entire family pack of noodles (which is like five portions but surfacer portions are always so small), cracking in an egg or three (he isn’t counting) and pre-washed vegetables and crab sticks into the pot as well for taste because damned if he has another tasteless bowl of noodles again in his life. If he takes the extra effort to strain the noodles after all the ingredients are done and then adds some powdered cheese and chilli oil into the mix, well… no one is stopping him from finally making something that can fill his stomach after an entire day without food because he forgot to bring his wallet again.

Surface life is so fucking primitive and he won’t have it any other way.

He sets aside a small bowl for Hank in case the surfacer wants to have a snack before going to bed and consumes the rest in record-time because he is hungry and he also wants to be at his family’s side as soon as possible. Which he does after soaking the bowl and utensil he ate with in the pot he cooked the noodles with, and he finds Connor already asleep but still suckling on the towel on his chin and his grip on Hank’s shirt still tight and twisting the fabric. Nines also looks like he is halfway to the land of the dreams but is struggling to stay awake probably to keep his brother safe, and his eyes slip shut as well the moment Hector steps into the room and makes himself known to everyone still awake. When his father moves to pick him up with a muttered ‘Off to bed’ from where he is lying half on top of Connor and half on the bed, he doesn’t protest and lets go of his brother easily, and Hank picks up the smaller mermaid as well after setting the book aside and taking off his glasses, the nose pads leaving two red indents on the bridge of his nose which Hank rubs away with his thumb and index finger. With Nines on one arm, Hector opens the door to the brothers’ bedroom, and the two of them fuss with the child they are holding respectively. Connor’s side of the room is of a surfacer child’s design with a proper bed wrapped in soft sheets and cramped with stuffed toys and blankets, the light blue walls around it dotted by doodles of surface things like trees or flowers, and Hector has a feeling that he will gain his legs soon, and maybe, just maybe, with the incentive to walk and live like a surfacer, his legs - and his tail, by extension - will finally start to heal. If not, surfacer prosthetics are much easier to fit and find anyway, and Connor will finally take his first step towards recovery after the accident that twisted and mangled his tail into an unrecognisable mess either way.

Hank looks up from rearranging the towel around Connor. Blue eyes meet Hector’s amber ones, a small point with his chin chastising Hector for zoning out and telling him to focus on Nines first, and he checks the temperature of the water in the tank that serves as Nines’ bed to make sure it is within acceptable limits before unwrapping the fabric around the mermaid’s body and places his body gently into the water while his head is pillowed on a raised spot, holding it above the water while allowing his body to submerge under the familiar flow of water. He then plucks a small piece of kelp from the shrub at the tip of Nines’ tail, rolls it up, and nudges the mermaid’s mouth open with it, shoving it inside gently so that Nines doesn’t choke on it but can still close his mouth around it and start chewing; Nines’ teeth-grinding won’t be solved in the short future, so for now, using pieces of kelp as a buffer during his sleep is their next best solution. With the blanket now covering his body, Nines sleepily grabs his rock and clutches it on top of his chest, blinking slowly as he no doubt feels the simulated current in his tank before drifting off with the sound of Hector’s croons, and despite the brothers already sleeping, Hank still turns on the projector and shrouds the entire room in the dim, blue glow of simulated underwater effect. For when they wake up, the surfacer signs when Hector lifts an inquisitive eyebrow towards him. Now go take a proper shower. You reek.

He does as Hank says and even brushes his teeth so that he has one more reason to go to bed early. When he gets out to the kitchen, the bowl of noodles he left for Hank has mysteriously disappeared and the pots and utensils have washed themselves, so he runs his fingers through his hair a few times to get them to half-dry before braiding them and plopping himself down next to his partner. ‘Sorry for being late,’ is the first thing Hector says. ‘Bad business.’

Hank nods. ‘I noticed.’

They lapse into silence but no one moves to switch off the lamp.

‘Hank?’

‘Hmm?’

‘What you just did…’

‘You mean reading to the kids?’

‘Managing the two of them at the same time.’

‘Just doing my duty.’

‘Nah,’ Hector rolls onto his side and gives Hank a kiss before the other man can react. ‘You did good.’

Hank doesn’t reply but does draw Hector close to kiss him properly. ‘Night,’ he says, still avoiding Hector’s topic. ‘Sleep. You’ve had a long day.’

Hector slips under.

[christalpepsi]

a bit for storage

I’m going to post a buncha my grey’s fic! Not everything is connected yet, I just write in bits and pieces. Alex Karev x OC (for now), loosely follows canon, just not izzie. Anyways this is what I got so far: 

TW: depression, suicide, death

Selected bits from S1E1

Finally. Her first day. She was indescribably excited, but anxious thoughts kept invading her mind. She’d worked her ass off for this, and seeing it’s fruition as a residency at Seattle Grace was so rewarding. Well, until Dr. Webber killed the mood. 

“Say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play...That's up to you.”

What was this, a gladiator fight? Her brows furrowed, but as she glanced around, everyone was completely serious. Well, fight she would. 

She zoned out, hoping she’d get placed with people she met at the mixer, as Webber started listing the interns and their assigned residents, until her name caught her attention. 

“...Dr. Heather Palmer, Bailey. Dr. Isobel Stevens, Bailey…”

Someone nudged her from behind. 

“Palmer, you got the nazi.” Great.

She didn’t wanna push the envelope on the first day, so she had brushed her curls out and slicked them back into the tightest ballet bun she could without giving herself a headache. 

“You’re gonna be a suck up aren’t you? I can tell. Regular Mrs. Grundy.” Alex, another intern, snorted as she bobby pinned her bangs back. She glared at him, but he missed her stare as his eyes roamed over to Dr. Stevens. 

The other interns muttered amongst themselves as Heather finished tying her shoes, trying to imagine what the “nazi” looked like. A short black woman walked in, and no one paid her much attention until she raised her voice. 

“I have five rules. Memorize them. Rule number one, don't bother sucking up, I already hate you, that's not gonna change. Trauma protocol, phone lists, pagers. Nurses will page you, you answer every page at a run. A run, that's rule number two. Your first shift starts now and lasts forty-eight hours. You're interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain, you run labs, write orders, work every second night till you drop and don't complain!”

She rushed out of the locker room at a quick walk, and everyone scrambled to follow her. Slamming open a nearby door, she said flatly, “On call rooms. Attendings hog them, sleep when you can, where you can, which brings me to rule number three, if I'm sleeping, don't wake me, unless your patient is actually dying. Rule number four, the dying patient better not be dead when I get there, not only would you have killed someone, you would have also woke me for no good reason, we clear?”

Silence fell, and Heather and the blonde girl, Izzie, vigorously nodded their heads.

“Um, Dr. Bailey?” Heather said softly.

“Yes,” Bailey said, staring daggers.

“You said there were five rules? That was only four.” Dr. Bailey stared a hole through Heather, chilling her to the bone. Thankfully, Bailey’s pager started beeping. 

“Rule number five. When I move, you move.”

“Nurses are the ones implementing most of our work, dickhead.”

“Whatever. Maybe you should’ve been a nurse then.” Alex grabbed his chart, and sauntered away. 

“Palmer, what is it?”

“Pain, paresthesia, pallor, pulselessness, paralysis. Compartment syndrome.”

“So? Book an OR!” Bailey yelled.

“Oh! Right, booking a plastics OR for a fasciotomy.”

Selected bits from S1E3

Alex stormed into the locker room as Heather and Izzie were changing. “Morning, Dr. Model.”

“Dr. Evil Spawn.” Stevens deadpanned.

“Ooh, nice tat. They airbrush that out for the catalogs?”

“I don't know. What do they do for the 666 on your skull?” Heather snickered, earning a glare from Karev, but effectively shutting him up. As they finished clipping their badges on, Palmer turned to Izzie, lowering her voice a tad.

“Iz, I don’t blame you! If I was hot I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re so hot.” Izzie retorted.

“I’m not skinny blonde hot.” Heather crossed her arms.

“Whatever, sexy brunette goddess.”

She let out a giggle, pleased to have the complement returned.

“Are you guys gonna make out now, or what?” Alex interrupted. Heather scoffed, leaving the room with Dr. Stevens in tow.

Dr. Palmer’s patient was scheduled for a lap cholecystectomy at 3 that afternoon with gensurg, so she had time to kill. Heading for the locker room to grab her wallet, she overheard a raised voice. Walking in, she saw a crowd had gathered, and Izzie stood in her bra and underwear. 

“Let's study them, shall we? Gather around and check out the booty that put Izzie Stevens through med school. Have you had enough or should I continue? Because I have a few more very interesting tattoos. You want to call me Dr. Model? That's fine. Just remember that while you're sitting on 200 grand of student loans, I'm out of debt.” Izzie yanked her clothes back on and stormed out of the room, nearly knocking Heather over. 

Everyone awkwardly filed out, leaving Alex and Heather staring at each other from across the room. 

“Where do you get off?” She sighed, leaving her wallet still in her locker, and left for the break room empty handed.

Additional Bits That I’m Working In

Sure, he was a whore, but...seeing him with the kids stirred something in her. It freaked her out. He was Alex Karev, Dr. Evil Spawn, cheater, syphilis giver, aloof, uncommitted, but stubborn, calm, steady, yet exhilarating, adroit, wry, and so clever. And so kind. So kind. He held the premie in his arms, a crooked smile on his face, and feeling her gaze, glanced up to meet Heather’s eyes. She lit on fire under that gaze.

“Palmer.” Addison’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she turned away, towards the direction of Addison’s call. Alex’s eyes followed her out of the room. 

“So who’s going with Dr. Montgomery-Shepard?”

“I will!”

“Palmer, you’re in Peds or OB everyday. I’m putting you in cardio.”

“Damn it.” she muttered. Cristina’s mouth dropped open in offense.

“What? She’s crazy and ungrateful and-turning down cardio?”

“Yang, take her place in OB today.”

“For God’s sake…” Cristina huffed and went to find Addison, leaving Heather with Burke. 

“Hey, Joe! How’s your day been?” Heather hopped up on one of the barstools, trying not to slouch due to lack of back support. 

“Eh, so-so. Whatcha drinking?”

“Hm. I’m not sure,” she turned to her right. “Alex, what am I drinking?”

“We’re off tomorrow. Have some damn tequila, Palmer.” he said with a smirk.

“Don’t mind if I do. Could I get a flight, Joe?”

“Alright! Make sure you don’t die of alcohol poisoning, Dr. Grundy.” Alex jabbed her in the side, making her flinch. She whacked him on the back of the head teasingly. 

“Here ya are, Dr. Palmer.”

“Joe, please, it’s Heather.”

He chuckled, heading down the row as she took her first shot. 

“No chaser? You psycho. That’s pretty hot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

And him. Just standing there, arms crossed, chewing his Extra peppermint gum, not a care in the world. He was leaning against the nurses’ station, and she noted with envy the eyes that weren’t hers staring at him. 

Just laying there, hearing Mere’s bedsprings, Izzie’s rustling, George’s soft snores...she was so alone. She had no reason to be. Full house, friends that cared for her...or did they? It’s not like they went out of their way to make plans outside of work, other than Joe’s, which wasn’t exactly the healthiest of bonding activities. But no one fought for her. She didn’t even fight for herself, and she could feel it again, the sinking. The numbness was settling in again. She stared at the ceiling fan, spinning, spinning, spinning. 

“It’s depression! Just...it hurts all the fucking time, Alex! And I just, file it away, keep myself busy with work, with Joe’s, with you-”

“Oh, so I’m just here to keep you busy, is that it?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Just sex?”

“Shut up!” He took a ragged breath. “Please, just leave me alone, Heather.”

She pursed her lips. “If you wanted-I mean I-”

“I asked you to leave.”

Defeated, she met his eyes and turned back down the garden path to her car, careful not to trip in the dark. She wouldn’t be sleeping here tonight. 

Izzie hadn’t moved from the bathroom floor in about 18 hours. Heather was inclined to go lay down with her, but it wasn’t her rotation yet. George was in there keeping her company for now. 

“Who’s next?”

“Meredith. When I tried to kill myself, it was because I saw no way out.” She fiddled with the sheets of Meredith’s bed to be rid of some of the fidgety anxiety. “Just having to be mediocre, feeling I wasn’t important to anybody…” she trailed off, looking in Meredith’s direction. “Mere, you have so much. You have such a gift and I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can’t be so careless. There are people who care about you, people who love-”

“Okay, Palmer, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do, sharing your trauma and all that, but I’m fine. Really. I didn’t try to kill myself, thanks.”

Heather sat there until Meredith raised her eyebrows, a clear order to get out. Turning the corner she ran smack into Karev, whose eyes were haunted. 

“You tried to kill youself?”

“Ha. Yeah, big whoop.” She looked at him witheringly. Her facade fell when they locked eyes and she shrugged. “G’night, Alex.” She sidestepped him, heading to the elevator.

“Okay, but you can see us being endgame right?” Meredith asked again desperately. 

“Mere, I’ve already told you, you and Derek, if you want to make it work, you have to put in the effort! It depends on you two, not some magical twist of fate.”

“God, if he so much as looks at me funny, I’m reporting for sexual harassment.”

“That’s what everyone says before they sleep with him.” Callie said wryly. 

No. Because he had this thing with Rebecca. And she was supposed to be with Ben. But, God was it hard to give him space. 

“Please…” tears shined on his face, and his nose had started to run, “Please, please, please…”

He grabbed her by the back of her neck, forehead to forehead, pleading. “Alex-”

“Please...” She wiped his tears away, but new ones replaced them just as quickly.

“Callie, oh my God! Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Heather! George and I just-did it!’

“Lexie! Wanna work with me today?”

“Oh my gosh, yes!”

Heather pulled her to the side. “Thank God, you’re my favorite. Don’t tell the others.”

He pulled her closer to him, as if that would save her from the water that poured into the elevator, soaking their scrubs through. Their shoes were squelching as they ran to dry land. Except, of course, there wasn’t any. The whole floor was flooded. 

“Oh, God, it’s seeping through my socks.” Heather groaned. 

“I can handle the mess.” Alex said softly. “You know that.”

“But- I’m so much. Alex, Mere thinks she’s all dark and twisty or whatever, but that’s nothing, not to invalidate her but, it’s nothing compared-”

He took her by the sides of the face, eyes open, honest.

“I said, I can handle it. Do you want this?” 

Heather nodded, as a loss for words.

“Then bring it on.”

“Get a crash cart, dammit!” Heather yelled, voice cracking as tears spilled over. She met Alex’s eyes, just as glassy as hers, and he took over compressions.

Her knees buckled. She fell to the floor as if in slow motion. Izzie, first, now George. Not Georgie. Her 007, her Bambi. O’Malley. The pain was constant, unceasing. Because he really was gone. She imagined him, like he should’ve been the next day, new Army uniform, neat buzzcut...her head was too full; it was too much. Her body wouldn’t move, her mind was debilitated-then strong arms grasping her, meeting her here, on the floor.

“He was. George was hit by a fucking bus!” They burst out in laughter, trying to stifle any echos so passersby wouldn’t freak out.

The addition of Mercy West was hell on earth. Even just the loss of Izzie made the workload shoot through the roof.

[thetakenpokemon]

Act 2 - Contest Winner (or Loser?)

[PoV: Jezebel]

After downing my next shot of rum, I set the small glass back down onto the bar counter - right next to ten other glasses.

Even though that’s a LOT of extremely potent alcohol I’ve consumed within such a short amount of time, the most that I’m feeling is a strong burning in my stomach - as well as a similar feeling on my face. I’m probably blushing really hard from the rum. Thankfully, my fur is there to conceal it.

Elizabeth on the other hand? She’s barely able to sit straight in her seat, she’s currently wobbling all over the place. The only thing keeping her upright is her free hand having a vice-grip on the counter, her other hand holding her eleventh shot glass of rum - said liquid spilling from the uncoordinated movements of her arm.

Honestly? I’m actually very impressed that Elizabeth managed to last this long. Part of the reason why I’m very good at holding my own alcohol is because I’m a Fire-type, so the heat within me helps burn some of the alcohol before it enters my system. That and paired up with a liver of pure steel? I can keep drinking this stuff all throughout the night.

Elizabeth? She’s smaller than I am, so I guess the only thing that’s keeping her going is the fact that she’s used to drinking this much.

“I cannnn keep doooooing tees all...n...” The Lopunny slurs, her expression being that of a goofy smile. She didn’t finish the sentence though, since she practically chucks the rum into her mouth. She smacks her mouth, her tongue lolling out. “Seeeeee...? Steell...going....!”

The bartender gives her a concerned look before looking back at me, obviously rather hesitant on giving us another round of shots.

I roll my eyes before looking at him with a smirk. “Just one more shot for the both of us.” I tell him.

I have a feeling that this’ll be the straw that breaks the Camprupt’s back, since Elizabeth is barely holding on as it is.

He slowly nods his head and grabs two more shot glasses and fills them with the crystal clear yet extremely strong alcohol. He sets them down in front of me and the Lopunny before taking a step back and watching us at our ‘game’.

I grab my glass and look at Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow at her. “Number twelve.” I say before immediately downing it, the burning sensation being the same as the previous eleven.

Elizabeth immediately goes to grab her drink, but in her attempt to do so she immediately starts falling off her stool. I quickly extend an arm and catch her, preventing her from having a rather rough embrace with the wooden floor.

“Noooooo...” She whines. “I can...do eeeeeeeet!” She tries to sit up, yet even with my assistance she can’t get herself fully back onto her stool.

“I’d say that it’s over, Elizabeth.” I say to her,. my smirk widening.

Honestly? Even though I’ve won, it didn’t really feel as satisfying because of how effortless it was. Yeah I get to have her ‘do anything I want’ for an hour since that was the wager that was made, but if anything I don’t have much interest in that.

If anything? Teaching Elizabeth a lesson was the biggest motivator for me since she really needed to not go off the deep end. Right now? Obviously she’s way too drunk to realize her mistake, but at least I get to feel rather smug.

“Nononooooo!” She continues to complain. “I...ammmm...not dooone. Tere ees...steell...” At this point she’s really falling over, in which I now have to use both hands to keep her from stumbling off her stool like a ragdoll.

“It’s over, Elizabeth.” I repeat, trying contain a chuckle. When she doesn’t respond to this I instead give her a stern look, in which she somehow manages to meet with her own gaze before slumping.

“Fiiiine...” She sighs, her cheeks a deep shade of purple from the booze.

With a bit of effort I manage to pull her off her feet and get her to lean against the counter, in which I turn back to face the bartender.

Said individual is looking at the massive spread of empty shot-glasses with a look of immense respect. “Sheesh, ladies.” He exclaims with a shake of his head, chuckling. “You two hold your liquor far better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

I couldn’t help but give my own chuckle, smiling to myself. “We’re not any simple ladies, after all.”

He whistles. “No kidding. If you members of the Guardians of Twilight all have similar alcohol tolerance, this place will be out of drinks in a night if at least twenty of you were to visit at once.”

I fumble with my dress before pulling out my wallet, and after sifting through it I pull out a sizable amount of money that should pay for all of the alcohol - and provide an impressive tip. I set it down on the counter before giving him a nod of thanks.

The bartender grins and takes the money. “Much obliged.” He says before looking at Elizabeth. “Need help, or-?”

I shake my head, still chuckling. “No need, I will take her back.”

I stand up from my stool - the action causes my body to lose its balance slightly.

Hmm, perhaps the alcohol has more of an effect on me than I thought. That’d also explain why I’m also more loose with my emotions. Guess it really has been a while since I last drank...

Grabbing my staff that’s leaning against the counter, I clasp Elizabeth’s arm and pull her to my form.

“Lean on me.” I tell her. “I’ll support you as we head back to the guild HQ.”

She doesn’t respond - verbally at least, and together we slowly begin to make our way out of the club.

The moment we step outside I immediately feel myself get blasted with fresh air, the strong scent of sweat disappearing with the midnight breeze. The city itself is also relatively quieter compared to the club, so my ears feel very thankful as well.

As the two of us slowly make our way back, Elizabeth starts talking again.

“Nooo...” She whines once more. “I...do not waaant...to beee....your slaaaaave!”

The last word causes my body to freeze, the action making Elizabeth stumble forward before falling - and with her grip on her body, she ends up taking her with me.

The two of us fall flat onto the sidewalk, my staff releasing from my grip and clattering the ground. At this point my face is so flushed that people would probably actually see a noticeable shade of pink on my cheeks - despite the dark fur covering them.

“E-Elizabeth!” I shout indignantly. “Not in public!” I blink before immediately following up with: “And forget about the wager, I have no interest in-”

“Buuut eet was a beeeet!” The Lopunny retorts in her drunken stupor. “I ‘ave to do eeeeeeet!”

I grit my teeth. “Elizabeth-” I start to say, but she cuts me off again.

“What weell you ‘ave me...doooo?” She continues her drunken tirade. “Weell you ‘ave me...streep een publeec? Weell you ‘ave meeeee....chained to a bed so youuuu-”

I don’t even let her finish that sentence. “NONE OF THAT!” I shout frantically, my face full on burning now.

At this point we definitely have a lot of onlookers now. Gritting my teeth harder I get back to my feet and grab my staff, and once I have my balance I pull Elizabeth back to her feet.

“Not another word!” I hiss at her. “Let us get back, no more of this nonsense!!”

She looks at me with confusion. “Buuut thee wag-”

“No!” I growl at her. “No no no! No wager! Just stop talking!”

And so we continued the long trek back to the GoT HQ.

...

Where did she get THAT assumption?! 

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

Much to my chagrin, the journey back did not go smoothly at all. Elizabeth continued to go on and on about the ‘wager’, shouting and whining about all sorts of obscenities she thinks I will do to her. Even with my best attempts I just...could not...get her...to shut up.

I have half the mind to burn her on the spot and be done with it. And the worst part is that if I drank any more alcohol? I probably would’ve actually done it due to the sheer embarrassment I’m feeling.

I swear, who the FUCK does she think I am? With all of the shit she’s saying, people would think I’m some extremely kinky freak!

At this point we’re navigating the hallways of the HQ, and thank Arceus because there’s barely any people walking around this time of night. The few who do walk by us have expressions of confusion - or worse, smirks.

As we’re navigating, a thought suddenly strikes me.

I have...no idea on where Elizabeth stays. Obviously asking her is out of the question, because of the fact she failed to listen to a SINGLE word I said ever since we left the club.

“Shit.” I say aloud, the uncharacteristic word causing a nearby passerby to flinch. I turn and glare at them, my green eyes blazing. “What are you fucking looking at? Keep moving!” I half-shout at them, causing them to start sprinting off - and nearly tripping while doing so.

“-aaand once you are done weet te strap-on...” Elizabeth continues with her tirade, in which I start cringing even harder.

“BY THE GODS AND GODDESSES ABOVE, ELIZABETH!” I shout at her in anger. “I AM NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING SEXUAL TO YOU! STOP TALKING LIKE I’M ABOUT TO FUCK YOU!”

Okay, normally I would be complimented on having insane composure. How I am the pinnacle of professionalism.

Me right now? A combination of alcohol as well as massive doses of irritation and embarrassment is apparently enough to take said reputation and shatter it completely and utterly.

“Buuut te wag-” Elizabeth starts for the umpteenth time.

“Fuck the wager!” I growl at her, my teeth flaring.

Her eyes widen as her flushed face grows even more red.

It took me a moment to realize my poor choice of words. With an even louder growl I start dragging her stumbling form with me.

You know what? Fuck it. I am not navigating these hallways to find her room, especially since there are many potential witnesses. I’m taking her to my room so she can sleep this whole shit off, and MAYBE I still have a chance to salvage what little I have left of my dignity.

Of course Elizabeth continues to babble as we make our way as quickly as physically possible to my room. My ears are definitely flat against my head now, my jaw clenching so hard that it’s actually hurting.

As we finally take the last turn, I feel relief fill my body as the door to my room comes into view.

FINALLY! My salvation!

As I approach the room with Elizabeth in tow, I rest my staff against the wall as I start fumbling my dress for my room-key.

Elizabeth starts mumbling in a confused tone, her words lost to me. As she watches me pull out my key and put it into the slot in the door, her eyes widen to the point where I swear they’re going to pop up.

Oh no, you little shit. This is NOT what you’re thinking of.

“You are sleeping in my room till you’re back to your normal self.” I growl, doing my best to prevent her from saying a SINGLE word. “Nothing is happening in here except you getting rest. Got it?”

I don’t let her respond. As soon as the door opens, I stash my key, grab my staff, and drag her into the room.

Ignoring the scattered papers around my ‘humble abode’ from my duty as temporary Night Hunter Leader, I pull Elizabeth towards my bed and practically throw her at it. Her body stumbles before falling on top of it, her voice becoming muffled as her face is against the sheets.

With a sigh of relief I walk over to my study and sit down at the chair next to my desk. I rest my elbows onto the paper-covered wooden surface, using my hands to cradle my head.

It’s over, Jezebel. It’s over, no one will hear that dirty rabbit anymore. You’re safe.

You have a plan of action. You can tell everyone who overheard Elizabeth that she was in a drunken stupor, and that you were helping her to her room. If they ask about your outbursts, you can claim that they must be mistaking and it was Elizabeth who was acting in such a way. That or they misheard due to lack of sleep, since it was late at night after all.

I feel myself smile.

Yeah, it’ll all work out. Everything is good, your reputation is-

“I...am ready.” I hear Elizabeth meekly say from the direction of my bed.

My body tenses, my eyes widening.

I don’t dare look behind me to see what the hell she means exactly by that. Ohhhh no. No no no.

Hell. Fucking. No.

I cross my arms onto my desk and let my head flop onto them, and thus I begin to scream in exasperation.

[purghhappenings]

Do you have any headcanons for an alternate universe where Mihawk is Zoro's biological father?

*busts through wall* BOY DO I 

TBH its totally gotta be canon at this point i mean if it’s not, someone will have to pay me for every dead parent/child in one piece

Here’s some HC’s for you! I hope you like them!(sorry it took so long my phone was being dumb and I decided I wanted to write them on my laptop for you)

Mihawk has always been a single dad and when the kid showed up on his doorstep he only had a few questions

1) is this another one of red hair pranks?2) Is it mine?And last but not least(not really a question)3) Fuck.

He panicked when Shanks didn’t jump out immediately, because he just accepted the offer to be warlord of the sea how could he raise a fuckin kid. A kid with Green hair?! “He’s gotta be important” Shank’s had screamed which just made Mihawk scream and right now he was talking to Benn about childcare and why didn’t Mihawk let the fucking baboons eat it?!

“What are you gonna call him Hawky?” Shanks questioned as he stood over the little one’s crib.

“Definitely not after me, it’ll cause him issues later on”“Doesn’t help what you’re gonna call him. Oh! How about SJ, Shanks Jr-”“Roronoa Zoro.”“What?”“It’s a powerful name, from a character I read and I found him in November which is the eleventh mon-”“Nerd shit, got it Hawky.”

He was bad at first. Like really fucking bad. He uh, thought it would be a good idea to take the kid with him everywhere, which in turn means he showed up to a Shichibukai meeting with an infant strapped to his chest and Boa, life long friend(at this point a new friend) was like, what are you doing.“This is a kid who was left on my door and I unfortunately could not leave him there, so I am acting as his guardian.”“No I assumed that from the everything about how shitty you look but, why isn’t he wearing anything more than a diaper you’re sailing with him in the hot ass sun, what the fuck mihawk?!” and Mihawk honest to god thought it was okay to do something like this.

To be fair all Benn told him was “it’s like Shanks is naturally but it can’t talk yet” so Mihawk knew the basics, keep him fed, clean, safe, he can’t hold a sword properly but he’d be there soon, and well, that’s about it. The man was a master swordsman and couldn’t remember the specifics of his childhood.

With a shit ton little help from Boa, (her calling everyone she knew, he got a more extensive idea of child raising) After a few crash courses from none other than A marine by the name of Sengoku and Monkey D. Garp(mihawk prayed for those children) he became perfect

He took Zoro with him everywhere, and when they found a pink haired little girl at the ripe age of 4(zoro was still an infant) Mihawk said “Sure i guess this one too)

He took his two children everywhere and hell be damned if they ever came home with a scratch. No not after the first pirate crew that kidnapped both of them and they were just… Gone.

As Zoro and Perona got older Mihawk personally trained them( he was only in his 20′s when he found the little ones but damn those were his kids)

Zoro expressed interest in swords while Perona was more of a free spirit(haha get it, cause she uses ghosts???? I’m sorry)

But they were both trained on hand to hand combat, the world, anything mihawk could give and teach them was theirs. He taught them responsibility and honor and he was very much a doting parent when it came to Warlord meetings

“not only are they still alive, but Perona just went off to join her first crew” he threatens Moria sixty different ways from hell that if he gets his little girl hurt he’d had better hope he was already dead

Zoro still wants to kick his dad’s ass, but he really can admire the man who can fend most off in his sleep(he’s watched him do it and didn’t challenge mihawk for a full month out of fear for his own life)

When Zoro went off to join his crew Mihawk talked about it for days 

He also worried a bunch, especially when he saw the bounties just. keep. going. up

During the two year time skip Mihawk says “Zoro, do you remember your training when you were little?”

“Yeah, it was hell.”

“I am going to make you the strongest swordsman in the world, or at least throw you onto the path a little harder than before. Can you guess what this means?”

Perona: Bye Zoro, it was nice to have a little brother for a few years.

A father can worry about their child and still kinda want to let them know they’re weak and have a long way to go right? Mihawk thinks so

In an alternate AU Mihawk definitely teaches and trains his kiddos in krav maga along with other hardcore fighting styles and even though his BF Monkey D. Luffy is a crazy good fighter, god have mercy on the man, woman, or grandpa that decided to fuck with any of Zoro’s friends.(Or Peronas)

I said he went from Shit -> Perfect, and I meant it.

Mihawk was on top of school, emotional support, and discipline like it was a career! (His actual career is mob boss enforcer but we won’t go there) 

He is an honest to god lowkey mama bear like, he lets his kids fight his own battles and this is for the safety of the people around him. Shanks one time questioned Mihawk on a decision about Zoro and the rumor is Mihawk broke his arm in three different places before the end of the sentence was out(a rumor that was started among the ranks but it was effective at keeping people in line(shanks actually tripped from a prank Zoro and Perona were pulling and he was too proud to say that))

He’s lowkey because he has a permanent resting bitch face, Dr. Trafalgar has already pronounced it incurable, and when Perona and Zoro are excitedly talking about something his face doesn’t change to the natural human eye, but if you’ve been around him long enough he completely opens up and his small smile is like a shining beam of sunshine

He is always proud of his kids, but not like in the “THEY CAN DO NO WRONG” more of a, they always have a solid reason(or they better, he raised them that way!) and stand their ground, and that’s noble to him it really is, so while he doesn’t always agree with Zoro or Perona, like a needless fight, he knows if they’re honest to god fighting, there is a good reason that they feel they should stand by

He’s also raised them that if they fought and then learned the reason wasn’t that great to admit it to themselves and work on being better

Mihawk never hit any of his two kids and all he has to do is look at them and they behave not from fear but from respect and it’s terrifying to watch the man just command a room, also murder people and then just be a dad in the end like mihawk is a force

Mihawk was a big fan of self reflection as a person and he brought that into his parenting. He’s like “i get you thought it was a good idea to put gum in your sisters hair because she was being a ‘doo doo’ head but why was she being a ‘doo doo’ head”“Cause I kept antagonizing her” “so what do you think needs to be done about this?”And if either one had no clue, he’d tell them it was fine to not know but they should at least sit and think and try to figure it out, or if they needed help he’d help themor if they knew “I need to apologize”“if they don’t accept?”“it’s all i can do to rectify my actions” and man to see that parenting in action???(dont yall fucking wish?)

SO yeah he was a good single dad,

made all the appointments, games, recitals, plays, parties

He won’t admit to most he was shit at first, but he totes keeps updated pictures in his wallet of his two kids, and even has photo albums of stuff like “Perona’s first makeup” and “Zoros first recital” all of it. He has in his room. And after his two kids are moved out, he’ll just drink some really fancy wine, and look at the albums of his two surprise children and thank every star in the sky he was found by them

I hope you like these!!!! Dad!Mihawk makes me feel warm and fuzzy because while he’s a fucking monster to fight, I feel like his parenting skills are just on point because of how cool and collected he is, plus it’d be nice for more than three of them to have wonderful familes

Dont hesitate to ask me questions!!!! I was thinking about playing an ask game, so let me know if you think it’d be a good idea!!!!

Again, I can’t thank you enough for the ask, my heart has melted from Dad Mihawk( I self inserted Perona also being his kid so I hope that’s okay)

Thanks a bunch! Come talk to me ya’ll!!!

[junjunkii]

BokuAka fic WIP

Your overused yet beloved florist-and-tattoo parlour trope but with a spicy modern magic twist. I think I’m gonna call it Blackberry Promenade 👌also I apologize in advance for the hella long post if you’re on mobile bc tumblr is shit and read more sometimes doesn’t work on here apparently

Akaashi Keiji makes things grow. It’s a fact of life. A lot of lives, actually, since he runs the ramshackle plant nursery on the corner of Wax and Ruthord.

Thing is, he’s one of those with that green-thumb kind of magic. He’s always been able to make plants grow like crazy. As a kid, he’d come home in the spring with the dandelion seeds caught in his hair bursting into yellow in the blink of an eye, he couldn’t play in his own backyard without making the grass need to be mowed twice a day, and sometimes, if they were fresh enough, he could make the cherry tomatoes in his salad take root right there in the dining room table.

Keiji needed an outlet. So his moms started buying him plants, letting him use his own money to expand his garden once he had a rather sizable collection. He always had a soft spot for succulents and how quickly he could make them grow without dehydrating them. They were soft yet waxy, and when he had bad days he could be uncovered up in the attic, blanketed by twisting and twining coils of aloe vera.

Sometimes it got out of control. But he doesn’t like to think about those times, and besides, he’s got it down now.

The brambles blooming from his skull serve enough of a reminder.

But anyway. Now is not the time to be reminiscing about his childhood. Keiji’s got a new neighbor across the street. Owl facts extraordinaire. Rather explosive. Headache-inducing, for sure, but so sweetly sincere Keiji hasn’t been able to quite get enough of him.

Bokuto Kourarou. Newest employee of the local tattoo parlour, Catte Black, and a regular loiterer at Keiji’s nursery, Aloe. Also hot. So hot. Like a tamale or something.

Keiji’s never had a tamale.

He’s also never had someone quite like Bokuto.

He does wish Bokuto would maybe buy something during his visits for once, instead of chattering on about his owl familiars and how wonderful they are with getting hard-to-find potions ingredients for him (it’s his hobby, and he’s very passionate about it). Bokuto chatters a lot. It’s not something Keiji is necessarily used to, but he finds himself yearning for it when he’s closed up for the night. Truthfully, he’d been rather lonely until Bokuto showed up- even in a huge city like this, friendships are hard for Keiji to find and maintain. Everyone just seems to demand so much more than Keiji is willing to give.

Bokuto, though… Bokuto is so easily satisfied it’s almost alarming. All Keiji needs to do, he realizes quickly, is listen to him. Bokuto wilts when he’s ignored, which is why, Keiji suspects, he spends so much time at the nursery, because Keiji loves listening to Bokuto talk. Could do it for hours at a time. Probably already has, actually.

There’s just something grounding about the guy (even though his constantly windswept hair makes him look like he’s about to take to the skies at a moment’s notice). Something that Keiji has been quietly wanting and waiting for his entire life. He doesn’t know what it is, just that he loves having Bokuto around, and wants to keep it that way for a long time.

One day Keiji finds himself at Catte Black on his day off. Konoha and Kozume, his only employees, had effectively shoved him back out the door when he had tried to enter (Kozume’s telekinesis may or may not have been involved in that particular act).

“You never take a break!” Konoha chided, crossing his arms and filling up the narrow doorway. “You’re going to run yourself into the ground, Akaashi, come on. Go out and let loose a little!”

“I need to tend to my plants!” Keiji protested. A little shiver of unease squirmed low in his gut.

“You’ll see them tonight when you come home,” Konoha said, flippantly waving his hand at him. “Now shoo.”

It’s true, Keiji lives right above the nursery and sees his plants every single day, but he still felt out of his element. “At least let me get my wallet and things,” he tried.

A black shoulder bag floated lazily over Konoha’s head. “Here you go.” Kozume’s voice drifted out behind it.

Keiji tried to glare at him but a snickering Konoha was still all he could see. He shoved the strap over his shoulder and huffed. “Guess I’ll go shop around.” He rolled his eyes. The brambles twitching on the crown of his head felt itchy. He absently scratched off a tiny bud, and it immediately uncurled into a perfectly pink little blackberry flower in the palm of his hand.

Keiji froze. Konoha seemed to know what was up, and called over his shoulder, “Yo, Kozume! Get his hat!”

Keiji’s floppy blue sunhat hurried out straight into his hands, and he gratefully smashed it onto his head, covering the mess his mistakes had planted in him. “Thank you,” he sighed.

“Yeah, no problem.” And now Konoha is watching him far too carefully, so Keiji abruptly turns heel and begins to walk along Wax, pretending to window shop but not having the slightest intention of doing so. He’s distracted, wondering how his plants are doing with him so far away, if Konoha and Kozume are taking the utmost care of them, if there’s going to be some unprecedented amount of customers and if he needs to be there and if his plants-

He pauses in front of a glittering display of leopard-print lingerie with magic-powered, moving decorative wings on the back of the bra. Maybe Konoha was right, and he really does need to loosen up. He blinks. The panties two feet from his face morph into a tiger stripe pattern. Keiji wrinkles his nose. He probably doesn’t need to be that loose. He keeps walking.

Unless… does he? What exactly is he looking for out here, if nothing more than a distraction? But he doesn’t think morphing panties are exactly-

-oh!

Keiji nearly smacks himself in the face. How could he have been so stupid? Bokuto’s right across from the nursery! Keiji can just go visit him!

He does a full 180, walking briskly back the way he came, almost running over someone’s sniffy-nosed daughter in his haste. He doesn’t apologize, because both of them take one look at the scars criss-crossing his face and hands and recoil.

The one-handed grip on his bag strap turns into two. Just ignore it, he reminds himself firmly. They don’t know anything.

Keiji gets almost a two-second glimpse of the sleek black-and-red interior of Catte Black before something very feathery and very angry launches itself at his sunhat.

He yelps and hastily scrabbles to grab at it with both hands, dropping to crouch in a tight ball on the floor at the same moment that someone screeches “JELLYBEAN!” at the top of their lungs.

Needless to say he is thoroughly disoriented by the time the shrieking mess of bird is removed from his head. Luckily, though, he doesn’t seem to be hurt. His attacker apparently was more concerned with scaring him than doing him any actual harm.

“Jellybean, I told you, you can’t rush at someone just because they have a big hat, big hats are not threatening-”

Keiji shakily stands up as someone chastises the irritably hooting bird and comes nearly face to face with none other than Bokuto Koutarou.

“And don’t give me that look, I- oh!” Bokuto stops in the middle of his sentence, mouth hanging open. Then he excitedly straightens out his back, grinning wide- the barn owl squawks as it nearly tumbles off his gloved arm. He deftly dodges the wing thrusted straight at his nose. “Akaashi! What are you doing here?”

“Day off.” Keiji hasn’t let go of his hat, and won’t quite look away from the owl either. “So this is the notorious Jellybean.” He’s heard a lot about her skittishness towards strangers. Bokuto said that she loves him, though.

She bites Bokuto’s ear. He continues chattering as if this did not happen.

Keiji stares.

“Um. Akaashi? You still with me here?”

His ear is bleeding. “Shouldn’t you get that taken care of?” Keiji asks, fairly concerned. He finally drops one hand to point at the injury.

“What?” Bokuto raises his free hand to pat at his ear, then brings his fingers, slick with blood, back to his line of sight. He blinks.

Then he’s off all at once, forcibly shaking Jellybean off his arm and tearing away the thick leather to free both hands. “Jelly!” he cries. “That’s my bad ear and you know it!” He trips over the front desk, where Keiji is startled to see a man sitting back languidly  in the rolling chair, feet crossed at the ankles and hanging over the edge of the dark cherrywood. Keiji didn’t even notice him.

The man uncrosses his feet and slides open a drawer, tossing a small crinkled tube of something at Bokuto with a certain catlike grace. He doesn’t even look, just keeps tapping away at his phone.

Bokuto catches it without looking either.

Keiji wonders exactly how prone Jellybean is to biting, or how prone Bokuto himself is to injury.

By the time Keiji tears his gaze away from the admittedly attractive man at the desk, who hasn’t paid either of them the slightest actual attention, Bokuto has already slathered his ear in bright blue salve.

Keiji finds himself staring yet again. “Uh, what-?”

“Oh, the ointment?” Bokuto interrupts excitedly (he tosses it to the texting man, who catches it and shoves it back in the drawer- all without looking). “Kuroo helped me make it! He’s an amazing chemist!”

“Stop, Bo, you’re making me blush,” Desk-Man drawls, finally looking up and grinning at the both of them. Oh, so this is Kuroo. His mouth slants way over to one side and his eyes glitter a dangerous kind of gold. Keiji feels a shiver slip down his spine and straightens up, hyperaware of the nervous curl and release of the blossoms beneath his floppy blue hat.

“Good afternoon, Kuroo,” Keiji greets evenly. “Bokuto speaks very highly of you.” He’s not lying. Bokuto squeaks loudly.

“Chill,” Kuroo says, and first Keiji thinks it’s a response to Bokuto’s high-pitched exclamation, but then Kuroo locks gazes with him and raises his eyebrows. “Put the magic away, I’m not dangerous.”

Keiji stiffens.

Bokuto looks curiously between the two of them. “Akaashi? Kuroo? What’s going on?”

Kuroo narrows his eyes. “What’s under your hat?”

Keiji inhales sharply. Everything around him seems to redden and dim. He can feel how tightly he’s gripping his bag strap, can feel it digging into his palms. But he can’t feel the pain of it.

His scars buzz.

Bokuto immediately recognizes the wide-eyed panic of a cornered Akaashi Keiji and firmly steps in between them, crossing his arms and staring down at Kuroo. “Hey,” he says. Sharp. “Stop intimidating Akaashi.”

Kuroo lifts his eyes to Bokuto’s resolute expression, then drifts away back down to his phone. “My bad.”

Keiji shoots a glare at him and scoffs under his breath.

Kuroo looks back up, running a hand through his already messed-up hair. “I am sorry,” he says, and finally sounds sincerely apologetic. “I’m a bit suspicious by nature. Had quite a few run-ins with unusually powerful magicians in the past, probably severely traumatized by it, blah blah blah.” He glances at a particularly deep gash right under Keiji’s left eye. “I’m just trying to keep everyone safe here. You understand, right?”

“I do,” Keiji says quietly, and breaths out slowly, loosening his white-knuckled grip on his bag. “And unfortunately this is not something I can just put away.” Kuroo’s eyes are far too bright. He doesn’t blink. “You understand, right?”

Kuroo seems almost surprised before snorting and swiveling around to finally stand up. He’s tall. “I like this guy,” he declares.

And that’s that.

Another employee slips into the front room, peeling off plastic gloves and absently clicking a tongue piercing against their teeth. Keiji can hear it clearly from well over five feet away.

“Ah, you must be Akaashi Keiji,” they say, looking him up and down. “Bo won’t shut up about you.”

Akaashi flushes. “Is- is that so,” he tries to say calmly, but it comes out a bit staggered. Tongue-tied.

“T-Terushima!” Bokuto stutters, red-faced.

The employee- Terushima- ignores him. “You here for a tattoo? Piercing? Tour? Boyfriend?”

“I’m just visiting Bokuto on my day off,” Keiji says.

“So boyfriend then,” Terushima concludes. Keiji opens his mouth to protest but they bulldoze right over him. “I’ll give you a tour then, if you’re going to be visiting more often you might as well know your way around.”

Akaashi opens and closes his mouth, not sure which point to refute first.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Just humour them, would ya? They want to show off their work to you.”

Akaashi looks to him hesitantly. “Why?”

Kuroo grins. “Well, you’re pretty cute, aren’t you?”

Keiji freezes, mouth clacking shut. Then he turns on his heel and storms right out the door.

It swings shut.

There is silence.

“What did you do that for?” Bokuto wails.

“I didn’t know he was going to react like that!” Kuroo snaps, but he’s already opened the door and is making his way down the sidewalk to where Keiji is stalking away with the tensest back muscles Kuroo has ever seen.

“Akaashi- hey- Keiji, hold up, I’m sorry if I upset you-” Kuroo reaches out to grab Keiji’s shoulder but thinks better of it, and decides to swiftly step in front of him to get his attention instead. “Hey.”

Keiji immediately stops. He won’t look up, the brim of his hat covering his face completely. “What do you want?” His voice is wracked with the tiniest of tremors.

Kuroo immediately feels terrible. “Hey, listen, I obviously said something that didn’t really… well, I upset you, and I don’t want Bo’s day to be ruined because I fucked up and chased you off.” He reaches out hesitantly, and, seeing no resistance, gently touches his hand to Keiji’s elbow. “I am sorry. I don’t think I’ve given you a very accurate first impression of me. In fact you probably think I’m an asshole.”

“Just a bit,” Keiji huffs, but he lifts his head, and scuffs his dirt-dusted boots on the cool gray pavement.

Kuroo exhales heavily, partly in frustration with himself, but mostly in relief. “Let me start over, alright? Back in the parlour?”

Keiji lets himself breath for a few moments, takes the time to ground himself in his surroundings. The chatter of passers-by as they mill from shop to shop, the hum and buzz of brooms flying overhead, the low whistle of a lazily wandering breeze. The smell of the crepe stand across the street, fresh berries and heavy cream and golden frying batter, rich and sweet. The contrasting chill of spring on his nose and cheeks.

Kuroo’s eyes are so, so bright.

“You’re housing something, aren’t you?” Keiji tilts his head to the side, speaking just loudly enough so only Kuroo can hear him.

Kuroo mirrors him, bangs falling in front of one eye. He grins. “Am I?”

And just like that, they’re on a level field again.

Subscribe to my AO3 so you can be the first to know when this actually gets published!! 🌸

[growinwiththeflow]

My New Angel

The concept of death has always confused me. Here today, gone tomorrow. Whether someone passes away from a sickness that had them bed ridden for years or a tragic accident or situation, it’s always bothered me that we are expected to learn to live without someone at the drop of a dime when their time is up. I’ve struggled with this my whole life and with the recent passing of my uncle, I feel myself conflicted with the concept of life as well as death.

My uncle played for the Anaheim Angels back in the 70s. He was a second round draft pick that played for 2 seasons. He also played a few years with the Mexicali Baseball team as well. I’m a little fuzzy on the details of why he had to stop playing, but after so much local and national fame it hit him hard when he was no longer able to chase his dream. When he lost the game, he lost his wife and his daughter as well. He was seemingly left with nothing and had to eventually move back home with his Grandma. As most of us know this is around the same time that we got into the crack era in Los Angeles. My uncle along with other people in Los Angeles and around the country became addicts to a horrible drug that claimed not only lives, but the well-being of families as well.

I was born in 1988. My mom was a young single parent and my immediate family played a huge role in helping to raise me. My uncle was tasked with after school duties. During my elementary days, I knew to look out for him to walk me home to my Great Grandma’s house where he lived and I spent a lot of my time to do homework until my mom was home from work. We would spend a ton of time together playing, eating, and watching TV. I’ll never forget forcing myself to eat black eyed peas just because he loved them and I credit him for my love of fried eggs. No one made fried eggs like him. As a kid I wondered why he didn’t work, but I had no idea what drugs were outside of D.A.R.E. class. I had no idea my uncle was dying a little bit every day.

As I got older and wiser, I found out what he was doing and noticed the effects on my family, mainly my Grandma. One time that broke my heart was a trip to the market. She went for a $100 bill she had in her wallet and it was gone. I had to be middle school aged and I remember wanting to go off when we got back home! I listened to my Grandma and stayed quiet. Not too long after that, I caught him sneaking into my Grandma’s room to steal money from her purse but he left once he saw me looking. Soon after that my Grandma would hide her purse at night. Eventually he had to go to court ordered rehab but those places don’t care. He’d get kicked out for dirty drug and alcohol tests or the places would let the residents go home on weekends and he’d use. After high school when I moved in with him and my Grandma, I realized how deep addiction could get.

I got into a car accident and had to pay the expenses out of pocket because I had no insurance at the time of the collision. He saw me getting up to work every day and saw no damage to my car and thought it was unfair for me to not give him any money. We had a huge fight that became physical and from that day on our relationship changed. After our last fight I grabbed all my things and lived out of my car staying at different friend’s houses until I made the move to Las Vegas. I’ll never forget the look on his face as I packed up the U-Haul. I cried my eyes out cause even though we weren’t speaking, I was pissed he could keep quiet as I packed up to go 200+ miles away. My Grandma told me about how teary eyed he got about it after I was settled into my new home. A few months later at my youngest uncle’s wedding we made up. We cried and danced the night away. At the end of the day we are family and our love for each other will be stronger than any argument or disagreement. That was 4 ½ years ago.

Last February he had a heart attack and needed quadruple bypass surgery. Later on he had to have his foot amputated. Along with being a heavy drug and alcohol abuser, he had diabetes. He survived all of this and we as a family were so thankful. A week and a half ago we found out that someone we didn’t know had been signing his hospital paperwork and at this point he’s in hospice care. He had a few days to live and he had pancreatic cancer and cirrhosis of the liver. No one knew and he died 3 days later.

This is typical of my uncle. I know he hid this from the family because he didn’t want anyone worrying about him. Who knows how long he had his diagnosis. I do know that he wanted his last days to be filled with the most pleasant memories of him as possible. He was a sweet gentle man. Very soft spoken and loving in his own way. He was definitely the introvert of the family. I never met a kid or animal who didn’t love him. It’s so unfortunate to me that being such a great person with so much talent he had to suffer do deeply in his day to day life along with the way in which he had to leave this life.

I believe in past and future lives. Imagine in one life to have such a great start. Get to do what you love fresh out of high school and get some fame and start a family with the woman of your dreams and everything you love is snatched away from you one by one. I can’t imagine it. I hurt for him for years knowing that he was in so much pain and no drug he ever used made him feel any better. I hope in his next life he is able to be at peace everyday he is alive. I hate to say rest in peace when someone dies and I haven’t said it once for him because you deserve to live in peace just as much. I can’t wait until he visits me in my dreams and lets me know he’s ok. I know he is but I want to see the real him. Not the shell of him I’ll see Thursday laying in a casket. I want to stop crying too but I bet we all do.

 In loving memory of Morris Nettles January 26, 1952 - January 24, 2017.

[sera-fx]

@blossomingpink I can’t submit stuff on your personal blog @_@

But anyway I see post saying “What are your headcanons about me?”

U know what this means?

U be getting your own headcanons ayyyyyyy

Also this is your restaurant anon btw, I have too many sideblogs

HCs are based on my own interpretation of your personal blogposts and insta btw

Gladio

- I can see Gladdy to be the one who would just go crazy over how you look - like dear Lord he will love your daring makeup style ok

- Will totally spread his legs wide enough so that his thigh will touch yours in car

- Will totally put his arms around you too in the car, pretending that it’s just a buddy-buddy thing at first just to be careful not to make you too uneasy with his forwardness

- But he ain’t fooling anyone because how subtle can a Gladio be when he’s into someone anyway

- Will flirt with you and make smutty innuendos non-stop in the car it would just shut everyone up (even Prompto) when he’s at it because it’s just so damn awkward for them

- You guys will develop a strong bond after a night of cup noodle dinner

- I can imagine you guys sharing your passion for cup noodle and he will internally go like “Yes. Tis is the one.” /dead laughs

- I feel like he would give you random piggyback rides everynow and then and he will just brush it off when others give him the funny look, like “u got problems with this son?”

- Will teach you survival skills and show you how to craft a lot of stuff

- Noctis/Prompto will give him a slight judging look as they notice him going easy on you when you’re having problems chopping some woods the right way. He will probably just let a small laugh out before taking the wood out of your hand and shows you how to cut it the right way, even demonstrating how to hold the cleaver and swing it the right way. When it comes to Noctis and Prompto, he will usually just chop the wood fast and hard until the split pieces flew everywhere and knocks them in the head, like this is how it’s done you spoiled bastards -how come u don’t know how to do something this basic smh life has failed u. 

Prompto

- This little sunshine ball is gonna be your damn bestie. One look at that Christmas PJ and he will declare you as his new best friend

- Prompto being Prompto, he will bombard you with tons of questions -some personal- without second thought, like where did you get all of your pretty makeup kit, where do you usually buy all of your fun-looking clothes and if they also carry menswear etc.

- Expect Gladdy to be lowkey annoyed when he asks you if you have a boyfriend. He will just raise his legs up and rest them on Prompto’s headrest without warning, effectively kicking this poor fluffball’s head

- Your jamming buddy, I can see you two just dancing along to the radio’s tunes on camp days while eating chips. Noctis will just sit back and watch you guys while snacking on his own bowl of chips though -cause he’s lazy like that. Ignis will be lowkey facepalming while stirring his soup -because dear God playing along with Prompto’s antics is the equivalent of overloading a kid with sugar ok. Ignis knows that you’ll eventually flop on the camping chair next to Noctis after a good sesh of jamming, but Prompto will just get more and more hyper after the initial warm-up. This is when Gladio comes in and throws a dirty mop right at his face, telling him to help with the camp prep

- Will also be your best shopping buddy. He will probably shop more than you do though. Expect a huge haul of costume PJs, chocobo plushies, giant pool floaties, and many other pointless stuff

- He will be the reason why you’re broke tbh. Some days the two of you will just find your wallets dry as the desert, and you two will be scraping for small changes together, finding just enough money to buy sandwiches for lunch

Noctis

- Noctis = your eating, sleeping, and complaining buddy

- I should stress that you guys will be serious sleeping buddies. You can sleep on his shoulder and vice versa on the car, and when one of you wakes up and realises that you guys have been doing the cute-sleeping-arrangement-while-sitting for couples thing for the past hour, you would just go back to sleep straightaway. No blushing, no awkward neck scratches, no awkward apologies, just sleep.

- Noctis will be secretly delighted that you’re joining the party. This is because he can sneak food in and just eat in bed whenever he gets the same hotel room as you do. Previously he can only do this when he shares a room with Prompto.

- Likes to point out that you’re not awake and ready to roll too in the morning as an excuse to get more sleep when Ignis wakes him up

- Will essentially be your twin. Ignis telling you two to get off your camping chairs and start the quest? You two will be making the exact same face of disapproval and dread. Ignis going to wake the two of you up in the morning? You both have blankets over your head and will just not budge until Prompto comes in and tells you that the food stalls are opening up. Both of you will simultaneously raise your head and rest them on top of your pillows, eyes still closed, contemplating whether the food stalls are worth dragging yourselves out of bed. Then you will just say, “you go get food for us”, and the two of you will just flop back to sleep. Five minutes later Gladdio will come in saying, “Who needs some of these wake-up headlocks?” and you two will instantly be awake.

- Hell I can imagine you and Noct brushing your teeth in the exact same way, side-by-side, eyes still closed. You two will probably eat stuff in the same order too.

Ignis

- You will find Iggy making this one “What have I gotten myself into” look everynow and then as you joined the party because all of your amusing antics with Prompto and Noctis

- Treats you rather formally as you two get acquainted. Because of this, he has the tendency to lecture Noct or Prompto instead of you whenever you guys gets too lively in the car (you can expect sunshine boy to notice this behaviour and whine about this)

- On one rare night though, you would wake up in the middle of the night, wanting to fetch some drink, and you will see that Ignis is still wide awake, sitting solemnly by the fire

- You will carefully greet him, to which he will respond by saying, “Ah, are you still awake? Are you having trouble sleeping? ” << I’m just imagining him saying this in his fine accent -omaigah this guy is such a gentleman ok

- Eventually he will offer you to sit by the fire with him, will also be offering you a hot drink and gives you a blanket while the two of you chat

- The conversation will start off light at first, with the two of you recapping all of the events earlier that day

- A brief silence will follow after this, and you’ll break the silence by bringing up something more personal, something more heartfelt to talk about

- Ignis will listen to you attentively, and you will probably catch him by surprise at one point as you share your views on life, friends, and your journey together with them (you won’t be able to tell though, we all know that he’s good at looking composed all the time, but he would tell you that he’s glad to hear your personal views and feelings on all of these matters)

- Overall it would be a good night for you both, and he will subtly lighten up around you on the next day as you and the bros continue your trip. Prompto will notice this tho, he will look over to Ignis as he expects to be lectured, only to find Iggy still driving languidly, paying a little less heed on the commotion you guys are causing in the car

- Also the camp talk sesh will become a secret routine for u two everynow and then, expect more pauses and silences in future camp talks. Not the awkward kind of silence though, in fact it’ll be the comforting kind of silence, the one that makes you feel like you’re home.

/done/

I STARTED THIS AS A PASTIME ACTIVITY AT NIGHT WHY DID IT END UP THIS LONG

Also I feel like Gladio is rather OOC tho srry I should probably pay more attention to him in the future lol

I will now get back on doing some uni prep stuff

Chat soon (・`ω´・)

[gaiatheorist]

10 things I hate...

I let him get under my skin again. I didn’t start crying until after he’d gone, angry tears about what-I’d-allowed-him-to-do. As much as I try to ‘be a better person’, and just ignore him when he’s being an idiot, there are 20+ years of memories that have a tendency to bubble-up, unbidden, and send me off into loops of self-criticism. 

I’m not perfect. I have behaviours and coping mechanisms that are a long way from ideal, and I’m in another mentally-messy limbo phase, waiting to be allocated therapy. ‘Just getting on with it’ has landed me here, an emotional version of the Jasper Carrot sketch about re-taking your driving test after years of driving, and nudging the examiner’s knees out of the way so you can dig the Meatloaf cassette out of the glove compartment.  

The ‘row’, such as it was, no raised voices or smashed-anything was about the medication I was prescribed after the first surgery, or rather his administration of it. The particular medication was Nimodipine, prescribed to reduce the risk of vasospasm seizures after subarachnoid haemorrhage. I remember that, because it was my body being medicated, not his. He won’t remember the name of the medication, he just decided to make reference to ‘something that came up on Facebook’ that he found ‘right funny’. (Thinking about it, he probably looked for it, he rarely posts on his own profile, the ‘conversation’ is on my profile.) He was referring to himself as ‘a husk of a man’, after having to wake me up at 3am to take medication for two weeks. I don’t like being woken up at the best of times, a month after a significant brain haemorrhage and associated surgery isn’t the best of times, so I was antagonistic with him. 

There’s jokey back-and-forth about him fearing for his life, and considering using a catapult to give me the medication. It wasn’t funny then, and it isn’t now. Nimodipine, Lanzoprazole, Paracetamol, and Codeine, oh, and the laxatives, but I discontinued those pretty quickly, your bowels can become ‘lazy’ with prolonged laxative use, I didn’t fancy incontinence on top of everything else. I was awful, I acknowledge that. I was in tremendous pain all of the time, I’d had a traumatic medical event, the discharge from hospital was botched, I’d ended up Google-searching every other word on the discharge note, because I had no idea what had happened. I’d been the one with the presence of mind to ask for the discharge note, and the medication to be ordered from the pharmacy. He’d slouched in a chair, playing with his phone, complaining about being hungry, and having to put more money on the parking meter. After several hours, I couldn’t put up with any more of his whining, so I’d asked reception if I could go home, or if I needed to ‘be seen’ by a doctor first. Reception said I could go home, and would get a letter with an appointment with the consultant. 

It wasn’t funny that I was an arse at 3am, complaining that the glass of water was too cold and hurt my teeth, or ‘tasted of curtains’, I probably told him to fuck off, and leave me alone quite frequently, it’s possible that I threatened him with violence. I was most-arsey at 3am, he was an arse all of the time, following me around like a clingy toddler. I know he ‘nearly lost me’, I know the experience was traumatic for him as well, but his version of ‘looking after’ me was more about seeking reassurance and approval for himself than anything else. (Side-rage about the time, some weeks later, when he’d done his “Aren’t I a good boy?” attention-seeking thing, and bought me a bottle of beer. I asked him to stop bringing me beer, because it upset my stomach. He threw the beer in the garden, told me to shove a pizza up my arse, and stormed out of the house. Then he stormed back in, because he’d forgotten his wallet, or his phone. Man-child, if he wasn’t being petted and adored, he’d throw tantrums. The kid heard the raised voices, and door slamming, and came downstairs. “Has Dad gone out, then?” “Yes, he told me to shove a pizza up my arse, but I don’t think I’ll bother, shall we put bogeys on his half?”)   

The ‘argument’, such as it was, concerned the ex’s timing of the medication. When we’d arrived home from the hospital, to a stale-fusty house, because the ex had moved himself and the kid to the in-laws’ house for the duration of my hospitalisation, he can’t look after himself, the kid and I tried to work out a schedule for my medications. We’d almost cracked it, spacing out the painkillers so I’d have fairly consistent coverage, and staggering the non-analgesic drugs between them. The ex took the piece of paper, and changed things, putting the Nimodipine at 3 in the morning, for reasons known only to himself. He set the alarms on his own phone, and kept the paper, leaving me right where he wanted me, dependent. It took me a few days to memorise the schedule, and stop asking “Is it time yet?”, effectively begging for pain relief.

“Yes, I was ratty with you. You’d picked a stupid time for medication that didn’t do anything.”

“I was only going on what the hospital had said.”

“The hospital didn’t SAY anything, I was the one who asked for the discharge notes, you just sat there.”

“Yeah, but...”

“No! We’d tried to work out the pain relief, and you took over, so you’d have control. You’ve always wanted to control me.”

“Well, no, are you on any tablets now?” (Being emotional must be a medical condition.)

“I’m on constant painkillers, and I have sleeping tablets in the drawer.”

“Have you been using sleeping tablets?”

“No, I’ve been ill, and didn’t want to risk it. There’s enough medication in that drawer to kill several horses.” 

“I was only doing what the hospital said.”

I walked to the other side of the kitchen, and turned my back. “I am not going to argue with you about this.”

I’d hated that he’d taken control of the medication schedule, that he’d taken time off work to ‘look after’ me, when, facing facts, he couldn’t look after himself. I’d hated being in hospital half-naked, and woken up every few hours for coma scale testing, then the in-laws coming to coo at me, with the mother-in-law reeking of perfume and tooth decay. I’d hated being in pain all of the time, and having to ‘ask’ him if it was time for medication. I’d hated coming home to a filthy house, the sheets on the bed were the same ones I’d almost died on. I hated that he appeared to know more about a ‘missing’ period of my life than I did, and that he made fun of the confused and highly medicated state I was in. I hated being made to feel reliant on him, to the extent that I eventually told him I’d take the bus to all future hospital appointments. I hated him following me around the house, and coming to ‘have a minute with me’ on the bed, when I’d gone upstairs to try to get away from the noise, and stink of him. I hated him assuming I was going to stay-dependent, forget about the discussions we’d had about ending the marriage, and play happy families. 

My life had changed forever, and he just wanted to carry on with his. He rolled about on the sofa, eating endless plates of toast, throwing the crusts to the dog on the disgusting-stinking rug, and then leaving the plate on the back of the sofa. He’d come home from work, take his socks off, and shove them down the side of the sofa, or leave them on top of a manky footstool, I stopped picking them up to wash, and there was a Mexican stand-off with an increasing heap of unwashed socks, he’d just buy more when he ran out of clean ones. He didn’t wash often, he worked in engineering, and there was a pervasive-perpetual stink of dirty oil all through the house. He didn’t think ‘work clothes’ needed washing, and he’d leave the same rancid clothes he’d been wearing for weeks at a time in a heap at the side of the bed. I was boil-washing the bedclothes every week to try to get rid of the smell. The brain injuries had impacted on my sense of smell, some people lose it, mine was accentuated, and everything reeked of him, even more so when he’d apply sixteen squirts of aftershave, instead of having a shower.  I developed obsessive cleaning behaviours.

He’d always been coercive and controlling, belittling me at every opportunity, mocking me. A particular favourite of his was to regurgitate things I’d gotten wrong in the past, “Remember that time I had you looking for Pontypandy on the map, moron?” “You think foxes are cats, though.” We’re differently intelligent, I can’t weld, or engineer, and he can’t wash his own socks, or cope with the idea of food that needs chewing more than once. He tried to continue with the gaslighting, “Do you remember all the adventures you had in hospital? It was RIGHT funny.” It wasn’t funny, it was confabulation, my brain couldn’t cope with having so much time ‘missing’, so had attempted to fill the gaps. (Also I was whacked off my tits on morphine a lot of the time.) I have ‘memories’ of things that didn’t happen, going to a shopping centre, being taken out of the hospital on a day-trip with another patient, the ex deciding I needed to be in a ‘private hospital’, with a big nest of coats on the floor for the patients to sleep on. The man in the bed opposite me masturbating with his sandwiches might really have happened, brain injured people don’t always behave appropriately. 

I shouldn’t have lost my temper with him yesterday. That’s not me being compliant-submissive, it’s that I allowed him to rile me. I did walk away, and end the argument before I completely lost control, but, for a few minutes, he was playing me, winding me up with how ‘stupid’ I’d been. The kid saw the whole thing, and it hurt him to watch. (Especially the ‘enough medication to kill a horse’ bit, I’d imagine, I’ll have to message him today, to apologise.) The linear-logical thing to do would be to ban the ex from the house, but that’s possibly an over-reaction. I don’t want him here, I don’t want him anywhere near me, I don’t want the in-laws coming to pick up and drop off the kid, but banning them from stepping over the threshold would place the kid in a difficult position. He’s already had to ‘shoo’ his grandparents out of the house a fair few times, when they’ve been insensitive, and I’ve been over-sensitive. 

Some of this is my fault, I couldn’t maintain my composure when the ex was making fun of me, and I lost control a little bit. What I did was give him control, I’ve been unwell, I’m not sleeping properly, and I have a load of ‘big medical stuff’ to get through. I don’t have spare emotional capacity to argue with him, and our different levels of understanding make it pointless anyway. He’s not part of my ‘now’, apart from five minutes on a Sunday evening, I don’t owe him explanations about any aspect of my life, I can just say “Fine.” when he asks how I am, he doesn’t want to know anyway. I can also say ‘fuck off’, and mean it if he starts goading me again.

[ew-you-wish]

Q U I N N I S T A I R💫

@thought-bubble-doodly-doo AAAY

——🌟——🌟——🌟——🌟——

Quinn would sometimes stare at the city through the window.

She would sometimes run her fingers over the cold glass, and then follow the thin traces the tip of her fingers would leave. She would try to ignore the bruises, the cuts and band aids on her hands; she would try to ignore the ache, and draw small and flowing patterns over the reflections of the city lights. The tips of her fingers would follow lonely taxis hundreds of meters beneath her, and follow the ever so tiny silhouettes of the unaware people who ran home. A storm was coming, and she could see it in the thick, grey clouds that covered the otherwise starlit sky she had gotten used to see from her apartment.

Her empty, old, dark apartment that looked more like a jail than a home.

She was used to sleeping in a bed covered in old covers. She was used to waking up to a cold pillow beside her, a cold breakfast, and then spending hours starring out of the window to an empty and dangerous street - and that, to her, was life. It was all she had known since she was a kid. Since her mother held her in her arms as a newborn baby and named her Quinn, Quinn Horvatinčić.

Other people had shiny days awaiting for them. Days with candlelit dinners, trips around the world, expensive schools and colleges to attend, and parties with friends and family reunions… Her days were hosted in a fight club. An illegal, underground, rusty fight club. Quinn had blood under her nails instead of nail polish on them, but blood and red nail polish were somewhat similar to the naked eye.

That’s what made her different.

So now that she stood in front of a floor to ceiling window wearing only her underwear and an oversized shirt with a scent of male perfume, she wasn’t sure of how she should be feeling.

She was out of the streets she had lived in for years now. She should be feeling vulnerable - most of her skin was bare, she was alone in a living room that was bigger than her whole apartment, and moreover, the only clothing she was wearing wasn’t even hers. She should feel weak - was she really skipping her training sessions for that? She should feel angry at herself - maybe what they were doing was immoral. Maybe she should run away. She could grab some money - his wallet was probably on the kitchen counter - and take a taxi back home - but she was almost naked - where were her clothes anyway?

She rested her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. She could find a way to leave. It would be easy. She had escaped from far more terrible situations in her life - escaping from an apartment wouldn’t be difficult.

Then again, there was a problem.

She did not want to leave.

Maybe she did not want to leave because of the atmosphere: the dimly lit living room, the panoramic windows that allowed her to stare down at the neon city, which didn’t affect the amber lights in the room. The leather furniture, the glass table, the cabinets full of vodka bottles, the plants growing next to the windows and the wide tank filled with exotic fishes… it all matched in such harmony that for once she felt like she could drop asleep if she closed her eyes for too long.

So she did. She wanted to sleep there, once again, so she closed her eyes and pictured the city, felt the warmth against her skin and…

“Quinn.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she quickly turned around, since she knew that voice far too well.

Standing a few feet away from her, wearing some grey sweatpants she had never imagined someone like him would own and a sports t-shirt, Alistair Quartermane stared at her. He stared at her with those dark, round, brown eyes she had now gotten used to see every day, and above him, the amber lights hanging from the ceiling lit his skin. Just as his eyes, his skin was dark, covering strong muscles and a stiff silhouette; he had strong arms, broad shoulders, a firm and hard chest, a nearly perfect body crafted by the gods - if they existed, that is. Quinn still had her doubts in the matter.

“I thought you had fallen asleep,” whispered Quinn, her hands still pressed against the window.

“I did,” Alistair looked around the living room as he walked towards her, “But I woke up because of the lights, so I came to turn them off.”

She nodded slowly as he turned the amber lights off, and the neon lights from the city gained territory inside the living room. Alistair took some steps forward, dipped his hands into his pockets, until he stood beside her and stared at the city as the first rain drops fell from the sky and down to the streets. He fixed his eyes on some store hundreds of meters beneath him, and she fixed her eyes on the worn off logo of some sports team she had never heard of before. The streets had lost her interest, even if they had gained Alistair’s.

It wasn’t an unusual situation. Alistair would always get her to lose interest in anything, and fix it on him. She didn’t know, but she had the same effect on him - and even if his eyes looked at the city, the warmth that came from her body and brushed against his side was everything in his head.

“I didn’t know you liked sports,” she mumbled, furrowing her eyebrows.

“I don’t. My father gave this shirt to me before I came here for college. I have no idea of what the motive was, but it’s comfortable,” he mumbled back, watching as her finger leaned in to trace over the faded letters on the shirt. “It’s from his favorite sports team. I guess he expected me to be a fan, too.”

“Looks comfy,” the tip of her finger rubbed the old fabric, turning her body towards her.

“Quinn.”

When she looked up to him, she found Alistair’s brown eyes looking at her with a serious yet calm expression. Quinn felt a shiver go down her spine as she slowly and reluctantly let her hands fall to her sides, only for Alistair to lean in and hold one of her wrists before it pushed away completely. Quinn felt his hand shake slightly before he let go - only after brushing his thumb against her knuckles tenderly.

“You didn’t fall asleep,” she whispered, staring at his retreating hand.

“No, I didn’t,” he replied, resting his big hand against the window, “I didn’t.”

“And you lied about the lights waking you up.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Alistair sighed. He leaned his body backwards and raised his chin to look up to the sky - rain was starting to pour down, and the rain formed constant water streams across the windows, causing the city lights to undulated inside the apartment. Against Alistair’s face, Quinn saw hints of blue and purple, and on her shoulders and chest rested red and pink lights of which she wasn’t aware.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said, and once again looked at her, straight into her pale green eyes. “I–…”

“If you want me to leave, I understand,” she sighed, with no particular expression on her face. Alistair had grown used to her almost unnoticeable expressions, that were much like his. She looked down at herself, and her first instinct was to cover herself with the white shirt she was wearing loosely. His shirt. “It’s perfectly fine. You don’t need to explain yourself. Your fiancée–…”

“This has nothing to do with Samra,” he groaned, and raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She stared at him with an emotionless expression. He leaned towards the window and rested his shoulder on it, feeling the cold touch of the glass as a refreshing shiver.

“It doesn’t?” she asked, crossing her arms over her small chest and taking a step back.

She didn’t notice how Alistair’s body tensed as soon as she backed up and any opportunity of a casual touch between them disappeared in thin air.

“No, Quinn. Not at all,” he reassured, “I just have a question for you.”

The clouds roared outside of the window and a new waterfall of rain fell down to the city. Quinn tried to take a step back from the storm, but soon enough, Alistair’s hand was holding her arm lightly, and she instinctively leaned into his touch.

“I need to know something before all of this keeps escalating,” said Alistair.

She knew what he meant by ‘all of this’.

He meant the sex. He meant the fact that now, Alistair’s deluxe apartment was the place she most frequented, alongside Lucio’s and her fight club. He meant the fact that now she would walk around in her underwear while he showered, and that some days she’ll prepare breakfast while he kissed her neck. That sometimes she’d sneak into the shower while he was inside and he’d receive her as soon as she peaked into the bathroom.

He was talking about their secret.

And there were so many possibilities:

'I need to know that you’re aware that this has to be a secret.’

'I need to know that you’re aware that as soon as I get married, this will end.’

'I need to know that you aren’t getting attached.’

“I need to know that you’re comfortable with this,” he said, leaning towards her gently.

For a second, she stayed quiet. Then, the room temperature dropped a few degrees, and then rose again when Alistair took a step towards her.

“What?” she asked; it sounded as if she was choking on thin air.

“You’re asexual,” he said, matter of factly, “and we’re having… relationships…”

“Sex,” she didn’t mean to say it in a harsh tone, but it turned out like that.

“I prefer the term 'making love’.”

She blinked.

He probably noticed the surprised and slightly confused look she gave him as soon as he corrected her words, because for a second he looked as if he wanted to retreat those words. However, when Quinn’s empty expression finally switched to a softer, slightly fascinated one for a few seconds, he felt the sudden urge to place his hand on her shoulder to reassure her; he didn’t. He kept talking.

“I don’t know about you, Quinn, but I do notice the difference between these three: fucking, having sex, and making love,” his voice sounded low and calm, but slightly held back; Quinn could feel the warmth of his breath near her face, “And I’m afraid that what we do implicates less violence than fucking, and more feeling than having plain sex. What we do is called making love, in the simplest terms.”

“And that scares you?” she asked.

“That fascinates me.”

The first thing that came to her mind was a blank space. Even after years of studying English, there were some words that only held a minimum place in her memory, such as “fascination”.

Fas-ci-na-tion.

It was so long, and complicated, when as a child she had known it in a completely different way:

Zanos.

“Zanos,” she whispered.

“…I believe so,” he hesitated, and she realized that he couldn’t understand what she had said.

“Fascination,” she translated, staring at him, “for sex?”

“Love making.”

“Love making,” she repeated, slowly. “Love making.”

“Quinn, I need to know.” He slowly took a few steps forward, until he was barely a few inches away from her, and his hands reached out until he held her arms softly. He looked down at her since he was taller and she looked up at him, eyes wide open. “I need to know that you’re comfortable with this. That I’m not pushing you into anything, and that the fact that I’m going to marry Samra doesn’t…”

“Alistair,” she interrupted him, lowering her head to stare at his shirt instead of his face.

She watched him swallow. He was getting nervous and tense - his hands on her arms were now pressing with more force than before - and his chest was stiff behind the old sports shirt.

“Yes?”

“You’re tense,” she said, almost as a warning, “relax.”

“Quinn…” he groaned, “I need an answer…”

“Stop.”

A thunder roared in the distance. The neon lights that came from Tokyo, a city that never slept, flickered and a couple of them started to fade until they turned off. The window beside them was now foggy, and at the other side, cold streams of water ran down the building.

Quinn leaned forward with no more than a faint preoccupied expression, and her hands pressed themselves against the old t-shirt, right over Alistair’s broad chest. She rubbed her hands softly up and down, being careful to not be too harsh, and raised her hands up to his shoulders, always with her eyes fixed on where her hands rested. The fabric wasn’t as warm as his skin and the difference was obvious, but she knew he was feeling every touch deeply, since his chest would gently raise and fall whenever she went down to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat against her hand, never steady, always an ever changing rhythm…

“You’re starting to lose control.” She whispered, and leaned forwards until her chin was just about to rest on his shoulder, “All of this is building up stress inside you. You need to calm down.”

“Quinn…”

“You’re shaking.”

“I need to… know…”

She leaned forward, and the light rubbing turned into soft touches and caresses down his spine. And he felt warmth, and the lingering tips of her fingers, as if suddenly flowers were blooming on his back, and he let out a long, peaceful sigh. He leaned forward, pressing himself against her, and after giving her a doubtful look, he slowly let his hands hold her hips as soon as she nodded softly.

“Please,” she whispered in his ear, running her hands down his back, “calm down. You’ll unleash one of those… attacks if you don’t.”

“How do you…?” he wanted to ask, with just a whisper left of his voice.

“That’s why I’m here,” she answered, “to stop them from happening. And this helps, doesn’t it?”

He knew what she meant. She meant the soft touches, the warmth against their skins, the whispers. The fact that whenever they found themselves leaning into each other and sighed when they decided to let their clothing fall to the floor, they stopped being two touch starved loners. She meant the way in which now she was pressing herself against him and ignoring the pouring rain and the city lights, all to calm him down, to stop the panic attacks from raising from under his skin and eating his emotions until leaving an empty casket with only fear, pain and loneliness wandering through his body.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his torso, and for a moment, Alistair noticed a burst of light. For a second he thought it had been lighting from the storm.

Then he noticed it was her.

It was her hands, sliding beneath his old sports shirt and touching his abdomen. It was her hands, touching him with no lust, with no second intention, with no dirty second thoughts and no double meaning. It was the bruises and the cuts on her skin that now healed his broken skin; broken because of the lack of contact, and slowly being placed back together now that she let her fingers leave traces of warmth on them.

“You’re not broken,” she whispered, when her hands took hold of his shirt and started pulling it off slowly, “you’re cracked. And I’m trying to keep you together, in one piece, before one of those attacks pulls you apart.”

On his abdomen, he felt daisies. He felt the innocent yellow silhouettes of a newborn flower, waiting to grow as soon as her fingers caressed his abdomen. Then he felt white burst of life whenever she rubbed her thumb in circles, next to his bones, where all the pain and stress would concentrate. He felt peace and innocence staining his skin, he felt silence and memories that were mostly feelings more than images.

She took a step back when she helped him pull off the t-shirt, and it fell to the floor as a shapeless shadow. She knew he was desperate when his hands immediately looked for her and pulled her back against him, and she stood on her tiptoes to lean in and kiss his neck, and once again, he felt flowers bloom.

He felt roses; the felt the color red dripping down his neck. He felt the blood from her cuts sliding down his bare skin even if she wasn’t bleeding. He felt rose petals caress his skin and fall on the floor. He felt paint, he felt art, he felt love and hate and comfort and pain…

He felt life.

And when his hands slowly took off the white shirt that hid her underwear and he felt her silhouette against the palm of his hands, he didn’t know that she was feeling a soft orange being painted over her. Orange, like sunlight against dried leaves in autumn; like the heart of a bonfire; the same color she would see when she opened her eyes and stared at the walls in her room as a kid. She felt relieve when he touched her back and she sighed against his neck, tasting his dark skin, breathing in the weak scent of cologne on his collarbones.

He was melting. It was evident. His muscles relaxed, his movements became soft and slow, he would close his eyes, and his skin gained warmth. Her warmth, perhaps. Or perhaps it was the heat that always rested deep inside his body and no one would know how to ignite.

No one but her.

Her, whose small chest now fitted perfectly against his. Her, whose back was the exact size of his hands together. Her, whose lips fitted perfectly on his neck.

And him, who would touch her bruises without her feeling any pain. Who would keep a space in his bed for her to fill. Who now bought enough food for them both to eat. Who had given her a key to his apartment. Who greeted her with a soft 'good morning, Quinn’, 'good afternoon, Quinn’, 'good night, Quinn’, and then would look at her apologetically when he’d be forced to say 'goodbye, Quinn’.

“Not broken,” she would whisper every now and then, “Not broken.”

She kept whispering those same two words when he got hold of her hips and raised her from the grown, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. It became a constant reassurance while he kissed down her neck and walked carefully through the living room, and she felt the contact of his skin against her; her arms around his shoulders, fingers digging on his back.

She felt young.

Even if she still was, she had lived moments not even the eldest of people had experienced. She had been dragged into the real world too soon, too innocent, too pure. For some, she was the only innocent aspect of their lives, and for others, she was a toy that would soon be broken.

She had looked at Death in the eye many times, mostly when He came to take the dying under his arms. She had sat next to bloody bodies and watched a silhouette carry their souls - their laughters, their tears, their memories, their whole being - away.

She had stared, and Death had blinked first.

That didn’t make her immortal. That made her desired.

She knew He was coming for her.

But now that she was being held and carried into Alistair’s bedroom, she felt as if she, for once, was safe.

So she moaned and sighed when she was softly laid on the sheets, between the covers, and Alistair left kisses and touches down her neck and chest. She helped him get rid of his sweatpants so that now, both of them were only in their underwear. His soft pants made her smile. The feeling of his thick fingers touching her waist and leaving color where there would, otherwise, be bruises. She leaned towards him and pulled him close, knowing that he’d be soft, and delicate, and as sweet as he could. That there’d be soft thrusts, gentle kisses, deep stares into each other’s eyes, and soft marks that would be gone by the time the sun came out next morning.

'Love making,’ she thought.

“Scratched,” he whispered, against her neck.

Her eyes fluttered open as he pulled away from her, holding himself up with his arms, being careful not to crush her underneath his body. He softly sat back, and took her hands in between his, signaling her to sit up too. He didn’t worry when she gave him a confused, inquisitive look while she sat up.

Alistair pulled one of her hands towards his lips and kissed one of her bruised fingers.

“You’re not deeply wounded,” he said, in between the rhythmical kisses from finger to finger, “You’re scratched. There’s blood, but the scratches can be healed easily with some care,” he looked down at the cuts and bruises, the hints of dried blood in her nails, “and I’m trying to keep you healed, in one piece, before you get a wound that not even God will be able to heal.”

So many things felt out of place.

They were on a bed. She was wearing no more than plain black underwear; a revealing bra, some small panties. He was only wearing dark boxers. They had been kissing and touching each other’s bodies.

But he had stopped.

Stopped to hold her hands and kiss them.

Even if it felt out of place, it felt right.

Out of pure instinct, one of her bruised hands reached out to his face, and stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards her.

'Home’.

“I… want this,” she whispered, “all of this. Even if you’re engaged, and I’m asexual, and no one will know… even if the world breaks down.”

“Quinn.” He sighed, looking at her, as she climbed onto his lap and held his face between her swollen hands.

Swollen, but warm.

“Alistair,” she pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes and breathing in soft pants, “make love to me.”

It sounded like an old fairy tale.

Two people, a rich man and a poor girl. An elegant gentleman and a violent street rat. Two idiots who loathed themselves through live, two fools mistreated by the world, two miserable ones that had forgotten what another being’s warmth against their skin felt like, who suddenly found each other in the ruins of what could have been of their existences.

Two fools that made love in secret and behind everyone’s back.

Two fools that, deep within them, held the only treasure that could heal each other’s wretched soul.

Two fools that made love.

She allowed him to undress her, and he allowed her to undress him. His toes curled. Her back arched. He groaned. She moaned. He was soft. She was tender. He thrusted; she kissed. He kissed; she held tight.

And when they kissed and rushes of golden heat ran down their bodies, they felt home.

When he fell asleep with his arms around her waist and his face nuzzled against her chest, listening to her heartbeat and lulled by her chest raising and falling when she breathed, there was peace.

Right before she fell asleep, she saw Death out of the corner of her eye, staring.

Before that night, she felt that she was slowly bleeding out.

Now she knew that it was only a scratch.

So she looked at Death while she held the only person that could clean her wounds and make them disappear, and she smiled at Him.

She wouldn’t leave.

Not forever.

If she left, it would be only for a while. Then, she’d return.

She’d return to him.

She’d return home.

When she fell asleep after kissing his lips, after hours of watching him sleep peacefully, she knew there was hope.

There was hope.