i am an emotional mess rn so take comfort doodlez of me amd my online dad @xflowerdad
If anyone tries to tag this as mother fucking d/d/l/g or any other fucking p/do or i/cest related fetish istfg i will fucking skin you alive, this isn't supposed to fucking be that if i catch one of you fucking creeps tagging this as such I'm blocking yo ass
Barret is in fact a dad but he’s full of plant/nature puns instead of what I’d call “dad jokes” probably... Gremix’s sense of humor is garbo so he probably actually pulls a shitty dad joke here and there
T: is the most terrifying.
I suppose that’s kinda subjective but uuuuh going by like social generalizations maybe Boss? He’s got a very black and white mindset on how he feels about people and both ends are very extreme--so if you fuck up bad to him, you can go from beloved friend, like my brother, to bleeding out slowly as ur decimated innards spill out a gaping shotgun wound in your stomach
Z: gets the most overzealous over something others wouldn't expect.
Zakzy is very mellow 99.999999% of the time but if u prod him along he will very much go into a fervent and serious rant about some nonsensical theory that dragons are infiltrating the lives of normal common mortal folks for some malign gain
I know it sounds terrible, but you have to understand—Dixie was a prostitute. Not only would that ruin my reputation, but he was conceived while I was dating the woman who had become my wife during the pregnancy. If she found out… I couldn’t bear her leaving me, I loved her so much. He was an accident, and I simply couldn’t involve myself with him.
I knew Dixie though. We had dated once upon a time. I knew she was in a bad place. I offered to pay her off; monthly stipends to keep her quiet and help take care of the kid. Wrote it off as a business expense so my wife wouldn’t get suspicious. I did what I had to.
Dixie named him Gremix.
He grew up without me around. He grew up an… angry child. Eventually as he got older, she sent him to me to “bond” or something like that. As far as my wife knew, I was merely mentoring a neighborhood kid who dreamt of being a florist like me some day. But he hated me. Not that I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t there for him, even then. I just couldn’t be.
I watched from a distance as he got older, angrier—he was a smart kid, but always so distraught. I never really understood why, but I theorize it had to do with his mother. Dixie was always a bit… sick. She needed help, but wouldn’t take it, so it probably ended up affecting her kids. I dunno. I wonder often if I had taken him in, would he have grown up happier?
I had twins with my wife; a sweet little blonde baby girl and boy. They grew up happy, peaceful, kind. I was a good father to them. I could have been a good father to him. But it was far too late.
Eventually he stopped coming around, in his early teens. He got sick of dealing with me. We didn’t get along anyways. I didn’t check up on him. Eventually I saw him around town with a redheaded girl. Hah. He must have gotten my taste in women. He wouldn’t have wanted to hear it; he didn’t want to be anything like me.
They got married eventually. I wasn’t invited to the wedding. I’m not sure I would have went.
The cartel eventually started falling apart, and I left the islands with my family. He stayed. His mom had passed away a while before that. Drank herself to death. I didn’t know what happened to him for years after. I heard the islands were attacked. Everyone left was slaughtered. I thought he was dead.
I focused on my remaining family. My kids were the lights of my life. I tried not to feel guilty about him, even though I knew I should have. If I had taken him, if I had been a father to him, maybe he would have come with me away from there. He would have lived. He would have been happy.
Eventually, I heard strange news from one of the other escapees—Gremix had been seen in Orgrimmar. He was alive. I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved. Maybe I could find him, make things right. But my wife was still an issue. I didn’t try.
She passed a few years later. I couldn’t worry about him for a while, mourning. A few more years.
I’m old. I don’t know how much time I have left here. Most goblins don’t even make it to this age. It’s their own faults, usually, but the point is, I realized I had very little time left. I had to find him.
A few old cartel buddies pointed me to Bilgewater Harbor. Apparently, he’d gotten into some business, made pretty well for himself. Had a house and everything. It was time. He was in his 30’s—it was long overdue.
I took the twins to meet him. Figured they should know their own half-brother. I’d never so much as brought him up to them before that. But they’re sweet kids. They took to him immediately, despite his extremely apparent displeasure with our presence. We spoke for a short while. His wife had died 5 or 6 years prior; to my surprise, he was with a guy now. Perhaps he didn’t have my taste after all.
It wasn’t much, but it was a quick catching up. And while I was there, I saw him. A grown man. He’s more like me than he’ll ever know. He’s got my cheekbones, my jaw, my hair. He gets my freckles when he’s out in the sun. He’s got that same look as I do in his eyes when he talks about the person he loves. He’s got my fear of abandonment; my need to take care of someone else. He’ll never see that. He doesn’t want to see it.
But though I had come to apologize, I still didn’t.
Just figured you guys should all meet before I die, I told him. It wasn’t what I came to say. I’ve always been such a coward. I couldn’t do it.
But I knew I had to. I just had to. I couldn’t handle it any longer. I know he thought little of me, figured I didn’t care; but I’ve been plagued with this guilt for so long. I needed to make amends. I needed him to forgive me.
A while passed by, and finally, I came alone.
I wanted to start over.
It’s late, I’m old, I’ve never been there for you and now you’re well into adulthood. But I want to be there for you now. I want to be your father. I’m so sorry.
You can’t mend a bridge that was never built in the first place, though.
No.
That was his answer. I wanted nothing to do with him his entire life, and because of that…
“Here we are,” Barret announced, patting each of his children on their respective shoulders as he pulled them both nearer himself. “Home sweet home.”
Fiq smiled. Not that she could see it to be properly excited. Instead, she awaited her brother’s response.
“Wow,” came his breathless voice from the other side of their father. “This is ours?”
“Yep,” Barret said. “Got a good deal on it too, on account a’ fire hazardry from the engineering joints around here. We don’t gotta worry about that stuff though.” He winked over at Faxon, prompting the two forward to the entrance. Faxon took one of Fiq’s hands, leading her in through what by now had become instinct.
“So downstairs here is the shop,” Barret explained as they entered. “The stairs round the back lead up to livin’ quarters. Rooms are kinda small but we each have our own, and there’s some amenities an’ all that. Plus we’re real close to local grocery an’ stuff, so it should be nice here, I think.”
Faxon ran his fingers over an empty glass display, mind buzzing with ideas of what to put in it… Of course, he’d have to grow it all first. He peered over to his father.
“What about–”
“Right,” Barret laughed. “Almost forgot. Nice piece of garden space out a door in the back. Think we can get decent use out of it, as well as boxes out front an’ on our windows.”
Faxon looked thrilled. “This is great,” he muttered. Pink eyes drifted to his quiet sister. “Would you like to go upstairs?” he asked.
“No, you go ahead,” Fiq said with a faint smile. “I’ll settle in later.”
The young man headed around the main counter, climbing the stairs to investigate the living space on his own, and Barret frowned down at the girl.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her knowingly. “Don’t like it here?”
“I just…” Fiq sighed, brows knitting. “I’m not certain I want to live in Dalaran. It feels wrong here. There’s so much magic around that I feel almost dizzy, and there’s non-goblin folks who could trample us, speaking languages I don’t understand. All new roads and alleys I need to become accustomed to.” Her arms folded slightly, hands rubbing the opposite upper arm in concern. “It’s just… different.”
Barret scratched at the back of his head in thought.
“Well, blossom, you don’t by any means have to stay. It’d sure be sad losin’ ya, don’t get me wrong, but… you’re a strong gal. You’ve well figured out how t’ get by without us. You could go anywhere you wanted to.”
Fiq closed her eyes and gave a quiet laugh. “I couldn’t leave you guys… you’re growing so old; who knows how long we have left together? And Faxon…”
“Don’t be silly,” Barret interrupted. “I’m liable to live forever at this rate–no old age is gonna keep me down, y'hear? An’ Fax will be fine. Maybe not havin’ you around to worry about will let the boy live–and love. I do wanna see some grandkids eventually, y'know, and judgin’ by what I know of you two, he’s gonna be my only hope.”
“Hey,” Fiq laughed. “That’s not true. Why, I even met a very nice young man a while ago…”
“Oh?” Barret asked, flopping into a seat at a little table and patting it for her to join him. “Do tell.”
Fiq blushed, hesitatingly inching towards where she had heard her father sit, moving her staff about her feet until it tapped into the second chair. Sitting, she tugged at a swirly piece of hair that hung beside her ear.
“Well, I mean, we’re not dating or anythin’, but…”
“What’s he like?” Barret pressed, grin betraying his sheer interest except that she couldn’t see it.
“He’s very sweet, Dad,” Fiq said, voice quiet as her cheeks burned. “He… he’s passionate in what he believes is right. An excellent musician. Very courteous and respectful of my blindness…”
“Did you feel him?”
“Dad!”
“Oh, come on,” Barret laughed. “I know how you get with new people you like.”
“Y-yes,” Fiq mumbled, pressing a hand to her face. “I did. He was… embarrassed, I think, as he was very warm. It was rather cute. But, um, he felt quite muscular. Strong jaw. Kinda scruffy. Goatee, mohawk, I think some scars. I feel he was rugged and handsome. R-regardless, though! It’s his kindness and gentleness I found appealing, after all.”
“A manly man, huh?” Barret asked, scratching at his jaw in thought. “Well, I suppose what matters is that he treats you right. Respect an’ kindness all the way.”
“Of course,” Fiq said. “Anyways, it’s not really like that though. Well, maybe not yet–I mean, I’m not certain how he feels about me, and we’ve only spoken so little.”
“Fiq,” Barret said, leaning an elbow into the little table and eyeing the girl. “You should go.”
“I couldn’t!”
“You aren’t gonna be happy here, that’s obvious enough. Just more life of sitting in the background while people around you do stuff you’re simply unable to participate in. I don’t want you bein’ miserable. Fax don’t either. You gotta go out an’ have your own life, y'know?”
Fiq was quiet for several moments, finally speaking again with an impish smile.
“You just want me to go give you grandkids, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Barret said, “an’ hangin’ around here you’re more liable to end up datin’ someone that can’t give me that, so go already, kid!”
Fiq laughed, shaking her head. “Fine, Dad,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. After you two are nice an’ settled in here, I’ll go find my own way in this world. I’ll have to visit often, though. I’ll miss you guys terribly.”
“Of course,” Barret said, reaching across the table to clasp one of her hands in his. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know we’ll worry about you, after all. And you’ll always have a place here to return to, I promise you that.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Fiq said. “I feel this shall be an important decision. Somewhere out there… something or someone needs me.”
Barret frowned. “Well, your weird gut feelings never seemed t’ fail you before. I wish you the best of luck in whatever that is.”
“Oh,” she laughed, gripping her staff, pale eyes drifting off as though she were looking far into the distance despite her lack of vision, “I’m quite certain I am not the one who’s gonna need it.”
“We've talked about that. It's my job. You knew about it from th' start: It's how I make a livin' for me an' my son—what's your excuse?”
“No, no—you're right, that was stupid, but—please-”
“No. I'm done! I don't want to hear it, Barret. Get out.”
“Dixie!” objected the man, ears pinned down as he gave her an exasperated look. “I'm sorry! I fucked up—I was weak. But-”
“Please!” She spun around to face him, long red hair whipping against her back and the multiple large silver hoops in each ear clattering against each other. Matching fiery eyes glinted from a furious glare that pierced into the blonde florist like daggers. “This ain't the first time and we both know it won't be th' last. I'm tired of the games. I deserve better, Barret. You can obviously get any other woman you want—so leave me alone.”
“I don't want them! Dixie, I love you. I swear it.” Hands clasped hers; the plea near desperate. “It won't happen again, a'right? I really mean it this time—I promise.”
“No. Fuck off.”
“Dixie-”
“You don't care about me.” She shook her head, snatching her hands back out of his and holding them close to her person. “You look down on me, you always have, because of the life I live-”
“So quit!”
“What?! An' do what, exactly? I'm not exactly a craftsman, Barret, an' we can't all make a livin' off growin' gods-damned flowers.”
“No, but...” He swallowed. “Look, jus' quit, a'right? You can stay with me, an' I'll take care of you and your kid—you won't have to sell your body anymore, we can get you off th' booze an' to a doctor-”
“You're STILL DOIN' IT!” Dixie nearly cackled in disbelief, throwing her hands in the air and turning her back to him, stepping away. “I don't have a problem with my lifestyle, an' my kid has a name. You want t' own me, control me—change me?! What is it you actually like about me then, huh? Nothin'. You love some imaginary woman you invented in your head. It ain't me, Barret. This is me.”
“I want to help you,” he said. His voice was quiet, sad. “You need help, Dixie.”
A leer tossed over her shoulder, but it carried a questioning undertone.
“What do you mean, I need help?” she spat. “I do well enough on my own. I haven't needed you once.”
“Not like that, Dixie, you're...” He shuffled his feet about quietly as he considered his wording. “...sick.”
She scoffed. “You think I'm crazy,” she said. “Just like every other asshole on this shit-pile island. Look out! It's Dixie the crazy prostitute! Fuck you, Barret. Get out.”
“Please-”
“If I'm sick, if I'm crazy, your adulteratin' bullshit sure won't help me!” she argued. “If I need help, I don't want it from a man that plays with my emotions, who uses me—you're nothin' but a client that thinks himself above payin'.”
“That's not true, Dixie. I really do care about you! Yeah, I'm—I'm dumb, sometimes, when you're not aroun', an I'm sorry. I'll work on it, I swear. I'll change. But I really think you'd be better off, though, if you jus' came an' lived with me—we can... we can get married, if it'll comfort you, even. I'll do that for you. An', an' I'll be his dad—Raz is a cute kid, I mean, I'll raise him like my own an'-”
“Leave.”
Clenched fists and a deep breath and... he did just that.
He left.
There was no winning it. There was no getting her back, no saving her; he'd fucked that up and it was clear. He'd been her only chance—the only person he knew of around here who ever saw her as more than her job, the only person who wanted to help her escape what she'd become; and more than anything, the only person she had trusted enough that he possibly could have done it. And he screwed it up. He let the door click shut behind him before any sound joined the frustrated, regretful tears that welled in his eyes and streamed down freckled cheeks.
How long had it been since he saw her? 8… 9 months? He certainly hadn't expected to see her when he answered what had been a surprise knock at his front door late one cold night, that was for sure. Nor had he particularly wanted to.
His heart sank, and a prickle at the back of his neck forewarned of trouble as his eyes dropped to the bundle in her arms… a tiny, green… baby.
“It's yours.”
“Are you… sure?”
“Barret, my clientele ain't exactly bustlin' with blondes, an' besides I use protection with them. You insisted it 'wasn't the same' an' made me not. I noticed it a few weeks after you left—it's yours.”
He cleared his throat, eyeing the infant. It certainly seemed likely. It had a similar skin tone, a puff of fluffy, fine blonde hair…
“Well, what are you expectin' me to do, exactly?”
“Take it.”
“I—I can't take it.”
“Well I don't want it! I already have a child and I can hardly afford to care for him! An' the last thing I want is a piece of you around my home-”
Barret shushed her, frantic hand cupping her mouth (much to her chagrin, glowering at him in response.)
“Look—I, I'm kinda engaged here, I can't… another woman's kid, y'know? It won't fly-”
“Why not?” Dixie scoffed, swatting Barret's hand away. “Jus' say it's from before an'-”
“It's not, though.”
“Wh...” Dixie looked confused, but realization came to her eyes as she stared at the man. “You… you're with the woman you cheated on me for?”
“Y-yeah,” he muttered.
“And she didn't know about me.”
“...No.”
She shook her head slowly. “You're really somethin', Barret. An' by somethin', I mean fuckin' garbage. What th' fuck am I supposed t' do?!”
“Keep it—look, I'll help out, okay, jus'… jus' keep it on th' down-low for me, could ya?”
“Help out?” She looked doubtful.
“Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll give you some funds t' take care of it every month or whatever-”
“You'll give me more than that. I'm gonna be a single workin' mother with two boys. That's a taxin' situation, bucko.”
Barret grit his teeth, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. Not like he could fight her—she was holding her upper hand in a bundle of blankets in her arms as they spoke. If his fiancee found out… well, he imagined it would go about as well as Dixie finding out did.
“Fine. Fine!”
“I'm not hidin' it from him, either.”
“I can't have a kid comin' around callin' me Pops, Dixie.”
“He won't.” She rolled her eyes. “You don't want nothin' to do with raisin' him? You think he's gonna want anythin' to do with you after I tell him that?”
“Maybe...”
“As if.”
He stared at the child, which cracked its eyes open and squinted up at its parents with all the mystified confusion of someone brand new to the world. Bright magenta eyes, so fresh and innocent… Barret couldn't help but crack a smile. In any other situation, he'd be overjoyed—he'd helped create a tiny, adorable, brand-new life with a woman he'd loved, and now… he was fighting not to be a part of any of it. The smile wilted, and he peered back up at Dixie.
“I'm sorry. I didn't think...”
“You never think, Barret. That's your fuckin' problem.”
“I'll help out financially, I promise. But that's all I can offer.”
“I guess that's enough,” she huffed.
“Please, jus' don't tell anyone-”
“No, fine. It was an accident. I have so many clients, I can never know for sure. Jus' like last time, except this time it's a lie. I got it, Barret. You better stand by your word.”
“I will.”
She turned, and one heel-click on concrete later, he called out to her, and she paused again.
“Wait,” he said, holding a hand up as though he meant to grab her—but he didn't, fingers curling into a nervous fist, the man chewing his lip briefly before he continued. “What's his name?”
Dixie glanced over her shoulder, scrutinizing him. That was just above the level she expected him to care, and she cocked her head.
