#gotta love american health care

[literalbirdperson]

So I'm going to tell the story of my yesterday, which started with an appointment with an ENT and ended with me in the ER. I'm doing this in bullet points, because I am very tired. (Also incredibly angry, but that might be adding to the tiredness.)

1:00 PM. Check in at the new doctor's. The facility is clean and bright, and all the staff are really friendly! That's always nice.

Meet the ENT I was referred to. I like him immediately. He's got a really relaxed, informal manner, but also very clearly knows his stuff.

Talk about surgical history, since I've had several nose and sinus procedures.

Since one of the reasons I am there for ear pain and recurring sinus issues, he starts the exam. Ears look great, he says! The pain is probably referred pain from my mouth. Do I grind my teeth? Yeah, I used to, but I might be again due to The Maladies.

He checks the back of my throat. "Oh, you have tonsil stones?"

"I... I do?"

Then he pulls out the horrible snake camera, and I resign myself to discomfort while he tours my nose and sinuses. I watch the screen and make very attractive "man was not meant to feel something pressing against a sinus wall" noises while he digs around.

Investigation over, he gives me a tour! Everything is about what I expected, he shows me old surgery sites, and then scrubs the footage forward a bit and goes "but here's where your problem is."

See, the other problem is, I keep spitting out these awful discs of dried mucus. And they stink!

Well. It turns out that I have a chronic infection in my adenoids. And what I keep spitting out is from there. I'll spare you the details.

Gross! But treatment should be pretty simple if it's staph, which it usually is. A couple of rounds of antibiotics usually knocks it out. If not, we'll culture it and go from there.

"So my throat has been infected for over two years?"

"Maybe even a lot longer than that!"

So we have a game plan. His assistant checks me out, hands me some papers and says "here's your record and a paper copy of your prescription, but we faxed it to your pharmacy as well."

2:00PM. The pharmacy app isn't showing them working on the RX.

3:00PM. I call them to see what's going on, get into a verbal fight with the phone tree, am finally allowed to leave a message. I am polite!

3:15PM. Pharmacist calls back. "We don't have an RX for that medication for you." Cool. I'll check with the Dr and have him re-fax. Oh! I have a paper copy of the-- there is no RX in my discharge papers, either. Fine. Calling.

3:30PM. There's nothing to re-fax, either, as the prescription was never even entered into my medical records! They are so sorry about the oversight, this is being flagged as high priority and his assistant will call you to let you know when it's been faxed to the pharmacy.

5:00PM. Why did I think something was going to go right for me medically? Why? Why me? Exhausted chronically ill/disabled breakdown incoming.

5:13PM. Text from pharmacy. They're working on the RX. It will be ready by noon tomorrow. Do you need it sooner? [YES]

5:15PM. Your prescription is ready.

5:30PM. Emotional collapse staved off for another day. Go to get RXs, with plans to stop to get ramen with spouse across the street from the pharmacy and enjoy the week being over.

5:45PM. Pharmacy tech tells me to go to the consult window if I want to talk about the antibiotic. Since it's completely new, I head over.

5:55PM. Pharmacist storms over, very clearly annoyed, and at me, not in general. Makes direct eye contact with me and starts reading me, word for word, the information on the bottle like I am a small child who can't read. I just wanted to know if there were any worrisome side effects.

Tell her to "have a good night!" She scoffs, literally holds up her hand in a "shut the fuck up" gesture and storms off.

Me and my spouse: "Huh. That was weird."

6:00PM. Take first dose of antibiotics with dinner to help keep stomach upset to a minimum.

7:00PM. Hives break out on my forehead. Then my thigh. Then my arms. Then suddenly my skin is bright red, bumpy, and burning literally everywhere.

That's not good. So I start looking up Bactrim side effects, since the pharmacist didn't deign to tell me. Discover I am having an allergic reaction, but only need to go the ER if my lips and face begin to swell, my vision gets blurry, or I have heart palpitations.

8:00PM. Lips are tingly. Look in mirror. I am lobster red and my face is swollen, as are my lips! I take two benedryl and both my inhalers, and we start looking for which ER to go to.

While we're looking, throat starts to swell. Swallowing is becoming impossible. Closest ER it is, even though I fucking hate it there. But it's a mile away and I want to be where the adrenaline and intubation kits are in case this keeps getting worse.

I am going to regret that decision.

Am forced to go through security and submit to a bag check before I can enter the ER itself. While actively struggling to breathe, which is distressing to both me and the guard.

Receptionist asks what I am there for. "I'm having an allergic response to an antibiotic. I can't breathe well."

She hands me a ten-page thick clipboard and tells me to fill it out, and then she'll get me in the queue.

What queue? There are TWO OTHER PEOPLE HERE. (See, everyone hates this hospital.)

So I start struggling to fill out the paperwork, but I am now to the blurred vision, mental confusion state. I keep having to pause to gasp for breath, and my penmanship is fucked because my hands are shaky from either albuterol or fear.

Spouse walks the paperwork back over to the receptionist.

We spend another 15 minutes sitting there while I am gasping for breath and grabbing at my throat every time I try to swallow because it feels like I'm being STRANGLED.

Nurse comes out to bring me back. We get intercepted by an angry man who has been watching me slowly dying but is still pissed because he got there first.

Nurse takes the time to explain to him what triage is while spouse literally holds me up.

I get a bed. Nurse tells me I'm having a classic allergic reaction and I'll probably be right as rain after some steroids. Hooks me up to all the monitors, tells me the doctor will be right in.

Doctor comes in. Listens to my lungs. Tells me my throat is not swollen even though she tried to grab to hold me upright when trying to swallow made me look like a gagging cat. But, my lungs are clear! Tells me they're going to monitor me to make sure I don't get worse, but she doesn't see anything to worry about.

LADY MY SKIN IS AS RED AS A VAMPIRE'S FAVORITE PAINT SWATCH FOR THEIR BEDROOM REMODEL.

She leaves. another nurse with the bedside manner of someone who enjoys kicking puppies walks in and starts taking my blood pressure.

The alarms go off.

"He put the cuff on wrong," he mutters, then wraps it so hard it hurts and runs it again.

The alarms go off.

"Do you have high blood pressure?" Mildly. NOT LIKE THIS.

"I'm going to go get the doctor." He leaves. He does not turn off the shrieking blood pressure machine.

10 minutes later: it's still screaming. Nobody has come by.

20 minutes later: see above.

30 minutes later: see above, except this time I start my stopwatch.

1 minute later: I get up and turn the fucking thing off, then unhook myself from everything.

40 minutes later: I am now itching so badly that I am scratching my arms bloody.

45 minutes after that, Puppykicker comes back in. "You ready to go home?"

Me, unnaturally red with hives so intricate that there are probably braille words on me, no longer struggling for breath, but 100% more bloody than I was when he walked out of the room an hour and 40 minutes ago: "Actually I'd like to speak with the doctor. I'd like to discuss steroids, since I am itchy."

"I'll go get her." Sure, Jan.

5 minutes later: Puppykicker comes in with a glass of water and a tiny cup of MASSIVE prednisone pills. "Here's 50mg prednisone. She says you're ready to be discharged."

The doctor. Is giving me. 50mg prednisone. Without speaking to me to see if I am allergic to it. When I came in with a severe allergic medication reaction. And is going to discharge me rather than wait around to see if I'll be ok.

Nurse watches me choke and struggle to take the pills. Because we're also giving an oral steroid to the bitch who can't swallow. Puppykicker does NOT care.

At that point, risking it and calling an ambulance if my throat closed up again was more worth it than staying there. Went home, stayed up long enough to confirm I am not going to start gasping for breath again. Passed out for two hours, got woken up by all 3 cats fighting over who gets to be in my lap. I have been taking two benedryl every 4h for the itching/hives and while my skin is its normal color again, everything itches so bad.

So my ENT is going to get a fun surprise on Monday when I inform him that the meds I had to fight to actually obtain have now left me with a hospital bill.

I also made an appt with my PCP, because this is the second medication since May that has done this to me. And they are not even remotely related to one another.

I guess what's 3 more days of living with a throat infection I've had for months, at a minimum?

[moonloverrei]

1 day w/o pain would be nice....

[animetupac]

happy pride, i have 2 gender affirming surgeries scheduled tomorrow but the hospital just called telling me my insurance still hasn’t approved the 2nd one so they may not be able to do it 🙃🙃

they asked if I wanted to completely reschedule and i said no because i already got the medical leave approved by work and that was a nightmare… they’re able to still do the main one that got approved so at least that’s still happening i’m just a bit annoyed that everything is getting stalled now because of stupid fuckign insurance.. my medical team waited until last fucking week to get the support letter sent over for the 2nd procedure so no wonder that shit hasn’t been approved in time

[shorelinnes]

.

[ros3ybabe]

Day 32: 90 Day Challenge 🎀

Almost forgot to update for yesterday. Had the worst mental breakdown ever and proceeded to have a terrible nightmarish nap that scared the heck out of me and somehow today was so much better.

🏋‍♀️ Physical Activity

50 minute glute workout in the gym

resisted the urge to binge

🧠 Mental Health

guided Journal in the morning

❤️ Emotional Health

let myself have a good well needed cry

📚 Intellectual Health

nothing honestly that I can remember

🏘 Adulting

zoom called boyfriend

talked to my dad on the phone

started watching a new TV show that wasn't American dad

🥰 Self Love/Care

gently bullied myself into brushing my teeth and washing my face/doing skincare before laying down

morning skincare

full shower + washed hair

Today was really good, so I'm looking forward to updating on that tonigjt/tomorrow morning. I'm also super excited to get my nails done and a haircut on Thursday! Plus I gotta go shopping for some new jeans, a new shirt or two to wear to Christmas Eve dinner with my boyfriend at his dad's house. May just cave in and buy him and I matching Christmas sweaters to be "that couple" for fun. Speaking of, I can't wait to see my man on Saturday <333 I haven't seen him since early October, so getting to spend a week and 2 holidays with him will be absolutely amazing. Hopefully his mom likes the little gifts I got her.

til next time lovelies 🩷

[notashadowbutawave]

i almost posted this on the true detective subreddit episode thread but thought better of it:

I've gotta say… I feel like a lot of complaints people are having about this season of the show don't pass muster objectively when held up against Season 1. Melodrama, "unrealistic" dialogue, complaining about being shown too much about people's personal lives and not caring about the characters…

There is so much unrealistic dialogue in season 1. The way Marty and Rust during their video interviews just come in talking about some big philosophical idea or "life wisdom" nugget in the middle of the episode (nobody talks like that IRL). The scene with Marty's daughter and the princess crown, for example. Marty cheating on his wife multiple times isn't like, objectively "more interesting" than Evangeline's sister having mental health issues or Liz being sexually promiscuous and a mess.

I've seen season 1 probably 10 times and I adore it but a lot of the angry comparisons people are making to S1 kind of just come off as straight up misogyny at a certain point. Like it rubs people the wrong way because it's women. Complaining about Liz and Evangeline going to the dredge without backup but when Rust and Captain America Marty Hart do something like that it's believable?

I don't think anyone's obligated to like the season by any means but you can just say you aren't feeling it as opposed to trying to make these apples-to-apples comparisons to season 1 that really don't hold water; I think people are just a lot more willing to accept this type of storytelling when it's about men and kind of has a fetishization/shame angle with masculinity in general. Like S1 is very masculine but it's also a love story. idk. I'm gay so I should probably stick to Tumblr for talking about this show, ya'll are wild.

----

idk watching people who are probably white dudes complain on Reddit that we are seeing too much "native culture" on the show strikes me as really icky.

i recognize that these are reddit comments and not like, actual media criticism but i think it says a lot about how people are conditioned to understand storytelling in general. like there's still so much fucking misogyny and white supremacy in our mainstream media and i realize a lot of people wouldn't say it out loud but i think they genuinely just find it exhausting that they're being asked to contemplate the interior lives of native alaskans and women by watching this show lmao

(that's not a value judgment about how well it is doing at depicting  Iñupiat culture because i'm not the person who gets to make that judgment but it REALLY rubs me the wrong way that people can't STAND even seeing it depicted)

(i think the fetishization of the American south also has a lot to do with it, like people are very willing to accept the aesthetic style of the American south as a vehicle for crime/mystery/possibly supernatural storytelling because it really doesn't challenge any conceptions they might have about the genre) (it helps that Woody Harrelson and Matthew McCounaughey are native southerners with great acting talent and natural screen chemistry who really took Season 1 to a higher level, in no small part thanks to their uncredited script doctoring. with lesser actors I think the story falls flat as hell because you need them to sell a rich relationship and complex inner lives with their performances because SO MUCH of their relationship is subtextual) (so when people see these great acting performances in the context of a police procedural set in Louisiana i think they're very pre-conditioned to elevate it to an almost mythical status in the genre because it doesn't present TOO many challenges to a conventional worldview about who has power and agency in stories)

like I said i've watched season 1 probably 10 times. it's very good. but it does MANY of the same things that people are complaining about regarding season 4/night country in terms of showing a lot of relationship/sexual drama for the leads and their Tragic Pasts. they just don't like it. which is fine. i just think it's a disingenuous angle to approach criticism of the show.

like if any actor other than McConaughey were doing Rust's monlogues in S1 it would not have been very good because it would have come off like self-serious edgelord shit, which is what it actually was (pizzolatto sucks) before it ended up in the hands of competent producers and performers. instead it really comes off like a man who has suffered and developed this worldview genuinely, within himself, not as a way to wield power over others but to protect himself from harm.

anyway....

for my part, i wanna know what the fuck is up with the spirals and the bad CGI polar bear visions and i'm going to be disappointed if it's not just some massive red herring designed to freak people out a little because that's what we deserve.

but in terms of like, the characters' lives, i generally find them very interesting. the opening scene of episode 3 with annie genuinely moved me to tears. annie seems like a fucking cool person and i would love another flashback about her.

i love that liz is a fucking asshole who is constantly being forced to confront her own behavior as racist, self-centered, impulsive, etc.

i love that evangeline is a very lonely person just barely keeping it together. kali reis is putting on an amazing performance. also, for the record, i'm VERY gay.

i wanna know more and there are only 2 episodes left and i hope it sticks the landing so i can write a big actual essay about what it did well from a storytelling perspective!

gosh i just love serialized fiction on the television

[every1sno1fangirl]

Happy Hifuumo Friday everyone!

The only thing I did this week was go get my face zapped with a laser today. My grandma took me like she usually does and I had a nice morning out with her. Even if our conversations were tinged with just a hint of existential dread.

Dread caused by the march of time; She's in her 80's and I turn 26 in a little over two months.

For the non-Americans, that means I'll no longer be covered by my parent's health insurance plans. Don't worry, I'm filing for new ones already; It's just scary!

Because I don't know what my care will be like going forward with the options available to me. And time just keeps marching on regardless. I ruminated on memories I made with my grandma that were just ten years ago. 'Just' ten years ago.

It's hard for me to get my head around, I guess. Maybe if my life were more dynamic than it currently is...

Either way, I gotta make the most of it.

I should start by trying to learn new skills. I hope to one day edit this picture so the candle underneath Renko looks lit.

Editing in general would be a pretty nice thing to learn, and refining my photography would be good too. I kind of just run default settings on my Android. I should experiment more.

I'll figure it out.

I love you all, have a good day/night!

[toki-is-the-king]

Toki Mental Health Headcanons:

(No hate please, you can disagree with me on this it’s just a headcanon I have + our Toki has autism so it makes sense to us).

-Toki most likely has autism but it’s undiagnosed because he was so neglected as a child; he never went to the Dr for anything, not even when he’d get fevers so bad he hallucinated. His parents didn’t care and also didn’t believe in going to the dr as it went against their religious beliefs; only God could heal. Often times when Toki was displaying signs of autism along with being physically ill all the time from abuse and neglect, his parents just locked him in the punishment hole for even longer, saying he needed to resist the devil or that Toki was disobeying God and was being punished by evil spirits. Toki has a highly stressful response anytime he’s sick now but does nothing much about it. And now he sees no point in going to the Dr, let alone a therapist or psychiatrist. The only times he really goes to the dr for check ups are when Charles forces he and the other guys or if his diabetes gets out of whack. Sometimes he still tells himself he has to ‘pray away’ his mental or physical afflictions due to his parents strict teachings, but it doesn’t work and he sometimes worries he’s actually possessed or evil. It hurts him so badly inside. He still doesn’t understand why they insisted he was evil, he still loved them but was terrified of them.

-That being said because he doesn’t have his ptsd or autism diagnosed or even know he has it, it just lingers for years and Toki doesn’t understand why he always feels so different from everyone else. And why people think his interests are childish and dumb or why he has meltdowns when somethings overstimulates him like the time he ‘accidentally’ might’ve murdered that dude at the Snakes N Barrels concert. He knows he’s fucked up but he lies to himself that he’s okay because that’s what he always had to do. Never having anyone to comfort him expect his straw clown doll and his imagination, he often regresses to a younger age to cope with his trauma and overall stress. He has panic attacks frequently too as well as nightmares and had social anxiety when he was a teenager. He beats himself up a lot, feeling the most fucked up out of everyone and having undiagnosed autism just makes him feel like he can’t even handle life. He talks to Skwisgaar about his internal struggles, knowing that even if all Skwisgaar does is nod and make brief eye contact, seeming half distracted with his guitar practicing, that he does care. Skwisgaar has his own personal issues and an ego, but he really does care about Toki and the two have a very close bond.

“Why’s Toki gotta have so many stupid problems things…”

-Toki doesn’t ever end up getting diagnosed, his distrust of the American medical system is part of it, also he’s just anxious about Dr’s in general, but he’s learned to self soothe and calm himself down over time. He enjoys having quiet time alone, focusing on a project, like building model airplanes or coloring, he likes to keep his hands busy so his mind has something to focus on. sometimes he just sits alone on his bed and hugs himself tightly or rocks himself until he calms down. Deddybear always brings him some relief.

-When nothing else works sometimes Toki gets explosive bursts of anger and destroys things, but he doesn’t have to be angry to break shit, it’s fun to break shit. Like lamps! Sometimes Skwisgaar or Pickles find him sobbing with bloody knuckles outside after fist fighting a tree or breaking random shit in the yard. Pickles always takes a brother like approach and brings Toki inside to bandage his hands, while Skwisgaar just takes Toki by the arm silently and walks him to his bathroom. He awkwardly helps Toki clean himself up and doesn’t say much. He lets Toki cuddle with him afterwards and it always helps Toki calm down.

-While some people with autism dislike being touched as it over stimulates them, Toki is the opposite. He always feels under stimulated. It could be because he was isolated for so long that now he can’t handle being alone for extended periods of time. He always wants physical contact with those he cares about. It’s hard being in Dethklok sometimes because none of the guys are affectionate towards each other and none are very touchy unless it’s with a woman. It makes Toki sad because he wants hugs all the time or to hold hands or play with someone’s fingers while sitting together on the couch. It’s all platonic (except with Skwisgaar, they’re more than friends but it’s complicated). Toki needs constant stimulation or else he’s anxious, bored, or fidgety. Being neglected made him even more clingy and now if anyone shows him an ounce of affection he is overjoyed and doesn’t want it to end. He loves long tight hugs and snuggling close to someone, glued to their side. Over the years Skwisgaar has eased up a bit and lets Toki cuddle him or hug him, they hold hands a lot when the guys aren’t around. Skwisgaar likes to play with Toki’s hair and it makes Toki the happiest guy on earth. He loves the smell of Skwisgaar’s hair and always presses his nose against his head when the cuddle.

Feel free to share any other Toki headcanons!

[haberdashing]

that usamerican feel where you might have found a medication that will actually abate the major symptoms of your chronic illness... but even with good health insurance it's $350 a pop to get it refilled

gotta love the american health care system, amirite

[bengiyo]

Be My Favorite Ep 6 Stray Thoughts

Last week, this show put me on my back foot when it asked me to be kind. So much of last week was about people choosing to be kinder to one another and that choice paying forward for the recipient. Kawi is building a genuine friendship with Pear. Pisaeng went to a gay club for the first time and saw Max. Max read the baby gay for being self-centered, but then softened it with good advice. Kwan encouraged Not to give Kawi just a little bit of encouragement after asking him to sign the book she had already panned. They subverted the rooftop confession by having Kawi gently turn Pisaeng down. Kawi actually sang and now is part of a band. I’m actually invested in this show now. Was not expecting that.

Hey, Kawi’s smiles are starting to look genuine.

It’s sad that this is probably the first time Kawi ever expressed his worries about his dad.

I know we better save Kawi’s dad’s life. Kob Songsit is one of the most reliable BL dads.

I like that Max is a prickly queer. You gotta establish boundaries with baby gays because they can glomp on way too hard.

Oh. I see. Pisaeng’s family isn’t just rich, they’re “comfortable.” Curious how Max will feel about Pisaeng having a complicated relationship with his mom, or the reveal that anyone with that level of wealth is involved in crimes.

Pear’s house was used in Dark Blue Kiss and Bakery Boys I’m pretty sure.

I am having a lot of feelings about this scene with Pear asking her dad to help Kawi’s. I’m sick, and one of my friends reached out to his doctor parents to get me into care. I don’t think I’d be alive without their help.

Oh, Kawi. Now is the time to be strong and tank the embarrassment. It isn’t bad that Pear knew what you wanted to ask. It’s actually good that Pisaeng told her. She was there as an advocate with you. The mission is your dad’s health, not your ego.

Okay, I do like this show finally acknowledging that all these arguments people have are so loud that other people definitely know what they’re saying. I love Max.

Max is speaking my thoughts. I will let him write the rest of this post.

“I will not apologize for doing what I thought was best to help you with a serious problem. However you feel about it, I will accept it,” is really something I think we could use more of in the West. I feel like we as Americans are obsessed with ‘winning the conversation’ as a concept, and I think it makes us inherently combative.

This Kawi reveal about the source of his anger is giving, “I’m angry at myself.”

Not sure where I sit on Pear and Not as a pairing.

I get how repressed Kawi is and everything, but don’t kiss a man who has confessed to you while you’re drunk. There’s no turning back now. And then he falls asleep! This messy spaghetti ass boy!

Pisaeng going from an emotionally-complicated queer encounter directly into a closeted conversation with his mom as he has to figure out in the morning how to explain Kawi’s presence is giving me intense emotional flashbacks.

Okay, this show broke me. Pisaeng is not stupid. Pisaeng has always known who he is. His mother manipulated him deep into the closet when he was 15, and he knows it. His mom is using his own community against him. Some of you may be shocked that his mom has gay people turning on each other, but there is a long history of the police infiltrating gay spaces and threatening people convictions to turn them into informants. This is the sickest thing I think we’ve seen in a long time from GMMTV. I am deeply appalled. I will have to blog about this because this is so evil. The weaponization of our own community into surveilling and reporting on each other makes me so angry. That she is also publicly progressive enough that a person like Max admires her also infuriates me.

Nevermind. Fuck Not. Why is he speculating about Kawi’s sexuality to Pear? This is not how you flirt.

Ah, we’re back to the time travel portion of the plot. I’m curious what Pisaeng does with this knowledge.

I like Pisaeng. Despite everything going on, he’s still focused on the important thing: Kawi’s dad.

I do think it was important for Kawi to speak directly to Pear’s dad about getting help for his father, and not letting it just be a favor Pear begged for.

I’m so glad Kawi went to Pear as well to apologize for running out on her. She’s incredibly understanding and I hope she finds happiness and fulfillment.

I often talk a lot about the relationship with gay boys and their moms, but I also have strong feeling about boys and their fathers. Kawi admitting that he feels no need to improve himself if his dad won’t get to see it hits me to my core. I love my dad. He and I get along great. I need to call him later today once I watch Strange New Worlds. I get this.

I don’t mind Pisaeng letting Kawi know he’s willing to wait for him to sort his feelings.

I am going to have to write a separate post at some point this weekend. I am not in the read headspace now to talk about the rage flowing through my veins right now at a businesswoman with political ambitions gaslighting her own son into staying in the closet, and then using her own queer employees to surveil him. For those of you new to marginalized spaces, enforcement organizations have infiltrated our spaces forever and turned our own people against us. This was especially easy queer spaces because white men were threatened with losing access to whiteness. I cannot overstate how evil this is and how unexpected it is for me to have a GMMTV show NOT from Golf going directly into this.

[homebeyondstars]

♡ Hiiii!! ♡

So i'm 🍃 right now and i want to tell you a little bit about my Student DR in MHA!!!

Just to start out:

this is my first DR, but im not new to shifting. I just havent fully shifted to this DR yet

And idc how cringe it is i love mha <3

♡this is a multi-universe crossover DR

♡in my first concept for this dr i was adopted by all might but ngl i kinda hated that idea bc theres no way our relationship would be healthy since he's allergic to caring about his health

♡i scripted out Mineta

♡The power puff girls are the youngest sidekicks in the USA, being sidekicks of their science pro hero dad

♡This is similar to a crdr, except like.... canon events that pivoted my life have been heavily altered!! meaning i have a stepdad. So my cr mom(american), dr stepdad(japanese) and me all live primarily in japan!! I spend the semester months in japan and the summer in the US.

♡batman adops quirkless orphans and is quirkless — DC is basically USA's pro heroes

♡hatsune Miku is my best friend from middle school, with her quirk being "synthesizer" which allows her to apply special effects to her voice. Her and her siblings (main 6) are in a band called "Vocaloid"

♡santa is real and still gives to adults

♡the USA also has their own UA, and quirkless people are allowed to get in thanks to Batman's influence

♡i also scripted in spiderman, sharkboy and lava girl for fun

♡Aizawa is not my teacher in my DR because he's my S/O in another DR, so it would make me feel weird if i were his student - so mic is homeroom teacher

♡Aizawa is *still* a teacher, but someone i don't have to interact with because I'm scripting his class is a selection of students from 1A and 1B, half from each, and I don't get picked

For those shifting to a student DR, if you wanna copy my routine to add to your script, here's mine <3

Morning:

♡ do whatcha gotta do in the bathroom (toilet, wash face, deodorant)

♡ grab breakfast sandwich from mini fridge and eat it with rice ball and a cup of orange juice, take meds

♡ change into uniform, put on perfume, toss old clothes into hamper

♡Primer, Sunscreen, Concealer, Blush, eyeliner

♡ put on shoes and backpack

♡head down the elevator to the dorm common area and wait for everyone to gather, use that time to socialize

School routine:

♡do what you're told until lunch

♡Eat lunch

♡do what you're told until dismissal

Mid afternoon:

♡Head back to Dorm

♡Change into casual clothes

♡Hang out with friends until dinner

♡Eat dinner in common room/cook for the class if it's my turn

♡go back in time for the following:

♡Study for 1HR 20 minutes

♡work out for 40 minutes

♡change into pajamas

♡wash face, moisturize

♡set out uniform for the next day

♡fall asleep on call with friends 8 hours minimum before alarm rings

[get-more-bald]

what the mercs smoke:

scout: doesn't smoke. gotta have those healthy lungs. would indulge in a vape occasionally but would cough horribly and try to hide it (also horribly). he'd try to bum cigarettes off of everyone around him though.

soldier: likes those big fat cigars but most often he doesn't even smoke them, just holds them in his teeth. he thinks it looks cool and manly but doesn't really enjoy the smoke. he's an american in his prime, recruit.

pyro: who knows. I honestly think they'd like smoke in general but I'm undecided. weed? nicotine? something harder? maybe. full suit hotbox. isn't really a smoker.

demoman: rarely if ever but always from a pipe. he doesn't think much of it. I don't think he'd enjoy smoking though, so probably only when he's stressed. wouldn't really be very interested in anything stronger than a bit of weed - alcohol is his thang. his pipe is neglected and he bites it too hard.

heavy: has tried a cigarette once or twice. didn't like it. he just doesn't think about smoking, would probably decline if offered a hit. if convinced to try it again, he'd inhale, make a funny face, and try to hide a cough. he'd be chill about it though.

engineer: classic smoker. when stressed he chainsmokes, but it's not often and he doesn't make a big deal out of it. tries to usually have a pack on hand, but it's fine if he forgets. might try a cigar if he's feeling fancy.

medic: pipe man. smokes rarely, but if he does, he indulges in harder substances as well. he knows how to use them safely, too. he does care about general health and takes good care of his pipe.

spy: smokes like a pack a day. only the expensive, fancy brands, but at some point he couldn't tell the difference anymore. smokes to stay awake and to wake up and after every match. medic loves touching his lungs because they've gotten such an interesting texture. it's a bigger problem than he'd like to admit.

sniper: only on his off hours. sometimes just lies down in his van and smokes weed. has generally routinely scheduled weed evenings. isn't a huge fan of smoke but it's the easiest way for him. used to smoke as a teen.

[landslided]

Idea: Lawrusso butch4butch cowboy lesbians

the noise i just let out should be studied by scientists. yes ❤️ absolutely

im historically not an expert on cowboys (my friend is tho) so all my ideas and inspiration come from westerns but im thinking:

danielle larusso is new in the area. her mother brought a decrepit ranch with all of their economies and they’re now trying to give it a second life. in doing so they meet mr miyagi, an old man living not far away from the ranch but quite isolated from the others in town. he takes care of cattle and he’s very polite and very kind to danielle and lucille (who have had to deal with their share of sexist assholes since danielle’s dad died). lucille makes business with him to buy some of his cattle and they decide to actually start working together. she invites him to dinner one evening and he never really leaves. he helps her and danielle fix the ranch and also starts teaching danielle how to take care of cattle and especially horses. danielle doesn’t really have her own horse yet but she wants one very badly and so miyagi offers her a beautiful palomino mare for her birthday.

one morning, danielle goes in the barn to take care of her horse and sees another horse already there. a black american quarterhorse and behind it is hidden a bruised and bleeding johnny lawrence. johnny is an outlaw. she used to be a rich girl back in town. her mother had married the mayor of the town when she was a young girl and johnny was promised to marry one of his rich (and old) friends but she fled and instead she joined a group of outlaw who commit petty crimes to survive. she and the other cobras had just done a heist when they were separated while running away and she was shot in the back. she didn’t know where to go. she saw the barn in the horizon and decided to hide there until the police lost her tracks but with the blood loss she fell asleep and didn’t manage to leave the barn before morning.

danielle brings her back home and nurses her back to health (but at the same time she wonders if she should throw her out because johnny is 1) a criminal 2) a fugitive 3) a huge bitch). a little after johnny gets back on her feet, the cobras come and meet her and tell her that they all need to split up for a while because the sheriff is after them, johnny gets really worried because she has nowhere to go apart from going back to her house but if she goes back to laura and sid she knows she’ll be married by force. danielle, who cannot keep her nose out of other people’s business, tells johnny she can stay if she starts working on the ranch. which is how johnny ends up training horses with danielle and mr miyagi.

im also imagining slow burn love story between danielle and johnny: fishing trips that end with taking a swim naked in the lake, talks in front of the fire where danielle learns to like johnny and johnny hides how much she wants to kiss danielle, dinners with lucille and mr miyagi who can see what’s going on there, the two of them racing on their horses. just, lots of domestic shit that end abruptly because kreese, another outlaw who helped johnny escape sid, comes to collect what he believes to be johnny’s debt. he wants johnny to work for him, danielle thinks his intentions are a lot darker than that but johnny tells her that he truly helped so that she just needs to pay her debt back and he’ll leave her alone. except kreese doesn’t leave her alone and mr miyagi has to step in. (you know you gotta have a duel in a western).

johnny gets hurt in the crossfire and it makes danielle realize that she’s in love with that blonde meathead. johnny scares them all by staying unconscious a lot longer than last time. the cobras come to visit and they all wait at johnny’s bedside. when she wakes up, bobby tells her that danielle has not moved ever since she’s been hurt and that she should get her head out of her ass and tell the other woman how she feels. danielle comes to see her, johnny thanks her for taking care of her again and they both manage to say i love you at the same time. happy ending, all is well, they train horses on the ranch until they’re old and grey (but still in love).

[bilesandthesourwolf]

You guys wanna hear something crazy? My sister had yo have an emergency appendectomy yesterday. They wheeled her into the operating room at 3:30pm. She was at home on the couch by 6. Gotta love the American health care system.

[kharmii]

I just saw a post for the upcoming election you americans have and while they tried to promote to vote for Biden they (at least to me) promoted Trump even more by pointing out all the things wrong with this country right now caused by Biden.

I'm not american but Biden is a walkin senile laughing stock of the world. I doubt there is anyone taking him seriously.

I always was sceptical of Trump, thinking that it was odd for him to go for president. But after observing one presidency of Trump AND one of Biden... I know that the elections are going to be heated with lots of whining and bitching AND most likely some weird stuff going on in the background.

I feel things in the world need to change. 100 years ago the far right has been dangerous... nowadays it's the far left with an even more disgusting danger. You gotta be blind if you don't see it.

I just want this to be done and over with... and have fairly "normal" politics. Not stuff that belongs in an asylum being a daily occurence in modern day politics

Amazingly, Trump used to be a smug New York Democrat. Black people loved him. There are pictures all over of Trump shaking hands with civil rights leaders, and the name 'Trump' is thrown out in a lot of rap songs. He was the host of a popular game show called The Apprentice. That's why I thought he was a joke candidate when he ran in the Republican primaries during the 2012 election against Barrack Obama.

I was extra surprised when he ran again in 2016 and won the primaries. A lot of people were into him, but I voted for Ted Cruz still thinking Trump was a joke candidate. Ted Cruz wouldn't have won though. The guy has no charisma and even sounds annoying to some people. He has a used car salesman look. Anyway, when Trump won the primaries, the fix was in. The media kept putting out their usual fake polls saying that he had no chance against Hillary Clinton, an actual nasty character.

When Trump won, there was more hate in the media than I'd ever seen against a single person in my life. He wasn't supposed to win. We were given orders via constant media propaganda to vote Clinton and 'make history again' with a first woman president. Trump might have once been a Democrat, but he wasn't one of their guys. He wasn't a career politician who could be bought by the lobbyists. He wasn't perfect, but one of the first things I remember him doing was rewriting the income tax code so that working class people got a huge boost for married filing jointly or for the child tax credit.

He also pushed us toward greater energy independence by approving more drilling permits and pipelines. Gas was under or around $2/gallon. Food was cheap. Everybody's 401K was increasing. Interest rates were low for a loan. Everything was so good that all the people opposing him could do was call him racist and stir up the race and gender hustlers. There was a lot of rioting, and they are openly admitting that if Trump wins the 2024 election, a lot of people will die, and there will be lots more looting and rioting.

Trump should have won the 2020 election, but the media and government used the fake Covid scare to steal the election through the mail or through rigged voter machines that would show Trump in the lead until 3AM when suddenly Biden would instantaneously in a minute gain tens of thousands of votes. There was no accountability with the paper votes, and most people figure a lot of fake ones were thrown in. Biden somehow got more votes than Obama during his first term when people were excited about 'hope and change and the first black president'. (We got change alright, but it was all bad, like how his administration wrecked our health care). People were that excited about Biden. Nobody knows anybody who was excited about voting for Biden, but it must have been true.

About the time they should have been pushing for some meaningful audits in the mail in voting system and protesting Biden's suspicious 'win', the Powers that Be manufactured the January 6th 'insurrection' where Republican protestors who were heavily seeded with FBI agents posing as protestors were deliberately let into the capitol to mill about and basically do nothing. A woman named Ashli Babbitt was shot in the chest for no reason, but the cop was able to get away with it for being a black person shooting a white person. Since it was obviously shenanigans, it took years for the surveillance footage of the capital 'riot' to be released to the public so people could see it was nothing like they described.

That's where we are in the US. I'm not sure it will do any good to vote, but I'll get out and do my civic duty on the second Tuesday of November. Again, they'll say that 'voting for Trump is going to hurt gay people and Muslims and (insert victim class group)', but realistically, cheap cost of living is good for everybody.

[grace-nakimura]

title: time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it rating: pg-13 for mentions of sexual situations and some light disturbing imagery. pairing: grace nakimura/gabirel knight. also brief mentions of malia gedde/gabriel knight and fredrich von glower/gabriel knight. trigger warning: pregnancy mention. slight sexual situations. disturbing imagery. threat of harm to a child (but thwarted). mental health issues. not beta'd bc it's against my gremlin religion, but can you guess how tswift inspired this? bc she totally did. summary: gabriel's point of view from whoops, in which he buries ghosts, admits that he does have feelings (just no brain cells!), and somehow doesn't run from fatherhood kicking and screaming. (jane jensen i am looking at you GIVE US A BONE TELL ACTIVISION TO GIVE US SOMETHING!)

Time moved slowly. Not for anyone else, but for him it did.  

Seasons came and went, but there he stood, the last Schattenjager, holding down Schloss Ritter like a soldier overrun in battle who didn’t know how to surrender.  

It seemed everyone had a life. They were all making moves, growing, and changing while he still felt stagnant.  

Gerde had gotten married. He didn’t attend the service, didn’t think he could stomach it, but he sent the bride and groom a generous gift of money and beer. Seeing as how Gerde, like most German’s, didn’t trust Gabriel, an American, when it came to beer, she sent it back with a thank you note.  

Mosely was even seeing someone—he didn’t know if he should tell them a good job or that poor woman, so he decided on both when he got the news, only to be hung up on—too. A widower with two sons for the past five months or so. “Still too early to be thinkin’ ‘bout this an’ all, but” Moseley had said over the phone, relaxing at the station in New Orleans while Gabriel nursed his Tennessee Whiskey near his typewriter. “Hell, Knight. Can you imagine me being a dad? Hell, I’m hardly a good enough uncle to my sister’s kids.” 

He could, actually; one of those picket fence type of fathers who wore a fanny-pack with snacks, always complaining about the thermostat, and grilled burgers and hot dogs on Sunday evenings. The sort that Gabriel used to dream about when he was a kid. Like hell he’d ever admit it, though, so instead he went with, “at least they won’t get your looks.”  

“Ass.” 

“Still got a better one than you, Mostly.” 

And he stayed still, all alone in Schloss Ritter, surrounded by mountains and trees, more of a ghost most days than a person. 

Gran was another one he worried about. Her mind was sharper than a whip, but her body began to fall behind, little by little. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to live by herself, something she took so much pride in, and when he had to tell her that the hitch in her breath broke his heart. 

“We all grow old sometime, Gabriel,” she had told him over the phone, keeping good cheer and forcing a smile that never met her eyes. He knew that smile. That was his girl. His world. He hated ever being the reason for her to have that look.  

“You ain’t ever getting' old, Gran,” he said, in an attempt of levity. “Besides, ain’t for a while, yet. It’s just something we gotta look after. I’ll be by to visit you soon. Got so many stories to tell you about Granddaddy’s family.”  

He also missed her more than anything.  

She had laughed and if he could imagine it, he would be able to see how her eyes would roll heavenward good-naturedly, but at least her eyes were smiling along with her mouth this time. “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.” And then, as always, “I love you, dear. Take care.” 

When he wasn’t being a Schattenjager, or a writer with the largest bout of writer’s block known to man, he would lay on his back spread eagle and stare at the ceiling in his study. Sometimes he would think of Grace. 

Depending on how sober he was, or how lonely, he mostly just thought of the things he wanted to tell her. Whenever he had a new idea for a book, or a breakthrough on a case, or just a thought in general, his first instinct always was, I’ve gotta tell Gracie. Only to remember, oh, she was on another continent. Unreachable. Gone. 

When he was really, really drunk, he would think of that night. If it was only once, they would both brush it off as adrenaline, but they slept with each other more than once. No matter what he’d tell anyone in the light of day, once wasn’t enough that night, and considering his back was covered with the markings of her nails the next morning, it was the same for her. 

 Three whole times that night.  

He was thirty-five. While there wasn’t much thinking involved, he had to admit that he was damn impressed with his stamina. Mostly with Grace, who was every bit of the firecracker he had imagined. She was all fire and consumed every inch of him that, if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was being possessed. 

Morning had come, as it always would, and everything changed. 

Now she was miles away with only a note. He didn’t remember what it said, didn’t bother keeping it when he crumbled it up, but he got the jest: she outgrew him, she needed more, and wished him the best.  

He could focus on how angry, how hurt, he had been, but what really haunted him was how hurt she looked that morning. 

“Ass,” he said to the ether, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“You do have a good one,” a silky voice spoke. When he turned around, Malia sat—or an apparition, or just his mind playing tricks on him, or both—on the sofa in his study, legs crossed, looking every bit the same she did when he first saw her. Ebony curls framed her face, and those deep brown that held flecks of gold made her eyes almost seem ethereal. “That was my first thought when I saw you with the Detective—damn, that man has a nice ass.”  

A chuckle bubbled from Gabriel, his eyes growing misty, even if he didn’t want them to. Didn’t deserve to cry over her. He sat up but remained where he was. He didn’t dare stand. He also didn’t dare to walk over to her. He wanted to keep Malia Gedde, forever thirty-something, forever lovely, in his mind as she was.  

“I wish I could’ve saved you,” he hated to make that bright smile falter, but he needed her to know that. She was the first woman he’d ever could imagine a future with. They had known each other for a handful of days, sure, but his parents were a whirlwind romance, too. That future went to ash just when she did. “I always save you when I dream.”  

It was her who moved off the sofa, who sat by him, this phantom of Malia Gedde, the first woman he ever loved, and cupped his face with both of her hands so he could look at her. “You did, Gabriel,” a ghost of a kiss was pressed on his lips, “I didn’t have much of a life before you; I was Lazarus, and you gave me life. Now let me return the favor.” She rubbed her nose against his, and his eyes fell shut as did hers, willing time to continue to slow for this moment. “Live.” 

“Ain’t that what I’m doin’?” He sounded petulant, which made her huff out a laugh, but he kept on. “Might have a great ass, but not exactly a great person to be around.” 

She pressed her lips against his forehead, almost an atonement, almost a benediction. “Fight a little while longer, Mr. Knight,” her lips moved against his forehead, and he was brought back to the few nights in his room at the bookshop, entwined together as his hands roamed up and down her dark skin, entwining in those ebony curls of hers as she straddled his lap at a furious pace.  

After, she always placed a kiss on his forehead, once the two came down from their heights and settled back on earth.  

“I’ll always be with you, my love.” 

He woke up, back acting up something awful for sleeping on the floor, still feeling the lips against his forehead.  

*** 

Gran fell in her kitchen one Saturday afternoon. It took him no time at all to book the quickest flight to New Orleans, and within the handful of hours from Munich to the states, he onboarded the plane from Louis Armstrong International and took the first Taxi he saw to the hospital.  

“It was just a little fall,” Gran had soothed him as he sat by her bed, holding her smaller, wrinkled hand in his. “Got a few bruises, is all. I’m fine.”  

For all the times she’d narrow her eyes to his bold-faced lies, he returned the favor, placing a kiss on that hand of hers reverently. “This time it’s a few bruises, Gran. What about the next?”  

His life was already full of shadows. The day Rebecca Knight would go gently into that good night, and he knew she would, all that was warm and bright would go with her. She had raised him. Loved him. Accepted him with open arms. He knew she had reservations on how he lived his life, mostly out of coming from a different time when most men his age were married, settled, with scours of little ones, but she never made a fuss. She always listened to him and encouraged him to follow his heart.  

“We’ll pick out someone to come and see you regularly,” Gabriel began before she could say anything else, “someone that you like. Don’t worry ‘bout the cost; nothin’ but the best for my girl.”  

She snorted, shaking her head as she lay on the hospital bed, smiling up at him as if he were nine and told her of his day, mostly about making mischief with Mosely. He had always left out the things that would get him in big trouble, though, but he figured she knew of them all the same. “And what about you, dear?” 

“What about me?” 

That smile turned sad, and the hand he had been holding snuck out of his grasp to run his hands through his unruly strawberry-blond hair. The red came from his mama, just like his eyes; the rest came from his daddy. Gran always said that his daddy lived on in his smile. “I know you’re a grown man, but sometimes I look at you, and I still see that little boy.” Gran looked wistful. “You’re lonely, aren’t you?” 

He made a face, but she ignored him. She knew his tells more than anyone else. “It’s your life, you know, I just... I just know how long life can be, if you’re lucky, but also how lonely it could be with no one, if you’re unlucky.” 

A thought came to him, “were you lonely, Gran?”  

She shook her head, swallowing hard, “never, not when I had you, even miles away from you—not lonely. Never lonely. I only want you to feel like that someday. Whole.” 

***  

He stayed for a week, or maybe edging on for a week and a half, meeting client after client. She eventually decided on a redhead who was studying for her Nursing degree at Tulane. The girl looked younger than she probably was, proudly showing her engagement ring to Gran who cooed and tittered, and that was that. Her name was Rose. Cute kid, bit of an old soul, and out of the fifty candidates she was the only one to make his Gran laugh so hard her whole-body shook.  

“Call me when you can, dear,” she had told him and given him one of those bone crushing hugs that he’d missed more than he’d like to admit. He even returned it, causing her to chuckle. “Also, tell that Grace to call, too. I’ve missed her stories.” 

If she noticed how his body went frigid at the mention of Grace, she said nothing, but with leaving a kiss on her rouge covered cheek he got his things and left. Not after telling her, he loved her, and that he would call as soon as he could.  

He even met with Mosely. Met his girlfriend, Daniella, and immediately gave her condolences. Her boys were with her late husband’s parents for the weekend, but he promised to return soon to meet them, too.  

Her oldest, Antonio, was a fan of his books, even though he was only fourteen years old. Hadn’t he read Dracula at eleven? He couldn’t judge.  

He left New Orleans feeling a little lighter, anyway.  

It just made returning to Rittersberg bearable, knowing he did right by at least one person in his life.  

Imagine his surprise when he saw Gerde’s car where it usually was. Imagine his surprise when he went into the ancestral castle to hear two voices, female, whispering over a roaring fire.  

The blonde with the curls was Gerde. Bright eyed and happier than she had been in some time, making peace with his Uncle Wolfgang’s death, while moving on with her life with the sort of uncanny humility and grace many of those who had plenty of years on her would never be able to do. The sort of resilience many never write stories about, or wax poetic about, or even consider to be a strength, when it was the utmost example of true strength that a human being could possess.  

“— if I were you, I would focus on telling Gabriel—,” 

That caught his attention, and suddenly he made his presence known, “Tellin’ me what?” 

It was then he noticed the woman Gerde was speaking to. Almost hard to, since it’s been months since he had seen her. Every time he thought about her, he thought of that face she made when he dismissed her, how it was the first time he ever made her face crumble like a house of cards that he knew of, and it was a lance to his heart every time he imagined it. She began to cough, Gerde patting her back encouragingly, and once she waved the blonde woman off Gabriel noticed how quickly she scurried out of the room, leaving a cup of cocoa behind.  

“Grace?” This wasn’t an apparition, right? Gerde was talking to her, who wasn’t in his mind since she had bumped into me in her attempt to leave—quickly—and even avoiding eye contact while doing so. She stood up slowly, pushing herself as if she were a guilty child, being prepared for the scolding of a lifetime, and slowly turned around. 

Her hair had gotten longer. He liked it. It fell in a loose brain that she wore on the side, her dark bangs wispy, always said she liked them because it covered her large forehead. She looked fuller, skin aglow from the firelight, and the first thought was, hell, why did I never notice how beautiful she was? Oh, she was attractive, but beautiful?  

It almost took his breath away.  

When he noticed how she absent-mindedly rubbed her stomach—her rather round stomach, and not a product of eating well but something else—his breath did leave him.  

“Hi, Gabe.” 

She sounded younger. Five years his junior, sure, but now she just sounded so...small. She, who always seemed like a giant by way of her personality, suddenly didn’t seem so big anymore.  

It killed him. 

He made his way in front of her and there they stood, illuminated by the flames in the fireplace, no more than five feet apart and looked everywhere but each other.  

It sounded like the worst thing to ever ask, and he knew he had no right to ask, “is it mine?” It didn’t matter the answer. He’d offer her all he could no matter what. She nodded, and he felt his stomach drop. Shit. “Right. Well, damn, Gracie. You keepin’ it?”  

Not his business. Right, but the question slipped out none the less.  

“Her,” and despite himself, his breath catches. Her. A girl. A little girl that, if Grace never made her way back to Rittersberg, he’d never know about. “I wanted to tell you in person. I, um, I don’t want anything, or I don’t want to make you do anything...” 

He nodded. He kept nodding with every word she said like an idiot. “No, no, I get it,” but there she was giving him that look, “I do.” And then, because this was so much—he's going to be a daddy to a little girl that has been living for, what, six months, without his knowledge. He and Grace had made a little girl that night. He, a fatherless child, was going to be a father! —he blurted out, “well, um, your room is still yours. Nice to see you, Grace.”  

He stumbled as he ran up the winding stairs, doing his best to ignore the sound of Grace’s sobbing.  

*** 

“If you had chosen me,” a heavily accented voice told him in his ear, a firm hand placed on his shoulder almost gently, “you would’ve never been in this predicament.”  

“And more lives lost than saved,” he told the phantom, shrugging off Fredrich’s hand as if it burnt him. More ghosts in the night, always hovering near him, and his bare feet made their way toward his window. A full moon. Sometimes if he imagined it hard enough, he would hear wolves howling.  

He never missed how his heart clenched at the memory.  

“Do you hate me that much, Gabriel, that you can’t even look at me?” 

It’s because I don’t hate you that I can’t, he thought with a grimace, swallowing. “I told you to go before.” He hated how his voice broke.  

Ever so dominant, full of confidence that Gabriel only played pretend at, he moved to where Gabriel had to face him anyway. He looked just like he did on the night he spent at his estate, sitting across from him, drinking and laughing together, being pulled in with those rich brown eyes. Christ. He had a type. “We would have made such beautiful memories, my friend,” his thumb traced Gabriel’s bottom lip, causing the man to open his mouth without thinking.  

He never thought about men before. After, he only ever thought of one. Then Fredrich spoke, and the spell ended. “I only wished that you chose me.” 

And since this had to be all in his head, he had a chance to be honest, “if only you wanted me as I was,” Gabriel replied. “I wanted you as you were.”  

Or, well, maybe somewhat honest. Did he want him as he really was, or who he was presented as?  

All Gabriel knew was that he wanted him. All he knew was that much like Malia, if things had been different, there could’ve been a future.  

The smile the baron made was rueful, catching the uncertainty of his last statement, but instead of when he haunted him before his brown eyes weren’t so hard. “Sad, isn’t it? You kill me so you can live,” Gabriel’s heart clenched painfully, “but you are hardly living. Not even for your little one, growing in the belly of your assistant in a room not too far from you—do you hear how she cries, Gabriel? How scared she is while you hide in your room?” 

He said nothing.  

Still, the man went on, “do you know how lucky you are to be given such a gift? If I had a chance to experience a family, a family of my own choosing without being chained to what is considered traditional, I would’ve taken it without thought.” Regardless of his words earlier, Gabriel heard nothing but raw honesty. “Fought and killed for it with all my power.” 

“Kill me or kiss me,” because he was at the end of his rope. Fredrich von Glower was dead and gone and he didn’t need to think of some fantasy where he and Grace and the black fucking wolf played house. It hurt enough to have him here when it wasn’t really him. “Just shut the hell up.” 

Funny how the first kiss, their first kiss, would be in his head. All teeth and aggression, mixed with a pining he had never known. Fredrich von Glower had seduced him, who usually was the one who seduced, flawlessly, and even in death he had him in his web. Never slept with the man, but God, if he were alive, if he were here right now— 

Air. There was nothing but air when he came too, leaning against the cold window of his room, breathing harshly.  

*** 

Talking with Grace was...something. He couldn’t avoid it, push it under the rug, because the evidence of what they both did grew and grew little by little. She waddled about, rubbing her lower back herself, sporting mostly maternity overalls over a sweater because, even if she was raised in New York, New Orleans spoiled me with its heat. It’s too damn cold here, Knight. He’d almost grown fond of hearing the shuffling of her house shoes because, well, only white people walk around in a home with their shoes on, ass.  

“That baby in there is half-white, you know,” the cheek came so easy, like coming home in some ways.  

Grace gave as good as she got, “oh, I know. It’s why the only spices I’ve been able to handle are salt and pepper.” 

He laughed. Oh, how he laughed, and oh how he missed her. The best thing about it? She laughed, too, and he missed that even more.  

She wasn’t a ghost. She was there, in front of him, her eyes darker than Fredrich’s and Malia’s combined, but they twinkled like tiny diamonds whenever she laughed. No glasses, still, only contacts. Too much maintenance, she had told him when he had asked about the change.  

He went with her to Munich to on check-ups, peering at a blurry, black and white blob on the screen as the baby’s heartbeat filled the room; couldn’t really tell that there was a baby, besides the heartbeat and Grace’s expanded stomach, but something made his heart skip, nonetheless. “You guys sure it’s gonna be a girl?” Hell, its technology, after all. It wasn’t perfect.  

“Ja, Herr Knight,” the assistant replied with a laugh, “see here?” She pointed with the hand that wasn’t controlling the wand on Grace’s stomach and he leaned over to take a closer look, “that is just an arm, and there is a leg, and—oh, it looks like she’s tired of us looking! She’s turning around.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Grace said, and Gabriel didn’t miss the note of fondness in her voice.  

Blood work was fine. The scans were fine. Everything was fine, but something began to claw at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.  

After the appointment—to which she needed to pee as soon as she was dressed—they ate at McDonalds. It was cheap, near the clinic, and it had a restroom.  

It seemed most of what Grace did was pee.  

They ordered an extra pair of fries to go on the way back to Schloss Ritter, and when she wasn’t stuffing her face with fries—he was able to steal a few with only a glare that had no heat to it when caught—they made small talk. Safe topics. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be mad, okay?” 

Well, mostly safe topics.  

“Shoot,” he turned right, keeping his eyes on the road. He missed his bike, drove better on it, but when he suggested he could install a little seat beside him as he drove since she couldn’t exactly straddle a bike anymore, the groan she made sounded like she was being tortured.  

“Are we having a Whoops, or just a black-and-white blob?” 

He barked out a laugh. She laughed, too, and suddenly they both physically could not stop laughing. “I thought it was only me!” She shook her head and when she snorted, she quickly covered her mouth. “Maybe that can be another name for her? Gabrielle Whoops Heartburn Blob. Nobles always have more than one name.” 

Settling just a bit, she shook her head, before suddenly her face fell. “I have to pee again.”  

Of course. 

Like always, as soon as they entered the castle, he went up to his study to check his messages while he heard Grace flush the toilet in the distance.  

That itch came back tenfold when Scotland Yard contacted him.  

*** 

It hit too fucking close to home.  

A little girl had been kidnapped. Some occult group not unlike the old lady he met months ago, were said to have been kidnapping people in the Highlands for years. Scotland Yard was called when the child taken was the only daughter of Prime Minister hopeful.  

The mother was beside herself, of course. Face gaunt with circles under her eyes. Devastated.  

The father? The father appeared disinterested. Put out. As if this was all a waste of time. He was normally shit at reading people, but after all he’d been through, and maybe it was just paranoia, something at the back of his head sent out a warning. Could be something, could be nothing; he could be involved, or he could be a righteous prick that didn’t deserve to be a father, less a politician. 

And you deserve to be one? a voice asked.  

No, he said, but that doesn’t stop me from being one in a few months.  

The mother, Wendy, was a frail thing, only a little older than he was, and said they had two older boys. James, Rory, and their little girl, Abigail. If things were different, he’d save the name as a possibility for Grace. He’d always liked that name, come to think about it. His first-grade teacher’s name was Abigial Lewis and she had great, big— 

Maybe not Abigail, then.  

He brought along a laptop. A compromise so when Grace was back in Germany, safe in Schloss Ritter with Gerde, he would contact her through SIDNEY, and she him.  

That first time was quiet. He didn’t dawdle to get a feel of the scene like he usually did. Not even when Prince James’ son was missing did he ever feel this much anxiety. A little girl, only four, her survival depended all on him.  

That could be my little girl, was what kept him going.  

That night he was in a Cathedral. Everyone was dressed in black. His parents were there, just as he remembered them, staring ahead. Gran and Grandaddy were there, too, and so was Wolfgang beside them. In front of him at the end of the aisle was a closed casket. 

Go, someone urged him, and he listened.  

His boots were the only thing he would be able to hear as he made his way toward the closed casket. Something told him to open it. Something urged him to, so he listened, but instead of a corpse that rested inside the coffin was a very much alive, with bright eyes and a gummy grin, infant looking up at him. 

He knew who she was. 

A shy grin broke out on his face, and he stared, just stared at her, flailing her fists and making sounds just because she could. She wore a white dress, the sort people dressed their babies for baptisms, that bunched up when those tiny hands of hers fisted the fabric. “What’cha’ doin’ there, sweetheart?” 

He bent down to pick her up, holding her where her chubby cheek was near his stubbled one, swaying from side to side. In this serenity, this sense of peace he hadn’t felt in so long, he had almost forgotten that he shouldn’t be so at ease holding a baby since he hadn’t held many. And yet, it didn’t matter; her tiny hands on his face, those eyes of hers staring at him like he’s the real wonder and not her, or that dimpled, gummy grin that made his heart flutter in his chest were the only thing in the universe he cared about.  

“Hey,” he whispered, bouncing her like he had seen Mosely bounce his nieces when they were babies.  

If something was too good to be true, it usually was.  

The scene shifted. Instead of his arms, the infant lay on her back on slab, and a man in a dark rob was behind her, holding a knife in the air dramatically.  

“Don’t you fucking—” 

He lowered the knife and Gabriel plunged at the figure, only for Gabriel to jolt himself awake, drenched in sweat.  

It was late, he knew that, but he had to know—had to! Grace picked up, voice hoarse with disuse, “this is Grace.” 

“Hey, Gracie.” 

“Gabe?” Her voice more alert, and by the rustling in the background he could imagine her sitting up in bed, “Are you alright?” 

He said nothing. He was still trembling. She gave him a moment, only a moment, before, “What’s wrong?” 

“Is Whoops okay?”  

They really needed to call her something other than Whoops.  

A soft exhale, before, “yes, she’s fine. My ribs and bladder aren’t, though.” 

That made him laugh. It was weak, but still a laugh. “Good.” And then, “Are you?” 

“Besides my bladder and ribs? I’m fine.” There was a pause, a comfortable pause of two people enjoying each other’s company, even if they were miles away. “Go to bed. You need your rest.” 

He didn’t. Couldn’t.  

No jokes were had, no flirtations, but an earnest need to find out what was happening. Besides Wendy’s kindness, the emails and calls he received from Grace either about the case or Whoops, he’d discovered allies in the very beings he was sent to investigate. White Witches, at that.  

“Not every being you hunt deserves to be hunted, shadow hunter,” one had told him, not unkindly. “Men are different, so are we.” 

And humans are usually the worst kinds of monsters alive, Grace had told him once.  

Four days of nightmares. Four days of playing cat-and-mouse, toying with his psyche about his looming fatherhood as if it knew, whatever it was, only to find out the Witch they were looking for all along had been the girl’s father. Just like his dream, only besides his own little girl, the brown haired and blue eyed four-year-old lay bound on the stone alter, while her father, clad in a black coat, spoke an incantation—a summoning spell—but before he raised the blade to complete it, Gabriel had knocked him out cold.  

He thought turning into a werewolf brought out his aggression; this was much worse. All he had seen was red.  

He would’ve killed that man. That portly man who spent the four days on his black cell, checking his pager boredly, and looking down his nose at him whenever he tried to pick his brain in an effort to help. Hell, he’d even broach the comment about being a father himself, even if his own daughter wasn’t yet born, and all he got was a look of boredom.  

Sobbing broke him from his trance.  

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he did his best to soothe the little girl, who still wore her clothes form when she was abducted, and untied her to draw her in his arms. She stank. Her clothes were soiled, too, but he didn’t mind. He picked up the small girl in his arms and began to leave the ruined and abandoned home. “You’re gonna be just fine, alright? Just close your eyes and hang on real tight.” 

Wendy, who had been nothing but lovely and helpful, was found dead with her throat slit in her hotel room. Scotland Yard was called, arrests were made, and that little girl who clung to him so tightly when the ambulance rolled up was sent to her grandparents, along with her two older brothers. Nice kids. A hefty age gape since the eldest, James, looked to be around sixteen, while Rory couldn’t have been no more than twelve. After he spoke to Grace on the phone about what happened, all of it, he spent the rest of the time with little Abby.  

If he didn’t already have one on the way, well, he would’ve entertained the brief thought of being a father. Regardless of the horrors she saw, she smiled, told jokes, and spoke to him about all the stuffed animals she had at home. In turn, he’d tell her about his bike, his Gran, and the doofus of a friend he had named Mosely. Apparently making fun of his lack of hair was a winner, because it sent her to a giggle frenzy.  

“Is mummy alright, Misser Knight?”  

He just smiled and said nothing, opting to turn her attention back to her stuffed animals. Not his place to tell her, anyway.  

Turned out, little Abby was what the prick needed to ensure he’d become England’s next Prime Minister. A deal with a demon years ago; his firstborn daughter for all the power he could wield.  

He should’ve killed him.  

He didn’t.  

He didn’t leave Abby or her brothers until she was discharged from the hospital. Her grandparents, Wendy’s parents, were just as lovely as their daughter had been. The English were said to be stand-off-ish with affection, but all he received were hugs of gratitude and pats on the back.  

“We’ll never be able to repay you,” the grandfather, Phillip, which made his heart skip a beat, told him in earnest.  

“Just make sure those kids are fine, and we’ll be square,” he had answered. 

When he got back to the hotel, all the bravery he had vanished.  

*** 

Schloss Ritter was subdued. He didn’t really eat, only when his stomach began to churn and ache and his blood sugar would drop low, and he certainly didn’t shower. When he slept, he would dream of nothing but gore.  

He saved little Abby.  

He didn’t save her mother. 

Just like he didn’t save Fredrich, or Malia, or Wolfgang.  

“My death isn’t your fault, Gabriel.”  

In the corner of his eye, as he sat in the corner with his knees to his chest, he saw the kind face of his great-uncle. The same long, dark overcoat with his hair in a low ponytail. 

“I lost a son,” he admitted, walking toward him languidly, before dropping to his knees. Considering it was his head and nothing more, he didn’t wince as he bent down. “A parent should never have to bury their child.” 

Why are you telling me this?  

He knew why, though.  

He lost his parents when he was young. Left a hole in his heart so big that he tried to fill it with faceless conquests. There wasn’t a guarantee that he’d live long enough to see Whoops reach ten, or twenty, or thirty. There wasn’t even a guarantee that Grace wouldn’t come to her senses and leave him as soon as the baby was born, and he’d never get a chance to see if he would. He wouldn’t blame her. His life wasn’t exactly safe. Hell, even before, his life wasn’t exactly ideal, because he wasn’t exactly ideal.  

The fear that gripped him, though, that made him crawl to the furthest corner of his study, was the possibility of having to outlive his child. 

That...that made it hard to breathe. Hard to think. He thought the prospect of losing his Gran was terrifying, but Whoops? Unthinkable.  

“You love her, don’t you?” Wolfgang asked. 

“She ain’t even here and it hurts,” he responded. 

“You love her mother, too, yes?”  

He hitched a breath, his heart stammering, but it was with perfect clarity he answered, “yes.”  

Grace wasn’t his first love. Grace wasn’t the love that awoke something inside him that he never knew existed. Grace was the sort of love that one might overlook, mostly because they weren’t ready to see it for what it really was, and for the few that would double back to take a closer look at what they missed, they would find something no words could name. The sort of love that pulled the rug from under you and screamed, got ya! For all the flirting, all the banter, all the tension he never expected Grace. Never expected the conservatively dressed college student who was overqualified for the position that waltzed into St. George’s to apply for a job to be the mother of his child. 

And he didn’t love her because of Whoops, either; resting his head against the cool stone of the castle, he thought back—really thought back—to the small moments. It was after Fredrich and Malia, of course, the two living together at Schloss Ritter and going through the motions. How he would always want to talk to her about the first ridiculous thought he had, and this time out of genuine want and not a need to pester her, to just hear her opinions on anything and everything. 

It crept up on him and, when it finally clicked that he might feel something, she left.  

“She returned,” Wolfgang reminded him, as if he could read his thoughts.  

“’Cause I knocked her up,” Gabriel groused petulantly. “Not for me.”  

He made a tsking noise, shaking his head disapprovingly, “my boy, for one so smart, you see so little.” 

*** 

It turned out he’d been blind for a bit. He normally hated to be wrong, because he did like to think he had some smarts under his belt, but this time? This time it was fine. More than fine. This time when Grace was in his bed, not a stitch on her body or his, he knew there would be no awkward deflections in the morning.  

She loved him.  

Not just because of the baby, but because of him.  

And he had yet to tell her how he felt. Words were caught in his throat whenever he attempted, so he did his best to show her. Oh, there was still the cheeky banter; sarcasm was his first language and Grace wouldn’t be Grace without her sassing him to kingdom come. And so, with the cheek came back rubs, foot rubs, full body rubs that often led to something else. Oh, he received just as he gave; little conservative Grace may have appeared to be a librarian outside the bedroom, but inside? Well, his memories of that night were a pale imitation, because damn.  

Mostly, it was good—damn good—because he loved her, too. Just like it was good with Malia because he loved her.  

And if he had a chance with Fredrich? It would’ve been good, too.  

He loved them, but they were gone. Grace was beside him, spent, her chest—which, not to be a total neanderthal, but damn did he appreciate what pregnancy did for her chest—heaving up and down just as his was. Both were worn out. Sex this late in pregnancy was tricky, but Grace was a diligent researcher, after all. Sometimes, like tonight, it ended with the two in euphoria and covered with sweat; sometimes it ended in a blunder, but laughter, nonetheless.  

“Should take you out on a date,” he murmured, rolling on his side when he finally caught his breath to look at her. She was blissed out, dazed, with a small smile on her face. “Come to think ‘bout it, we never went on a date.” 

She snorted, but he went on. “How ‘bout it, Gracie? Once that baby pops out,” she made a face at his choice of words, but he ignored it. “You and me, just the two of us, somewhere real fancy, too.” 

“Let me guess, Burger King?”  

“Stuff it, Grace.” 

“You already did,” Grace parried slyly, turning her head over to face him with a smug grin, parroting what he had said earlier word-for-word. “Unless you’d like to try again? After all, you’re all—what? Thirty-six? You might need more rest for round three.” 

Yes, the sass did not die out, but fondness only grew with every retort she’d make.  

The night after, when he finally told her of how he felt, and then suggested a proper name for Whoops, their daughter decided to make her way into the world.  

*** 

Rebecca Chiyo Knight. He thought they’d give her Grace’s last name, but she insisted. At first, she thought Rebecca—Bex, which was a lot better than Whoops—would be a Ritter. “I might have Ritter blood,” Gabriel had told her, “But I’m a Knight. If she’s gonna have my name, I want her to be a Knight, not a Ritter.”   

He thought he knew love. He thought he had loved Bex when she was still growing in Grace’s stomach. He was dead wrong. Again, this was a time when he wasn’t so put out on being wrong. He only wished his Gran, Grace’s parents, or even Mosely could be there to see the first few days of Bex’s life.  

They probably would’ve been there to begin with, if they, both Grace and Gabriel, hadn’t waited so long to tell them. Oh, when they did tell them, weeks before the birth, they both got an earful.  

“My dad is going to want to know your intentions with me,” Grace had told him, looking pained. “If he pressures you into popping the question, just pretend all you can hear is white noise. It’s what I do.”  

If it were possible, he’d fallen in love with her all over again.  

When he had told Mosely he had laughed so hard, so damn hard, before going, “Wait, really? You’re shitting me, Knight. You? A daddy?”  

But the love he felt for Bex? Still undefinable. Without limits. Oh, the fear was there; the sort of fear that gripped him by the neck and made it hard to breathe. The worry about his family being doomed to raise orphans after orphans, or even worse, outliving the little girl that seemed to illuminate his shadows with the brightest of lights. To even think of having that light snuffed out was unimaginable. 

He wouldn’t be able to go on. How Wolfgang did it, he’d never know, and he hoped to God he’d never find out.  

He wasn’t comfortable holding her as he walked up and down Schloss Ritter when Grace needed her rest. She squirmed and he would do his best to keep calm, tell himself he wouldn’t drop her, and did his best to soothe her. He learned earlier he shouldn’t sing if he wanted to keep her calm; that made her cry louder. After a month, though, he somewhat got the hand of it. Late night feedings came in shifts, but he grew to enjoy the times when it was his turn, because it was just him and Bex. 

The nursery was finished, but she was too small to go into the crib, so the small cradle at the side of the bed in Grace’s room was where she slept. Not that she approved of sleeping there. She enjoyed it best sleeping on someone’s chest, her head tucked under the chin, drooling as she snored softly.  

In the morning they would make their way to New Orleans to visit Gran. Grace’s parents would be there, too, which had Grace’s nerves shot. She needed the rest after wearing a hole in the ground going repeatedly on what not to say to her parents, how to greet them, and please, for the love of God, do not mention that she was Fuji in his story.  

Apparently, her mom was a fan of his books.  

He’ll never let Grace live that down, much to her annoyance. 

And it was that night, where Bex was tucked under his chin, laying on his chest, as he rested on the couch in front of a dying fire in the lounge area, where, for once, no ghosts came to guilt him or give him benediction. The night was quiet, save the soft snores of his daughter, and when the sun rose, illuminating the world with light, he noticed his daughter’s gaze, and how if he squinted, he’d probably see galaxies dancing in those eyes of hers. All babies' eyes were pale at birth, but hers remained, if not slowly changing to another vibrant hue. “She’s gonna have your eyes,” Grace had promised on the drive home from the hospital.  

He was going to have the time of his life fighting dragons alongside her. “I think you’re gonna be the best adventure I’ll ever get to have, kiddo,” and Bex smiled up at him, even if it was probably gas, he’d still swear up and down that it was a smile. “What about it? Ready to raise hell?”  

As if considering his request, even if it was unlikely because she didn’t even know her own name just yet, she stared at him with those discerning eyes. Maybe his color of eyes, or will be, but her mother’s all the same. When she made her decision, whatever it was, she gave a loud yawn and closed her eyes, a thumb going back in her mouth to soothe into another long rest.  

And the world still turned.