#I might just do that hospital charity care thing in that case | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanderlindemangofarm · 4 years

Text

The Van der Linde Gang - Jobs in a Modern AU

I’ve been really inspired to write about this lately and I’d love to hear your takes! These are the occupations that I think each gang member would have in a modern AU. Some were more challenging than others, but hopefully you guys can see where I’m coming from with each!

Arthur: Film location scout. His natural eye for photography and framing makes Arthur the perfect member of a pre-production team. His no-bullshit approach to everything means he keeps to deadlines, although he’s known to go wandering off into the wilderness for unknown amounts of time. He enjoys the lone working side of his job and finding exactly the right spots that would make the film come to life. He doesn’t always like the films once they’re finished (in fact he’s often bought cinema tickets and walked out half way through, grumbling that it wasn’t worth the popcorn) but he can’t deny the excited buzz he gets every time he gets hired. In his early years as an assistant he met Bertie Mason, a nervous but talented photography intern. Despite an ill-advised hookup after a week joined at the hip they have remained close friends and still go out on shoots together.

John: landscape gardener. John? Flowers? Yes, alright, I found it hard to believe too. But look, it’s not about the flowers, even if he does get misty-eyed at the sight of a sunflower in the early morning light. It’s about the challenge, the outdoors, and solving problems. After all the renovations he did to his house and garden (some more successful than others) John found how much satisfaction he got from digging and reshaping and planting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s often without a shirt, even in the colder months, much to the delight of some and the horror of others. He always makes friends with the household pets and is wonderful with the kids, always dropping his task to throw a frisbee around for a bit or cheekily accept an ice cold glass of lemonade from their mothers. Whenever he drives past one of his projects he feels himself glowing with pride - “I did that!”.

Dutch: philosophy lecturer. As always, late with Starbucks. Will he actually grade your essay? Will it mysteriously disappear? Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? Sitting precariously on the very edge of his desk, leather jacket hanging off his shoulders and losing his balance every 15 minutes, Dr Van der Linde is nothing short of a wonder. For the love of all that is holy, do not get him started on Kant. Kant has no place here. You want to talk about your precious Kant? Get your butt down to Dr O’Driscoll’s class, he has plenty to say about Kant. Perhaps a little too fond of Socrates. Plato who? Completely illegible handwriting and definitely sleeping with several members of the faculty. But somehow his students always walk away with excellent grades. At the end of each term Dutch takes everyone out to a local bar for drinks, insists on buying tequila which no one really fancies at 11am. Claims to ride a motorcycle called The Count which no one has actually seen. Impossible to hate, and he writes everyone great references for their summer internships.

Hosea: social worker. In a crisis, there’s no one better to knock on your door. Hosea has seen it all and he’ll see it all again, but that doesn’t stop him from treating every single case he gets with the upmost respect and care. His no-nonsense approach to his work means he gets things done, but he never sacrifices his compassion. He mostly works with teenagers and has a way of being able to connect to each individual without coming across as patronising. He’s been in the field for over two decades and is an invaluable mentor for any newcomers, always willing to share a word or two of advice or be a shoulder to cry on.

Javier: guitar teacher and music therapist. During his worst years, Javier’s guitar was his lifeline. And he wants to help others find their lifeline, too. He works on a freelance basis, mainly going into mental health hospitals, schools and prisons. He runs workshops focusing on guitar playing, but brings other instruments (mainly percussion) to try too. He’s a gentle teacher, always with a joke in his back pocket for when you need it most. He has nicknames for everyone and remembers everything they’ve ever told him. He’s patient and never lets anyone feel bad for making a mistake. Javier also runs an after-school guitar club at the local middle school alongside playing his own music at gigs whenever he can. No, he doesn’t reply to DMs no matter how thirsty they are.

Sadie: self-defense instructor. After surviving an attack several years ago, Sadie used her ferocity to get her qualification in self-defense to teach other women how to fight back should they need to. Her husband Jake helps out in her classes, happily allowing himself to be thrown around and slammed onto the mat as many times as required. Her students are terrified of her in the best and nicest way. Sadie also volunteers at a women’s refuge, providing emergency care and taking phone calls.

Charles: environmental campaign manager. Charles has always been drawn to charities and started doing voluntary work for Greenpeace when he was at university, securing an internship with them in Canada which led to a full time job. Whilst Charles mainly hosts meetings and organises events, he also works closely with elementary schools and runs workshops with outdoor activities, crafts and music. Last week they made bird feeders! It was awesome. He’s also a keen activist and regularly meets up with Javier to go to protests and community events, most recently for BLM.

Micah: motorcycle mechanic. Micah is massively invested in motorcycle culture and treats his beloved bike better than his own mother, if he still spoke to her. Although he pretends not to care, fixing bikes is his greatest passion and almost looks...happy when he’s doing it? Maybe? He likes knowing more than the people who stop by his shop and makes sure they know it. Occasionally he leaves his number on a scrap of paper inside women’s handbags when they’re not looking but for some reason none of them call. Like it or not, he’s incredibly skilled and will have your motorcycle singing a tune if that’s what you want. Euphemism? Of course not.

Abigail: nurse. She was so shy when she realised she wanted to pursue nursing - would people laugh at her? Was she too impatient, too nagging, too shrill? Her dyslexia always put her off going into further education and she was always discouraged by her parents. But with lots of encouragement from Hosea (who helped her to fill out her applications and other forms) and her friends, Abigail went to university in her 30′s to get her degree. She graduated top of her class and now works full time in her local hospital, based mostly in the emergency room. From drunken brawlers to tearful children and grumpy old men with lumbago, Abigail has learnt to keep her cool and to have faith in her own ability.

Molly: holistic therapist and masseuse. It took years to get that bastard of a philosopher out of her head (and out of her bed - damn those happy hour drinks “for old times’ sake”), but she’s finally free. Molly radiates a kindness that few took to the time to see, and she wanted to take strength from her past struggles to help others who may need someone to listen, just as she did. Molly took a bunch of online courses in various holistic therapies, including aromatherapy and massage, as this was something she had always been interested in. She runs a tiny clinic on a quiet street, the rooms filled with sunshine and the scent of geraniums. She also has a quite popular ASMR YouTube channel, Emerald Eyes ASMR, which she shyly admits just reached 500k subscribers. Her most popular video, ‘Irish Girl Helps You Fall Asleep (soft spoken, tapping, mouth sounds)’ just reached over a million hits.

Kieran: veterinarian specialising in equine care. Much like Abigail, Kieran didn’t like the idea of going back into education. He’d had a rough time of it as a teenager, dropping out of high school early and working a string of menial jobs for the next decade. They paid his rent, but he still felt poor. His favourite job, however, was working at a stable. The horses made him feel calm and he found that he could read them better than most people. He went to the library and read as much as he could about them. From there, he got himself an apprenticeship which paved the way for him to earn his degree in veterinary science. He smiled so hard in his graduation photo his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. He travels all over the local countryside, visiting farms and ranches to care for the horses. His confidence picked up after the first few blunders, and little by little he’s saving up to buy his own ranch one day.

Lenny: political science student. You know that kid who always looks amazing, even in 9am lectures? Yeah, that’s not Lenny, but he’s sat just behind. See him? Yep, the one rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pushes through the effects of another all-nighter. It’s not due to procrastination, but from perfectionism. He spends hour agonising over references, appendixes and even titles. One time he was so tired he signed his work “Ynnel”. He’s completely in love with his course and relishes every class he takes. Oh, he’s taking Dutch’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ module by the way. Sitting in the front row, middle seat, directly in front of Dutch, his eyes glinting wickedly. Poor Dutch. Lenny has a counterpoint for absolutely everything and can barely stifle his laughter as Dutch gets more and more flustered. He’s been dating Jenny Kirk, an English Lit student, for the past few months and it’s going well. So well in fact, that he might stop hiding his Doctor Who merchandise every time she comes to his dorm room.

Tilly: business student. Tilly started university at the same time as Lenny and they still always go to the library together, rolling their eyes at each other over their morning peppermint lattes. Tilly is at the forefront of any and all on-campus activism. Think of Sam from Dear White People - that’s our Tilly. She wears her Ravenclaw scarf all autumn and winter long and posts scathing Instagram stories about the cafeteria food. But she’s powerfully kind and very ambitious, taking on a part time job tutoring kids with dyslexia in their reading and writing.

Susan: midwife. Think having a baby is scary? Try crossing Nurse Grimshaw. She’s here now, and that baby is coming out of you one way or another. She’ll hold your hand through thick and thin but if you dare say “I can’t do it” one more time she’ll unleash hell. Susan will make sure everyone has a job to do. Partner just standing there like a lemon? Not on her watch. She’s harsh but kind to her trainees and will always offer a cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s a time and place for slacking and it’s not on her labour ward.

Trelawny: talent agent. Our Josiah is cunning, infuriatingly charismatic and with an eye for the best of the best - what else could he do so effortlessly? He’ll wrangle you a 10 second role as a latrine cleaner in a non-profit film and he’ll still make you feel like the next DiCaprio. You’re a diamond, don’t you know? Of course you could nab Elphaba, we’ll worry about the singing later. How do you feel about cat food commercials? No no, it’s not pornography, it really is cat food this time - he double checked. On top of this, he knows everyone in the business. No, really. He can’t move 3 feet down Broadway without someone booming his name. The tone of said boom depends, of course, but who hasn’t been caught with his bottom out in that director’s wife’s en-suite?

Sean: outdoor activity centre instructor. You mean you can actually get paid to swim in lakes, ride ziplines through the forest and eat roasted marshmallows?! Sean couldn’t believe his ears. But it was true, and he’s living his best life. He may be on his penultimate warning for unruly behaviour, but he knows he could never really get fired. How could they? Everyone loves him. And to his credit, he’s a fantastic instructor, especially with kids. Everything from canoeing to caving, wild swimming to climbing, Sean has mastered it all and he always makes it fun. No one is allowed to feel left out or silly for not being able to do something. Sean has a way of making everyone feel included, even if you can only make it up the first few rungs of the ladder. Hey, that’s still off the ground! He once knew this feller Bill who cried because a moth flew into his face. You’re doing fine.

Mary-Beth: librarian and YA author. Sweet Mary-Beth, how could she be anywhere else but surrounded by books? She adores her job at her small, local library and is always looking for ways to make it even better. She often gets tangled up in the stories she reads whilst organising shelves, but it’s quiet enough most days that she’s rarely caught. She loves helping people find their books or recommending her favourites. She also runs the toddler storytime groups and a writing club for older kids. Of course, she’s also writing her own books. The first of her ‘Valentine Mysteries’ books made a modest profit and she’s excited to write more about the adventures of Leslie Dupont.

Karen: actress. Realising that she had a knack for accents and even after an especially successful high school lead role as Roxy Hart, Karen didn’t really acknowledge her would-be passion for acting for a long time. But she used her talents to get herself and her friends into X-rated films, dive bars and successfully pull off dozens of prank calls. It wasn’t until one of her friends was going to an open-call audition for a short film and wanted someone to go with her that Karen had her epithany. She was cast on the spot, much to the dismay of her friend. Since then, she’s been in a handful of arthouse films, a commercial here and there, and recently enjoyed a short run as Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a small theatre downtown. Does she want fame and fortune? Honestly, she hasn’t really thought about it. Right now, she’s just enjoying the ride. And the phone numbers left for her at front of house from many admirers.

Strauss: financial loan adviser. Oh boy, perhaps you saw this one coming. Then again, maybe not. Old Leopold isn’t quite the two-pronged-tongued eldritch horror people often mistake him for. In fact, he actually advises people against loan sharks. He had his fair share of debts y’see and he genuinely doesn’t want anyone else to go through the same thing. He’s not exactly sweet and cuddly, but he might let you have a free pen if you call by his office. I mean, technically they’re not free but...never mind, just take it.

Bill: plumber. It was purely accidental that Bill bashed his way into his career. No, really. His sink was blocked and after an hour of poking and prodding the pipes he started hitting the poor thing with a spanner out of pure frustration, cursing all the way. To his shock, it worked, and he suddenly had running water again. What shocked him more is that he realised he wanted to know how. So, he bought a book. And he read the book. And one thing led to another, and now he’s the proud owner of Williamson Plumbing Inc. The money is very good, but for Bill that’s not it. You have to understand that for him, it’s the act itself of fixing something that brings Bill immense satisfaction. And Bill isn’t used to knowing more about something - anything - than those around him. For the first time perhaps in his life, he can sit down, solve a problem, and know that he’s done a good job.

Swanson: AA group leader. After getting completely sober almost a decade ago and staying that way, Orville wanted to give something back to the people who had helped him out so greatly. Becoming a volunteer to help those who were trapped where he was seemed like the only path, and it felt so right. Orville is there in meetings, making coffee, handing out donuts and training new volunteers. If anyone wants to talk about their faith he’s all ears, but he never pushes it as a cure-all in any situation. Orville’s sobriety has also meant that he’s learnt to make the most phenomenal mocktails.

Pearson: grocery shop manager and cooking teacher. Simon has his small grocery shop on the edge of town which has a wide range of regular customers. But he wanted to do more, so he set up a small class to teach fellow veterans how to cook. His wife helps out, and they grow the ingredients together in their garden and down at the allotment. It’s just an therapeutic for him as it is for his students, as he’s only just realising how much he wants to talk about his time in the navy.

Uncle: unknown. For the longest time, everyone thought Uncle worked at one of the worst dive bars in town, as whenever they stumbled in for a nightcap he was there, behind the bar, happy as a pig in shit. Turns out that he just started going there one night and no one could get him to leave. And so every evening he’ll appear like a phantom, sit himself in the half-broken chair behind the bar (clearly labelled “not for customer use”), order the cheapest beer on the menu and sit there until midnight. No one can understand how he gets the means to live as he ragingly denies receiving any government handouts despite his lumbago. Claims to be a veteran but hasn’t fought in any wars anyone has heard of.

298 notes · View notes

ladyanaconda · 3 years

Text

Helluva Dad Vol. 1: Murder Family

"Dad, dad, dad! Wake up, dad!"

Striker grunted as he covered his head with his pillow, but it was no use as the intruder hopped on his bed. "Kiddo, unless there's a wild animal or a homeless drunk inside the house, go away and let me sleep."

"Daaad, you promised that you'd take me along to the living world this time!"

Striker took a peek at the clock on his bedside table. "Not at 5:36 AM, boy. Couldn't you wait until I'm actually awake?"

"What am I supposed to do 'till then?"

"I don't know, use your imagination."

"But dad-" Out of patience, Striker bared his teeth at his son, tail rattling. Jake raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving."

Once the door closed shut, Striker went back to sleep… For about thirty seconds, that is, until the door slammed open and Jake jumped into his bed again, screaming in fright and knocking the air out of his father.

"What the fuck, Jake?!" Striker all but shrieked.

"There's a spider in the living room!"

"... What?"

"Spider!"

"And why didn't you squash it?!"

"It's a big spider!"

Striker's eye twitched. With an irritated grunt, he got off the bed, rolled up a porno magazine on his bedside drawer, and stomped his way towards the living room, Jake trailing closely behind.

"I can't believe it, A son of mine is afraid of a tiny, insignificant…" Striker trailed off and stopped in the doorway. A hog-sized hellantula was tearing the couch apart with big, sharp mandibles. "Boy, go get the rifle."

Once the issue with the spider was taken care of, Striker found himself unable to go back to sleep after the fiasco, so he went to the kitchen and poured himself a big cup of black coffee before making breakfast. Thankfully, Blitzo wasn't inside his fridge this time around, though he made a mental note to go get some more groceries.

As he served the fried eggs and wild hog bacon, Jake walked into the kitchen. He was covered in sweat like he had spent an hour lifting five-ton weights. "Dad, wouldn't it have been easier if we cut up the spider's carcass and take it out piece by piece?" he whined.

"And make a bigger mess I'll have to clean up? No, thank you." Striker placed one of the plates in front of his son. Jake frowned.

"Puaj. Tomato."

"Stop complaining and eat, boy. It's good for you."

They are in silence for the first few minutes. Striker would subtly glance in Jake's direction every now and then, smirking internally at the boy's expressions while he begrudgingly ate his vegetables.

"So, ready for today?" he asked casually.

Jake's expression brightened. "How's the living world like? Is it cool? Does it look anything like hell?"

"You could say so. The only difference is that there are humans living there instead of demons."

"Humans? What are those?"

"Well, you've seen the clients at I.M.P, right? They used to be humans during their lifetime. When they died, they came to Hell and became Sinner demons because they did bad things in life. However, some of them have..." Striker toyed with his bacon as he thought of a proper word. "...pending business with someone in the living world. Our job is to finish that business in the client's stead.

"So… The people who go to I.M.P. are dead humans who want to fuck up someone who fucked them up in the living world?"

Striker snapped his fingers. "Bingo. You're getting the hang of it, kid."

"Hey, dad, think I could use the-?"

"No."

"Hey, you didn't let me finish!"

"Sorry, kiddo. I thought you were going to ask if you could use the blessing-tipped rifle." Striker replied, his eyes reflecting off the knife he was using to butter his toast.

Jake laughed nervously. "Speaking of which-"

"No."

"Come on, dad! When will you let me use those?"

"When you're ready, not a second sooner."

"And when will I be ready?"

Striker dropped his fork to place a hand on Jake's shoulder. "We'll both know. Until then, finish your breakfast."

*HB*

"Moxxie, stop shaking. You're gonna shoot our only hellhound!"

"Wow, I feel so loved here."

Striker watched, uninterested, as Moxxie pointed the crossbow with shaking arms at a photo depicting a human family. "If this were real, he'd already been dead."

"You're not helping, Striker," Millie growled before focusing back on Moxxie. "Just take a deep breath, and let it out."

"But it's a family. Under what circumstances would we ever need to kill a human family?"

"Who knows? Maybe if that's what the client wants." Striker said matter-of-factly as he polished his pistol.

Moxxie wasn't convinced. "Maybe like a shitty dad, or a mob family. That's understandable. But to eradicate an entire innocent-seemingly in this instance-upper middle-class family bloodline?"

Loona frowned. "Hey!" You don't know they're innocent! This kid probably sets dogs on fire, maybe this girl gets off bullying Australian kids online, and this guy…"

"That guy definitely watches," Jake added grimly.

"Couldn't have said it better, little guy." Loona shared a fist bump with the impling.

"Exactly! Humans are full of secret nasties. It's why so many of them end up here."

"But-"

Striker had enough. "Allow me, Mildred." he stomped his way to Moxxie and picked him up by the throat. "Look, wimp, guilty and innocent aren't our business. We're assassins, not charity workers. Killing a target," he swiftly aimed his pistol at the photo and fired a clean shot at the woman's face, leaving a hole in its wake. His point made clear, Striker locked gazes with Moxxie, hissing. "Now pick a bloody target before I throw you out the window."

Moxxie fell to the ground with a loud thud. Millie handed him the crossbow again; he aimed the tip of the arrow at the father's face, trying to imagine it was Striker.

"I just think it's a bit excessive and we could be a bit more selective, is all."

Blitzo slammed the door open at that precise moment, startling Moxxie into firing the arrow. It bounced all around the room, hitting the computer, making a second hole on the photograph, and striking the bottom of the eel tank. Moxie jumped into Millie's arms while Striker quickly picked Jake up from the eel tank when he noticed it wobbling.

"Daad, I nearly had it!"

Blitzo caught the arrow just before it struck the client's skull. "...our newest client!"

The eel tank fell and shattered, spilling its contents all over the floor. The eels burst into electricity, setting the entirety of the room on fire.

Striker frowned at Jake, who was stunned into silence. "To think that could have been you."

"Damn it, Moxxie! I just bought those eels!"

They were forced to evacuate the building as the firefighters arrived and did their job. Striker was sure that this little incident didn't leave a good impression on the client, but surprisingly she didn't cancel. Guess she really wanted that person 86'd.

"Way to go, jughead," Jake told Moxxie sarcastically as they watched the firefighters carry the eels into their truck.

"Shut up, you little brat," Moxxie murmured.

Millie frowned at him. "Mox, don't talk to Jake like that!"

"He started it!" Striker rolled his eyes. Moxxie is 'supposed to be the adult who shouldn't stomp down to a child's level.

Wait a minute. "Did anyone save the fancy book?"

"You mean our only ticket to the other side?" Luna slipped out the blue, fancy-looking tome from her clothing without bothering to look up from her hellphone. "Yeah, got it."

"And that's why you're my favorite, Loonie!"

"I thought my dad was your favorite." Jake pointed out.

"Who says I can't have two favorite people? Your dad's my favorite employee and Loonie here's my favorite adopted daughter. You get a tweat now!"

Millie drew the chalk pentagram on the nearby wall. The lines glowed an eerie red color as the circle expanded and the area inside transformed into a forest. The portal was open.

"Cool! Can I draw it the next time?"

"Maybe. Let's get this over with."

Striker would never admit it out loud, but he found these trips to the living world… relaxing. The air smelled cleaner, like trees and nature instead of sulfur, ash, and lava-like Wrath. Its landscapes were more varied, prettier, and calm, at least compared to Hell's ecosystems. This place was particularly breathtaking; a wide lake surrounded by forest and mountains with the sun setting, giving the sky reddish colors that reminded Striker of Bombproof's mane.

Jake seemed to be having similar thoughts. The impling was looking all over the place, eyes wide. "Whoah…"

"Hey, hey, hold your horses!" Striker picked his son up by the shirt before he could dart into the woods. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I wanna look around, dad! This place is so neat!"

"It's your first time on the surface, right? Don't worry, Jakey!" Blitzo pulled Jake into a hug. "Just stick close to uncle Blitz and everything will be fine!"

"Sides, you and I got a very important job! We're going to keep an eye on... Well, the house, just in case something goes wrong!"

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Millie, I might be a kid but I'm not stupid."

"Oh, I know you aren't, Jakey." Millie chirped, ruffling the boy's hair.

Blitzo, Striker, and Moxxie silently moved closer to the house and leaned against the wall. The former two peeked through the window. It seemed like a normal-looking household with a mom, dad, and two kids. The target was coming out of the kitchen, platter in both hands.

"That's gotta be her." Blitzo chuckled darkly. "Ready to do your cowboy thing, Striker?"

As he was about to point his rifle, Striker glanced sideways to Moxxie. The cowboy sneered. "Actually, Blitz, this one's far too easy. We should let Moxxie have her."

Moxxie blinked. "Me?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, I don't see another Moxxie around here, do you?"

"He's right, Mox. This one's simple enough for you to handle."

Moxxie's face fell after peering into the house. "It's just a happy mother who just got out of the hospital."

"You snooze, you lose, Mox."

Striker readied his rifle, taking a few steps back to aim. He set his eyes on the blonde human female, licking his lips in anticipation. "I've got you, bitch."

"Wait, are we actually killing a family?" Moxxie asked.

"No, don't be a puss. We're just killing a mother." Striker positioned the rifle as it clicked.

"Yeah, we're ruining a family," Blitzo added cheerily.

"B-But… hold on, hold on. Let's just think about it."

He was pulling the trigger when the rifle was suddenly pushed upwards. The movement made the bullet miss its target by a few inches, hitting a mirror instead.

"Why, you-!" Striker grabbed Moxxie's throat, hissing and rattling his tail.

"What the fuck was that, Moxxie?!" Blitzo snapped. Moxxie seemed to go into a panic attack of sorts, prompting Striker to release him.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, tears in his eyes. "They just seemed so wholesome and happy, I panicked!"

Striker rubbed his temple, murmuring under his breath while Blitzo facepalmed. "Get the fuck over it, you baby dick-!"

PAM!

Striker roared in pain as a bullet blasted through the wall, hitting him in the arm. He gripped the wound as blood scurried out of the wound. Fuck, and on his aiming arm!

"New hole! Scatter!"

"Dad!"

Jake's voice brought Striker out of his daze. The last thing he saw before something struck his head was Millie picking his son up and fleeing the scene. Everything went black afterward.

…

As consciousness returned, Striker felt as if he had been trampled over by a stampede. His head hurt like hell and his wounded arm was no better. He tried to move but found himself unable to. Something was binding his hands behind his torso.

"Striker! Wake up, partner!"

"Wha…? Moxxie?" As his eyes got adjusted to the darkness, Striker realized he was tied up in a bizarre chair, hands tightly bound behind his back. Moxxie was in a similar dilemma on the chair to his right. "What the fuck?!"

"Thank satan you're awake! We're in deep shit!"

"You think?" Striker hissed. "Moxxie, I swear, if those bloody humans don't kill you, I will!"

"Hey, you can't blame me for us getting caught!"

"Oh, really? None of this would be happening if I had hit the target and been done with it! God damn it, Moxxie, I had a clean shot and you made me miss!"

"H-How can you kill a mother and leave orphaned children when you have a kid yourself?!"

"Because that's what we were paid for, for Satan's sake!"

They could have continued to argue if it weren't for the two presences in the room. As they looked around, they saw the two kids from before. He might have confused the little shits with implings if they had horns and red skin; their glowing red eyes and devious sharp grins would make the sadistic smirks of the Princes of Hell look like nervous smiles.

Moxxie chuckled nervously. "Well hello there, little ones. Aren't you cute?"

The children spoke simultaneously in a low, almost inhuman voice. "It's nice to have new critters to play with."

If he didn't know any better, Striker might have thought they were in the Cannibal Colony back in Hell. The entire room was adorned with human heads, limbs, and even organs. The 'food' on the table consisted of a roasted fully-grown man with livers and kidneys as side dishes.

"Moxxie, when we're out of this ordeal, I'm going to fucking pummel you." Striker hissed.

They struggled against the ropes, but the kids had made a surprisingly good job with those knots. They were good enough to impress even Striker himself, and he was an ace when it came to tying up knots. Sadly, there was little he could do with an injured arm and Moxxie's wimpy little arms were hopeless. Striker growled. If only he could reach his knife…

A light outside the window caught his eye. Then a second appeared, then a third, fourth, as if someone was lighting up torches. Striker paled.

"Jake!"

"Millie!"

Both imps shared a concerned glance. The girl pulled out a serrated knife on Moxxie; to Striker's surprise, the wimp pushed the chair backward and fell on top of her. He took advantage of the distraction, using his tail to pull his knife out of his boot and expertly slice through the ropes. Once free, Striker sent the boy flying against the wall with a kick. Moxxie, too, had managed to free himself with the girl's own knife.

Striker tipped his hat with his good arm. "Not bad, wimp."

"Can you move?"

"I'm not limp, it's just a scratch." Striker wrapped his red bandanna around the wound and pulled out his pistol. "Now let's blow a hole through that bitch's skull."

*HB*

Jake had never been so frightened in his entire life. Well, maybe that time when he nearly got eaten by a serpent, but it was different. At least his father had been there to save him. But this time it was him who got hurt and there was nothing Jake could do to help. He tried to save Millie when she got K.O.'d, but he stood no chance against a fully-grown human and was knocked out as well. When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a stake in-between Millie and Blitzo.

"Striker had that fucking shot. Goddammit, Moxxie."

The crazy woman was cackling evilly as she held up a torch. "Satan! We return your filthy creatures back to the pits of Hell! May the root of evil remain honored as we continue thy work!"

The torch landed a few feet away from the logs, setting them aflame. The fire rose up around them as Martha laughed maniacally… until she realized they weren't screeching in agony. Blitzo snorted.

"Yeah, that's not exactly how it works, lady. Sorry, your fire doesn't actually hurt us, but I mean I could fake it if that'll get your dick hard."

Jake blinked. "She's a dude?"

"Grown-up stuff, kiddo. You should ask your daddy about it."

"Well, I'll just shoot you in your smart ass mouth!" Jake gulped as Martha pulled out a rifle on them.

"That would be more effective."

"Blitzo!"

Jake closed his eyes shut, whimpering as he heard the familiar click on the rifle. There were two gunshots, but he heard no screams from Blitzo, Millie, or his own throat, and no searing pain. Jake opened an eye warily. There were two smoking holes in the sockets where Martha's eyes once were. Her body collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

A few steps back were none other than Moxxie and dad, both holding their pistols.

"Moxxie! Striker!"

"Dad!"

"You're not getting your god damn paycheck for this one, Moxxie!"

As Moxxie untied the ropes, Jake jumped right into his father's embrace, wrapping his arms around his neck. Meanwhile, Moxxie and Millie hugged and nuzzled each other affectionately.

"I'm sorry, sir. I compromised our objective and put us in harm's way. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Apology accepted." Blitzo pulled Moxxie into a hug, but Striker noticed he was whispering something threatening (apparently), judging by Moxxie's expression.

He waited until Blitzo let go to punch Moxxie with such force that he fell to the ground.

"What the fuck, Striker?!"

"I keep my promises, Mox."

*HB*

Striker wasn't very fond of parties. Frankly, he just wanted to go home, fall to his bed, and sleep, but Jake begged him to stay a little longer to eat cake. After what the boy just went through, he didn't have the heart to say no, so he conceded. Besides, the look on Moxxie's face was fun to look at. He had no idea what put the wimp in such a mood, but he had the feeling it had to do with what remained of the target's bloodline.

"You sure you can ride back home with that arm? I wouldn't like to lose my best shooting asset!" Blitzo protested as he climbed onto Bombproof's saddle, Jake seated in front of him.

"Big deal, it's just a scratch. Nothin' to worry about, Blitz." Striker grabbed the reins with his good arm, the injured one resting on a sling.

Bombproof moved at a slow pace, so it'd take them longer than usual to get home. Millie had once suggested that he and Jake move to Imp City; there was a vacant apartment in the building she and Moxxie lived in and she'd be thrilled at the idea of being neighbors (Moxxie, of course, didn't share the sentiment). Striker regretfully declined the offer (to Moxxie's relief). He was a country person at heart and would rather stay in Wrath. Besides, he wanted his son to experience the ups and downs of rural life.

A loud yawn made him look down. "Tired?"

"No, just resting my eyes," Jake said simply, but the exhaustion in his voice said otherwise. Striker chuckled.

"How about you 'rest yer eyes' for a while, then? I'll wake you up when we get home."

"Really, dad, I'm not tired…" Jake trailed off as he leaned back against his father, resting his chest against his chest.

Striker smiled a bit as he ruffled the boy's hair. "Surely not, kiddo. Surely not."

#helluva boss #helluva boss au #helluva dad #helluva boss striker #helluva striker #helluva fanfiction #helluva moxxie #helluva jake #helluva blitzo #helluva millie #helluva loona #one-shot #helluva boss fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [Part 5, Male Reader][18+]

<- Part 4 | Part 6 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

For @thatesqcrush‘s Summer Bingo: anal square

With apologies to all medical professionals in the audience. I am absolutely sure this violates hospital policy :)

Warnings: NSFW. Hospital sex. Threesome. Anal sex. Blowjob with bedridden burn patient. Improper sterility procedures for removal of a foley catheter. Basically sounding. Not exactly piss kink (despite the debauched suggestions on Discord, no one drinks from Chilton’s catheter like a sippy-straw) but there is a bit of pee I mean not much but look it just kind of happens, OK?

5,500 words

Bryan Kneef shifted uncomfortably.

In another room, a heart monitor beeped quietly but incessantly, and if it continued much longer, he might go insane. The dry air filling the sterile white walls was slightly too cold for someone dressed in cool linen, prepared for a southern summer. Outside, bees and flowers filled the hazy orange world, but it was always winter inside the Chesapeake Hospital burn ward. His eyes darted around for the offending AC vent. Searching for anything to fixate on besides the man in front of him.

Frederick Chilton was laid out on a hospital bed like a corpse. Inflamed skin wrinkled with scars wrapped too tightly around his bones, as if there were no muscle in between, and white teeth grinned from his skull like a mummy. He hadn’t moved from that bed in months.

Bryan wasn’t one to cower from difficult situations, but this? He didn’t know how to behave around the sick.

“Well, you look like shit,” he at last blurted.

Frederick Chilton rolled his eyes, scowling as much as his face was able without the assistance of lips.

In the bedroom, Frederick reveled in being humiliated, the ego of his outside persona stripped away and torn down. He deserved it, and fuck, he loved getting what he deserved. And the praise for being a good little slut made him melt.

Outside was an entirely different matter. That carefully constructed persona—the esteemed psychiatrist who demanded respect—could not be threatened. Not by a vulgar, unpredictable man like Bryan who knew his filthy secrets.

So why did he call?

“I assure you, it looks better than it feels,” Chilton grunted. His speech was slow and deliberate. Daily sessions with a speech therapist were helping his cheeks and tongue learn to produce shapes and sounds his lips once handled, but it would never be quite the same.

Bryan took a step toward the bed. He puffed his chest out and pretended not to be bothered by the skeletal figure that seemed barely clinging to life.

“I’m not your dick-for-rent you can use whenever you want,” he said, cutting to the chase.

Chilton coughed—a weak, wheezing sound, accompanied by involuntary spittle. “Yet here you are, running when I call.”

Why did he come?

“Any chance to fuck our boy,” Bryan smirked. In other words: I’m not here foryou.

The flash of pain in Frederick’s eyes made him instantly regret saying it. It wasn’t the cute sort of jealousy when he had Fred on his knees, desperate to come—it was the kind that made his eyes drop to the floor.

A few hard lines on Bryan’s face softened. His lips went slack in their bearded nest. He would never admit that he had been worried sick, or the tears he’d shed when he heard the news. Baltimore Psychiatrist Mutilated by Red Dragon. He was pissed that he had to read it in a newspaper first, but your voice was so trembling and weak when you finally called—when you told him the doctors all said Frederick wasn’t going to make it. You were too distraught to think. He had to remind you to eat something. You asked if he wanted to come to the hospital to say goodbye, and he pretended he was too busy with a case.

But Frederick didn’t die.

A stillness came over the room, both men so lost in their thoughts they hardly noticed the other had also fallen silent.

“As you can see, I am in no condition to provide… sexual release.”

“Shame. You used to give great head.”

Affronted by Bryan’s piercing gaze, Frederick turned his head away as far as he could. It wasn’t far enough to hide his tattered mouth.

“I suppose I could return the favor,” Bryan mused, daring to lean closer over the bed, dropping his voice.

Blood rushed to Frederick’s cheeks and between his thighs. He had sucked Bryan off many times, but never had Bryan in a submissive position. The image of him between his legs, piercing eyes gazing up at him with a mouth stuffed full of his cock sent a shiver up his spine.

“No,” he stammered. “I asked you here for one reason.”

He was too skittish for such a thing now—too accustomed to Bryan’s roughness to trust him with his fragile body. Besides, he had not missed the shock on Bryan’s face when he entered the room, or how he almost turned around at the door. What would he say if he saw his grafted cock? Mere weeks ago, the poor organ had been flayed—flaps of skin peeled around the bloody shaft, stretched, split, pinned back down in place, and stitched together again under the head.

It was better now. The surgeries corrected uneven scarring that would have made erections painful, and it had time to heal. But it still felt… tender. Sore in a way that was not physical. It looked like a medical experiment.

No. He was not ready yet. But he wanted to see you happy. Bryan could give you pleasure his bedridden, broken shell could not.

***

You were surprised to find Bryan Kneef sitting in the visitor’s chair in the corner of the hospital room. He was flipping through an issue of The Wall Street Journal with a bored expression, one leg crossed over the other, but smiled and stood when you walked in.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?”

He paused long enough before answering to suggest the question stung—as if you were implying he shouldn’t have been there, which was not what you intended at all. In fact, it explained a few things.

“Shh. He’s sleeping,” he whispered.

A glance at the bed showed that Frederick was dozing peacefully—a rarity these days. You nodded your understanding. It would be a shame to wake him.

With a quiet sigh, you rushed into Bryan’s arms, burying your face against his solid form. Thick arms closed around your waist, warm and comforting, and his beard rubbed the back of your neck as he rested his chin over your shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” you sniffed, and just like that, hot tears were rolling over the brim of your eyelids, soaking into the collar of Bryan’s white linen jacket.

“You too.”

He held you tighter, surprised at the lurch in his heart. His eyes hung on the broken figure sleeping on the bed and imagined what it had been like for you all these months. This gaunt thing was Frederick recovering. You were all alone when he was unconscious, his body an open wound, machines keeping him alive. Alone because Bryan was too selfish and cowardly to be near that kind of sickness. But he was here now, and the way your body clung to him, he knew it had been a long time since you had someone to comfort you.

***

“Right here in the hospital?” You quirked an eyebrow. Frederick had a private room in the burn ward, since his care was so intensive, but there was a constant stream of nurses in and out.

“Yes, here,” Frederick replied. “I want to see you.” A hungry spark entered his eye, and he sucked a quick breath to prevent his salivation from escaping.

Now that his plan was so close to fruition, excitement roiled in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in a long time. At first, calling Bryan was only meant as a gift for you. But suddenly, a familiar heat flared up in his belly, and he wanted to see—wanted to watch your eyes roll back as Bryan split you open.

“Don’t worry, we bribed the nurse supervisor not to disturb us,” Bryan added, hand on your lower back.

“Did you do as I instructed?”

The pressure in your ass seemed to increase as your mind was drawn back to it. “Yes,” you swallowed heavily. “I was wondering about that.” A plug kept your tight hole stretched and prepared, worn under your clothes, just as he had asked.

“Good.”

“So… you want to watch Bryan fuck me?” you purred, starting to get into the mood. You put your hands on the side of the bed and smirked down at Frederick, sticking your ass out for Bryan.

Before Frederick could answer, Bryan interrupted: “No.”

Frederick opened his mouth. You gave an equally confused look.

“I’m his dick-for-rent today,” Bryan chuckled, low and sultry. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Chilton? I’m going to fuck you for the doctor, since he can’t do it himself. Whatever way he wants.” He ran his palms over your shoulders and down your arms as if he were presenting you to Frederick as a gift.

Frederick nodded, not missing a beat as he pretended that was his plan all along, and not an unexpected act of charity from a man who seemed anything but charitable. When he woke to find the two of you conversing in hushed voices like a couple of dear old friends, he felt a sting of fear that Bryan was stealing you away.

So Bryan was going to let him be in charge? He liked the sound of that. After three months of bondage within his own skin, he liked the sound of that a lot.

***

“Pull it out slowly,” Chilton instructed.

Your ass spasmed around the flare of the plug as Bryan gradually removed it, and, under Chilton’s guidance, drizzled more lubricant over it.

“Push it in again. Fuck him with it a little.”

“Yes, doctor,” obeyed Bryan.

A guttural moan escaped your chest as he plunged it back inside, twisting it, fucking the lube back into your tight entrance. Your fingers clenched on the metal guardrail at the edge of the mattress.

“That’s right,” Chilton mumbled. “Good.” He raptly watched you bent above him, arousal building by the second.

He had never been more pleased with Bryan, following his instructions perfectly as he worked you open, first with the plug, then with his thick fingers.

“He’s dripping for you already,” Bryan said, drawing a finger through a bead of precum

He held the slick digit out to Chilton, and he extended his tongue to lick your essence off Bryan’s calloused pad. A familiar taste flooded his mouth.

“I missed the way you taste,” he moaned.

It had been too long since he sampled your arousal, and it pooled like heat in his stomach. Bryan’s breath shuddered at the sensation, or perhaps the monstrous sight of a tongue probing forth from bared teeth.

Finally, the thick, round head of Bryan’s cock was notched against your prepared opening. Fisting the base of his cock, he circled it lightly over your puckered ring, listening to the breathy whimpers it elicited.

“Take a deep breath, my love,” Chilton said. He held your eyes, steadying you with his gaze. “And let it out slowly.”

He nodded to Bryan, who rocked his pelvis forward little by little, stretching you open around his impossible girth. You gritted your teeth and tried to relax under the invasion, but it was no longer Chilton using Bryan to fuck you—Bryan was so much bigger than Frederick ever was, the illusion was shattered in that moment. No plug could prepare you for this. You wanted to squeeze Frederick’s fragile hand, but with the intense burn you were feeling, it might have shattered like glass.

“Shh. There you are. Good boy,” Frederick whispered, and even though you weren’t touching, it was like he was helping you. That soothing, soft, carefully-spoken voice caressed your ears. You felt your lower body relax, the muscles opening up for Bryan, allowing him to penetrate deeper, deeper. “You are doing so well for me.”

Your body surrendered with a heave of breath, allowing Bryan to slide in all the way until his balls were pressed against your ass. You were so full, it frightened you to move. Frederick saw how wide and wild your eyes were, the tremble in your limbs as you gripped the rail, and told Bryan not to move.

“Let him get used to you.” He added regretfully, “It has been a long time for both of us.”

“I’m never in a rush,” Bryan said. A powerful hand gently stroked the side of your face as he waited, stock-still with his cock buried inside you.

Slowly, you experimented with moving your hips. Grinding against him just slightly, you felt the way he filled your walls, stretched your entrance as he slid in the lubricant. It was so hot, so impossibly hard, but it made blood rush between your legs, your cock throbbing to be touched.

“F-Frederick… please, make him touch me,” you whimpered.

There was a flash of jealousy in his good eye for a fraction of a second. He wondered why you didn’t beg him to touch you, even though he knew he couldn’t. You might be able to ride his hand and let his fingers haphazardly twitch over your flesh, but he could never reach your cock from here.

At Chilton’s command, Bryan began stroking your heat, and soon your moans filled the sterile hospital room, drowning out the background hum of medical equipment. He guided Bryan in exactly how you liked to be touched, sharing the secrets of your body. Your lower half was on fire, screaming out for more until you were impaling yourself on Bryan’s length, hips bucking, indifferent to the pain.

Then Bryan began thrusting.

Chilton’s breath was heavy as he watched your chest heaving above him—bent over the edge of the bed so you were hovering above his face, giving him the perfect view as you were fucked brainless. Each swing of Bryan’s hips rocked you forward, your jaw slack, skin misted with a sheen of sweat.

His arms were too weak to reach up and touch you or to stroke his own cock, but he whispered words of encouragement that made your skin flush. “Good boy. You take his cock so well. That’s it… A touch faster,” he ordered, and the slap of Bryan’s skin against your ass quickened. You gurgled out a strangled moan as his cock hit a deeper spot.

“Good. Give him more. He can take it. Do you want more, dear?”

You closed your eyes as you nodded, throat too tight to form more than a strangled growl. It was almost too much—almost. But you wanted to take more for him. You wanted him to see you at your limit with Bryan rutting into you like a beast. Bryan stopped stroking your cock and fixed both hands to your hips like a vice, fingers bruising your flesh as he fucked you harder, drawing a cry with each brutal thrust.

Chilton’s cock stirred between his narrow thighs, envious of the pleasure just out of his reach.

“Kiss me,” he rasped.

You leaned over the railing and kissed his neck first, sloppy and unfocused, lavishing affection all over his skin. Down the side of his neck, over part of his shoulder exposed by the loose-fitting hospital gown, then up his jaw, your panting lips and tongue left a trail of saliva wherever they traveled.

Finally, he gasped softly as you found his toothy, exposed mouth. Your lips became its protection, replacing what was lost. He thought he would be scared—that insecurity and disturbing memories would surge to the surface—but for a beautiful moment in time, he was whole again. He had lips, and they were warm, and soft, and everything he missed. Then your tongue was exploring the smooth surface of his teeth, and his hungry tongue licked up to consume your muffled cries, inviting your sweetness deeper inside.

“Harder,” he groaned.

Your hand snaked around the back of his scorched-bald head and pulled him deeper against your mouth. Bryan obeyed the command, too, pounding you against the side of the bed until its locked wheels dragged scuff marks into the floor, and you were so breathless you almost collapsed on top of his fragile body.

Frederick’s mouth captured your wailing moans as Bryan’s massive cock nudged against a place impossibly far inside you. And suddenly, you were breaking—ropes of cum ruining the sheets, your ass spasming around Bryan’s cock. It hit you so fast, you were practically drooling into Frederick’s mouth, melting as he kissed you through your release. When you parted, a string of saliva connected your tongues. Bryan’s cock was still buried deep in your ass, but he paused to let the two of you catch your breath.

“Keep going,” Frederick nodded to him, and he thrust again.

An inhuman noise choked out of your lungs, your body exploding with overstimulation. Stuffed to its limit, and you wanted more. Frederick wanted more, too. He wanted to be more than a spectator, trapped inside a broken body.

Your searching hand groped low on the blanket until it found a satisfyingly hard bulge buried between Frederick’s legs. You lightly squeezed around it, and he gasped out.

“I want to suck your cock,” you moaned, voice thick with need.

He froze, both eyes wide, the green seemingly as blind as the pale blue one in its scarred socket. You were already throwing back the thin blanket. A tent strained in the center of his hospital gown.

“Please let me suck it?”

“I… There is a…” he hesitated. He wanted it so badly, but fear held him back. Mortification merged with lust in his face, the inflamed pink scar tissue nearly beet red.

You shifted to the foot of the bed and gently grasped his ankles, spreading his legs wide enough for you to crawl onto your belly between them. Bryan followed with you, slipping his cock back inside you, his legs pressed up against the edge of the bed, nested between yours. He smirked down at Frederick, giving a few lazy thrusts.

Frederick glanced between you and Bryan, then back to you, your lips so close to his touch-starved erection. Watching you get fucked turned him on, and he was desperate to feel your mouth, but he did not want Bryan to see it… what was beneath the gown.

You had been by his side since he was admitted, witnessing every embarassing medical treatment he endured. But how would Bryan react?

The nervous stammering Frederick gave as you lay between his thighs wasn’t a no, and you had a safeword if he needed to stop, but it wasn’t an enthusiastic yes, either. Considering the circumstances, you didn’t proceed any further, just rested there, searching his eyes with a gentle expression as Bryan smoothly rolled his hips in a holding pattern.

Somehow your willingness to wait made him feel safer. He was in control, Frederick reminded himself. Bryan was just his puppet today. What did it matter if he was disgusted?

“Suck it, then.” His voice was sure. Aloof, even. But it trembled with emotion churning just below the surface.

You pulled the medical gown up over his hips.

And there was his cock, standing partly erect, with all its rosy mesh texture. In a few months or years, the graft texture was supposed to fade into smooth skin, indistinguishable from the original, but right now, it looked like a fishing net of flesh had been pulled over it and sewn with a zig-zagging seam down the underside.

From the center of its tip snaked a long yellow catheter, the other end feeding into a urine collection bag strapped to his thigh like a gun holster.

You circled the meeting of the tube and his cock with your finger. He hissed, and it twitched. You pulled away and glanced up to his face. His jaw was hanging open, but with no lips or eyebrows, it was difficult to assess whether it was slack with lust or open in a silent scream.

“Did that hurt?”

“N-no. Oh god,” he groaned. His fingers dug into the sheets. They could not grip tightly, but his body shuddered with the attempt.

Frederick instructed you on how to take the catheter out. You had seen it inserted and vaguely understood the process, but fortunately, he had a medical degree and academic knowledge of the procedure (if not as much practice as a nurse).

“That syringe there will do,” he gestured with his chin and signaled when you found the right one.

Bryan pulled out and patiently assisted the scavenger hunt, though he was averting his eyes from the reconstructed thing between Frederick’s legs. It did not make Frederick feel appealing, but at least it was better than a sarcastic remark. Even a half-joking “you look like shit” comment would have made him crumble, and perhaps Bryan was skilled enough at exploiting vulnerabilities to recognize that.

“And bring the kidney dish. Yes, that one.”

After disposing of the half-full plastic bladder of warm yellow liquid, you brought the supplies over to the bed and sprawled back out between his legs. Bryan stood nervously behind you, kneading your ass cheeks in his large palms.

“There is a small inflated balloon holding the catheter inside my bladder, so it cannot slip out. You will need to deflate it first.”

“A balloon?” You tilted your head curiously. “How does it feel?”

Taking the end of the yellow rubber tube in your fingers, you gently pulled until you felt resistance, the tiny inflated ball pressed against the wall of his bladder at the entrance of the urethra. You twisted it slowly, rubbing the ball against the internal opening.

Frederick’s back wanted to arch, but he was helplessly immobile in his body, completely at the mercy of whatever you chose to do. He realized in that moment how vulnerable he truly was—that you could do anything, and he couldn’t escape or resist. He gasped out, but not in pain.

“You like that?”

His breath stuttered, but he couldn’t quite form a response. He didn’t know if he liked it. It felt strange. Not unpleasant. He felt full. On the threshold of torture, but something was thrilling about it—electricity sparked and built deep inside as you kept moving it.

You were barely touching the catheter anymore, only holding the end as you searched for the balloon port, but each tiny vibration made him whine softly.

“The orange cap. Use the… s-syringe… to… drain the…”

By the time you drained a few milliliters of water into the syringe, he was moaning loudly, incoherent.

Now when you pulled, there was no resistance to the tube sliding out. As you started to remove it, the deflated balloon passed over his prostate. You recognized it by the familiar whimper—the same stuttery, breathy cry he gave when you fingered him and found just the right spot. You stopped pulling and let it slide back in a little.

He choked, panting and begging, “P-please… please!” but wouldn’t tell you please what? Stop? Faster? More? Don’t?

In truth, he did not know. It burned, but it felt like stroking the shaft of his cock from the inside. It was humiliating—urine dripped from the end of the tube. He had no control over it. He felt so alive. So wanted for the first time in months of lying in that bed. The way your eyes lit up, your lips quirking at his every trembling breath. The way you whispered, “Easy. You’ve got this. Almost there.”

He was on the verge of coming when you pulled it the rest of the way out and set it aside in the tray. You gripped his cock firmly but gently, tilting it up to show Frederick the tip.

“Look at that. Your cock is gaping open like your asshole when Bryan fucks you,” you smirked. A bit of that rough, teasing quality entered your voice—an echo of the way you and Bryan used to use Frederick like your personal sex toy.

But you were going to be gentle today.

Extending your tongue, you laved over the head of his cock, soothing the stretched hole. Then all at once, your warm, wet mouth sank over his entire length, and he let out a shattered wail that was heard through the hospital wing.

Frederick went absolutely brain dead at that moment. His entire existence floated in a shimmering void with no up or down, no gravity. There was nothing but dizzying pleasure consuming his senses. Going without sex—and until recently, without touch—for so long made every sensation more intense than seemed possible. Your head bobbed up and down in his lap, lips wrapped around his cock, and waves of volcanic heat exploded up his vertebrae with each stroke. He still could not arch his back, jerk his hips into your mouth, or writhe beneath you. All of that frustrated kinetic energy came out in uncontrolled vocalizations. The nurses must have been bribed well to not come running at the hoarse, fevered cries.

His cock felt like a cock again, not some pathetic thing discarded after surgery. He couldn’t wait to come down your throat.

He almost didn’t notice Bryan was still standing there watching, obediently waiting.

“Fuck him,” Frederick managed to hiss.

A small pink smile flashed across Bryan’s lips as he nodded and leaned over you.

Your throaty groan vibrated around Frederick’s cock as Bryan pushed forward, gripping your ass to hold you still as he split you open again. He didn’t wait for you to adjust this time, doing just what Frederick had asked—he fucked you. Skin slapping skin echoed through the small room as you choked on Frederick’s cock, powerful thrusts pushing you forward and down.

Bryan sharpened your focus. You had started with your tongue languidly exploring the underside of his cock, flicking over the sensitive area beneath the crest of its head. Warm wetness traced along scars where stitches had been removed and the flesh was still raised, making his skin erupt in tingles. Now, you hollowed your cheeks and held on for the ride.

Continuous moans tore from Frederick’s throat, louder as you drove him toward his climax. He wanted to really fuck your mouth, control your pace, but he couldn’t even lift his arms.

As if reading his mind, Bryan’s large, veined hand ran down the length of your spine and settled possessively on the back of your neck. His eyes met Frederick’s, bushy grey brows raised in question.

The corner of Chilton’s mouth quirked—a tug of his cheek—and he nodded. “Yes… faster. Make him go faster.”

Bryan’s fingers snarled into your hair and pushed you down onto Frederick’s cock, then dragged you back up and shoved you down again. Frederick sighed in relief as you gagged on the head striking the back of your throat. He pretended it was his hand controlling you—savored the tears streaming from your eyes, the drool smearing your lips and pooling around the base of his cock. Most of all, he relished how willingly you took him—let him abuse your mouth for his pleasure. You were so eager.

Sensing that Frederick’s mind was gone on that last, desperate stretch toward release, Bryan took charge, setting a punishing pace as he fucked you harder and faster in time with the rhythm he was pumping your head. Bryan was a bit skeptical at first, but listening to you gag, he wished he could have a turn sucking Frederick off. But it was almost as good using your mouth like a masturbation sleeve to jerk him off.

“Take his cock like a good boy. Nice and sloppy,” Bryan growled. “Make him come, and don’t spill a drop. You swallow it all.”

Frederick moaned again. He was so close. Heat coiled in his lower body; his balls felt so heavy and tight, ready to burst.

Each time Bryan pulled you back, your tongue did this perfect little swirl, sometimes over the tip or under the crown of his cock. A sinful flourish before his heavy hand impaled your throat on Frederick’s throbbing length. He wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. Looking down at the both of you—Bryan’s face drawn in effort, sweating, and you beneath him, cheeks hollowed as your nose met Frederick’s scarred-bare pubic mound—he couldn’t help think he didn’t deserve you. Either of you. So devoted to him in his time of need. A maddening heat rose under his abdomen. He was going to… going to—

“C-come inside him. Come in his ass,” Frederick choked out. Saliva ran down his chin wantonly without lips to collect it. His eyes were barely open and rolling back in his head.

Bryan’s breathing grew erratic and turned to audible grunts as he chased his pleasure in your tight little hole. There was no restraint now—he mercilessly abused your ass and your mouth, creating a symphony of Chilton’s cries and your choked gagging. He wasn’t sure if you could take it—usually, it was Chilton he treated this way—but your walls were gripping around him, eagerly pleasuring his cock while your hips pushed back into his thrusts. You were just as needy a cockslut as your boyfriend.

The antiseptic air seemed to still for a moment, like the perfect silence that precedes a thunderclap. Bryan’s rutting hips hitched, then came crashing back down, sheathed to the hilt inside you as he sheathed your throat around Frederick, and in an instant, you were filled with hot cum from both ends. Frederick gave the small whimpering cries of a dying animal as his bitter release coated your tongue, salty, coppery, and thick. Bryan’s roar was that of an apex predator, your inner walls flooding with his seed.

A euphoric feeling settled over you. The feeling of being claimed, totally and completely, surrounded by two men you loved and trusted, knowing you brought them satisfaction.

You sucked Frederick through each twitching aftershock until there was nothing left to be milked from him, and his cries turned to uncomfortable sobs. Only then did your lips release him, shiny and red, and already softening.

Bryan, on the other hand, was hard as steel when he pulled out of you, and knowing his quick recovery time, ready to go again if need be. But that wouldn’t be advisable, considering the hospital staff would only look the other way for so long.

You quickly pulled your underwear back on, cringing at the squishy feeling of Bryan’s dripping cum being pressed into your skin. After returning Frederick’s legs to their usual closed position, you carefully crawled onto the edge of the mattress, avoiding the paths of tubes and wires attached to him, and gently cradled his prone body.

His breath was steadying, and his eyes were watery with emotion, coming down hard from his high. You surreptitiously brushed a tear away with your thumb. He wouldn’t want you to notice he was crying, but it would be worse if Bryan saw. So you held him, whispering soothing praises, and helped him calm down while Bryan cleaned himself up and made sure there were no stray fluids on the floor.

Then Bryan stood, once again unsure.

Where did he fit, with the bed too narrow for two people to cuddle on, much less three? Did he even want to join? Hospitals reminded him of death, and Frederick’s cadaverous figure made it worse. Fucking you with him was fun, but it felt like a last request—a favor for a dying man. Though as he understood it, Frederick had already beaten the odds and was going to survive, barring complications. But it still made him shudder.

He watched you smiling at him, gently whispering comfort with your arm so carefully draped around him, and watched his mutilated mouth try to smile back. Your eyes were transfixed on each other. Another pang throbbed through Bryan’s heart. He wanted to be part of that.

He took a step forward.

What if Frederick didn’t want him to be part of his lovey-dovey snuggle? It was stupid. Bryan was only here to fuck, anyway. It was what he was good at. Bryan Kneef didn’t do clingy emotional bullshit, and this was way too fucking Hallmark right now.

He took a step toward the door. It was roughly in the same direction. The last thing Bryan Kneef wanted was to appear indecisive.

But before he could pass the foot of the bed and lock his trajectory toward leaving, Frederick’s eyes shot open and froze him. He repressed another shudder, still freaked out by his ghostly blue eye.

“Thank you,” he said. His face was unreadable (there were not enough features left to read), but his voice had a hopeful edge.

“My pleasure.” A surprisingly uncomplicated reply. It didn’t seem the time for tacky vulgarity.

You looked up at him, too, and the combined forces of your puppy-dog gazes broke his resolve. He pivoted away from the door and pulled up a chair beside the bed so he could lean close, resting his head against your warm shoulder and gently stroking Frederick’s withered arm.

Frederick hummed contentedly at the contact, and he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @detectivebarba

#Frederick Chilton x reader #bryan kneef x reader #Frederick Chilton x Bryan Kneef x Reader #male reader #thatesqcrushsummerbingo #my writing

13 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 4 years

Note

Why does Dean plead guilty? Is it bc of Phoebe? Is it because he wants to protect Beth? Is it because he wants to take the credit? Does it have to do with his male-ness? Have you already explored this topic? #questions

That’s such a good question, anon! It makes for a really interesting (and I actually think in-character) beat for Dean, and I think you’re right in the sense that it’s partially about protecting Beth and partially having to do with his male-ness, but I think there’s also something more fundamental at play.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how this show explores image, perception and projection, and how frequently those things are at the root of Beth and Dean’s arcs, both together and apart. These themes do of course feed into other character storylines (Annie at Ben’s school charity auction in 4.02 being one of the clearest examples of this – that was entirely about projecting an image to Ben’s peers and trying to change the way she would be perceived), but I don’t think it roots as deeply as it does in Beth and Dean, in no small part because Beth and Dean’s biggest audience is themselves.

So! Let’s break that down and talk about how that feeds into Dean pleading guilty.

Rose Coloured Boy (Rose Coloured Girl): nostalgia as the face of love

One of the things that’s always fascinating to me about Beth and Dean’s relationship is how often the show roots it in the past. One of the very first moments of Dean acting regretful over his cheating way back in 1.02 is through talking about the ‘fun stuff [he and Beth] did in the back seat in highschool’. That sense of the history of their romance is further emphasised in imagery of their past – Beth and Dean’s wedding photo is revisited frequently in season 1 while their anniversary is a key moment of the finale, Dean reminisces over screenshots of the kids as babies in season 2, and they even talk sweetly about anniversary dates, and their first apartment together after signing their divorce papers in 2.13.

This paints a picture of a tender history. One of young love and years of happiness and kindness, only it’s a history that the show has regularly, deliberately undermined.

All those beautiful pictures Dean’s looking at of his young family together and happy? Well, 2.05 confirmed that Beth was pregnant while he was having one of his affairs, so which of those photos are truly happy, and which were taken while Dean was betraying her? Similarly, they talk and joke about Valentine’s Day three years ago at the end of 3.08, but if he wasn’t having an affair with Amber then, he was likely having one with another woman.

The purpose of undermining history like this isn’t about the show forgetting or retconning these plot points – especially when the show ties these moments to other emotions, like Dean’s jealousy over Rio in 3.08 (and I’ll come back to that later), or Dean’s feelings of failure – but rather to establish the way that Beth and Dean both romanticise their past and paint it with a rose-coloured brush.

They tell themselves that they might not be happy today, but they were happy yesterday. And then they say that the next day and the next day and the next day, until every unhappy day, becomes a happy yesterday.

That romanticisation of their history is intrinsically tied to an image that they want to project to themselves. They have put so much time and energy into this thing between them, they have so many children, have so much of their lives entwined, that they need to believe that it’s all been worth it, because if it’s not, the image cracks and I don’t think either of them have the tools to handle that.

Which we kind of saw in 4.03.

It’s not an accident that the Beth and Dean flashbacks were in that episode – an episode that in a lot of ways fractured the image of Beth and Dean’s relationship, particularly for Dean. He’s been under the impression that they’re better, that they’re working again, that neither of them are cheating and Rio’s far away and Beth believes in him like she did before everything went wrong, and to discover that that image was false – was a projection of what Beth wanted him to believe, and perhaps simply what he himself wanted to believe too – is challenging to say the very least.

He was put in a position where he was faced not only with the extreme consequences of his wife’s actions, but a domino effect of lie after lie after lie, and the show choosing to take us back to the start of their relationship at that very moment, I think, shows us that the root of Beth and Dean’s relationship came back to Beth needing to be looked after, and Dean deciding, without knowing Beth very well, that he wanted to be the one to do it.

Macho Macho Man: Dean & Masculinity

Which brings us to Dean and masculinity. I’ve talked about the show’s exploration of masculinity quite a bit now (hell, it even has its own tag now, haha), and wrote a whole series of posts after 2.04 about male ego which I should probably update sometime to include s3 and s4, but it really is one of the core themes of the show. It bubbles to the surface almost constantly and frequently becomes a driving factor of character motivations, particularly characters like Turner, who had his male ego challenged by Beth which resulted in a vendetta, to Boomer’s toxic masculinity driving him through much of the show.

For Dean though, his masculinity is frequently projected only to be destroyed, undermined or used against him in a way that ultimately completely emasculates him. The scene of Dean trying to reassert gender roles on himself and Beth only to have Rio bone his wife, destroy his prized car and insert himself into his business is perhaps the clearest example of that, but it manifests in plenty of other ways too. From hiring hitmen only to be robbed and have his wife’s panties stuck in his mouth, to buying the gun only to have it stolen, to think he’s establishing a new business for himself only to discover his wife’s pulling the strings with her ex-lover. Hell, even the fact of losing the business in the first place is inherently emasculating.

What I’m getting at is that every time Dean asserts himself in ways that are typically considered ‘Masculine’ – providing for his family, dominating his wife / treating her paternalistically, behaving with violent intents, establishing a business – it’s only to have that immediately undermined in the narrative. Dean likes this image for himself, and wants to project it, but the show keeps telling us that the image is a false one.

And then the show outright used that falsehood, and Dean’s insecurity over it, in 4.02 with Dave convincing Dean to give him the books, despite Beth telling him they weren’t ready.

Dean played right into his hand because Dave saw Dean’s masculinity for what it was – a projection covering an insecurity, which in turn, made Dean act thoughtlessly.

(Another pattern of behaviour for Dean! Like hiring the hitmen or cutting the money plate).

Dean’s commitment to the image of masculinity is in a lot of ways too tied to this idea of the rose-coloured image of his and Beth’s romantic history. Beth, from an image standpoint, is a case study in traditional femininity, and for much of their 20-year relationship, they’ve had their roles and they’ve stuck to them. The challenge of that throughout the course of the series is ultimately a challenge to the image that their relationship is based on, which in turn means that Dean’s feelings of failing masculinity end up being tied to his feelings and insecurities around Beth, frequently manifesting into jealousy over Rio.

To have that used against him by Dave (and funnily enough, Rio using those same feelings of Dean’s against Beth in 4.02) is a really interesting character note and I think very much fuels his motivation in the scene with Phoebe.

That Loving Feeling: a brief aside

I feel like I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention here that I actually do think Beth and Dean love each other. I think that it’s a broken love, like Christina said in her BUILD interview while promoting season 3, and I also think it’s a child’s love, which is something that we saw a bit through these flashbacks. Their relationship is so steeped in that history and that origin, that their love has failed to grow with them. It’s a sort of arrested development type of love, which I think makes them cling to the image all the harder, and it’s that old love and that image that’s stopped Dean from ever even contemplating turning Beth in.

Dean Pleads Guilty

Projection and perception are key in this show overall, but especially this season. We’ve seen that with the way Fitzpatrick has projected onto Beth, which I’ll talk about another time, but we also importantly saw Phoebe project onto Beth in this episode. She equates Beth to a girl she was friends with in highschool who used her, and tells Dean as such.

Phoebe’s projection of Beth – her image of her – isn’t one that Dean identifies with, and he tells her as much in return. While Dean is quiet in the scene overall outside of that interaction, the flashbacks deliberately seek to remind us of the nostalgia that has driven Beth and Dean’s relationship for the last twenty years and four seasons of the show. There’s a part of Dean that still sees Beth as the girl he chose to look after when they were just teenagers, and I think having his masculinity threatened the episode before by Dave intermingled with Dean’s nostalgia and his desire to ‘man up’ and take care of her in the way he tried to when her mum was in the hospital. All their murky, messy history and anger and hurt is painted over again, and Dean, at least in the moment, re-commits himself to the image of what he and Beth are.

He’s the man, she’s the woman, and it’s just another unhappy today for all those happy yesterdays.

#beth x dean #beth boland #dean boland #gg 4.03 #masculinity #character backgrounds #staying's worse than leaving #welcome to my ama #Anonymous

27 notes · View notes

megalony · 4 years

Text

When she’s better

This is my first Harry Styles imagine that I hope everyone is going to like, any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Harry and (Y/n) recall what happened during labour when their daughter was born and how it affected them and their daughter’s future and life.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It isn't about the money, I have more money than they could offer, we're not here for a settlement. I don't want this to be swept this under the carpet, I want them to admit liability for what they've done to our daughter."

Harry never spoke like this.

It wasn't in the singer's nature to be abrasive or even to be straight to the point with people. When interviewers asked him questions that were rude or interfering or just plain rude he weaved around the question or gave a polite answer, Harry didn't know how to be mean or rude or cruel or subjective. He gave people the benefit of the doubt, he treated people with kindness and expected others to do the same.

But this was someone Harry couldn't be calm with and it was a subject that simply couldn't be talked about kindly. He felt cheated, he felt broken and hurt and fearful for his daughter's future and he didn't know how else to go about this when it was foreign territory to him.

"I understand that Mr Styles-"

"Then why offer us a settlement that discloses we can't go to court if we sign it?" Harry took law in college even if it wasn't something he had pursued or taken to university, he knew the basics. He read the contract that was pushed in front of him and waved in front of his face like a flag, it was there urging them to sign to make this all go away when that wasn't the point of them being here.

If Harry and (Y/n) signed the settlement in front of them all that would happen was a sum of money would be placed into their bank account for Lilah's future and that would be it. There would be no one taking responsibility for what they had done to her, no one would say sorry or be held accountable and if (Y/n) and Harry ever changed their minds, they couldn't go to court or take this any further because the settlement meant that was it. It was a contract to make everything go away for the hospital, not for them.

Harry would be blunt of that was what their solicitor in front of them wanted. Harry would tell her that the money the hospital were offering wouldn't make a dent on what he himself had made by the time he was nineteen with the band and it was nothing compared to what he had gotten over the years afterwards. He didn't want money, Harry had far too much of it for his own good, he didn't need any more money he was set for three lifetimes over.

He and (Y/n) hadn't come here today to try and get money for themselves or for Lilah because they could provide for her. They were here because their daughter deserved some kind of justice for the mistakes that had happened and Harry wasn't leaving without it.

"Because going to court can take months, even years and there is no guarantee that you will win the case, and that's if it gets to court. A settlement is easier for both parts and it is the first point of call. The medical board has already examined your case and is willing for a settlement because court is unlikely."

"We've got the rest of Lilah's life to take them to court for what they've done to her. Money can't change how they've ruined her life." (Y/n) felt Harry taking her hand in his when she spoke up for the first time since they entered the office. She wasn't in the mood to argue but it seemed to be the only way they were going to get through to the solicitor who was supposed to be on their side. They had hired her so she could help them get the hospital to admit liability for Lilah.

Lilah's birth two years ago hadn't been a smooth ride, it had been anything but and because of the midwife and doctor's negligence during her birth, Lilah hadn't been breathing for fourteen seconds. She suffered with her breathing when she finally managed to breathe and was stuck in ICU for two months and two months ago at Lilah's checkup, they found out she had cerebral palsy caused by the lack of breathing during her birth. It wasn't something that could be treated or cured, Lilah could only be helped and her life made easier but her condition was lifelong.

Harry and (Y/n) had more than enough money to care for Lilah and any medical expenses or treatment she would need, they weren't trying to sue the medical board for compensation. They wanted them to take responsibility for how they had ruined Lilah's life. Walking was going to be a struggle for her, if she could ever walk, she might have speech problems and development issues growing up. Her life was never going to be normal or easy but if her birth had been smoother her life would be normal.

"Mrs Styles, I can see why you're wanting to do this, but you must see that there is a very limited number of people who take these kind of cases to court when they're not after compensation for their child. The court would deem it pointless."

"It's pointless to want justice for your child? Lilah's whole life is ruined and money can't fix it, I want them to admit what they did and be reprimanded for it." (Y/n) knew this. She knew most parents didn't have the kind of money she or Harry did so when they went to court they wanted both justice and compensation which meant they would be able to look after their child and have their child cared for for life. But just because they had money didn't mean they had justice.

"I'm sorry but the court won't see admitting liability as a reason for taking things that far if you don't want compensation. I'm not saying it won't ever happen but the chances aren't great when you aren't asking for money, that's how the court and the hospital will see this."

"Fine, tell the medical board we'll take them to court for liability and for compensation that can be donated to a charity of our choice because of what they did. They can put a large chunk of money towards a charity helping kids with cerebral palsy because they caused it for Lilah. They ruined her life, all we're asking is for responsibility and we're getting it. Tell them anything, that we want that doctor fired for this, just... please, our daughter isn't a case they can throw money at to get her to go away. Her health can't be fixed with money, they should know that."

The way Harry spoke was almost admirable if it wasn't for the pained expression on his lips or the way that his rings punctured into his fingers and his palms when his hands clenched into tight fists. His legs were crossed causing his knee to push into the desk in front of him as his head was leaning on his right hand, pushing his ring into his jaw.

If they would only go to court for compensation reasons then he and (Y/n) would do that. They would take a large amount of the hospital's money and donate it to a charity to pay for what they did to Lilah, as long as it got the hospital to admit what they did and get some kind of repercussion for the doctor who let Lilah suffer in the way she did.

Her life was ruined just as it began, no money could fix the doctor's mistakes and no amount of money could make her better, if it could Harry would have paid it already. He wanted to be able to tell Lilah when she was older that this wouldn't happen to anyone else and they got justice for the life she had to live.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilah-Rose Styles.

The name floated around in (Y/n)'s head like a mantra she couldn't stop thinking about until she could see the letters dancing in front of her when she opened her eyes. But what really made her head swim and her heart beat faster was when she heard the name from Harry's lips. The way he spoke so slowly and drawled out the name made it sound like it was the most precious thing in the world. Anything sounded better when Harry said it but that name sounded so unique when his accent and slow speech put a spin on it.

For this last month of the pregnancy (Y/n) had heard that name from his lips almost every day and it was heaven, it was as if she was already born and right here with them when he said it. The name made this so much more real, even more real than being in labour right now.

They practised saying the name and seeing how it rolled off the tongue, how it looked in writing and they imagined how she would look and if the name would suit her. But now they had their hearts set on the name, (Y/n) was worried she wouldn't look like a Lilah-Rose when she was born.

"I'm gonna get it tattooed somewhere, with a little rose in the corner and the letters spelled out in vines and petals." The way Harry whispered those words in her ear made (Y/n) smile sweetly despite the agony she felt and the sweat glistening on her skin or her hair that was matted in its bobble and hanging limply wherever it so pleased.

She could tell that Harry already had the design ready in his head as always, with an intricate tattoos he could picture the exact size it would be, where he wanted it, if it should be in colour or just dark navy blue ink. He could picture every little detail and describe it as if it was already inked onto his skin.

"W-where? You don't have much space left." (Y/n) mumbled quietly through gritted teeth, not wanting to speak much louder in case her voice broke but there was no annoyance or malice in her tone. The only free space Harry had left was his back, his neck and his legs. Having their daughter's name on his legs wouldn't seem right, having her name on his back meant Harry couldn't see it which was why he had no tattoos on his back and on his neck didn't seem right somehow.

"Just above the butterfly, gotta have it near my heart, right?"

(Y/n) could only nod her head in response before she tucked her chin into her chest giving Harry the exposure he needed to kiss the back of her neck which reminded her of butterfly wings delicately fluttering against her skin.

Both Harry's hands were curled around (Y/n)'s to the point her hands were engulfed and no longer visible but that was how she liked it. The only difference was that he didn't have his rings on, only his wedding ring was left and it was weird for both of them when he only took a few of them off when he went to sleep. But Harry didn't want all the rings on right now because he wanted to hold (Y/n)'s hands and the rings would only puncture into her skin and cause her more pain.

(Y/n) found herself staring at Harry's nails for a few seconds when it felt like her head was buzzing with static. She focused on the very light shades of pale pink and lime green coating his nails and she almost got lost in the simple colours until the pain came rushing back to her.

The water they were sat in was very calming and soothing to her torn and aching muscles but it wasn't medicine, it didn't mask the pain. But it did stop (Y/n)'s muscles from seizing up and stopped her from being stiff sitting on the bed like she had been for the past six hours.

"Okay, a big push for me and her head should be almost crowning."

That was music to (Y/n)'s ears, they were getting so close now that it was becoming scary, but it was almost over. Lilah was so close she was almost within their reach, they could have her in their arms soon, they could see what she looked like and how big she was and how delicate she looked and hear her cry for the first time and take her first breath.

(Y/n) felt the water lapping at her skin when she leaned back against Harry's chest and sunk down just a little bit more into the water, letting it envelope around her in a smothering hug.

It felt relaxing to have Harry's hands in hers and his arms pulling around her waist like he didn't want her to suddenly drift away in the water. But (Y/n)'s eyes soon opened and her head leaned back on his shoulder to look up at him when he shifted back in the water rather suddenly like something had spooked him or dawned on him. She didn't have the energy to speak so she just looked up at him quizzically.

"I- is that normal?" Harry looked over at the midwife who was across from them in the small pool they were sat in but his eyes showed only anxiety and confusion. He knew what to expect, he'd been to the birthing classes and to all the doctor's appointments with (Y/n) and they'd gone through the birthing plan they wanted. But when he looked down and saw that the water was turning a bright shade of red, it didn't look normal to him. Blood was normal in this case but the way the water looked like he was becoming dyed with food colouring made Harry nervous.

(Y/n) tightened her hands around Harry's when Jane reached forward to examine her stomach before pulling back.

"It's a small haemorrhage because baby seems to be breach. She seems a bit distressed so I'll call doctor but the best thing might be to get you out of the pool and onto the bed." The midwife they knew as Jane didn't look worried which settled one of the many nerves raging in Harry's stomach but he still didn't like this.

He could feel (Y/n) tightening her hands around his and he saw the pained expression on her face. The water had calmed her from the moment she sat down in the pool and it was making her more at ease and relaxed, getting back on the bed wasn't what she wanted, she wanted to have Lilah here in the pool.

"Harry I- I can't move." (Y/n) tucked her face into Harry's neck as she felt like crying in anger and annoyance. Her legs were immobile right now and her lower half was numb despite her not having any pain relief, standing up wasn't going to be a good option, let alone trying to walk over to the bed. (Y/n) wanted to stay here, she wanted to sit in the water and have Lilah here and have her properly as opposed to having her breach like this.

It dawned on Harry as odd that Jane didn't know sooner that Lilah was going to be breach but he suspected Lilah must have just wriggled around at the last minute and decided to change her position to keep them on their toes.

"S'alright love, we'll get you up and on the bed, you'll be fine."

They both turned their heads in the direction of the door when it opened and a doctor walked in. He looked to be middle forties with slightly grey hair and grey stubble but he wore a smile which was kind of calming. He spoke quietly with Jane for a few seconds before he examined (Y/n)'s stomach presumably to check Lilah was actually breach.

"Alright Mrs Styles, let's get you on the bed and check you both over, I don't think we'll be needing this pool any longer."

Harry could hear the small whimper that left (Y/n)'s lips at the news but they couldn't really do anything else. He got out first so he could help (Y/n) without the risk of slipping or falling himself but he could see the way she trembled and how her legs were buckling the moment she stood up. She was too numb and weak to be moving far at all. Her arms locked around Harry's neck and his hands were firm on her hips, slowly guiding (Y/n) out of the pool with Jane holding her arms for added precaution.

"Shh, shh it's okay, I've got you." Harry's voice was so quiet yet calming it sounded like he was singing in (Y/n)'s ear when a pained moan escaped her lips and her nails suddenly punctured into his upper back. Her head pushed into his chest and her back arched along with her knees but Harry managed to keep her upright, not wanting her to go down on her knees in case she hurt herself.

He made sure to be careful when they walked over to the bed since all three of them were dripping water from the pool but Harry couldn't help but wince when (Y/n) screamed the moment they tried to ease her onto the bed. She seemed to want to squat down or kneel on the floor but that wasn't really a choice right now.

Harry kneeled on the edge of the bed with (Y/n) sat in the middle, her legs hanging off the other side of the bed and her back leaning up against Harry, his arms cocooned around her waist to calm her down and secure her against him. He could almost feel the pain (Y/n) didn't seem to notice when the doctor injected her in her thigh with something to help clot her blood to make sure the bleeding would stop.

Jane placed a few monitoring stickers on (Y/n)'s stomach but the sudden noise the monitor made made both Harry and (Y/n) jump, it sounded like Lilah's heartbeat was slow but the monitor was panicking and getting louder to voice its panic.

"Baby is distressed and she's haemorrhaging... should I call for an emergency C-section?" Jane tried to be quiet when talking to the doctor but both parents heard and Harry felt (Y/n) shaking in his arms. That was a last resort, (Y/n) wanted to do this naturally but she didn't count on anything going wrong, she hoped for the best and didn't try and think about the worst.

"Is something wrong, that sounds bad." Harry had both his mother and his sister talk him through this so he would be ready and neither of them had had anything happen during their pregnancies. Everything had gone smoothly and Harry was only prepared for this to go smoothly too, he didn't know what to do if something went wrong or out of plan, he liked things scheduled and perfect. Things going wrong or out of time didn't settle well with him because he liked to have control of the situation so everything was okay.

"Don't worry we won't need a C-section, baby is just unsettled. I'm sure (Y/n) can start pushing again and the sooner we have baby here the better things will be. We don't have any reason to panic just yet."

The doctor seemed very certain and he was still smiling like he had control but it didn't feel right. (Y/n) wondered if a C-section might be easier because it would be swift, Lilah could be born quickly and helped instantly. But then again, if she was almost crowning now, it might be too late for a C-section if she was almost here.

"Let's start pushing." The way he spoke was almost forceful even though he was calm and still partly smiling. It was like he was in a hurry or had somewhere else he needed to be.

(Y/n) looked up at Harry who looked just as uncertain as she did because they both knew (Y/n) had been coached to push on contractions rather than as and when she was told by a professional. But as soon as the next contraction hit (Y/n) pushed like she was told, even though this time it felt like her lower half was beginning to burn.

Harry punctured his teeth into his lower lip to stop himself from screaming when (Y/n)'s shriek tore through to his soul as if she had been stabbed but it didn't phase the doctor at all.

"Just unhooking baby's legs (Y/n), keep pushing everything is fine."

She couldn't keep pushing, it was hurting more than it should and (Y/n) didn't like how this doctor was acting or speaking. He could have warned her that Lilah's legs were caught and he was going to pull them down to free them rather than hurt her and then tell her what he was doing. He could be more considerate and understanding that she was pushing a baby out and it wasn't going according to plan.

"I can't... H- Harry s-she isn't okay..." (Y/n)'s chest was vibrating and shuddering up and down as she was barely breathing, all of her air was bumping out through her lips but only small amounts of air were being inhaled to the point she wasn't really breathing at all. (Y/n) could see the monitor was becoming more frantic and Lilah wasn't even moving anymore, aside from (Y/n) forcing her out into the world. Something wasn't right, she didn't want to do this anymore she wanted to be at home safe and sound with Lilah and Harry, not here in pain and in danger of something going wrong.

"I know, I know but she's almost here now love. Just keep going at your pace, you're doing so well." Harry couldn't do anything or say anything to make it better. He could only hold (Y/n) and encourage her to carry on because Lilah was nearly born, they couldn't very well have a C-section now when she was half born, the only way to help her was to get labour over and done with, as bad as it may seem.

Harry's eyes darted around the room though he wasn't sure what he was searching for. He watched Jane getting towels and clamps and scissors ready to cut the cord and she set up the scales and got tubes in case Lilah couldn't breathe, she seemed to have given u and let the doctor take over fully. But he wasn't much help and when Harry leaned over he could see the steady flow of blood dripping onto the sheet on the bed and the one placed on the floor. The blood was trickling down Lilah's legs and smeared onto (Y/n)'s legs and it made him want to be sick.

"Baby's arms are stuck, I need you to push long and hard for me so we can free them."

Harry could feel the exact moment the doctor tried to free Lilah's arms because it sent waves of shock and pain through (Y/n) who vibrated in his arms. Her scream was ungodly and Harry could only imagine how the pain must have felt but as he hugged (Y/n) tighter and tried to calm her down by humming in her ear, he leaned forward to look down over her shoulder.

The blood was getting substantial but what scared the flesh from his bones was looking at Lilah. Only her head wasn't born yet but her chest was moving like she was convulsing and her arms were shaking and it made Harry wonder if she was trying to breathe. He'd heard of it, babies trying to breathe when born breach because it would be confusing to them but if she was doing that she could suffocate.

"I- it hurts... please..." (Y/n) didn't know what she was pleading for but whatever it was, she needed it to happen now. She was feeling like she was about to pass out from the pain that the doctor was only making worse and she could feel Harry's lips pressing to her cheek and the tears falling from his eyes because he was scared for both his girls.

She just wanted it to stop.

"Just the head now (Y/n), we need baby born now so she doesn't start breathing with her head suffocated like this." His words did nothing to calm the couple down because Harry knew. He could feel it in his gut that his girl was already suffocating but if he told the doctor or (Y/n) that it would only further hurt and panic his wife. Harry couldn't tell (Y/n) in case she hurt herself trying to get Lilah into the world.

"S-stop! Stop it!" (Y/n) wanted to kick her feet out and knock the doctor away from her until he was on his hands and knees and didn't dare come back near her but she couldn't move her legs an inch with how numb and broken they felt. The air was taken from her lungs when it felt like the doctor was butchering her.

(Y/n) had been prepared when they came to the hospital, she knew that when having Lilah the head would be the worst to give birth to but she thought that would be first and then it would be much easier to push. But having her come the wrong way round meant the worst bit was at the end and (Y/n) was out of energy to push any more but it was almost as if the doctor was pulling Lilah or moving her to try and get her head free and (Y/n) didn't like it one bit.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Harry looked over at the doctor with malice in his eyes, he was causing (Y/n) so much pain with such an air of confidence about him that he shouldn't have. He should be kind, sympathetic and be helping (Y/n) rather than trying to get this whole ordeal over with.

"Baby is born now." His words were overpowered by the mix of a scream and a wail that echoed around the walls and reverted back to Harry's ears that made him cringe.

Harry felt (Y/n) slump down against him like she had suddenly passed out or even died but when he looked at her he could see her half-lidded eyes were still conscious. His arms tightened around her despite not wanting to cause her pain, he wanted to comfort her as well as himself and holding her closer was the only way he could calm himself down right now.

He leaned over (Y/n)'s shoulder again, pressing his lips to the top of her head but his eyes focused on the doctor who had their girl resting on his knees. She wasn't moving anymore, not even a spasm of her arm or a little wriggle, her chest wasn't quaking and her lips were a pale shade of blue with her skin being pale grey instead of peach or bright pink.

She wasn't okay.

"Harry..."

He looked down at (Y/n), trying to hide the pain in his eyes so she wouldn't get scared but she was already afraid. She hadn't heard their girl cry, she hadn't managed to look down and see Lilah and the doctor wasn't saying anything either. She knew something had been wrong and she knew Lilah wasn't okay by the way Harry wasn't smiling or crying with joy or marvelling at their daughter.

"Shh... it's okay." He knew it wasn't but he didn't know what else to say.

Harry watched Jane mess around cutting the cord and delivering the placenta as the doctor stood up and moved a few feet away, not looking panicked as he tried to get Lilah to breathe. Harry couldn't help but count the seconds he watched the doctor try and force Lilah to take a proper breath and he got to roughly thirteen seconds before his eyes widened in their sockets. He heard (Y/n) moaning in absolute agony when they both watched Lilah take a breath but blood and a murky substance left her lips at the same time.

Jane rushed over to the doctor with a small tube which they placed down Lilah's throat to clear her lungs as she continued to cough and breathe very shallow, small breaths.

Neither couple knew who had called for another doctor who came rushing into the room but they were thankful for her. When Harry felt the way (Y/n) started to shake against him when the previous doctor who was no longer holding Lilah came over to them, he felt like screaming.

This man had hurt (Y/n) when there was no need, he hadn't treated her with any respect or kindness or like she was a mother in pain and he'd not cared or fussed over Lilah when she was in peril.

"Get out. Get out I want him out!" The words were repeated again and again with more rage until finally the new doctor came over to the couple.

"I'm Dr Hane, I'll take over your aftercare now. Dr Cole, can you leave the room please?" She clearly didn't understand the tension in the room but she was at least obliging to the couple's wishes and putting them first. She took a few seconds to check over Lilah who was in Jane's arms before she moved to kneel in front of (Y/n). "Jane, please take the little one down to ICU immediately, (Y/n), is it? We need you laying properly on the bed, let's sort you out honey."

"Baby... I w-want my baby..." (Y/n) reached a shaking hand out to Jane who was just about to rush out of the room with Lilah in her arms. But (Y/n) hadn't even gotten one glimpse of her yet, she wanted to see her and touch her and make sure she was alive before she was swept away anywhere else.

"You can't hold her just now but you can touch her and look at her for a few moments... she's inhaled fluids and some blood when trying to breathe in the womb so her lungs need to be cleared out."

Dr Hane nodded and Jane who moved and stood beside the couple, not really willing for them to hold her since Lilah was clearly unwell and needed special care right now but they could see her. Harry's hand enveloped over (Y/n)'s and reached out for Lilah, their fingers brushing over her cheek and pale chest. They were relieved that the blood wasn't due to a problem in Lilah's lungs but at the same time, inhaling fluids was still a very bad thing, she could get infections or pneumonia from that.

Harry kissed (Y/n)'s temple repeatedly when her breaths started to tremble before a round of sobs escaped her lips when Jane left with Lilah. (Y/n) felt like it was the last time they were going to see her, like they were stealing her away or she was dead and they couldn't even hold her.

"S'okay baby, shh, we'll hold her when she's better." Harry hoped to God that his words were true.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #dad! harry styles #imagine #one direction

290 notes · View notes

thegreatbigfourmain · 3 years

Text

Dancing With Dragons

He knew something was wrong the moment he came to his senses. His entire body trembled with pain as he was forced to awaken from his blissful and painfully unaware sleeping state. The sound of beeping monitors and the soft echo of shoes tapping on hard floors rose once his eyes opened. Moments later, a doctor was there to greet him and inform him they were at the hospital, yet still on base. The battered-up brunet saw a glimpse of himself in a mirror given by a nurse. His hair was matted and dirty, his body stitched and bandaged.

It took the doctor a moment before telling him that not only was he being sent home on an honorable discharge, he also had a terrible accident. It wasn’t losing his men or killing civilians, as one would assume. The tragic loss was the left stump that was now his leg, bleeding through the bandages. His green eyes widened at the sight. No words left his lips as his entire body shut down. As a result, the doctor pumped his IV with morphine to cause the soldier to rest. However, the shock never truly left him.

In all honesty, he wasn't too proud of going off to the Marines like he had. He thought that if he left his art scholarship and went to the army, his dad might actually be proud of him. And for a moment, the old man was. With his buzz cut and high rankings through bomb tech and military tacticians, he had been put in the hand of his squad. His father was proud of him every day.

Yet, it only took a single bomb to set back everything. He came home taller with lean ropes of muscle, a haircut and a foot gone. The looks of sympathy were worse than the disapproval. He spent months in the hospital and physical therapy, though it did nothing to help his mental state. His hair grew out back to the long length it had once been and he could actually walk in a straight line with his prosthetic, yet he still felt as weak as he was all those years ago. Even as a twenty-seven-year-old man, he still looked to his father for approval and now only saw that same disappointment.

There wasn’t anything he could do to change that’s man mind.

***

Today, Hiccup Haddock the Third found himself outside a small dance studio recommended by his redheaded, Scottish doctor. To say he was nervous would be an understatement.

The brunette sighed, looking down at the floor of the car.

“You ready?” his best friend asked from the driver’s side.

The man grumbled, “No. Take me home.”

Jack scoffed and turned off the car as to not waste the gas. Hiccup knew what that meant; a lecture from good ole’ Jack Frost.

“Doc said it was going to help your coordination and that this girl was a good friend of hers. She’s not even going to charge you! What’s the worse that could happen?” the white hair male asked.

Hiccup gave him a look, “I fox trot myself into falling on my ass?”

Jack narrowed his eyes, “Get out of the car and go get better or so help me I will pull you out myself.”

The brunet rolled his green eyes before opening the door and lifting his legs awkwardly out of the vehicle. He slowly stood up, only to bend down and look back at his buddy.

“Two o’ clock right?”

“I’ll be here. I promise,” Jack said with a smile. The veteran closed the door and with a sigh, wobbled his way toward the dance studio. He was still slow in his walk and looked stiff. He refused to use a cane as it only furthered his disappointment and loss of his normality. Besides, it was mostly the pain that bothered him rather than his appearance.

Everything inside him screamed that this was a bad idea.

His father had ingrained in him that real men don’t need help. Then again, he wanted a lot out of his fishbone of a son that didn't have much to give in the first place.

Hiccup walked up to the door as the colorful fall leaves crunched under his boots. He wore a pair of dark jeans and a button up dark green shirt with a warm leather jacket over it. Now that his hair was long, he used a ponytail to tie it back. It showed off more of his sharp jawline and many, many freckles.

He hesitantly knocked on the door.

Many thoughts swirled in his mind at the moment. Dr. DunBroch could have at least showed him a picture of her friend to ease his nerves. If she was cute, then this would most definitely end badly. If she wasn’t attractive to him, then it still probably end with him falling on his ass.

With an awkward turn on his good foot, he only waited a second before heading back to the sidewalk. Hiccup was at the ready to pull out his phone to call Jack to turn around.

Hiccup dialed Jack's number as the autumn wind tried to penetrate through his thick jacket. He hated the cold. The worst part of being out in the desert was the nights. It was always freezing.

He brought the phone up to his ear, his other hand in his jacket pocket.

As the phone rang, he heard the door behind him open.

“Hi, I’m Rapunzel. Are you Hiccup?”

He turned to see who called his name. The person before him made his eyes widened. Oh this is bad. This is very, very bad.

She was beautiful.

She was a petite woman who wore a strapped rose pink dress that brought out the pink of her cheeks and the spring green of her doe eyes. Her hair was held up in a messy bun of golden strands. There was no makeup on her face to taint the natural beauty she possessed. Her lips were in a natural pout as she waited for him to answer.

He gulped, ignoring the voice that yelled at him on the other end of the phone line.

He decided this was much worse than what his imagination concocted in his head. The last thing he wanted was to be exposing his flaws and handicap by falling all over the place in front of a beautiful woman. Warmth flooded his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He gave her an awkward smile, hanging up the phone and putting it in his pocket. Hiccup took a couple of careful steps towards the door, though he still wobbled a bit.

The brunet stopped to take a deep breath, his smile gone from what he was about to say. His green eyes filled with a bit a self-loathing, but mostly embarrassment.

“Umm, hi. Yeah, I’m Hiccup. Dr. DunBroch referred me here, but I think it would be best to continue going back to physical therapy. This dancing thing isn't for me. I was never coordinated, even before my accident. I'm sorry if I wasted your time.”

He could see her face fall when he told her that he wouldn’t be taking her class. It seemed like she was almost looking forward to it. No, it couldn't be that. Injured veterans are charity cases. She was probably just trying to validate herself through some civic duty to a soldier. Just another person to pity him.

These emotions made Hiccup turn around. He couldn’t take looking at her hurt face any longer. He closed his eyes tightly at how stupid he must have sounded. He took out his phone again while walking stiffly towards the sidewalk once more.

All he heard was a soft “Oh, of course. No worries” from her before the door closed behind him, leaving him out in the autumn wind.

Haddock you asshole, he thought to himself.

He called Jack again.

“What?”

“I’m ready to go home.”

“You didn’t even go to the class, did you?”

“This is stupid. I want to go home.”

“Your doctor said this was the best chance you have to walk normally that’s faster than therapy. You can’t just walk away because you’re uncomfortable!”

“I can figure it out myself. And I’m not walking away. It just isn’t for me.”

“I’m not picking you up.”

“Then I’ll walk.”

“Are you crazy? You can barely walk as it is! No offense.”

“How is that not offensive?”

Hiccup was about to utter something to his supposed best friend when he felt a small tap on his shoulder. It made him turn around, his phone still up to his ear with Jack barraging him.

The petite blonde stood behind him, out in the cold with her dance outfit on.

She smiled at him and handed him her card. “Here. It’s my business card,” she explained.

“I know you may not want to now, or ever. But if you ever do want to have a session in the future, I just wanted you to know you have other options. I may not be a licensed physical therapist, but I do know a few things about dance,” she joked, letting out the most melodious giggle Hiccup’s ever heard.

Her words were almost lost on him because he found himself looking into her green eyes now that they were closer. They were green like summer grass. He felt like he was getting lost in all that was simple about her. That’s what it was. She was simple, uncomplicated and without drama. His whole life had been a series of problems and complications. Hell, his name was Hiccup: he was a mistake and a problem within itself. Even his own occupation was full of bomb techs, guns, drills, training and war mechanics. When he got home it was hospitals and surgeries, family issues and planning. She seemed so simple.

Hiccup reached for the card and, in doing so, gently brushed his fingertips with hers. That short contact caused jolts of electricity to run up his arm, followed by a bright crimson blush flustering his face.

“Oh, th-thank you,” he muttered out. She gave him one more heart-stopping smile before spinning around in a dancer’s fashion and going back into the building.

“Hiccup? Hic who was that?” Jack’s voice finally registering into the memorized brunet.

“Th-that was my instructor. Sorry Jack, I gotta go. See you at 2,” Hiccup rapidly uttered before stuffing his phone once again into his pocket and following the direction of where the blonde beauty went.

When he did catch up to her, she was beginning to put her speaker away and looked like she was closing up shop. Hiccup cleared his throat before knocking on the open door and entering.

The blonde glanced towards him, tilting her head to the side a bit like an adorable curious puppy.

“Hiccup?”

He chuckled at that, whether it be to hide his incredibly nervous emotions or because the way she said his name was on the rapidly growing list of what he enjoyed hearing from her; her giggle being the first.

“I, I’m sorry about before... This is all so foreign to me,” he started.

She placed the speaker aside and began to walk towards him, Hiccup doing the same until the pair met in the center of the room with only their reflections in from the ballet mirrors to accompany them.

“Well, If you’re up for it, I don’t mind helping you get un-foreign to it,” she grinned, her smile never failing to clench the inside of Hiccup’s chest.

What was this girl doing to me?

“What the heck, let’s do it.”

What did he just get himself into?

#dancing with dragons #drabble #another old thread with #choasatitsfinest #rewrite #hiccunzel #not the best in terms of grammar but fuck it I'll worry about that in my research papers

7 notes · View notes

imo-chan-imagines · 4 years

Text

『 Random acts of kindness | Haikyuu!! Headcanons 』

The everyday acts of kindness our boys do and think nothing of, but are actually incredibly sweet.

Characters: Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Iwaizumi Hajime, Sugawara Koushi, Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi, Oikawa Tooru, Akaashi Keiji, Nishinoya Yuu, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Kozume Kenma, Miya Astumu, Miya Osamu, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Haiba Lev

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), no warnings, fluff, lots of characters I didn't realise how many I'd done until I came to type up the list 😳, a lot of cats and dogs, cuteness, headcanons

A/N: I've had an exhausting and busy week, and just felt like writing some comforting fluff. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy! ♡

And please consider voting in this poll (ends this Sunday 18/10/20) to help me celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you to everyone who's already voted! ♡

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Helps lost people find their way and regularly gives directions

We're talking off-duty, here Daichi puts the 'hot' in 'Hot Fuzz' 🥵

Hahaha, fuck 🙃

He's very approachable and warm, and gives excellent directions

He'll also walk them there if they don't understand or don't feel confident, even if it disrupts his day 🥺

And he's really good at helping lost kids and calming them down he feels so proud when he gets them back to their parents, safe and sound 🤗

☆ Kuroo Testurou ☆

Helps elderly people with their shopping bags and getting across roads

It goes against his nature to stand by and let an old person struggle, and even if they're not struggling, he always offers his services anyway

He has a soft spot for old people, 'kay? 🥺

He makes a point of getting the traffic to stop so it's safe, and letting them hold his arm as they slowly make their way across the street

They often tell him that he's 'a very sweet and handsome young man,' and 'nothing like the other young people you meet these days' and he blushes

☆ Ushijima Wakatoshi ☆

Gets things from the top shelves for people that they can't reach at the supermarket

It's a pretty normal thing to do, right? So he's chill about it

Except he will 100% walk down the entire length of the isle just to help if he sees you stuggling it's super cute 😩😍

But he won't smile or make idle conversation, or anything. He'll just nod courteously

It can be a little ominous, with his looming height and serious face, but most people take the gesture well 😊

☆ Iwaizumi Hajime ☆

Pays for the shopping of the person in front of him when their card gets declined or they don't have the right cash

He manages to offer in a way that isn't offensive or patronising he's honestly a life saver 🥺

He's very humble and casual about it

It's what he hopes someone would do for him, if he were in that awkward situation

And you never know what struggles people are facing, so his philosophy is to always be kind what goes around, comes around, my dudes 😌✌

☆ Sugawara Koushi ☆

Leaves snacks and a cute thank you note on the porch for the mailman

Or mailwoman! Or mailperson!

He hopes that the little gesture will brighten their tough day of work so precious, I can't 🥺🥰

There's usually a good selection, too no skimping here, no sirree 😌

If he's home, he'll give them a cheery wave through the window as well

Especially in this COVID-19 environment. Suga would really appreciate the services they're providing

☆ Bokuto Koutarou ☆

Spends time every week playing with the cats and dogs at the local shelters

This man is hoenstly a blessing, I physically can't 🤧

He loves seeing their little faces light up when he walks in, scruffling their ears and playing fetch, etc. and just generally showing them that they're still loved 🥺😭

And he helps take the dogs for walks too, so they get their exercise, and brushes them down, and rubs their tummies–

He wants to adopt, but he's not settled enough, so he knows he can't 😭 but it's his goal

One day 😖

☆ Azumane Asahi ☆

Always holds doors open for other people

We're not just talking the occasional, feebly held door

Asahi will ALWAYS hold a door open for anyone else

Men, women, children, old people, people with prams, whole families– literally everyone

He is TALL and STRONG, and he will be USEFUL

He will hold it open even if you're really far away, like the giant dork that he is 😂😂 you cannot escape

☆ Oikawa Tooru ☆

Often pays for the next customer's coffee in advance

Sure, it makes him feel good about himself. But, I mean, why not? What's so wrong with that?

Oikawa calls it SAOK-ing people (pronounced 'soaking') meaning: Secret Acts of Kindness Iwa-chan has told him to change the name, but he won't 🙄

Oikawa would love the touching joy of a stranger paying for his coffee in advance, so he gets a warm, tingly feeling when he thinks about it happening to someone else because if him he's literally beaming for the rest of the day 🥰

☆ Akaashi Keiji ☆

Buys food and drinks for homeless people when he passes them

He sometimes stops to have a chat with them, too 😔🤧

He's the least condescending person you could meet if you're in trouble he's so genuine, I can't

Except for maybe Iwa-chan and Daichi. They're also very down-to-earth

He'll also give them all his food vouchers that he's been collecting in his wallet to help spread their costs

Akaashi finds it hard to watch other people struggling and suffering, and so always makes the time for it when he can afford to

☆ Nishinoya Yuu ☆

Helps make up the numbers for the kids playing games in the park

Be it soccer, dodgeball, basketball, volleyball, tag, or something else entirely, Noya loves to see the kids running around in the park, playing games and enjoying themselves

So he's only too happy to join in when they need more players he'll sometimes recruit Tanaka to help as well

Yuu fits right in with them, both in height and mentality 😂😭😂😭

He may or may not get them to call him 'senpai' 🙄😂

☆ Tanaka Ryuunosuke ☆

Helps fix people's cars on the road

Tanaka's one of those people that knows how to change a flat, and so can't drive past someone having car trouble without stopping and helping

He's also a pretty good handy-man in general, and is always willing to help out his friends and neighbours with their jobs that need doing

Like plumbing problems, putting up shelves, building furniture, etc. He's good with his hands!

Kiyoko: 👁👄👁

And he'll never charge a penny! He's all too happy to do it out of friendship and the kindness of his heart 😇

☆ Kozume Kenma ☆

Hosts gaming charity livestreams for various causes on a regualr basis

All the donations go directly to the charity of choice for the stream, not through him, so everyone knows it's legit 😇

He also donates gaming consoles etc. to charities and organisations that help kids who are in hospital

He's a huge advocate for charities and organisations that focus on helping people through gaming, like AbleGamers and St Jude PLAY LIVE, and regularly donates to them

Honestly, Kenma is an angel 🥺 👉👈

☆ Miya Atsumu ☆

Gives up his seat on public transport for old/pregnant/disabled etc. people

Look, Tsumu can be a little selfish and grouchy at times, but he's not a complete asshole 👉👈

There's a line, and hogging seats on public transport when someone else clearly needs it more than him is, indeed, the line 😌

He'll do it without a second thought or a fuss, and with a smile on his face but will be low-key proud of himself, ngl

He will also get offended if someone else doesn't give up their seat when they should, and may confront them about it 😳 like, what makes you so special that you can't do that simple courtesy that even he does??

☆ Miya Osamu ☆

Donates food to charities and shelters

Both store-bought food and from his own shop

Literally gets so depressed at the thought of people not getting to eat 🥺

This man LOVES FOOD. And people are out there not able to?!

He also has a scheme set up where homeless and stuggling people can come into his shop for some free onigiri

This man 🥺🤧 can I please marry him already?!

☆ Sakusa Kiyoomi ☆

Donates sanitary supplies like soap, toothpaste, antibacterial gel, pads, tampons, etc. to shelters on a regualr basis

Literally cannot abide the idea that people are forced to live without these basic necessities, simply because they can't afford them

It's almost for his own peace of mind rather than theirs? 😅😂 almost. He does actually care on their behalf, too

But he doesn't like to make a big deal out of it, and so donates anonymously

His donations are literally a godsend to those people, though 🥺😭

☆ Hinata Shouyou ☆

Reads books to kids at the library when he's there with Natsu

And he's really good at it! He reads very animatedly, and really gets the kids engaged with the stories you can just imagine it

The kids all love him and bring him their favourite books to read!

And the parents all watch and compliment him on how good he is with kids

And this goofball just blushes and grins like a doof 😚 so freaking sweet

☆ Kageyama Tobio ☆

Always carries a spare umbrella with him to give to someone

He hates getting caught in the rain himself, so he keeps a spare just in case this precious baby 🥺

He's had to use it quite a few times, sometimes giving it to people he doesn't even know, so he ends up not getting it back and has to buy a new spare

But it makes him smile, if a bit awkwardly, to know that he's helped someone out, even just a little Tobio!! 😭🤧🥺

☆ Tsukishima Kei ☆

Steps into the road to allow room for people with pushchairs and prams

I know it might not seem like much, but this is Tsukki, guys 🙄

*Narrator voice* this is one small step for man, one giant leap for Tsukishima!

And this just goes to show that he's not as tough of a cookie as he looks

He doesn't like the idea of parents etc. and young children having to walk in the road he gets worried for them...🤭

And he does it consciously, which is important

☆ Yamaguchi Tadashi ☆

Spends time each week looking for the animals on the 'lost' and 'missing' posters around town

He hates to think of them out there, cold, alone, frightened–

It makes him feel nauseous just thinking about it 😣

My poor, precious baby!! He's too pure for this world!! 😭

It's not often, but sometimes he actually manages to find one and bring it back to its owner safely, which is a huge boost for his mood and confidence

He feels so valued and appreciated, and just happy that the little guy is SAFE 😇🤧

☆ Haiba Lev ☆

Helps strangers get their cats out of trees and other high places

What else is a tall, handsome, goofball-of-a stranger to do? 😌

Legit, he doesn't think twice. Tall people should use their height to help people, shouldn't they?

Sure, it doesn't always go to plan, and his arms sometimes end up looking like well-used scratching poles, but he's just glad to help 😇

It's good to see the cats safe and with their owners

♡°☆•♡°☆•♡

If you enjoyed, please consider voting in this poll (ends this Sunday 18/10/20) to help me celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you to everyone who's already voted!

84 notes · View notes

not-grief-character-development · 3 years

Text

Time isn’t on their side

Her girlfriend isn't home a lot anymore, she knew it was because of the extra shifts at the hospital and she can only imagine how tired she must be after coming home, but she still misses her. They've been together for seven years. Seven years of joy and laughs of memories to forever hold onto, it hasn't been without its bumps but their love made everything worth it.

“Hey i was wondering if we could talk” she asks her when her girlfriend comes in

‘Not now i'm busy” she excuses

“You're always busy” she comments

“Yeah unlike you, I have a duty and obligation to help people and keep them alive! I'm actually helping people unlike you” her temper rising

Sure her job wasn't as heroic as her girlfriends but she still helped people. She still cared for people and spent time getting to know them and she always made time to have with her girlfriend, but lately she's been feeling as if it was only one sided

“I feel like we don't get to spend much time together” she tries a different approach

“Yeah well i've been busy” she offers the same lame excuse

“i’ve been busy too and i still try to make time for you, i just wish you'd do the same” she explains

“I dont have the time to do the same im already overworked” she starts to raise her voice

“Maybe you need to take a break it's not good to work yourself to the point of exhaustion”

“Don't try to tell me what's good for me and what's not! You don't get to control me” she snaps

“I'm not trying to control you, i just want to help lighten your load” she tries to explain

“Well if you want to help me end this conversation so i can get back to work “ she turns

She didn't deserve to be walked on this way, even after all the years together and how much they've grown she didn't get that right, no one’s allowed that right.

“No” she answers back

“No?” her girlfriend repeats back at her

“You don't get to treat me like this “ she fires back

“Oh yeah and how come?” she taunts

“Im your girlfriend, but more so im a person who deserves to be treated as such. You dont get to treat me like a broken vase”

“You cant really blame me, can you? I mean you are one, right? I mean you sisters abused you by the side of your father and your mother just watched and let it all happen. You are broken, you're broken and I think beyond repair. Youre lucky im with you, your aren't that special, this is a charity case” she laughs

“Sorry-” she apologies or at least tries to not sure what came over her or why she said the things she did

“You break my heart and think a sorry is enough” she asks emotionless “How?” she asks confused why would she treat her like that

“Have you met yourself? Maybe go look in a mirror” vesa asks defensively

“Is this a game to you?” Harlow asks “I know you're stressed but-”

“You don't know goddamn thing” vesa’s voice roars

“We might not have more time”

“I don't need time especially when i'm with you” she laughs bitterly

“You know what i'm done with you, i don't deserve this” she tells her

“Like hell you don't” she anger boils hotter

She grabs her coat and leaves not even bothering to say goodbye or collecting her things she just walks to her car the rain hitting against her skin mixing with her tears. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction of making her cry and breaking her, no, she wouldn't get that. She merges onto traffic staying under the speed limit trying to get her breathing under control, tears still streaming.

She was alone and afraid but she wouldn't go back, not until she apologized and even then she didn't know if she could forgive her, not after all the yelling.

Vesa waits on the couch for her to return, rethinking the entire conversation, or more so the fight they just had. She could of tracked her phone to know she was safe but it felt like an invasion of privacy especially after how things have been left

Her phone starts ringing and she icks it up faster than she thought she could wanting nothing more than to apologize just as she was about to speak

“Hello is this vesa anderson, you are listed as harlow matthews emergency contact she is currently in the hospital-”

She rushes out of the door and gets there in record time

“Hello i'm Vesa, Harlow's emergency contact

“oh , yes, she just got out of surgery half an hour ago and is now conscious but it seems she's lost part of her memory, though as you do appear to be her girlfriend someone important to her she should remember you more than anyone” she nurse explains

She walks into see her, her usually small self looking even smaller in the hospital bed as machines beep in a rhythm

“Hi harlow” she smiles trying to hold back her tears

“Do I know you?” she asks confused “wait, you look familiar, you're my sister aren't you” she replies as she thinks she places her

That makes her cry, she sobs as her hand tries to silence her mouth, she thought she was her sister, the same sister who tormented her for her entire first 18 years, who abused and broke her time and time again, who destroyed what could of been a happy child

“Sorry” she apologises running out of the room she failed her. She promised to never become like her family, that she'd always protect her, but here she is

To bad sometimes sorry just doesn't cut it

#memory loss #shitty s.o #bad girlfriend #car accident tw #tears for fears #breaking up #hurt no comfort #angst no happy ending #angst prompt

4 notes · View notes

entropictome · 4 years

Photo

Holiday Hot Pot

S:Final Fantasy XIV No plot or purpose. Just one man, his friends, family, his overwhelming grief and their very late Starlight. [mentioned non-WoL OCxThancred] 5754 words [ More FFXIV Content ]

“You look like shit.”

Moth’ir was missing his characteristic shades so all four occupants could clearly see the viera’s tactless comment send his eyes rolling. Five if the infant in his arms wasn’t soundly asleep. His comeback was snappy as always. “Thanks, kid. Thought I’d take a page from your book for a change.”

The Burn’s reaction was immediate. His rage coiled in his arms as he quickly changed stance. Ever one to turn to violence before reason. His voice rose as he started “,Why are you always-”

The rest was swallowed by a mitten plopped against his mouth. His smaller─but no less dangerous─companion shot him a long suffering look. Keeping The Burn’s temper under control was like trying to keep a lit match from igniting firedamp in a coal mine. Most folks had no hope but to abandon the mission to begin with. Ibuki was the sole exception. Though she could give him a good and proper dressing-down, it didn’t take much besides a sigh and disappointed look to upend his rampage before it started.

The anger didn’t go away, it just receded, but it allowed the pale and dark scaled auri to turn their attention back to their long missing friend. The three gathered around him with varying levels of interest. Leaving Havhen to flail helplessly as their presence was quickly forgotten in that of Moth’ir’s. Whom was obviously the more respected between the two when it came to their present company.

“You’ve been gone for months without word! We were really worried!” Ibuki stated, nearly whining with the intensity of her sincerity.

“We would have come sooner but there were a lot of things to take care of,” the Xaela man spoke apologetically. “There were so many festivals and trying to keep the bar staffed with so many people wanting days off and of course the Basement-”

Ibuki elbowed her much taller compatriot and cut his further worrying off by enthusing “,but Bukidai has dealt with all of it marvelously well so you don’t need to worry.”

“Oh?” Moth’ir looked at the Xaela with an appraising look. Though, paired with an easy grin, it was unlikely he was being serious. “Food baskets?”

“All delivered as of yesterday,” Bukidai, who was serious, assured him. “Thanks to our volunteers.”

“Volunteers is it? Did Mr. Auberdine show up?” Moth’ir asked and chuckled lightly when he saw Bukidai’s surprise.

“Ah, yes. Though we had to ask him to leave-”

“Because he was trying to convince everyone that volunteers deserved two baskets for their trouble.” Moth’ir interrupted, leaving Bukidai startled once again. “Did that every year. A few others too. Reason why I started delivering them my own damn self if I’m honest.”

“Every year?” Bukidai’s horror was indication enough that Mr. Auberdine had thrown one of his characteristic fits before he allowed himself to be let go.

“Grew up as a wealthy merchant’s son and then his family landed themselves in dire straights with bad investments,” Moth’ir shrugged. He was sympathetic but the sympathy was for Booker, not the man. “He’s remarkably less worse than he was but he’s never quite gotten over the idea he deserves more than everyone else.”

Bukidai sighed and shook his head. “Regardless, I think we can make do with our other volunteers if they want to pitch in again.”

“If you say so,” Moth’ir said dubiously. Bukidai held unto hope for dear life but Moth’ir had been divested of that a long long time ago. “Take care with old U’leh. Greying Miqo’te lady, very unassuming. She likes to troll through some of the donated items in Spring and Autumn for cakes to raffle off at her little charity parties.”

“She raffles off donated cakes?” Bukidai was aghast then pulled himself off the topic for another. “Spring is an awful long time away. Aren’t you coming back?”

“If you need to break out, we’ve got you,” Ibuki rose her sweater’s sleeve so she might flex her otherwise deceptively pudgy arm. Havhen─who had been watching their interaction with keen interest and was not familiar with Ibuki’s playful personality─shot Moth’ir an alarmed look over her shoulder.

“Contrary to whatever belief you might have, I am here of my own free will,” Moth’ir stated firm enough that they knew he meant it. He had certainly come of his own accord anyway. Staying was less than thrilling since he didn’t much care for the sole physician in this strange hospital. Divulging why was far more personal than he was comfortable sharing but he did add a “More or less.”

“More or less?” The Burn attention had been momentarily bought by the possibility of fighting.

Moth’ir gave him a stern look “,I’m staying.”

It was the right thing to do. More than that, it was where Thancred had left him. Left them. The four of them descended into an awkward silence. None of whom seemed particularly thrilled with the prospect.

Ibuki, hopping from one foot to the next, tried her best to break the quiet. “Is the baby yours? Bukidai said you left because you were feeling sick and had suspected but we didn’t know for sure.”

“Ibuki!” Bukidai chastised her.

Moth’ir gave him a solid kick to the shin. Which might have actually hurt had he been wearing anything but his slippers. He gasped and proclaimed with played up scandalization “What a gossip!”

Havhen was likely the only one of them who noticed the slight hissing. Something which indicated an actual irritation from Moth’ir he hid by dramatizing it.

“Is it a boy or girl?” Ibuki asked before throwing her arms up and blithely gesturing “,you know, for now.”

It was a joke that three of them understood better than the other two. Though she wasn’t aware of Havhen’s case. She had quite nearly forgotten they were there at all. Which was more or less in their favor as they were busy taking mental notes. Specifically on Moth’ir’s face after Ibuki asked her question. Moth’ir had settled into fatherhood like a round peg in a square hole. He’d fallen in but the corners weren’t right. Fairly typical of new parents but he’d taken his ineptitude as immediate failure and the guilt had landed him here in Havhen’s care. He’d only just been able to acknowledge his daughter directly at all.

Moth’ir visibly braced himself before muttering “,it’s uh... she.”

“She’s so cute! Can I hold her?” Ibuki thrust her arms out exuberantly. Either not noticing the stumble or too polite to point it out. Moth’ir handed her over mayhaps a bit too eagerly but the fact he’d been carrying her without needing to was progress. Havhen made a note of it.

Holding a baby was something Ibuki had enough experience in that she hadn’t needed coaching. Utterly doting, she looked fairly natural cooing down at the fussy bundle who had begun to stir due to the commotion and movement. Moth’ir struggled not to look miserable watching the pair, ears flattened against his head. Grief that went unnoticed now that all attention was on the baby.

“What’s her name?” Bukidai asked pleasantly.

“Doesn’t have one.” Moth’ir said flatly. Bukidai looked to him with confusion but Moth’ir waved him off and continued. “Her dad thought I should name her but I’ve been preoccupied and just... haven’t.”

Havhen distinctly remembered the white haired hyur had mentioned he’d wanted Moth’ir to name her because it might help them bond. And something about having already named two girls but that hadn’t been meant for Havhen’s ears. The concern of Moth’ir’s friends weren’t at all alleviated by the explanation but Bukidai had enough sense to recognize Moth’ir’s agitation. He simply nodded and smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “I’m sure it will come to you soon.”

Moth’ir brushed him off, glanced over at the window and the dwindling light outside. Whatever he’d wanted to see there caused him to sigh. He postulated “,You three didn’t really have a plan once you got here, did you?”

Said three exchanged glances that said they hadn’t and then all four heads turned to Havhen. The physician shook their head and crossed their arms in front of them. “Absolutely, not! This is a mental care facility! Not an inn!”

“It’s not like you’ve got any other patients and there’s not exactly a line waiting,” Moth’ir stated sternly.

“Nevertheless there are professional standards I have to adhere to,” Haven pushed back with just as much authority.

“It’s a madhouse,” Moth’ir exclaimed incredulously “,You’re already a joke and a half!”

“Not a madhouse!” Haven corrected him with a great deal of passion. “Those facilities garner their reputation by focusing on containment and are as like to cause as much─if not more─damage to their patients had they just left them alone. This facility is for study and treatment with the intent of rehabilitation.”

Havhen was a generally genial person but this was a subject they were particularly staunch on. Moth’ir, on the other hand, was just normally stubborn and exceedingly opinionated. Where the standoff would go was any one’s guess but it wasn’t likely to be clean. With that in mind, Ibuki interjected “,that’s actually quite fascinating! I’d love to get an interview with you on the subject for an article. Mor Dhona isn’t that far from Ul’dah, I’m sure some of my readers would love to know more.”

“You’re a reporter?” Havhen asked, scrutinizing the pastel garbed auri woman closer. “Publicity would be nice but your ilk are so fond of twisting things on their head for greater attention.”

“Well, you’re in luck because miss Bunji is far more partial toward fluff pieces,” Bukidai noted with a fair bit of amusement.

“Oh! I’m so tired of writing hard hitting news! Everyone is so wary of talking to me now but I don’t mean to find bad things! I’m just very good at tripping into them,” her sudden outburst sounded surprisingly sincere considering it’s absurdity. It had also upset the baby who she quickly went about soothing. “Oh! I’m so sorry, dear thing. It’s okay! Nothing’s wrong! You’re not running a money laundering business out of here are you?”

The last question was aimed at Havhen who simply held their hands up defensively. “If I was I wouldn’t be struggling to make rent.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ibuki sighed as she gently rocked the baby back to complacency.

Havhen considered the three newcomers and nodded approvingly. “Alright. You can stay for a short while.”

There was a short lived celebratory movement before Havhen added: “Under the condition you do chores around the building and submit yourselves for an interview of my own.”

Moth’ir balked. “Nevermind, everyone can go sleep outside.”

Havhen crossed his arms and said firmly “,if she’s going to write about my organization she might as well get the best understanding of what I’m trying to do.”

“I think we can handle some housework and questions,” Bukidai offered, trying to hearten Moth’ir whose grimace only deepened in return.

Moth’ir threw his hands up and shook his head but went to his next order of business “,Regardless, your kitchen stock is atrocious. Scribbles, go out and see what food stuffs you can pick up for tonight. It’s Starlight and almost sundown so don’t expect a lot.”

“You can count on me!” Ibuki chirped despite his sentiment and snapped off a salute unfamiliar to Havhen.

“You,” he pointed at The Burn “,there’s some weird creatures out of town. Ask around the adventurers, see what all is edible and how, kill it and bring the proper bits back.”

The Burn grinned and smacked his fists together. “I can do that.”

“As long as you can ask politely and don’t pick a fight,” Ibuki said to him as more of a warning than anything else.

“You’re with me in the kitchen,” Moth’ir nodded toward Bukidai “,let’s prep and you can see if you have any more ideas about what we have on hand than I.”

“And me?” Havhen pointed at themself.

“You’re on baby duty.” Moth’ir gestured dramatically toward his daughter, still in Ibuki’s arms who passed her off to them.

“Alright kids, we have a short amount of time and very little to work with. Let’s move,” Moth’ir gestured and his people went to do as they were asked.

Havhen and the child watched them all scatter. Before today Moth’ir had been antagonistic and withdrawn around them. This commanding man and the willingness of his peers to follow his direction was bemusing. Both attitudes were entirely alien from the way he had been with his beau. At least when he didn’t think Havhen was looking. Assuming different personae to suit different groups was normal enough but, when all was said and done, some of Moth’ir’s faces would likely have to die to save the host.

“It should be an interesting night for us, I think.” They cooed gently to the nameless girl.

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

Havhen had hoped they might be able to observe something that would give them clarity on Moth’ir in the process of the night. What they happened to see was utter chaos. Babies need care and Moth’ir’s child was particularly fussy without any seeming need to be. A fact even her wet nurse had noted. Then there was the utter mess that Moth’ir and Bukidai were making in their kitchen. Which was adequate enough by Havhen’s standards but not theirs.

The Burn returned first. A bit bloodied for his trouble. He’d gotten a handful of strange looking material he all swore was good for eating in a variety of ways. Havhen had some doubts but Moth’ir took him at his word.

“Who did you piss off?” Moth’ir asked passively after getting a proper look at the viera’s nose.

“Some weird frogs, some newts, wriggly things, you know,” The Burn gestured toward his assorted meats as if the question in itself was inane.

“I said: who,” Moth’ir reiterated, pointedly.

The Burn crossed his arms and stood defiantly. Which unraveled under Moth’ir’s steely gaze and he finally yelled “,it was some roegadyn, okay? Didn’t like the way I asked and wouldn’t listen so he started punching. He was asking for it.”

Moth’ir shrugged and shook his head. He wasn’t exactly pleased but the disappointment didn’t stick. He said to The Burn “,Thanks for the bits, kid. Since you’re here, try and keep that one out of our hair.”

Moth’ir gestured toward Havhen, saying to them: “And you? Good luck.”

It was a particularly perplexing series of statements that cleared itself up over the course of a brief conversation. Havhen came to the conclusion that The Burn would make a good case study if he’d allow it. Alas, it was unlikely that The Burn would avail himself to their care so Havhen was forced to deal with him on a social level. Which was an exceedingly unpleasant task. He was combative, sullen, and downright rude without any self awareness. A hungry malboro would have made better company.

Luckily, Ibuki returned not too long after. If her strength had been in question, it was not now as she managed to juggle a notable number of boxes. Of which she was more hampered by the awkwardice of their distribution than their weight.

“What did you do? Buy the whole market?” Bukidai exclaimed as he started offloading her parcels.

“There’s a lot more in the market than food, you know,” Ibuki retorted. “I just got things that they said were edible and looked good.”

“Is that a whole dodo?” Moth’ir asked as he eyeballed what she’d brought in.

“Yup! The man said I could have it cheap because it’s Starlight,” she said as she divested herself of her last package. Arms free, Ibuki turned to Havhen and stretched them out to them “,let me see the baby!”

They could hardly deny her after she asked so passionately.

“More likely that the seller misjudged his buyer’s needs and wanted to offload it quickly,” Moth’ir commented looking the bird over. He’d found little wrong with it all the same.

“Oh! Oh!” She hopped back around to face him after having secured the baby in her arms “,I was thinking maybe a hot pot would be good?” Ibuki’s suggestion sounded more like the favorite child pleading a favor of an otherwise stern parent.

“I think I saw a burner for one,” Bukidai added with a questioning note. Indirectly asking why Havhen would have one to begin with.

“I’m quite particular towards hot pot dishes, myself,” Havhen explained “,I should have noodles too.”

Ibuki looked enthused for all of a second before she schooled herself back and asked “,like, spaghetti?”

Havhen gave her a sympathetic look and patted her and the shoulder “,I’m not sure I’ve had pasta in a hot pot. Personally, I’m preferential toward glass noodles but I have udon too.”

This suitably reignited Ibuki’s excitement. She nearly launched herself at Havhen, might have had it not been for the babe, asking “,you have a lot of stuff from Othard here, actually. Have you gone to Kugane?”

Havhen suspected the woman might be a tad homesick but unfortunately had to shake their head. “Not myself. The matrons of my clan told me stories of Yanxia from when we’d travel before the Garlean occupation. I believe it’s a short boat ride between?”

Moth’ir audibly hissed. A thing so uncharacteristic that it completely silenced the room a second and then was immediately moved on from. Moth’ir’s friends assuming it had been unintentional; like a sneeze. They hadn’t been told that Havhen had just happened to be Moth’ir’s long lost sibling. That their clan had once been his. At least, before they’d left him to die as a small child. But Havhen did.

They gave him an apologetic look. Divulging details about their clan hadn’t been their intent. It was an act which Moth’ir had very clearly expressed wanting nothing to do with. Their conciliation did little to quell the absolute rage that Moth’ir was having trouble keeping from his face. Cooking did though.

Havhen and Ibuki settled into chatting idly about Othard while the babe slept in her arms. The Burn─whose chaotic nature had been hard contained just moments before─sat calmly watching Ibuki. A man who was seeing his girlfriend in a domestic light for the first time and wasn’t sure what to think. Havhen rather thought he looked awed. The dining table they sat at and the kitchen were hardly separated. Only a partition that covered perhaps half the room from view. With The Burn preoccupied, he could hardly stop Havhen from observing Moth’ir.

Havhen had thought Bukidai might be in charge of the hot pot, seeing a Xaela would surely know more of the concept than a Eorzean born miqo’te. He was no doubt talented but it was to Moth’ir’s beck and call that he scurried. Ibuki mentioned to them that the pair had come to Kugane some time ago and that’s when Moth’ir had picked up some new techniques. Havhen was fairly impressed that anyone could simply “pick up” traditional methods from one trip but there was a great deal they did not know about Moth’ir.

Ibuki and his hyur “friend” had both spoken about Moth’ir’s prowess as a craftsman. The man had asked him to make a dress for their child and what he produced was of a higher quality than Havhen had expected. The act of putting the dress on the baby had helped Moth’ir acknowledge her and he’d since made several articles of it’s ilk. They had encouraged it because it seemed to be a source of catharsis for him. In the kitchen, Moth’ir seemed just as at home as he did with a sewing needle. Though these two fields were not the limits of his capabilities, Ibuki confirmed they were two specialties of his many interests.

He also seemed to be cooking more or less as a stress relief at the moment. As evidenced by the increasing number of plates Bukidai was producing.

“This is actually pretty early for us.”

It was a lovely little spread. Maybe more geared toward ten people than five. Ibuki had gotten her hot pot. Her eyes glittered despite the fact some of the ingredients used were… questionable in texture. It did look appetizing despite knowing where some of it had come from.

“Do you usually make so much food too?” Havhen eyed the spread and glanced to Bukidai.

“Uh…” Bukidai sheepishly responded, rubbing the back of his neck and then taking a moment to remove his neck tie as he’d suddenly become cognizant of it. “Yes and no? Traditionally, we cook a lot more but we also share with the neighborhood.”

“They do that at the end of every moon but Starlight is supposed to be special,” The Burn noted dully.

“Must be profitable in Ul’dah,” Havhen suggested without having any real clue.

“Oh, it’s all free though.” Ibuki commented cheerily.

“Who knew you were such a philanthropist?” Havhen remarked, turning around only to find Moth’ir missing. They stepped into the kitchen and found him sitting behind the partition. His head between his knees and both hands resting on the back of his neck.

“Gimme a moment.” He’d murmured, completely devoid of any venom he’d usually summon. He could only turn with a facsimile of it when Havhen sat beside him but the comment he’d expected to have to beat off never came. They simply sat there quietly.

Bukidai pretended to busy himself with the spread once again. Shooing Moth’ir’s clockwork toy off the table. He remarked “,that thing has a mind of it’s own.” A statement that started Ibuki and The Burn on a discussion on whether it had been set to follow the babe─since it was never far away from her─or if it was actually possessed. For that matter, where was the other one? None of the three had seen that one in a while. They only made indirect mentions of the man whose countenance both automatons shared. Neither Ibuki or The Burn knew what his relation was to Moth’ir though they’d seen him from time to time. Only Bukidai had any clue.

Bukidai who much preferred this to impeding on Moth’ir’s privacy any more than he already had.

They sat like that for a long time. The three younger ones chatting amicably amongst themselves while the miqo’te siblings sat out of view. After a bit, Moth’ir had gathered himself enough to pull himself to a more relaxed position. Havhen gave him a moment before risking a quiet remark “,they sound like family.”

Moth’ir only hmm’d at first. When he managed to speak, his voice was quiet too but the lack of force was from the palpable exhaustion that colored the tone. The kind of exhaustion unrelated to sleep. He replied “,Maybe they are. Ul’dah is a long way from the Steppes, Hingashi and wherever the hell The Burn fell out of.”

“Ul’dah is a long way from the Twelveswood too,” Havhen said gently as they could “,but you seem keener to keep your distance.”

“So many questions,” Moth’ir spat but even this indignation lacked fire.

“When one cannot find answers they are often left with nothing but questions,” Havhen replied pleasantly enough. It still pissed Moth’ir off.

The Burn was yelling about something but Ibuki and Bukidai were laughing. At his worst there was a request he calm down because he was disturbing the baby. Words which were also choked with laughter.

Moth’ir let them hang there. Content to sit and listen and not at all up to acknowledging what was a valid statement. He was supposed to be getting better after all but sometimes Havhen and their questions made him want to disappear into the swamp.

“If you don’t celebrate on Starlight, what do you do?” Havhen asked him, trying another angle.

Moth’ir sighed with his whole body. He tried to say “stuff” but all he managed was a weak roll of his wrist.

“You and your man must have some traditions?” Havhen offered.

Moth’ir snorted. The idea of Thancred being any one person’s was cute to him. Even after the hyur had confessed all those things to him before he’d left. Before Moth’ir had had the ability to say it back. Words that he so desperately wanted to say back. They pooled in the back of his throat and begged to be released so Moth’ir did something uncharacteristic of him and spoke about him. If just to speak of him at all. “Thancred’s not usually home when the holidays come around. ‘Specially not these last couple years but when he is it’s just a drink and then sleeping in.”

“Festive,” Havhen said with a chuckle.

Admittedly it didn’t sound like much but it had meaning for him. Maybe Thancred too. A tradition started nearly a decade ago. A rare occasion when Thancred hadn’t had any luck with any fair maiden despite his “silver tongue.” Too inebriated to make it to his lodgings but just sober enough to crash against the backdoor of Moth’ir’s home and workplace. Thancred almost looked dignified sitting there, looking like a misplaced gift from Nymeia’s Saint after Moth’ir’s very long and miserable day.

Thancred somehow talked him into one single drink for the occasion despite Moth’ir’s distaste for alcohol. So they might be on equal footing or some line of the sort. Though Moth’ir wasn’t anywhere near as intoxicated by the time he’d managed to dump Thancred in his bed. Then they’d passed out in a sleep near as deep as death itself. An act remarkable for the both of them.

All their important moments seemed to be in that bed. Very few─if any─had a thing to do with Thancred’s typical salacious activities. It was another sort of intimacy only available to them in the privacy and relative safety of Moth’ir’s room. Honestly and vulnerability that they’d not allowed themselves anywhere else. And yet...

“I didn’t realize you lived together.”

Moth’ir rolled a hand dismissively again. “Some of his stuff is at my place but I don’t think he lives anywhere anymore.”

“Too busy doing what he does.” Havhen said with some meaning. Near everyone who paid attention to the daily happenings around them had some conception of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn even if they didn’t know each member. Savior’s of the realm and at their center the indomitable Warriors of Light.

But Thancred was quite faliable. It was one of his charms.

“I don’t want to go back.” Moth’ir said so quietly Havhen almost didn’t hear him.

Havhen lightly bumped his shoulder against Moth’ir’s. “His life is largely here in Mor Dhona now, isn’t it?”

Moth’ir crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his eyes there to shut out the pressure from behind his eyes. He’d had some conception of Thancred’s work but it was something alien and distant. He imagined it was much the same for Thancred and Moth’ir’s work outside the Tavern. They’d known each other in a way that no one else did─that no one was supposed to─but they’d lived separate lives save where they let it intertwine. A special and private part of themselves tailor made for each other. It had worked. Might have continued to work but then Thancred had taken him from this hospital to the Rising Stones.

He’d met the women who’d given Thancred a shave and a haircut and found he’d liked them both despite that. Hadn’t recognized the man with the sun and stars before he spoke because he’d been missing the goggles and shroud he’d seen him in before. Lightly roasted Thancred with a Seeker woman with whom he shared new material to his friend’s chagrin. One of them would tell him if anything happened to Thancred while he was on the field. Thancred had assured him of such before he’d left.

And he’d liked that. He liked the idea that he’d be one of the first to know. He liked that Thancred had shown him context to the part of his life that had been a thin outline. But Moth’ir could never go back to waiting and wondering and subtext and half told stories they were too tired to finish telling because living it had been too much. He liked knowing and he liked being here and he knew he could never ever go back to that room. It’s privacy and false safety be damned.

He’d fooled himself into thinking he’d feel differently once he returned and started to go around the usual rounds but here he was. The same comedy routine fit like a glove but it was a glove that weighed as much as a buffalo and he was so tired. More than that: “They don’t need me,” Moth’ir said, choking back something that might have been a sob. Though he didn’t know why or what he was feeling exactly.

“It’s gonna get co~ld,” Ibuki’s voice came from beyond the partition.

Bukidai’s voice came after, raised suspiciously “,alright! alright! But make sure you don’t eat everything!” His added emphasis that the couple had had a habit of scarfing down an absurd amount of food returned to a normal pitch but the reaction to it was no less raucous.

Havhen shook their head in agreement and said “,Maybe once, but they do seem to have themselves covered now.”

“Wish I did,” Moth’ir breathed. Drawing himself up and closing his eyes, trying to center himself once more.

It was quiet between them again. The only sound coming from Ibuki singing over what was assumedly a well done meal. But Moth’ir broke the silence by turning to them and stating “,I never wanted children.”

Havhen cocked an eyebrow at him but let him continue on his own without prompting. So Moth’ir continued. “I did when I decided to keep her but I never wanted children. I don’t know how to do this and I don’t… how do we do this? I don’t know how to name kids.”

Havhen considered the distance Moth’ir had kept himself from his family and friends. They considered that he carried internalized feelings of guilt as if his abandonment was due to his own fault. The way he shied away from his daughter and the way he tormented himself for having done so. They wondered if “I never wanted” simply meant he hadn’t thought he should as if he was not worthy.

Moth’ir could simply have been asking for their opinion but the emphasis on “we” seemed like more. They did not know if he meant as keepers or as a clan. They weren’t sure if offering their typical naming conventions would be much use to him. Havhen offered a smile and said “,Oh, I’m not sure it’s all very complicated. You just pick something you think sounds nice or has meaning to you.”

Moth’ir sighed, clearly unsatisfied by that answer. Answers to a question that wasn’t the one he wanted to ask would never be sufficient.

“I think picking a name of someone important to you is suitable as well. As a tribute of sorts,” Havhen tried again despite the futility.

Moth’ir’s eyes stared upward as he considered various people whom he’d had some attachment to. It was an ordeal when one specifically kept people at arms length with few exceptions. “Can’t just name her Menphina, can I?”

“I mean,” Havhen shrugged and said flippantly “,your fellow Eorzeans might find that blasphemous but it’s your daughter.” They received a gentle elbow to the ribs for their trouble.

“Moth.”

“After your mother?” Havhen asked.

Moth’ir eyed him warily. Karga clan was very distinctly something that was his and his alone. It was never far from his mind that Havhen had only ever had their gods forsaken clan. He did not know what they saw when they thought of him and his siblings and his mother together. They all had meant the world and more to him and he misliked the idea of someone belittling that.

Havhen continued to smile at him warmly as he tried to assure him “,I think it’s a lovely name. And, from what your brother has told me, a woman deserving of such dedication.”

Moth’ir only knew that Moth’wo had trusted Havhen with the health of his brother. He’d not had a clue said brother and they were related by blood. How close the two actually were was a mystery to him. He hadn’t even ventured to ask so he had no choice but to accept the comment at face value. Or at least he had no energy to grill them about it.

Eased somewhat he turned his attention inward. He reiterated the name Moth in a whisper. More for himself than Havhen’s benefit. Making it real. Making her real. He closed his eyes and used it as a point to center himself.

Havhen ventured to tap his shoulder to grab his attention before holding their arm out, hopefully offering a hug. Moth’ir regarded them irritably but leaned his shoulder against theirs and allowed himself to be pulled closer. Havhen lightly pressed his head against Moth’ir’s and so they sat. Silent while idly listening to the other three while their minds were elsewhere. For their part, Havhen was busy committing the moment to memory. A small victory for them that may mean nothing but a memento of their brother when he left them for good but that in itself would be enough.

“Hey, you think she can eat some of this meat?” The Burn’s voice asked from beyond the partition.

Moth’ir snapped to, breaking Havhen’s precious moment. On his feet and away in a second. “You feed that baby anything and I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Havhen let themself linger for a moment. Wrapped their arms around their knees and listening to the new argument. Havhen had been walking with Moth’ir’s ghost for over a decade. They’d been convinced of his death by their mother and it haunted them. But then he’d returned alive; so very much alive. That life had been a messy and painful one. Whether he cared to know or not, Havhen’s had been much the same. The mystery of what laid before them could very much be more of the same but that wasn’t the important part. That they were alive is what gave those lives meaning. Nothing more, nothing less. Which is why they allowed themselves a moment to linger and not a moment more.

A life must be lived.

And there was a hot pot they needed to get to before it was gone.

#My Writing #heirsofdiscord #Final Fantasy XIV #Moth'ir Karga (FF)#Thancred is technically here but also is he?

26 notes · View notes

thatsonemorbidcorvid · 3 years

Text

Arina and Nina used to only meet once a week - at activities organised for the care home where Nina lived. Now, Arina is applying to become Nina's guardian, giving the 27-year-old hope she might finally be able to leave the institution where she has lived her entire adult life.

For the past few months Nina Torgashova has been able to enjoy an independence that had always been out of reach for her - shopping, cooking and washing her own clothes.

Things that would be every-day life experiences for most 27-year-olds.

But not for Nina, who has always lived in institutions, and moved when she was 18 to what, in Russia, is called a psycho-neurological care home. When the pandemic hit, she was able to savour life outside the home, with a volunteer, Arina Muratova.

Nina recalls the moment she found out she was leaving.

"I never thought anyone would take me. I had thought: "Oh no, I am going to be stuck in the care home."

It was April 2020 and the Covid-19 pandemic forced Moscow into lockdown. As visits to Nina's institution were stopped, charities lobbied for volunteers to be allowed to take responsibility for some of the residents until they could start up again.

Arina, a market research expert who loves nail art and embroidery, offered to look after Nina.

But when the 27-year-old got a taste for the freedom she'd never had, she decided she didn't want to go back.

Her 31-year-old friend was faced with a life-changing decision.

Arina has been involved in voluntary work for a decade - starting with helping children with learning difficulties and their families. She then became involved in adult care, which is when she met Nina through a Russian charity called Life Route. The charity organises trips and classes for the residents of some Russian psycho-neurological care homes (known as PNIs).

Arina started volunteering in PNI 22 - where Nina was living with hundreds of other residents - about four years ago. The care home looks after adults with a wide range of disorders, thought to relate to both cognitive disabilities and mental illness of varying severity.

Arina and Nina got to know each other through the charity Life Route which organises camps for the care home residents

Nina's diagnosis remains confidential to everyone except her care home director. This is usually the case for those residents the state judges are unable to live independently. So neither she nor Arina know why she is in the home, but Arina is surprised that she is.

Although Nina struggles with literacy and maths, Arina says she is very capable.

"She is such a quick learner and is well-adapted in everyday living," she says.

Nina was admitted to a home for disabled children when she was very young, before transferring to the PNI at 18. It is not clear whether she was taken to the children's home by her parents or was forcibly removed from their care.

She says they visited her there once, but she was frightened and hid under the bed.

"They were drunks. I was afraid. They stank of alcohol," she says.

Arina says Nina always stood out during her visits with Life Route, taking an active role in the activities and trips organised by the charity

"Nina was a very active person at her care home," says Arina. "She took part in various creative activities: amateur dramatics, arts and crafts workshops. She took part in sporting competitions, too: she played darts, she played football. Football was something she really missed after leaving the home."

When the lockdown last spring made these visits impossible, Arina suggested Zoom calls with the residents instead. But from the start is was clear this wasn't going to work - the home's internet simply wasn't strong enough. Other charities helping other care homes in Moscow and St Petersburg were facing similar problem

So these charities pressured the authorities to allow some care home residents to be released for the lockdown.

"It was all arranged in a day, and the next day the person was out. I cannot imagine anything like this before the pandemic," says Life Route's director Ivan Rozhansky.

Nevertheless Arina admits she was nervous when she made the initial decision to look after Nina. She was counting on Nina's relative independence, given she needed to work from home.

"There was a certain calculation in taking Nina. I had a lot of work to do, even during the lockdown. I realised I had to live with someone who'd be able to occupy themselves - at least some the time. With Nina it was clear that I'd be able to say: 'Now I have to work for three hours but afterwards we can make lunch together!'"

But Nina's move into the flat the charity had given the pair to live in during lockdown did get off to a slightly rocky start.

"She had very few possessions with her, just a small rucksack. She looked lost. While I was signing papers brought by the care worker, she walked around the flat. She didn't look especially overjoyed, and I had been counting on that.

"When I saw Nina looking so lost, I wondered if this had been a good idea. It's one thing to ask a person in a text if they want to move, but it's quite different to actually move them."

But not long afterwards, Arina shared a selfie with the other volunteers of herself with a grinning Nina, arms raised in joy.

Not only did Nina start shopping for food and cooking for herself, Arina arranged for her to have a maths tutor - important now she was buying things on her own.

"It's not that Nina doesn't understand things. She just never needed maths before," Arina says.

Arina herself began helping Nina with her literacy - she could read and write, but slowly and with difficulty.

"I need to be able to read and write," says Nina. "To be able to cook for myself, to go to work. I do want to have a job.

"I could make and sell friendship bracelets. I asked Arina: 'Do you know anyone who might want one?' She asked her mum, her mum was quite keen. I said: 'I will sort this!' Her mum picked the colours, Arina showed me a photo [of the colours], and I started making it."

Arina says she wanted to make sure she gave Nina responsibility for herself, rather than always taking charge, even if this did not always go to plan.

She cites the example of Nina wanting to learn to draw. Arina found another volunteer who could teach her over Zoom, and explained to Nina that she should make sure she joined the lessons. But after a while she discovered Nina had been missing some sessions.

"I don't want to chase another grown-up and pester them," says Arina. "I felt this was the kind of responsibility Nina could sustain, and we had conflicts around it."

But on another occasion Arina wanted to be more involved in Nina's life than regulations allowed.

Nina had complained of a terrible stomach ache and was admitted to hospital for several days of tests. Arina was not allowed to stay with her because she was not a relative or guardian.

"Pleas, send Nina some reassuring messages," she texted to the volunteer group chat. "Poor thing's terrified, she is having a third blood test and is scared."

Thankfully there was nothing seriously wrong.

As the Moscow lockdown eased in June, the Life Route charity was faced with a challenge.

"It became obvious that those people our foundation took to the assisted living flats for the duration of the quarantine did not want to go back to the PNI," says Ivan Rozhansky, the charity's director.

These institutions have been a focus of concern for some time.

In early 2019, Russia's deputy prime minister Tatiana Golikova ordered an inspection of living conditions in 192 psycho-neurological care homes. A consumer watchdog, Rospotrebnadzor, discovered violations of health and safety and other regulations in around 80% of them.

In January of this year Russia's Ministry of Labour introduced a number of structural changes to the provision of care for those in PNIs, including a move to help social workers provide assistance for some people in private homes rather than in state institutions.

"Obviously, all these changes will not be realised immediately on January 1, 2021, but step-by-step the situation will be changing," Golikova said.

Maria Sisneva from the charity Stop PNI says the quality of life in Russian care homes is poor.

"At a PNI you will have 500-1,000 people living in close quarters, but with very different levels of ability, and different backgrounds, different needs. They live in extremely cramped conditions, at best they'd be two to a small room, often in corridors, in spaces similar to military barracks, isolated from the outside world. They barely have any real social experience."

The director of PNI 22, where Nina was living, is clear about the benefits of care homes, however.

"The main advantage of psycho-neurological homes is security," says Anton Kliuchev. "The residents are looked after by professionals, who know exactly how to help and support them, how to talk to them, how to take care of them."

Care homes for people with specialist needs and mental illness exist all over the world. But from the mid-20th Century in the US and some European countries, a process of deinstitutionalisation started, aimed at replacing long-stay closed facilities with care within the community. Yet, in Russia care homes are still the predominant model.

According to Russian government statistics, as of February 2020 there were more than 150,000 people living in PNIs.

Unlike many countries, Russia's assisted living provision is only in its infancy. National charities believe that if this alternative system were more established, many care home residents could leave their institutions.

"Right now the system in Russia is such that if a person is believed to be insufficiently independent by the state, there is nowhere for them to go apart from a PNI, or [for those with physical disabilities] an invalids' home," says Sisneva.

Life Route began to discuss how the assisted living arrangement could be made permanent for the nine people they rehoused during lockdown. The charity rented four apartments, including one for Nina to share with fellow care home residents Sergey and Ivan. Arina moved back to her own apartment, and began instead to spend one night a week at Nina's new accommodation on rotation with other volunteers.

But there was another hurdle.

The PNI can only release their residents' care permanently to Life Route if those people have what is termed "legal capacity" - in other words, the state considers them able to function independently in theory, even if in practice they are in a care home.

Nina does not have legal capacity - all decisions about her life are made for her by the director of her PNI. As Nina is so functionally able, it is not clear why this is, though experts say it can be simply a foible of the system. If, like Nina, someone has arrived from previous care such as a children's home, and has never been properly assessed, their legal status might never be challenged.

So Arina has applied to become Nina's guardian.

"One day it just sort of clicked. And I realised I had to do it."

If her request is granted, Arina will become responsible for every element of Nina's life - financial, practical, emotional and medical. As her guardian the PNI will finally share Nina's diagnosis with her.

The process won't be straightforward, she says, involving extensive financial, physical and psychological check-ups on Arina.

"Emotionally [the decision] wasn't easy either," says Arina. "But once I took Nina out of the care home, she became my responsibility."

This all-consuming obligation might explain why there are so few people who volunteer to become legal guardians in Russia.

While Arina waits to be granted Nina's guardianship, the PNI could demand that Nina - whose state benefits they are currently losing out on - return to them at any time.

Meanwhile, Arina says she is still working out the exact role she plays in Nina's life.

"I can never be Nina's mum. I will never be able to give her the childhood she deserved."

But she accepts that Nina sees her as much more than a friend. Nina expects her presence on all important errands: to the dentist, to get her ears pierced, to get registered at the local GP.

And these new responsibilities have come at a time when life has been tough for Arina in other ways.

"It wasn't just Nina who went through a big emotional change. I went through a lot emotionally, too - during this time my salary was cut; I have had complicated developments in my personal life."

But Arina says all this has brought them closer together.

"Once you have gone through all these experiences [alongside another person], it is hard to backpedal.

"I won't say I'm not anxious about it. I'm incredibly anxious. And there are certain people around me who freak me out even more. They keep asking me. 'Have you thought it through? It's for life!'

"I calm myself down by saying that we have a plan."

That plan is to work towards eventually restoring Nina's full legal capacity.

Nina needs to be deemed independent by the state if she ever wants to live alone or get a job.

Other than Arina, she has one other close relationship - with a man called Sasha, who she met in PNI 22, and who is now in assisted living in a different apartment. Nina regularly meets up with Sasha in the city, and is clearly fond of him. Arina is aware that Nina may want to eventually marry and she would need legal capacity for that too.

So Arina hopes Nina's tutoring will give her the option to be assessed at some point.

"Examiners look closely at a person's reading, writing and counting abilities," Arina has heard.

The process is not publicly available but anecdotal accounts suggest it can include everything from being expected to dance or sing a song, or even know the price of a loaf of bread.

Arina says they won't apply for Nina to take this test until she is as prepared as she can be.

In the meantime, Arina is involved in all the important moments of Nina's life.

"Maybe I'm just the type of person that is not afraid of responsibility. It is an unexpected - but actually a good thing - that has happened to me.

"I love her. There's not much to it. I love her very much."

My Friend from a Care Home is available to watch now on YouTube.

6 notes · View notes