#bastardized

For @whistlebrox and @someaholic

I'm in the middle of chapter 2 but it's too good not to make art for.

draken loves you, and he cherishes your daughter.

fuck you @souyawn eat my dust 😒 anyway this wasn’t meant to be so long, not proofed at all and i wrote it in the car, nothing, just fluff, just dad draken, just draken being a dad, just yes

you’ve heard first impressions are important. the type of thing that sticks in someone’s mind forever; decides whether they’ll be able to really stomach you or not. you noticed three things about draken when you first spoke to him. his hair (and lack thereof), the way he held himself around his friends— even briefly—, and his bordering on ridiculous height.

you didn’t think that such trivial things about him would really stick with you forever; nor did you think they’d be your favorite things about him as a father.

“second, babe.” you’ve gotta go. you’ve called to him three times in the last five minutes, which seemed to prove worthless at the dismissal. she was going to be late, you knew she was going to be late, he knew she was going to be late, you’re pretty sure even she knows she’s about to be late.

okay. you’re being dramatic— you promised yourself you wouldn’t be an uptight mom, that the two of you would be ‘cool parents’, but this was a big day. so, no harm done if you just go and check on them.

full harm done. very full harm done. very full, loving, relaxing harm done. in full, arbitrated glory draken has your daughter sat on her booster seat at your vanity, child friendly hair products placed near them. your daughter looks fascinated, wide eyes gleaming in the mirror at herself, weighted fingers pointing at your husband in the reflection.

he’s got his fingers stretched out, loosely separating three segments of her hair. “that’s right, ‘s how i do it every morning.” he snickers at the way her eyes lock on his single braid, grin soft on her. “don’t worry, we won’t shave your head— unless you really want to.”

it’s her first day there. you know she’s supposed to be there at 8:30, you know its 8:13, you know it takes approximately 16 minutes to drive to her day care without speeding (which you think is much too long), and you can’t find it in you to care.

you watch. you watch, quietly, as he explains to her what he’s doing, you watch as he braids her hair so gently you’re surprised it’s sticking, you watch as she exclaims as the braid starts to come together, and your heart aches when she claps her hands together and babbles the word ‘matching’ when he’s done.

“gonna keep standing there like a stalker?” he’s talking to you, of course, but he’s still attentive on his daughter, picking her up and carrying her at his side.

“well, c’mon. she’s gonna be late.”

“daddy!” she’s almost shrieking. she’s in a phase you’ve heard where she’s extremely sensitive to new things, emotional, overwhelmed, and in need of good, parental support.

he’s there without a second thought, crouching down in front of her with observant eyes. “what’s up, sweet girl?” her eyes are so big it’s almost unreal, and they’re unruly with the tears on her lash line. grubby hands hold up two parts of a toy you’re sure was one piece before.

“i dropped my favorite toy,” he sits there without a hint of annoyance. he waits for her to finish through every hiccup of her voice, and even if it’s such a short sentence you still think his never wavering patience is admirable.

“that right?” his hands, which look ridiculous in comparison to her own, hover over the broken plastic. “mind if i take this really quick?” she shakes her head, hiccups turning into quivering lips as she watches him grab the pieces of the toy from her hands. ken examines it for a second, and then her, and then the toy again.

“well this is just no good.” he clicks his tongue, placing the ruined entertainment on the ground next to him.

“no good.” she attempts to do the same, her higher tone still pouty, and the click of her tongue sounds more like a slobbery exhale.

“right, you get it. i just can’t have this for my best girl, can i?” you almost want to laugh at the scene in front of you. he’s so diligent with her, calms her without even trying to, and he loves her with everything he has.

“well, first things first i gotta get you another one of these things.” she lights up, and then simmers back down, trying to mimic her fathers attitude. “but for now…” he trails off, head turning as he scans the room. you’re both aware she has a plethora of toys and she will quite easily get over this one, but he still plays into it, sympathizes with her.

“gotcha,” he lifts himself up with ease, smiling at you as he makes his way over to the book shelf you have lined with pointless trinkets. he grabs at one of the few toy motorcycles he collected in middle school— something you find adorable, that he finds remotely embarrassing—, turning back to her in no time.

“you gotta keep this secret, alright?” he’s back at eye level with her, equal with her. “this bike right here is the most important thing i own.” she’s fascinated with it. he’s so good at this. “i’ve been waiting my whole life to give it to someone who deserves to hold it, and i think that someone might just be you.” a tiny gasp leaves her already open mouth and his lips twitch up with yours.

“you think you can handle that?” she’s nodding, hurried, arms itching to reach for it but before she can move to grab at it he’s handing it to her.

“course you can. you’re my daughter after all.”

you’ve been walking for what must feel like an eternity to someone with barely any legs. she wanted to go to the park, and of course you wanted to oblige.

“‘m tired.” her hand is loose around kens, brows furrowed and eyes sunk in. she amplifies her response with a large yawn, dramatic and loud and definitely a play at heart strings. “can we go home?”

“sure thing.” he turns on his heel instantly. “want me to carry you?” you often wonder in moments like this what you did to deserve the life you’re leading, or if you ever thought you’d be here. it’s perfect; every ‘non-perfect’ thing is perfect, every argument and long night and unimportant mess is perfect because it’s them.

“no, don’t wanna.” he nods and then carries on, making sure you’re walking along side them before he starts again. not thirty seconds go by before your daughter speaks up.

“daddy, my legs hurt.” he hums, long drawn out ‘hmm’ leaving him and rumbling in his throat.

“want me to carry you on my shoulders?” now that’s an interesting proposition. your daughter loves being tall, especially taller than draken. she likes to stand on her step stool when he’s sitting to look down at him, and she always asks you to pick her up in front of him. and clearly she’d be taller than him if she was above him.

she nods so fast you’re worried she’ll hurt her neck. he crouches down again, lifting her gently over his head. he gets up slowly, muscles flexing under his clothes as he rises timidly enough to make sure she’s balanced.

“how’s the air up there? cleaner right?” he chuckles when he feels her nod once more; you know if he said the sky was purple she’d agree with him. he walks with slow steps, cautious of his movements as he holds onto her legs.

he doesn’t flinch once when she grabs onto his face or tugs at his hair a little bit. he doesn’t complain when a little smidge of enthused drool drips onto his head. you don’t think he’ll ever say one bad word about her.

draken’s a good dad, and you have a really good daughter.

Flag of Japan but it's a bastardized version of an Olympic logo

bastardized, those plundered words 

left strewn across space. 

Treecko pattern is now up for sale! https://www.etsy.com/ca/listing/641014047/pattern-treecko?ref=shop_home_active_1