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procalpal · 6 months ago

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31 Aug 2024 | 11:26PM

Life in numbers

For many years my entire life has been revolved around numbers.

How many calories are in this? How many slices should I eat? How much weight have I lost/gained? What size pants am I now? How many days until I can binge again? How many hours since I last ate? It's only 11am, that's too early for breakfast. It's past 6PM, I shouldn't eat anymore.

Numbers mean so much to me. They are the centre of my every thought. Food following a close - almost equal - second place in my fuzzy brain.

Everything is revolved around numbers.

Today, I ate up to 620 calories of food until 7PM. Then I was out having dinner with a friend. I ordered the appetiser size of the chicken katsu, a small bowl of miso soup and a diet coke.

I thought that should be all. I may still be below 1200 calories - my daily calorie goal. But as dinner finished up, and I noticed the time, having only spent less than an hour with my friend, I knew we had to do something else. With it being the weekend, there wasn't much else we could do other than getting dessert.

A little bit of sweetness couldn't do too much harm right? I've been good all day. I've controlled my hunger and sweet cravings all day. I deserve this treat.

I will just offer to share so that I don't eat too much.

After dessert the sweet cravings would not go away. I bid farewell and we went our separate ways. I decided I deserved more sweets. I went to the closest grocery store and thought that a serving of "Hello Panda"s will satisfy and I shall make my way home.

The thing with living within the heart of the city is that venues close late, everything is within a walking distance and they are all terribly good at advertising.

I went to the store, walked through all the aisles and started my regular scan of calories, fats, carbs and sugar. Wanting to eat everything in sight, but putting everything back once I caught a glimpse of the nutrition numbers.

I noticed a woman doing the same, then it hits me that people are for sure watching me. They know I have a problem. They know why I'm checking the back of everything I pick up.

Upon realising that everything is too much, too many calories and carbs and fats and sugars. I opt for two mandarins, strawberries and a tub of zero sugar, 120 calories-a-tub ice cream.

Once I left the grocery store, I stumble upon an asian grocery store just across the previous store I was in. Perfect! They have the "Hello Pandas" conveniently displayed by the windows. I will buy a packet.

And so I do. Plus a packet of pea chips.

Making my way back home again I eat the "Hello Pandas". When I finish the snack, I think in my head that there is another asian grocery on the way, again.

I tell myself, if it's closed then it's the sign that should deter me from buying another snack.

I reach the store and it's closed. I'm disappointed, but a part of me is relieved.

But not a second longer I remember that conveniently, a convenience store is just by the crossing near my place. A packet of chips shouldn't hurt me.

So I buy some chips. Then finally I force myself to really go home now.

I shower, assemble the snacks I bought and begin a movie. In between snacks, I make a mug cake, melt some chocolate for the strawberries, grab some lollies from my pantry, eat some kimchi from the fridge. Every part of my brain is screaming at me.

Telling me just how disgusting I look. I avoid seeing reflections of my face, afraid to see that disgusting puffiness of my cheeks or the double chin adorning my already pimply cheeks and chin.

I refrain from body checking. But I still catch a glimpse. Knowing that my stomach is bloated, poking through my pajamas. I'm disgusted.

I hate the way my skin feels. The stiffness of my stomach because of how much I have gobbled down my throat. The feeling of my arms in the sleeves of my pyjama top.

I hate feeling weight. I hate feeling full.

But I also hate feeling hungry. Depleted of all energy.

There's no happy medium. I constantly think of food. Of how good a soft, sweet and moist cake would feel between my teeth right now.

I hate this. I want to have a good relationship with my body and food. I want to so badly eat, without feeling guilty after, without thinking of all these numbers that run through my head. Without thinking of how much I have to run to burn off all the calories I just consumed.

I want all of this, but I also want to be sick. I want to be sickly thin. I want people to look at me and think I'm small.

I don't want to be fat. I hate fat. I hate.

I hate telling people I don't like the taste of something, to make people think I'm a picky eater. When in reality, it's because I hate the amount of calories or carbs are in that food.

I hate ordering noodle soups just sip on the soup and leave the noodles aside. People telling me that I'm missing the best part. I know I am.

I love pasta, I love burgers, I love sushi, I love ice cream, I love pizza, I love cookies, I love cake, I love food. I love food. I love food. I love food.

But I hate weight. I hate calories, I hate fat, I hate sugar, I hate bloatedness. I hate being big, I hate not fitting into clothing. I hate. numbers.

I haven't had my period the past two months. People think it's stress. And maybe it is. But I know it's from not eating enough. While on holiday, I only ate about 1 proper meal a day. Only drinking a quarter of every drink I buy, taking about 3 spoons of food I order. And the majority of the food I ate were fruits. And now coming back home, I eat less than 1200 calories a day.

Until now, I just ate everything in sight.

But tomorrow that's changing. Even though I want a healthy body. I'm not thin enough. I'm going between 52-53kgs and I want to be in the 40s. September I am taking back control. I am going to lose that weight.

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the-sugar-crash · 3 years ago

Note

Could I request comfort from the damn poly boys(with Gavin, romantic) for them taking care of the fl after they got their wisdom teeth removed. Got mine taken out yesterday and it sucks

Did I ignore a couple of my other requests to get to this one? Yes. But this one seemed a little time sensitive. I got mine out a couple years ago and it was not fun. But I did get to sit in bed all day and watch Howls Movie Castle 12 times in a row, so that was fun. I hope you’re feeling okay and that everything heals well! Remember no straws for at least two weeks! Enjoy~~

(Also we’re ignoring the fact that technically magic could be used to fix everything, but that doesn’t make a very cute story)

CW: mentions of blood, medication,

Damien is in charge of the meds

He has alarms set, everything is measured and set out on the counter in order of times the Freelancer has to take it

He’s on top of it

He wanted to be in charge of the ice pack duty too, but since his hands are so warm, the packs are half melted by the time he gets them from the kitchen to the couch

So he makes Lasko carry the packs to the Freelancer on the couch

Damien was also the one who basically interrogated the doctor for 10 minutes once the Freelancer was done with the surgery so he could learn all the proper care steps

Gavin is the one filming everything while they’re still coming off of the anesthesia

Obviously he wouldn't ask the Freelancer about any topics they would normally avoid, but he does sit in the back seat with them as they ramble about whatever their brain can come up with

He would never show anyone outside of the five of them the videos he took, he just likes to watch them later

And maybe slightly tease the Freelancer about it later

Lasko is the one to drive everyone to the doctors, while Damien sat in the passenger seat pouring over pamphlets

When they get home they set the Freelancer up on the couch with anything they could need and settle in to watch a movie

Well, the four of them watch a movie, the Freelancer fell asleep about 15 minutes in

Damien wakes them up to change their gauze and take the meds they need

Anytime the Freelancer complains about their cheeks being sore, they make each of their boyfriends give them a light kiss on the cheek

“Kiss it better?”

And how can they say no to a face like that?

Well, they do for the first couple of hours, instead giving them a forehead kiss because they don’t want to accidentally agitate anything

But eventually they do give them cheek kisses

But they are all very careful to do it lightly

Huxley and Damien are in charge of food preparation

Well, Hux tries to help, but Damien kinda takes over

Listen, Damien hates seeing the people he cares about in pain or really even slightly uncomfortable, but with stuff like after surgery care, there’s a clear list of things to do and things not to do, so this is his specialty.

He just wants to help, but he’s also still a slight perfectionist

But they make a lot of soup for the Freelancer to enjoy, and they make sure there’s leftovers so they have something to reheat later

Once the Freelancer gets most of the sleep out of their system, they spend what's left of the day watching movies while cuddling with their boyfriends and switching between eating ice cream and soup

They have to have two ice packs on their cheeks to help with the swelling, so they feel back leaning against Huxley’s chest as a pillow, but he insists that he’s fine and that he can handle it

And when they fall asleep on the couch after movie number 4, Huxley carries them to bed

Basically the Freelancer is treated like the royalty they are for the next week at least.

It's short I know, but I hope you enjoyed either way. Feel better soon :)

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Summary: Spencer is not that kind of doctor, but he'll always come when Y/N needs him, even if germs are involved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Warnings: One cuss (sh!t), kisses, small insecurities

Word Count: 2.5 k (was not supposed to be this long but I'm a monster)

Author's Note: From this list (3, 12, 14) since I hit 300 followers! Thank you! This request is from @willowrose99 (look for the bold)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Spencer’s half done with his third book that weekend when his phone rang. A weekend spent in the company of Nietzsche and Sartre is, according to Spencer at least, a weekend well spent. He can feel the relaxation that settles in his bones come crashing down as he phone rings.

Thinking it’s Hotch calling the team in for an unexpected case, Spencer, lethargically, walks over to answer the phone. However, realizing the caller is not his boss pulling him away from a restful weekend, but Y/N, his heart rushes with a sudden urge of excitement.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts. He’s more than happy to have Y/N interrupt his weekend; they even made plans for a day out on Saturday at the new Anthropology museum that opened downtown. But all of Spencer’s made up plans fall in front of his face, as he hears Y/N’s quiet sniffles.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know that you’re probably enjoying your rest, but I guess I have a cold. One of the kids at school, I suppose,” Y/N tells him in between sniffles. Her voice is scratchy and Spencer tries not to think about how his brain seems to short circuit at the way his name sounds.

“I’m coming over,” Spencer says, cutting her off. He doesn’t like doing that, in fact he hates when that happens to him, but right now he knows that Y/N is going to try her hardest to stop him from coming over.

“No Spence, it’s germs. You hate germs and I’m really gross and snotty and—”

“Stop, Y/N. Don’t say another word. I’m on my way” Spencer says. He feels a little guilty for hanging up on her, but he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer she’d end up convincing him that he didn’t need to rush over. There’s not a lot of people in this world that can convince Spencer to change his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Y/N is one of them.

Spencer walks into his bedroom, looking for some supplies like a man on a mission. He decides to pack a small bag for the next three days. He’s off from work anyway, why not spend that time making sure Y/N gets better. Spencer packs away a couple of sweaters, flannel pajama pants and two thermal shirts. In the back of his drawer he spots a very old college tee shirt.

A memory, an early memory with Y/N, comes flooding to the surface. They got caught in a rainstorm after a picnic in the nearby park. Spencer changed into his comfortable tee shirt and pajamas. He would never forget the look on Y/N’s face; the way the rain collected on her glasses and for some reason she had yet to wipe them off. She called him an angel. Maybe it’s for bringing her some warm clothes or maybe she’s slightly on edge from their dash into Spencer’s apartment. Whatever it was that made her call him an angel, Spencer never wanted her to call him anything else. Besides his own name, in that scratchy sick voice that made him feel a little guilty for liking so much.

Spencer collects some other things he needs for his stay. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush, and his hair serum that Y/N says she likes the way it smells. When she told him that, Spencer could hardly wait to buy the entire supply from the CVS down the street. He tucks away in this bag with a small smile.

Walking out of his apartment, Spencer locks up and makes his way down to his car. He glances at his watch, realizing that it only took him a couple of minutes to get ready for Y/N. Quicker than what it takes for him to get ready for an emergency case. Then again, tending to a sick Y/N seems much pleasurable then looking at served bodies and mangled limbs.

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After making a pit stop at a small convenience store near Y/N’s apartment, Spencer pulls into the guest parking spot near her complex. He attempts to shoulder the weight of his go bag; even though he only packed a couple philosophy books, they are quite dense. In his hands, he grasps the grocery bags.

Y/N’s apartment, thankfully, is on the first floor. Spencer approaches the door and thinks twice about knocking or ringing the doorbell. The last thing he wants to do is wake a sick Y/N up. He rummages in his pants for his car keys. Attached to the keys is a cat keychain with a spare key to Y/N’s apartment. Balancing the groceries and his own bag, Spencer quietly attempts to open Y/N’s door without possibly waking her up.

Once he finally gets the door open, Spencer realizes all too late that a large orange cat guards the tight hallway entrance. Spencer Reid, though a genius in his own right, is completely aware of the fact that he has two left feet.

“Oh, Zelda! Oh shit!,” Spencer yells as he trips over Zelda, Y/N’s orange cat. Zelda, scared from the noise, leaps from her spot guarding the hallway to the kitchen. Spencer brushes himself from his fall and picks up the groceries that fell during his tumble.

“Zelda, baby?” Y/N calls from what sounds like the couch from the other side of the wall.

“Hi Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just Spencer,” He says, placing the oranges back in his canvas bag and on the kitchen table. He sees Y/N laying on the couch. Surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues, she smiles weakly at Spencer. He walks over to her and like an involuntary muscle, she scoots her feet so Spencer has room to sit.

Spencer, setting the beg on the floor, tucks Y/N’s legs over his. He rests a comforting hand on her calf that’s covered by a worn quilt.

“You didn’t have to come Spencer. I’m really okay, I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ghosting you this weekend,” Y/N explains. The TV has been left on, but on mute. The colorful lights illuminate Y/N’s face in her dimly lit apartment.

“Nonsense, Y/N. What are friends for,” Spencer offers, wondering beyond belief if he messed up calling them friends. Their relationship had been quite strange for the past couple of weeks. Intense moments of silence where Spencer thinks he’d have the time to memorize every freckle on her nose or small grazes from fingers to wrists where Spencer swears she left scars that he hope would never heal.

“Friends,” Y/N says quietly. Spencer, offering a tight lipped smile, leans forward to straighten the blankets under Y/N’s chin. He presses the back of his hand towards Y/N’s forehead, feeling her warm skin under his knuckles. He’s not sure if the heat he feels is from her bug or from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at being this close to Y/N.

“You’re hot,” Spencer says, not moving his hand from Y/N’s forehead. She, loving the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, uncovers her arm from under the blankets and holds onto his wrist, keeping him attached to her forehead. Not that he’d want it any other way.

“So are you,” Y/N says. Spencer flinches and moves his hand from her forehead like she scorched his hand. In reality, her comment pierced his heart with hope.

“How much cough syrup did you take?” Spencer asks, choosing to face the situation with humor. There’s no way in the world Y/N could ever find him “hot” without the aid of cough syrup or another mind numbing substance.

“None,” Y/N says, reaching around to turn off the television. Spencer, getting increasingly nervous as the minutes of that intense silence passed, mentions to Y/N that he needs to put the groceries away.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Spence. I feel bad enough that you came here just to get sick yourself,” Y/N says. She’s folding the blankets that she was just resting under.

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Y/N” Spencer says, his breath catching and his eyes latching onto Y/N. He looks at her too long and there’s that intense silence again. Silence that is as thick as fog. Spencer can’t see facts through all the love that swallows him whole looking at Y/N.

“Maybe I knew that, and maybe that’s why I called you,” Y/N murmurs quietly, almost like she’s more scared to admit it to herself than to Spencer.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, breaking her gaze to put the half melted tub of green tea ice cream in the freezer.

“I think I’m going to shower, I need to put a fresh pair of pajamas on. I’ll be right out,” Y/N tells him, turning on her heel and leaving Spencer along with his thoughts.

Spencer can hear the water from the shower turn on. He estimates that Y/N will take at least 5 minutes in the shower, accounting for a margin of error, he supposes that he should start to heat the soup he bought from the store now, so it’s ready for Y/N when she’s done in the shower. Too bad all Spencer’s brain power is good for his statistics and numbers, not recipes and romance.

As it turns out, not a single statistic, nor a single digit could account for the possibility of Y/N walking out her bedroom, her hair damp and skin practically glowing, wearing Spencer’s worn college tee shirt. Spencer reckons that his eyes must have been bugging out from his head, given the spirited smile Y/N wears.

“I’m sorry, Spence, you know how much I love this tee shirt. I was putting some of your stuff away in your drawer and I saw this and I just couldn’t help myself. God it even smells a little bit like that hair gunk you wear,” Y/N rambles. She stands, leaning on her door frame, staring at Spencer who holds a wooden spoon that he used to stir the soup.

“You look like an angel,” Spencer says before he can stop himself. He just knows that his face is flaming red.

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, her voice light and hopeful. Spencer recognizes something in it. It’s the way his voice sounds when he talks to her, about her, with her. He can only hope that this is the way she always talks to him. He hopes with every fiber of his being that she uses that light and hopeful voice with him and only him.

“Of course Y/N. Then again, even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d still remember every single detail about you,”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty about stealing your shirt. You’re being all sweet and kind with me, it makes me fuzzy in the head,” Y/N confesses. She walks to her kitchen table, slowly closing the gap between her and Spencer.

“Keep it, it looks better on you anyway,” Spencer tells her. Her eyes grow big at his words and she presses her lips together like she’s holding something in. But something in her switches. Something in her grows a little sad and Spencer watches before his eyes as Y/N withdraws into herself.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, Spencer. You can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to love you more than I already do,” Y/N says, her eyes shut and her lips pinched so tightly that it almost looks painful.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts, unsure what he’s supposed to say. His brain always seems to be playing catch up around Y/N. “Can I say it if I do love you back?”

Y/N eyes flutter open and narrow at Spencer, as if she’s reading him. Her eyes scan for any sign of a joke, of a prank, of Spencer trying to trick her. Maybe he should be upset that Y/N is doubting him, but all Spencer can feel is hatred for the person that made her doubt herself so much to not believe him.

“I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with you, Y/N. No one else has made me feel truly me except you, Y/N,” Spencer professes, setting down the wooden spoon on the counter to reach Y/N’s hand.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way, Spence. I love you, God. That feels so good to say,” Y/N says, letting out a strained laugh. Spencer standing up next to her, places his hands on Y/N cheeks, and tries to lean in lower to kiss her, but Y/N’s finger on his lips stops his movement.

“I’m so sorry, I should have asked. I thought that this is-” Spencer stammers, suddenly very concerned that he violated Y/N in some way.

“Shhh, angel. It’s okay. I want you to kiss me. I really do, but I just want you to tell the facts on you getting sick if you kiss me,” Y/N says, not moving her finger from Spencer’s soft lips. He kisses her finger and grasps her hand with his.

“Sorry, I just had to do that,” Spencer smirks, “but to answer your question, unless you have a bad cough, and some of the respiratory mucus has made its way into your saliva, the cold virus will not be transmitted by kissing,”

“That’s good, so please kiss me, Spencer,” Y/N practically begs, eager for Spencer to leave pieces of him all over her. Eager for him to leave physical evidence of the marking he’s already left on her heart.

“You just might have to take care of me next week,” Spencer counters, peppering kisses over her jaw, knowing he’s purposely avoiding her lips.

“Spencer, I’m sick! Don’t tease me, just kiss me,” Y/N whines, and Spencer caves. He leans in slowly, meeting his lips to Y/N’s. It was the kiss that Spencer knew he’d be waiting for. A kiss that seals fate without a return address. A kiss that reminds him that he’s alive. A kiss that says forever and always.

Spencer, resting his chin against Y/N’s head, closes his eyes. The intense silence that existed between them, now is this light and hopeful air.

“Y/N, do you use my hair gunk?” Spencer asks. He can’t help but giggle with her and breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He places three kisses on Y/N’s head and gently pushes her hair to the side to kiss down the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure what I love more, the smell of your hair gunk or the man that wears it,”

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supernatural-fangirl1967 · 4 years ago

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Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x Reader

Warnings: Injury, Fluff

Word Count: 2,129

Square Filled: Ice Cream Date

A/N: This was written for @spnfluffbingo. Please let me know what you think!

“Your mother is going to kill me for this," you sigh as you give your niece a pointed look.

"Sorry," she giggles.

"This isn't funny, Amber," you tell her as you walk over to sit down beside of her on the hospital bed. "Do you know that you could have been seriously injured?”

“Yes, Ma'am," the five year old says as she withers underneath your gaze.

"When I told you to slow the bike down and to put both hands on the handle bars, this is why."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

You sigh and carefully wrap an arm around her little body. "I don't need you to be sorry," you tell her softly. "I need you to be safe and to promise me that you will start listening to me."

"Okay," she frowns.

"I know that I've been the cool aunt so far but you have got to understand that there has to be limits."

"So, how's the little tree hugger doing today?"

You scowl as the doctor walks into the room and he gives you a friendly smile. "Tree hugger?" you ask him. "My niece almost breaks her neck wrecking her bike and you're making jokes about it?"

The doctor chuckles as he walks over towards Amber's bed. "I see that someone is still living the adrenaline high," he smiles. "Now, do I need to make sure that there aren't any pointy objects around when I ask if you'll kindly get off the bed, or do you think that that's a safe question?"

You roll your eyes as you stand up off the bed and walk over to plop down in the chair. You pull your phone out and you type out a reply to one of the hundreds of texts that your sister has sent you in the past two minutes.

"Of course, you just had to go and break your arm while your parents were vacationing out of town," you sigh as you look over at Amber once more.

"I take it that you're the aunt," the doctor says as he smile over at you.

"Guilty as charged," you tell him as you squint a bit to read his nametag. "Doctor Winchester."

"Dean," he smiles.

"Fine. Dean," you say and you stand up off of the chair before walking over towards the hospital bed once more. "Is the wild child going to be okay?"

"Well, we still need to run a head x-ray for good measure," Dean tells you as he softly prods Amber's arm a bit, wincing when she lets out a pitiful whine. "I know, sweetheart," Dean tells her softly before continuing to answer your question. “But right now the big thing is getting this arm in a cast."

"It's broke?" you ask him.

"X-rays showed a break and a small hairline fracture near the wrist," Dean nods. "But don't worry." He turns around to face you and you are starting to get a little bit annoyed by his sunny attitude. "A cast, some good pain medicine, plenty of rest, and some ice cream should make that arm feel as good as new."

"Great," you sigh. "I guess now I know where I have to stop when we leave here."

Dean chuckles before turning to face Amber once more. "We'll get that arm fixed up for you and make sure that there's no more damaged, and then you be sure that your aunt takes you to get some ice cream."

"Okay," she giggles.

Dean looks over at you and you can see a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Or," he smiles. "I might ought to tag along to make sure that your aunt there follows doctor's orders."

Your mouth drops open. "Please tell me that you didn't just ask me out on a date."

"I don't know," Dean shrugs with a smirk on his face. "What did it sound like to you?"

"It sounded like you just went the round about way of asking me out on a date."

"Well," Dean smiles as he stands up straight and crosses his arms over his chest. "I must be smoother than I thought."

You roll your eyes and take a deep breath. "Fine," you sigh. "You can tag along."

Dean smiles before turning to face Amber once more. "I can clock out in an hour. Meet me by the side door to the emergency room once this little gal gets all fixed up."

"Alright," you tell him.

Dean gives Amber a wink before walking over to one of the cabinets and pulling out a sucker. "Here," he smiles as he hands it over to Amber. "You've earned it."

When Dean walks out of the room, you walk over to Amber and take the sucker out of her hand. She pouts up at you but you give her a stern look.

"If you eat the sucker then that means no ice cream."

"Nevermind," Amber smiles.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," you say and you walk over to sit down in the chair once more.

"Well, someone's looking a lot less stressed," Dean says as you carry Amber out of the emergency room and over towards him.

"Yeah," you sigh as you carefully let go of Amber. "Sorry about being so uptight while ago with everything. With my sister and brother-in-law being away on vacation, I'm in charge of Amber and if something happened to her while in my care.."

"I get it," Dean says as he holds a hand up at you to stop your rambling. "Why don't we just go get some ice cream into that girl because if we don't follow doctor's orders, then her arm might not heal properly."

"You're full of it," you laugh as you motion Amber over to your car.

"I can drive us," Dean tells you.

"That's alright," you smile. "Amber's carseat is in my car anyways."

"I have a carseat." You give Dean a look and he laughs. "I have a niece too, so when I told you that I understood, I meant it. Believe me."

"Fine," you smile. "We'll ride with you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Slow down there, sweetheart," Dean chuckles as Amber takes big bites off her ice cream cone. "There's no cure for brain freeze you know." Amber giggles as she tilts her chair forward so that she's able to reach the napkins on the table.

"Sit down in your chair!" you scold as you reach over to help her. "We don't need you falling and breaking your other arm."

"Someone needs to relax," Dean says, hiding his smile behind his cone when you scowl over at him.

"I will relax once I get that kid wrapped up completely in bubble wrap," you tell him.

"(Y/N), I'm all sticky."

"Go to the bathroom and grab some wet paper towels," you tell her. Amber nods before jumping down out of her chair and running over towards the doors that have the big ice cream cones on them. "And be careful to not get the cast wet."

"Yes, Ma'am," Amber says sweetly before running on inside. Sighing, you glance down at your melting ice cream before looking over at Dean.

"Be honest. How uptight have I been?" you ask him.

"You kidding me?" Dean smiles. "This is technically a first date you know and you've got me scared to make a move."

"Oh, like the fact that there's a five year old sitting across the table from us hasn't stopped you."

"That's never been an issue on any previous dates," Dean smirks at you and you roll your eyes a bit at him.

"I guess that I could probably calm down a little bit," you say and you take a bite of what was once a bowl of ice cream and is now more like soup.

"More than a little bit," Dean mutters and laughs when you scowl at him once more. "Hey, doctor's orders," he tells you softly.

"Yeah, well, I think that I need to find myself a new doctor," you mutter. You try and hide your smile when Dean scoffs at you.

"Well, maybe you just aren't that good of a patient," Dean tells you and you both smile at each other. "See?" he laughs. "You're bring a little bit nicer to me already."

"I was being nice," you tell him.

"Sweetheart, there's a difference between being nice and suppressing the urge to punch something," Dean chuckles. You laugh and playfully roll you eyes a bit at him.

"I wasn't wanting to punch you or anybody else," you tell him.

"I said something. Not someone," Dean chuckles.

"(Y/N)," Amber says as she runs over to you.

"Here," you tell her and you take the paper towels from her before helping her to wipe the sticky mess off of both of her little hands. "Honey, you do know that I wasn't mad at you, right?" you ask her. "I was just scared that you were hurt and it made me grumpy."

"I know," Amber smiles. "You must be scared that I'm going to get hurt all of the time then because you're grumpy a lot." Dean snorts trying to hold in a laugh.

"That will be enough out of you," you say and you turn your head a bit so that you're looking over your shoulder at him.

"Sorry," Dean chuckles. You roll your eyes and pull Amber up into your lap, holding tightly onto her as the both of you talk about anything and everything. "I think that someone's giving out on us," Dean chuckles as he nods down to where Amber is lying limp in your arms.

"I think so," you smile as you go to stand up out of your chair.

"Let me take her, sweetheart," Dean tells you. "Doctor's orders," he smiles when he sees that you're going to protest. You nod and Dean smiles as he bends down to take your niece out of your arms.

"That was sort of fun even if I was uptight most of the time," you tell Dean as he pulls up beside of your car in the hospital parking lot.

"Yeah," Dean smiles as you get out of his car and open up the door to get Amber. Dean hops out and walks around to help you, carefully taking Amber out of your arms and holding tightly onto her. Dean walks over to your car and you stand by as he straps Amber into her seat. Dean shuts the door to your can before turning around to face you once more.

"Thanks," you tell him softly. "I guess that I needed that to calm down."

"No problem," Dean smiles as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "It was doctor's orders." You laugh and you nod your head a bit at Dean. "But we might want to do a follow up just to be sure."

You bite your lip trying to keep yourself from smiling at the dork. "Oh?" you ask him.

"Yeah," Dean smiles. "How about tomorrow? Same time, different place?" "I think that I'm free but I might need a doctor's excuse," you smile. "Where do you want me to meet you at?"

"How about I give you my number and you can text me your address?"

"Oh, you make house calls?" you ask him.

Dean drops his head and you can see shoulders move as he chuckles. Dean brings his head up once more to look at you. "I make exceptions."

"Good," you laugh. "Is there anything other orders that the doctor needs to give me?"

"Nope," Dean grins. "Well, actually, there is one little thing that you might need to hold you over."

"What's that?" you ask him.

Dean just smiles at you as he leans in to take your face between both of his hands. Your breath catches in your throat as Dean leans in to press his lips firmly to yours. Your body practically melts in Dean's hold as his lips move against yours. Dean slowly pulls away with a smile on his face and he looks you in the eyes.

"A goodnight kiss," he breathes out softly. "How are you feeling now?"

"Like I might need a little bit more to hold me over," you say and Dean chuckles as he leans in once more.

"How's that?" he asks.

"Mmm. Maybe one more?"

"Don't want to overdose, sweetheart."

"Dork," you giggle. Dean winks at you before turning to walk away. "Hey, Dean?"

"Hm?" Dean asks as he turns around to face you once more.

"Thanks for taking care of my niece for me today," you tell him.

"No problem, sweetheart," Dean shrugs. "Just doing my job."

You nod and turn to get in your car. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Dean nods and he gives you a wide smile. "See ya tomorrow, sweetheart."

Tags: @polina-93 @campingmonkey @justanotherwinchester @squirrelnotsam @adoptdontshoppets @imaginationisgrowth @deanwanddamons @hobby27 @cookiechipdough @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @torn-and-frayed @thatmotleygirl @screechingartisancashbailiff @lyarr24

#spnfluffbingo #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #SPN #fanfic

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Text

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃

Author note: Mention of drugs, sickness and blood (if you're not comfortable with it don't read it) . It mighty be heart warming fluffyyyyyy.

You're his kitten. No matter the consequences you're. Cause even in his anger sometimes (which's rare and it's on the silly go-to's) he still sticks to that pet name because he met you like that under the bus stop's shelter in a heavy rain offered you an umbrella (while you were huffing and puffing like a kitten annoyed with the weather), walked you home, had a tea with you and some chocolate chip cookies. Been bestfriends from that year and there isn't a red light to your guys wild adventures—but he's been having a rough time recently. Had a cruel heart shattering breakup from a relationship that he thought was a never ending dream (she brought him happiness in a weird way he couldn't put into words) indeed it tightened your chest but his happiness's most important to you. To overcome it he's been scribbling notebooks over notebooks with lyrics that screams he miss her and the sex for the most part of it. It breaks your heart.

He's usually the one to melt all over you, give you forehead kisses, cuddles you when your periods are the bitchiest, makes you brekkie if he stays a night, runs you a bath and sometimes brings you pomegranate berried candles (he lies that he got them as a gift, he's one hell of a liar). He takes care of you with so much gentleness and helps you with study after wiping your tears and reassuring you telling you how proud he's of you. It made you guilty sometimes 'cos if you'd be in camille's place. . .you'd never be able not to get jealous. She was cool with it. Fills you with another curiosity that maybe she treated it like a fling.

He was devastated. Knocking on your door feebly. Then the moment your small confused body was under his weary gaze, boom!! It crashed upon him like a pitch storm and he fell to his knees tucking his head in your armpit crying his heart out. At that moment you felt his pain radiating to you and twisting your own stomach with a dagger, it was insufferable. He gave out no-deep scrapes but not to freak your bones muttered that he lost her. Eventually his bottled up emotions seeped into hues infront of you by passing week and to your littlest of information you got to know that they didn't ended up well in some perspectives so their relationship turned out to be a downfall. So As, you do with your girlie best-friend when she have a breakup you did it with Harry too. It didn't included feral clubbing (you left that part to his mates) but watching sappy movies that could fill your ice-cream bucket once you eat it whole, doing homemade face masks, playing drunk uno and knocking on your neighbours door to run way at last, dragging his arse to museum and in all of this you ended up convincing him to adopt a kitty (she lives with you thou).

The roles have been reversed completely!

He's been living at your flat for five weeks now. It's fading his usual cheekiness and the itch to annoy you every second he gets. Instead, it's just eating, spending bits of hours with you, going out with his mates and coming back to crash at your couch padding in your room in the wee of night demanding a warm coddle from you and that his back hurts from the cruelty of that single spring popping from the leather, staying with him when he'd wrench his stomach out in the morning. He's sensitive. His heart's soft that's one of the reason he gets hurt real quick, you admire that about him and reminds him that it's one of his qualities you're totally in love with. You're gentle with him. Giving him space and time to recover. Going with him at his friend's birthday little get together not drinking at all knowing one would have to stay sober as he chugged red wine staining his hawain shirt and when he clumsily poked his pink tongue out lazily to reach for the cigarette in her hand you tugged him back into you before he'd burn his tongue with sparkles announcing it's time to head back home and he'd be a pain in arse (a beautiful one though because his antics makes you all mushy) when he pretended to steal sandwiches from the table hiding them under his shirt saying that "'m pregnant with twins and it's hard to carry them" while you dragged him outside making him wear his coat like a stubborn toddler. Making him cupcakes sometimes, playing with his fluff of curls while he reads the book she gave him. It hurts. But, it subsides down with his single amiable glance that tells you he needs you. He always had. He always will. You give him extra forehead kisses and pecks on cheek while leaving for UNI, because it's irresistible to give dust to his pouty sulk.

It's seven in the morning when he tumbled through your door (has a key, you even brought his clothes and toothbrush from his house—he even uses your strawberry scented shampoo and body wash) his nose tip blushed matching his cheeks, eyes pooling with haze and hair poking in every direction. You were studying for a class you've in an hour. When you saw his irirses blown out you arched your brow putting the cup down beside your thick book, to mingle his sadness he's experimenting different fun wild things (told you bout it and you even called Mitch to take care of him).

"How many am I, pet?" You asked walking towards him seeing him struggle to get out of his vans and your giggles echoed into coldness when he peers down at your crouched state with his gold fish-y eyes, "dunno. . . but ye'r seem like. .like a-a sunflower floatin' in me head." His lips molding around his each word agonisingly slow drawl and his voice hoarse and scratchy. "You need rest, bambi." You got him out of his jeans and socks knowing he despises to sleep with layers on. "I'll be back with you in some hours. Hmm? Then we'll snuggle into blankets, you me and. . .salsa the pussy cat." You have to control your laugh everytime you take the kitty's name (Harry's worst at giving names you were horrified when he once joked that he loves chelsea boots so much he could name his daughter Chelsea) He whines at that nodding his head but not loosening his grip from around your wrist while you tucked him under your baby green patch work quilt. It's like his brain and heart can't decide how to choose.

On your way back you got Jeff's call asking why Harry isn't picking his phone his own voice resembling that of Harry's and you know he'd be looking shit at the time. Harry was still snoring out like a bulb in bright day on his tummy and you shook him gently at first but when he didn't woke up you had to be a bit harsher. "Harry wake up pet. . . Jeff's been calling ye for since." But, not even a hum in response so you placed your finger under his nose checking if he's even alive. Gratefully he was just sleeping like a literal corpse (he argues that he isn't that bad of a sleeper but in fact he is. Everything around him would burn down and he wouldn't even change a side).

It was seven in the evening when you were preparing for dinner when he woke up grumpy. His nose scrunched up, lips quirked up as if he tasted something yucky and his gait jello. You eyed him quietly even when he came in kitchen to drink water.

"Jeff was callin'. . ." You quipped stirring the veggies before pouring soup into a bowl and sliding it his way on the counter, "I know bombarded me phone with calls—" He gruffed spooning a mouthful and you flinched when he tried to cool it inside his mouth with "hawahhoohaha" little sounds (he knew it was hot, he's just an impatient leech).

"Stop being a gremlin. He told me ye' aren't writing, leaving everything like a cliffhanger neither you're attending the meetings he calls you at. . . I think you're done with your mourning it's time to do what you actually love and is there for you. Your music." You frown seriously trying to put some senses into his forever high brain. He drops the spoon back and dips his brows frustratedly, pinching his eyes shut.

"Fuckin' hell. Stop being my mama!" It's not the first time you guys are arguing and you're not gonna take it to heart. You stood up towering him and jabbing your finger to his chest, "you better stop filling your system with drugs before eighteen year olds come to you thinking you're a drug dealer—" He snickers at that a total mocking one (you know he's doing nothing hard it's just shrooms in the safe environment otherwise you'd have never never allowed him) but still you had to bring him back to his line so it was necessary. "Piss off." He mutters still slurping on his soup and you left him there with a loud smack on his head, "Wanker."

You care about him. Always did. Always will. He's the love of your life. Even your love has nourishment of just water and lacks sunshine from your sun it's still there into existence, how could you see him like this? Wasting his precious time and energy. It's impossible.

All you heard before going to deep slumber was the tinsy creak of your main door after that it was silent and darkness until now your phone buzzed under your pillow resonating Niall's tired words. You were a wreck havoc fumbling for your coat and wallet, covering pathway to tube with shivering legs hallucinating that everyone's eyeing your fiddly self with judgemental stare even though there're few.

You rushed to Niall's doorsteps knocking like a maniac, "where's he? Is he okay? told ye—" You pushed him aside marching inside to look for him. "He looked fine, he's a strong guy y/n they took him to hospital." You snaps your neck raising your brows.

"What the fuck, d'ya mean hospital!?" Your heart hammering in her ribcage overthinking the worst scenarios. "Take me there. right. fuckin' now." You tell him firmly not caring even if he's high too. Niall leads you to his car heating it up in the first beat taking glances of your petite body leaning against the glass with lips sucked in, eyes watered and legs constantly on bounce so placed his hand atop your knee giving you reassuring squeeze and a genial smile.

Your pink cheeks warming up with the heat of hospital radiating your way and loud growl left your chest when your blurry vision cleared to the sight of dishelved Harry sitting on the bench outside of ER, his irirses weary, mouth stuffed with cotton and has few scratches of rashes on his elbows otherwise he's fine. With each step of yours towards him something kept breaking inside you like you're walking on the nails and it's ripping you raw. He raised his head timidly hearing footsteps and when his eyes fell over your worried state panic flashed over his features and his only gaze turned you a puddling emitting heavy sobs within you before reaching towards him. The reality of situation dawning upon you because from what Niall told you in the car that they were high trying to have some fun, drove around neighbour hood and Harry jumped out of the window and bit his tongue between his teeth resulting in heavy bleeding a deep gnash (the fuckin' dumbstick he is).

"I hate you. I hate you so fuckin' much! you bastard." You tried to shout at him but the voice that came out of your mouth was that of mice as you threw harsh blows at his chest, bottom lip jutting wet and salty tears tricking down. He wraps his hand around your wrists ushering you closer down to his chest speaking muffled, "'orry." causing you to grunt angrily into the crook of his neck.

"Sorry my ass!" When you tried to pull back he tightened his hold round your neck snuggling you warmly to him with a hum. Jeff came back with medicines and when he parted his lips to speak in his defence you ignored him wiping your tears with the heel of your palms muttering a, "I hate you guys." The drive back was silent and the walk to your flat too, you passed by him to lock yourself into your room (you wouldn't because of the fact you wouldn't be able to sleep if not sure he's okay few feets away from you). When Harry attempted to roll his tongue to make some words nothing came out but a hiss making you spin, "'s okay we'll speak in the mornin'." Saying this you headed to bed and when you were bout to turn the lamp off he was lurking at the foot of your bed with a pillow in his arms smushing his face into it and squeezing it close to his chest gesticulating you that he wants a cuddle.

"Only 'cos y're adorable." You muttered moving your bum to make space for him suppressing your cooe when he grinned showing nothing but snow cotton, fuckin' hell being this cute should be illegal! He snapped his finger to call Salsa and she instantly galloped to shrink into his side while you spooned him. You woke up to the running tap and the time you were stretching under your quilt with yawns he padded out looking healed than last night.

He got a little lisp as he spoke, "can we talk?" You nodded knuckling at your sticky eyes criss-crossing your legs. "'Forgive me kitten." He continues, "sorry fo' mistreatin' ye' last night." You shake your head not realizing tears are dropping down your collarbones.

"Please. . .I don't wanna be a party-pooper in your life. you can live your life to finest but not at the sake of your life Harry– and. . . and if you're trying to invade the feelin' of sadness with all of this I don't approve it. What bout me? dunno what'll do if somethin' will happen to you, pet. S'not fair to me. is it? Just. . . love y—" your confessions cameflouging with sobs.

"Oh baby. ." He immediately cradled you in his embrace trying to soothe you with 'sorrys' and 'I'll never do somethin' like that again, promise'. Smooching slobery kisses all over your face and when you gazed up at him attracting him closer to your clean warm features all he did was peck the corner of your lips tenderly pulling away to pat your hair with a sigh.

"So. . .ye' love me." He teased you and you rolled your eyes grabbing his chin with your fingers, "show me your tongue." biting down your laugh when he retorted misheviously, "hmm. Wanna kiss it better?" Blowing him off with a remark that he's an utter pervert hiding the fact it splashed crimson to your neck.

"Mind makin' me poor self some brekkie?" He pouts and you giggled pecking the corner of his burgundy lips getting a timid smile in return, "in trade of?" He hip-checked you straddling Salsa over his shoulder and grabbing her little paws to expertise her in some dancey-dance moves.

"Mind bloggin' orgasm–ique dinner." He cackled loudly at the end when you shook your head in fake disappointment at him and he clinged by your side helping you to make some breakfast.

Think so you guys will figure it out.

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whumpmatsus · 4 years ago

Note

aaaa are you still taking the sickfic requests?? maybe "don't speak" with choro as the sickie pls?

SickFic Prompts / ACCEPTING!

Don’t Speak - (character) has a horribly sore throat and is reduced to barely talking while they load up on hot drinks and soup to recover.

yesssss always!!! I had so much fun with this, it hit me right in the Honey Nut Feelios and I hope it does the same for u, sunshine 😩

After still feeling like total crap for several days while his brothers were almost completely recovered from the cold they’d all caught, Choromatsu finally breaks down and goes to the doctor.

He doesn’t really want to. Being sick is something they all hate, and continuing to suffer after everyone else felt better is just astronomically unfair. Sometimes he thinks he can will himself back to health if only he sleeps and takes medicine and does everything a sick person is supposed to do.

The others prod at him to get checked out, though, considering the fact that lately every time he’s tried to speak, it’s set off a cough and is painful even to those just listening.

When he comes back home with a pharmacy bag and an informational sheet proclaiming that he’s been diagnosed with laryngitis, it explains a lot.

He has little choice but to hand the sheet over to Osomatsu as Karamatsu comes over to help remove his scarf and coat and walk him over to the kotatsu. The eldest of them doesn’t necessarily know best all the time, but usually when one of them is sick or hurt with more than a cold or a tiny scrape, Osomatsu often slides into big brother mode and shows a surprising amount of maturity.

For once, Choromatsu is actually glad his oldest brother is taking charge of the situation.

“Okaaaay, guys,” he calls as Choromatsu settles in at the table. “So this thing says Choromatsu has… acute laryngitis. The doctor thinks it’s because he had a cold, I guess, since it says ‘viral cause’. Huh.”

Everyone else is already seated around the kotatsu since it’s the middle of winter and freezing. Jyushimatsu’s arm shoots up right away. “Oh! What’s laryngitis? That’s a funny word. Are we gonna get it too?”

Choromatsu opens his mouth to try and explain, like usual. Instead, he manages to get out a weak, “Probably not,” before he starts to cough.

“Hey,” Osomatsu pouts as Karamatsu pats the third eldest on the back, “this thing says you’re not supposed to talk if you can help it, Fappymatsu. So, y’know… shut up.”

What he gets in return for his efforts is an unimpressed glare.

Osomatsu grins, running a finger under his nose before looking back at the information sheet. “Well, I’m not wrong! Okay, so… the cold was contagious, but it says the actual laryngitis isn’t. It’s just some kind of throat thing that happened because of the cold. So it might happen for the rest of us, but I doubt it since we’re all feeling better already. Choromatsu just has bad luck, I guess.”

Karamatsu hums in thought and continues to rub his brother’s back. “Hmph, we’re probably safe then. Which means we just have to focus on taking care of our dear brother. How do we do that?”

Choromatsu holds the bag from the pharmacy up, allowing Ichimatsu to snatch it and dump the contents out on the table. He points toward the things he picked up at the doctor’s recommendation ― over-the-counter painkillers, lozenges, a throat spray, and cough syrup. There’s other stuff mixed in too, like tissues and a jar of yuzu-cha and a magazine. Though he could have lived without everyone seeing that, it’s not a huge deal.

Osomatsu waves the paper before picking through everything on the table. “Well, it says they don’t have any kind of prescription to give him. No antibiotics since it’s viral. Looks like it says the cough medicines and painkillers might help. ‘Home remedies may also provide temporary relief’… like tea and soup, huh? So we should probably try to keep the bastard hydrated with warm stuff.”

Karamatsu gets to his feet, grabbing the jar of yuzu-cha on his way. “In that case, why don’t I go mix up some of this for you right now? After being out in the cold air, your throat could probably use something warm. Want me to add a little honey?”

Choromatsu nods eagerly, mouthing, “Yes, please.”

Karamatsu’s face brightens at being useful, and he gives an exaggerated pose before heading into the kitchen. “What a good patient! Your big brother will be back with something soothing before you know it!”

“Hold on,” Totty comments as he scoots the lozenges, spray, and syrup toward him, “did you get all this stuff to take for your throat?”

His eyes scan over the labels, then roll back in his head when he’s finished. “Ah, Choromatsu-nii-san! You can’t take all of these at the same time. See, look. They all say ‘do not use with other medications containing’ ― uh ― well ― w-well, I can’t pronounce the word, but it’s the same one! They must all contain this ingredient, so you can’t take them all in the same day.”

Ichimatsu makes a gesture for Totty to hand them over, then nods after reading them. “Yeah, he’s right. If you take all these in the same day, even if you use each one like the directions say, you’ll be basically overdosing on this shit. Your mouth’ll go numb. Be drooling all over the place and maybe having trouble breathing.”

All the medicine is plucked from his hands by Osomatsu. “Okay, so we’ll rotate ‘em, and I’ll take care of giving it to you whenever you need medicine. Y’know, so that fever doesn’t fry your brain and make you forget which one you’re taking for the day. Which one do you wanna use today?”

Choromatsu lets out a soft groan which only serves to irritate his throat further. He could seriously just kick his own ass for not checking that before he bought all of those. The only excuse he has is that he’s in a lot of pain and not thinking like he normally does. He points to the spray, thinking maybe it’ll feel kind of like sour spray candy; once it gets sprayed on, it melts and lingers for a minute, which might be a nice quality in a medicine for sore throats.

“Alright, open up.” Osomatsu tears off the plastic packaging. “Totty, Ichimatsu, did either of you see how many times I’m supposed to spray this?”

“Two sprays every two hours as needed. But it’s only supposed to stay for fifteen seconds, then he has to spit it out. He’s not supposed to swallow it or it might give him a stomachache. Totty, you wanna go get an empty cup for him to spit in and a glass of water to wash the taste out of his mouth afterwards?”

“What?? Why can’t you do it? Your legs aren’t broken!”

“Yeah, but I’m busy.”

“Are you kidding me? Doing what?!”

Ichimatsu shuffles himself closer to Choromatsu and puts an arm around his big brother. “I’m his emotional support Ichimatsu.”

Choromatsu chuckles a bit, though it turns into coughing pretty quickly.

“Oh, my God. Now you know why you’re not first in my brother rankings, right?” Totty grumbles, but gets up anyway. “Fiiiiine, I’ll be right back.”

The idea of an emotional support anything is nice, though, so Choromatsu leans into the contact, resting his head on Ichimatsu’s shoulder. As it is, the fourth eldest is almost like a cat, warm and cuddly when he feels like it.

His fever must be getting to him, because he could even swear he hears Ichimatsu purring.

The next three days in the Matsuno household are, predictably, a little wild.

Although Choromatsu sleeps on the couch in the other room so that his coughing doesn’t wake his brothers, it’s pretty much all for naught. At least one of them ends up missing him in the night and coming to camp out with him anyway; he just counts his lucky stars that when he needs them most, they show themselves to be pretty great brothers.

He also practically lives on soup and tea. Mom and the others try to switch it up a little, because otherwise eating and drinking the same things every day would drive him nuts. Plain miso and zosui were fine for the first day, but after he could breathe through his nose and smell things again, they started offering him other stuff.

Honestly, shogayu and negi-miso-yu have never tasted so good. Now that he can taste the yuzu-cha, too, and Karamatsu prepares some for him at least once in the afternoon, it’s like a small slice of heaven. He’s pretty sure Karamatsu can tell how grateful he is even without words, if the stupidly proud look on his older brother’s face whenever Choromatsu drinks it is any indication.

His throat still hurts like hell for a while. It’s difficult to speak, so Osomatsu, in his infinite wisdom, has relegated his brother to using a mini dry erase board and marker if he needs to say anything. That doesn’t mean Choromatsu doesn’t try to talk. He does his best not to if he doesn’t absolutely need to, however, since he wants to be rid of this thing more than anyone.

Thankfully, everyone is apparently using this as an excuse to treat him nicely. He gets to sit in front of the TV watching Nyaa-chan concerts almost nonstop, while nestling in against his emotional support Ichimatsu. Karamatsu in particular keeps checking every twenty minutes or so to see if there’s anything he can get for his little brother, and whatever Choromatsu asks for, he gets. Hell, at one point he’s craving ice cream, even though milky things aren’t a good idea for someone who’s coughing, and Karamatsu comes back with a melon ice pop, which is almost as good.

Totty even manages to do something nice while typing away on his phone. He says he’s got Choromatsu a date. With a girl. Who likes pop idols. Who’s really excited to meet him as soon as he’s better. He says he texted her a picture of Choromatsu and she thinks he’s really cute. It’s perhaps a good thing that he can’t say much right now, because he’s sure he’d scream loud enough to lose his voice a second time.

Jyushimatsu even sits there on Choromatsu’s other side, and reads magazine articles to him whenever they’re not watching TV. Of course, he doesn’t read the dirty articles… well, he doesn’t read those out loud after the first time he tried and everybody ended up crying with laughter. They all joked that even when he was sick that would be Choromatsu’s main priority, and for once, he laughed along with them despite the fact that it made him cough.

The one who surprises him the most is Osomatsu. Maybe that shouldn’t actually be a surprise, though. He fills the role of diligent oldest brother with a lot more ease than one might expect; he breaks out the thermometer every few hours to make sure Choromatsu’s fever isn’t getting higher, he keeps track of which medicines Choromatsu is supposed to take and when, he helps Mom cook things that will help Choromatsu feel better, and if he’s not doing any of that other stuff, he’s positioned with Choromatsu sitting on his lap, with Ichimatsu and Jyushimatsu on either side, running his fingers through his little brother’s hair. It almost feels like the way things were when they were all kids.

Choromatsu is easily tired out when he’s sick, and he’s 99.99999% sure that it’s Osomatsu who carries him to bed every night when he inevitably falls asleep.

Despite the fact that he gives them a lot of shit, and none of them are perfect people, he knows he’s got some pretty amazing brothers.

Today he’s feeling nearly back to his old self, and his throat is less sore than it’s been in over a week. He knows it’s partially thanks to rest and partially thanks to how well his family has been taking care of him. Despite that he’s starting to recover, the others are still treating him much the same as they have been. Tea whenever he wants it ― as well as Karamatsu shoving it in his direction, urging him to drink with that pathetic puppy dog face of his, even when he doesn’t quite want it ― and lots of head pats and the TV turned to whatever he’s in the mood for.

He’s not quite as tired as he’s been lately, so it would be all too effortless to just take advantage of all this. Instead, his thoughts have just kept turning to how grateful he is to have so many people he can count on.

There’s some small part of him that has to admit he can be just as bad as they all are sometimes. He can be selfish and rude and lazy. But when one of his brothers is sick or hurt, he knows he steps up to the plate to try and take care of them. To know that they’re all willing to do the same for him when he’s the one in need makes him happier than he thinks he’s been in a long time.

He’s still got the dumb little whiteboard Osomatsu gave him, because his voice isn’t back to normal just yet. For a moment, he scribbles on it, then he holds it up for Osomatsu who’s sitting behind him. “Hey, Oso,” he speaks up in a quiet, breathy, raspy voice.

“Uh…! Hey, dumbass, you’re not supposed to be talking yet,” Osomatsu laughs, then lifts his head to look at the board. “… Huh? Choromatsu… hey…”

He laughs in a way that makes it sound like he’s about to cry, then takes the board and waves it to get everyone else’s attention. “Hey, guys! Haha… look! Look at this shit!”

Four other pairs of eyes turn in their direction. Practically as soon as everyone has processed what Choromatsu has written, he’s buried in a pile of brothers. He gets arms put around him, and kisses on his forehead, and everyone nuzzling against his face. They’re all laughing in that same way Osomatsu did…

… Well, until they all start actually crying. Including Choromatsu himself.

The whiteboard falls to the ground, mostly forgotten, but the words written on it hanging over the sextuplets like a rainbow.

Thanks for everything. I love you guys. 💚

#Osomatsu san #whump #Choromatsu #Osomatsu #Karamatsu #Ichimatsu #Jyushimatsu #Totty #illness #laryngitis #caretaking #UGHHHHH THEY'RE ALL SUCH GOOD BOYS DAMMIT #I'm crying into my tea I love them so much look at them aLL AGGRESSIVELY TAKING CARE OF ONE OF THEIR OWN

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sneezehq · 4 years ago

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Family Talk

"Yang is a great mom. She raised me, after all."

Written for a prompt by hunnyB on AO3: "It would be cute to see something like Ruby talking proudly about her sister to her teammates and friends and Yang opening about their past. I like to see people looking at Yang with a sad-surprised face. Or maybe Ruby telling everyone Yang is basically a mother to her, and Yang tears up and everyone is surprised."

I took way longer writing this than I should have, because I kept fussing with when I should set it, until I finally gave up and went ahead and set this sometime in the future, when Salem is defeated and they're all happy and safe and share an apartment together and they all live happily ever after. And, since it's sometimes hard to get Ruby to talk about things, I decided to loosen Ruby's tongue a bit, so have a doped-up post wisdom teeth surgery Ruby. (Also because I thought it'd be adorable if the first thing Ruby does while on painkillers is talk about how awesome her older sister is.) Enjoy!

"We're back!" Yang calls over her shoulder, nudging the door shut behind her until she hears it close with a loud click. She turns to set the bags she's carrying on the counter—and immediately has to lunge forwards to keep her sister from faceplanting into the tile. "Rubes, we just got back from the doctor. Please try to avoid braining yourself for now."

"Whatever, mom," Ruby mumbles, words slightly slurred. Yang steadies her with a hand on her shoulder and steers her over to the couch.

"Here, lie down before you fall down," she says, nudging Ruby onto the couch. Her sister flops onto the cushions, giggling loudly.

Blake smiles fondly, finally looking up from her book. "How'd it go?" she calls from the armchair, absently flipping to the next page.

"Everything went fine, the surgery went smoothly, all that good stuff," Yang replies. "She'll be sore for the next few days, but we're all stocked up on soup and ice cream and stuff for smoothies, so she should be fine."

"You're lucky, Blake," Weiss teases from the doorway. "Yang's already preparing for when you two have kids. She's going to be a great mom."

Both Blake and Yang blush furiously at Weiss' comment. Yang attempts to head back to the kitchen, but she's stopped by a hand on her arm. "Come sit with me," Ruby whines. "I'm cold. Wan' snuggles."

"Ruby, I need to put the ice cream away before it melts," Yang sighs, attempting to pull herself free.

But despite being hopped up on strong painkillers, her sister's grip doesn't budge. "Please, Yang?"

"I'll take care of the ice cream," Weiss offers, strolling over to the collection of grocery bags on the counter. "You know how she gets when she's like this. She's not going to shut up until you sit with her."

"Fine, fine," Yang says, nudging Ruby over to make room on the couch. "Thanks, Weiss. Happy now?" she asks her sister.

Ruby nods into Yang's thigh, having arranged herself with her head in her sister's lap. Yang smiles fondly, running a hand through her sister's hair. "How're you feeling?"

"Mouth hurts. Tired. M' head feels weird."

"Yeah, you're not gonna be feeling too great for the next few days. Why don't you take a nap?" Yang suggests. "Sleep off the worst of it. You can have some ice cream when you wake up."

The younger girl, frowns, shaking her head. "Don' wanna sleep," she complains.

"Could've told you it wouldn't be that easy," Weiss says, settling herself into the chair across from Blake. Ruby frowns at her. "What's wrong?"

"What you said. Before. Yang is a great mom." Ruby looks directly at Weiss, suddenly seeming free of her medicated haze. "She raised me, after all."

Silence falls over the room, as the reactions from the other girls vary. Blake has a knowing look on her face, but she also seems very sad all of a sudden. Yang looks embarrassed. Weiss has a curious expression on her face. "What are you talking about, Ruby?"

"Dad wasn't around much, when we were kids," Ruby mumbles. Blake and Weiss lean closer to hear her better. "So, Yang took care of us. She'd read stories to me before bed, and help me with my homework, and packed lunches, and she even cooked for us. She was always there for me."

Their teammates look at the pair of sisters with a mixture of awe and sadness. They'd both known that the two were close, but they'd never had a chance to see why they were so close—or just how deep that bond between them ran.

"Ruby, we don't have to talk about this now," Yang says hastily, bowing her head so that her face is hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair. Even with her face covered, it's impossible to miss the way that she'd blushing.

Ruby shakes her head. "No, I wanna talk about it. You're so awesome and you do so much for me, but you never want me to tell anyone about it," she whines, trying to push herself up to a sitting position.

"Ok, ok, don't get all worked up while you still have stitches in your mouth," Yang scolds her, gently pressing on her shoulders until Ruby gives in and lays back down. "I just can't believe that you'd want to compliment me after living off of my cooking for so long."

Ruby blinks up at her, a fond but slightly dopey smile on her face. "It wasn' that bad."

"It wasn't great, though," Yang points out.

"We're still alive." Ruby gives a lazy half-shrug. "We did eat a lot of sandwiches, though."

"After all these years you're still complaining about that? I'll have you know that sandwiches are very healthy. You've got bread and meat and boom, both your basic food groups. If you're feeling adventurous you can even add some lettuce. Then you've even got veggies. I rest my case. Sandwiches are the ultimate food."

Ruby giggles loudly, before her face splits with a wide yawn. "Yang? I'm tired." Her eyes fall shut, and within seconds she's snoring.

"Finally," Yang lets out a sigh of relief.

Weiss shakes her head incredulously. "Those painkillers are really strong, too. I've never seen anyone be able to fight them like that."

"It's sheer willpower," Blake says softly. "Ruby is the most determined person I've ever met. I guess it shouldn't that surprising."

"Oh, she's stubborn alright," Yang agrees. "You should have seen her as a little kid. She was determined to get into everything. I lost track of her every time I turned around. And once she developed her semblance? Good luck keeping up with the kid with super speed!" She laughs cheerfully, but her expression is still pensive.

"I hadn't realized," Blake says, a distant look on her face. "That you two were so close. You told me a little bit about your family, when we were back at Beacon, but it never occurred to me how much responsibility you took on as a child."

"And you told me, back at Haven, about how your mom left, and you lost Ruby's mom too, but I didn't realize, even then, how hard that must have been on you." Weiss looks guilty. She wraps her arms around herself. "I'm sorry I kept asking about it. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," Yang says softly. "I'm just—I'm not really used to talking about it, that's all. It's not really something I try to think about too much. It's a little easier these days, since I've got you guys, but it's still hard to think about how my dad was after we lost Summer. He just kind of—shut down. Don't get me wrong, he was still there, he still made sure we had food in the house, and he had Qrow check in on us when he could. But he was busy with school, so." She sighs heavily. "I just did what anyone would have, in our situation. Someone had to take care of us, and make sure that Ruby grew up okay. I don't think that I did anything special, honestly."

"But you did," Weiss says firmly. "Trust me, Yang, what you did was very special. Most people in your situation would have just given up. They definitely wouldn't have tried as hard as you did. You're an amazing older sister and Ruby adores you."

"You should be proud of yourself," Blake murmurs. "Not only did you raise an amazing little sister, but you didn't turn out too bad yourself. Not only did you handle a very difficult set of circumstances beautifully, but you even came out the other side smiling. Not many people can say that."

"Thanks, guys," Yang whispers, wiping away the tear tracks on her face with a watery smile. They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Across from her, her girlfriend has settled back in her chair, reabsorbed in her book. Weiss is messing with the remote, trying to see if anything good is on. And Ruby is snoring softly, laying half-cured with her head in Yang's lap. After all these years, they still fit together perfectly.

"I couldn't ask for a better family."

#rwby #strawberry sunrise #yang xiao long #ruby rose #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #hurt/comfort #fanfic #my writing

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serifsans · 4 years ago

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I recently visited a museum and walked through an exhibit about the evolution of life on this planet. Contrary to popular belief, I do have some intellectual pursuits beyond the latest couture designs at fashion week but rest assured, I’m still enormously shallow and vain. As I understand, the theory of evolution still remains controversial among certain religious groups; however, my theistic leanings (and I do have them to a certain extent, which tends to shock everyone who has known me for any length of time) coexist quite happily alongside this.

Allow me to summarize.

This is a poor summary. If you’d like a better one, then I suppose you oughtn’t get your scientific information from Fumblr. Visit a museum. If you’re lucky, they might have a planetarium and you can either learn about the stars or you could have a nice nap. Either way, I’d get the astronaut ice cream afterward at the gift shop. Is it overpriced? Yes. Couldn’t you simply buy normal ice cream instead for half the price? Yes. However, it’s ice cream you can bring anywhere and you never have to worry about it melting. if it’s good enough for astronauts, it’s good enough for me.

In the beginning, everything was soup. One day, some of that soup got ahead of itself and developed dreams of grandeur. Some of that soup learned how to produce oxygen, which was good of it. Some of that soup invented sexual reproduction, which was even better of it. Some of that soup even became multicellular organisms. The earliest organisms were very small and very squishy, so they became larger and larger to make themselves seen. Some of them decided to become plants and fungi, though it took a long time for them to become decent ones. Eventually, some of the organisms decided to become things like sponges and jellyfish and others decided to become shelled and others took it upon themselves to grow backbones.

Everything after that happened very quickly. The first animals were quite stupid because they didn’t understand aesthetics yet. If you saw one today, you would make fun of its ridiculous little body and even if that hurt its feelings, it’d be perfectly justified. There were many weird, scuttling things that probably didn’t even taste good and many, many kinds of fish, all of them stupid. It look them awhile to grow jaws because fish hardly have brains at all and even after they grew them, they were still pitiable creatures. Ashamed of being so awful and ugly, some of those fish decided that the only thing to do was leave the ocean in shame, so they started growing proper limbs and eventually flopped their way onto land. Along the way, little bugs crawled out of the water and became much bigger bugs before eventually becoming smaller again, but I sadly cannot tell you when because a child with sticky little hands was touching everything in that area of that exhibit. I think I know enough about insects, anyway.

The pathetic early land fish became less pathetic frogs and salamanders and other things I might’ve liked to eat. Many things died along the way. Eventually, they turned into proto-dinosaurs and then actual dinosaurs. This was not like Jurassic Park. It wasn’t like Jurassic Park at all. The Jurassic was the second period of the Mesozoic, so actually, it was a sequel all along. In the Triassic, dinosaurs appeared and then flying beasts which weren’t dinosaurs at all or even birds yet came onto the scene. Some things died. In the Jurassic, things were more fashionable. You even had little mammals but they weren’t very interesting yet, though I’m sure the dinosaurs liked to eat them. You had many interesting plants here and I’m sure the salads were top tier. In the Cretaceous, flowers finally bloomed and I think that’s such an important development. My day would be ruined without flowers. We owe so much to them! They bring beauty to our lives and pleasing scents. Imagine being one of the dinosaurs hatched before flowers. How dull! The Cretaceous ones had a much better, floral existence until a rock fell and ruined the party.

Disappointed by the turn of events, some dogs slipped back into the ocean and became whales. The other dogs became things like elk and moose and monkeys and dogs. Eventually, primates existed. Some became monkeys and some became lemurs and some became apes. A few apes decided it might be a nice thing to one day invent tax law, so those apes decided to become humans. It took them awhile to figure things out but what else can you expect out of primates? You really wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen the chimps at the zoo get up to. There were many interesting varieties that I might’ve liked having tea with but eventually Homo sapiens won out. Maybe someone put the humans here on purpose or maybe they didn’t. The debate on the matter is quite heated.

Somewhere along the way, there was an ice age. The megafauna of this era are so interesting and it’s such a shame they’re mostly extinct now. We should do everything in our power to increase the amount of elephants. If there’s another ice age, I’d like to see more elephants around. You can’t have an ice age without elephants. It just isn’t done.

Modern humans have only existed for such a short while but they’ve already figured out so many things like the Internet and causing catastrophic environmental collapse and several good breakfast cereals. Isn’t that wild? Don’t you find that absolutely fascinating? I’m enthralled by the fact that everything here began as ugly little fish with big dreams on an ever-spinning planet. I wonder what we’ll see next? What will everything become? I really hope humanity has the chance to become very strange. I’ve heard that there are some wolves that have been venturing out to the ocean to catch fish or whatever it is that wolves do, so wouldn’t it be so fun if they became the sequel to whales?

I might’ve left out some important details here. I could add them back in, I suppose, I suppose, but that sounds like too much typing. I have astronaut ice cream and a beverage to enjoy.

Unchangingly yours,

#my online diary #I enjoyed the exhibit on gemstones more.#The children were bored of it so they did not leave their slime all over the display cases.#Children fascinate me.#However they sneeze on everything they see.

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nimblermortal · 5 years ago

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Literary Comfort Food

Guys, I have this crazy idea that we all might somehow want comfort reading right now for some reason. And maybe some recs wouldn’t go amiss. So here is some literary comfort food.

Circle of Magic series by Tamora Pierce Comfort food level: Chicken soup The classic found family standard to which all others will be held. There are 8 of them, they are short, they are easily approachable, and they are about people caring for each other. (There are more than 8 but I don’t count Melting Stones or Battle Magic or Will of the Empress or whatever else because, frankly, I don’t like them.) Why wouldn’t I read this: There are some bad things happening, and necessarily to children because the books are about children. Book 1 mentions a plague, and Briar’s first book is all about plague. And I think every book of the second quartet is about serial killers. But they all feel good, all the way through.

Murderbot series by Martha Wells Comfort food level: Frozen burrito. Fast, tasty, and there when you need it. Pew pew! Space battles! Wisecracking robot! I don’t really need to pay attention to anything, I’m just along for the ride! Why wouldn’t I read this: Technically Murderbot is clinically depressed and cynical and abused, but the 4 ebooks so far are, subtly, about how it has its cynical assumptions challenged and people are generally better than it has encountered. I was promised in-book introspection on why Murderbot prefers it/its pronouns, but if that was present I missed it as I read gleefully on to the next pronouncement about humans desperately trying to get themselves killed by not paying attention to Murderbot’s benevolent wisdom.

The Friendly Persuasion by Jessamyn West Comfort food level: Cornbread and fried okra. Everything is nice. Things are just calm and even and settled. This has been my go-to for ‘brain goblins need to calm down’ since before I called them brain goblins. Technically there is a battle in one of the stories, but uh. They kind of. The enemy never shows up and most of the ‘combat’ is someone panicking in the night and everyone else picking up on the panic, concluding with a brotherly discussion of the reasons why one might be compelled to fight, or compelled not to. Why wouldn’t I read this: They are necessarily slow books. If you need faster, lighter prose, they might not be for you.

Sarah Monette’s books in general Comfort food level: Butterbeer. Amaretto. Tequila. This stuff could potentially get you trashed, but it’s actually about things getting better and happier. Sarah Monette starts out with characters who have been abused horribly, and every book is the comfort part of a hurt/comfort book. There is occasionally additional trauma, but overall it’s just a whole heap of healing. If you’re worried about the trauma but want to give it a try, start with The Goblin Emperor - and then come back for warnings about the Doctrine of Labyrinths series because hoo boy. (They’re good, I swear! They make you feel generally happy about life and leave you wanting more! But terrible things do happen.) Why wouldn’t I read this: Terrible things happen! Usually pre-canon. Sometimes in the middle. Goblin Emperor involves emotional abuse and neglect of a child, with a single instance of physical abuse. I can read it cover to cover and go back to the beginning for more, which has literally never happened to me with any other book.

Elemental Logic series by Laurie Marks Comfort food level: Unicorn flavored ice cream But Nimbler, I hear you say, I am gay. I am so very gay and I need the world to be a better place. Well. Look no further. Why wouldn’t I read this: They’re pretty preachy, tbh. If you don’t want to be told about people needing to care for each other, try something else. Also, the first book starts with people being in a war and miserable, and things get worse for a while, until suddenly a few of the leads meet for lunch and everything just gets better from there. You gotta have a place to head up from, y’know?

Young Wizards series by Diane Duane Comfort food level: Box mac and cheese Nimbler, I want a little bit of science mixed into my feeling good. I like pew pew space battles! I like being told about the world being a better place and the people who make it so! I want a smidgen of philosophy worked into my comfort lit, though, you know? As just. An intro to the space battles, which are very important. Why wouldn’t I read this: I don’t like a little bit of science mixed into my comfort food. I really don’t like a little bit of philosophy. I just want to feel good, Nimbler. Leave me alone! Also: There is a minor character who dies of cancer, and you have to read A Wizard Alone by ebook or the coverage of autism is... outdated.

BUT NIMBLER I CAN’T GET NEW BOOKS I’m at home. I can’t go to a bookstore. I don’t want to welcome new objects into my home that come from... outside. And maybe I can’t afford to buy books right now. Well, lucky for you, Patrick writes exactly the fanfiction you need. And he taught me how to write it too. Patrick on AO3 - fandom is Shakespeare and/or early modern poets. Frequently in AUs. Living together and cuddling and making each other feel better about life. There’s a turkey at one point. And a puppy. Comfort food level: Kinder Surprise, there’s chocolate on the outside and a toy within! Nimblermortal on AO3 - a variety of fandoms. If you want comfort food, try Asafoetida and Mustard Seeds (Circle of Magic), Proud to Claim You (Circle of Magic - warning, plague violence dialed up in the second section), Oh Good He’s Nineteen (Elemental Logic), The Short Way’s Short but the Long Way’s Pretty (OF). Comfort food level: Spit. I mean, it’s me, what am I supposed to tell you? It tastes like the inside of my own mouth, dead neutral. #:-) If you want more, message me a way to send you files and I’ll drop you a copy of On Wrackspurts and Pumpkin Pie, my personal favorite comfort food fanfic, which is no longer on the internet. That I can find. I saved the thing to disk before it disappeared, but I didn’t save the author’s name :(. I used to be a Fecklessermortal, but I’m getting better. Comfort food level: Pumpkin pie, obviously.

Anyone else want to contribute?

#fic recs #book recs

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

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Hard Waves At Dawn

A random snapshot with the reader from You Send Me and Freddie. Blame me listening to the album Goths by The Mountain Goats for the first time tonight for this one. I try and save certain albums until the right moment, and it seems this was the right one for it. Listen to it, in order, to get the vibe of this fic. Title comes from the song on there titled ‘Wear Black.’

Ngl, very deep in my own mind and thoughts of the future as I wrote this. It probably shows, but that’s par the course for my writing now I fear lol.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“I won’t make you come home.”

The rain poured, and you jumped at the loudness of the thunder. “You shouldn’t have to.”

Freddie shrugged, and scooted closer to you on the stone bench. The park was empty except for the two of you; everyone else had run home as soon as the rain had started to come down fast enough to hurt.

“That’s it?”

He nodded. “I know that, and you know it. What more is there to say about it?”

“Maybe not more to say about that,” you replied. “But what about everything else?”

You let his arm slip around you and pull you close. “I think you need to talk about that. Or you wouldn’t have gone running out here before I was even awake.”

You had left the flat you shared with Freddie at five in the morning, in a daze. You weren’t sure exactly what had set it off this time, and it was an impulse you usually ignored or were able to repress. The one that made you panic for the future, left you pacing the flat over things that were arguably not worth worrying about as much as you did, made you feel like taking night walks that never ended, not caring where you might end up or if you’d make your way back home again.

You were in clothes that normally never left the house, clothes that were Lounge About the House and Do Nothing category. You didn’t look wildly out of place to anyone else, but you knew it was a sign to Freddie.

He didn’t indulge these moments, exactly. He accepted them, and rode them out with you, and occasionally gave advice or distractions if you requested or seemed to need it. But most of the time, it was this. Finally prompting that vat of nonsense and fear and pain and sadness that had settled into some sort of aching black hole in your chest before you could recall knowing what depression even was, to spill.

“It’s stupid,” you muttered, and he chuckled.

“Good start.”

“It is though,” you protested. “This is what I’ve wanted. Stability. I’ve worked towards it since I was like...fourteen. And never had it, never had it, couldn’t reach it, wasn’t qualified for it, couldn’t afford it, all that. And now here it is, and it’s fine, and my dumb fucking head is still like this.”

He didn’t speak, but took your hand in his, rubbing gently at it with his thumb.

“What am I waiting for? Why do I feel like the other shoe is going to drop? The shoes are on and tied and I’m waiting to trip. And for what? Why? Why can’t I just be happy all the time? It isn’t always like this, it recedes like the tide but when it comes back I-”

The rain washes the tears off your face as fast as they can fall.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Freddie asked. “I think a lot of us are doing that, in one way or another.”

“But it’s like I’m doubting this good thing I have, from you to my job to everything-”

“Not on purpose,” he interrupted. “The mind clicks along, and doubt is a track it falls on from time to time. I know you don’t seriously doubt us, or your job with the band. Do you know how I know that?”

You shook your head.

“Because you don’t leap for things that feel like too big of a risk unless you see enough security available in the thing you’re leaping towards. You would never have so much as kept looking my way, or stayed on with us, if you didn’t feel secure despite any little doubts or fears that any rational person might have from time to time.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he shushed you softly.

“Y/N. You turned down an ice cream yesterday because you were afraid it might have something you were allergic to in it. We had a full list of ingredients, but because the shop couldn’t verify how current it was, you left without anything. If you can turn away from something that simple, don’t you think you would have been long gone by now, if you had true doubts about anything else in your life right now?”

“...you make a good point,” you acknowledged.

“Every now and again,” he smiled, the small shy smile that came around only when he was being vulnerable. He looked even more gorgeous than usual when he wore it. “And you know what?”

“You have doubts too?”

“All the fucking time,” he sighed. “The work on the next album alone! You’ve heard me, hell you’ve worked me through some of those fits-”

“Not fits, exactly,” you interrupted.

“Tantrums?” he asked with a grin.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you said with a smile. “Or I’ll have to kiss you and replace them with something else.”

He kissed you anyway, and the scent of his usual cologne mixed with the rain smelled like the home you had always wanted, dreamed of, yearned for, worked so damn hard to get that you couldn’t believe you’d let your mind trap you into any worries about it.

You leaned into his embrace, wincing only a little as the rain somehow fell harder. “I’m sorry I left without leaving a note or anything. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Out of everyone,” Freddie said. “You are one of the few people I don’t worry about leaving me out of the blue. And I could tell last night you were feeling a bit...how to put it? Twitchy isn’t the right word-”

“Like there was an itch in my brain I couldn’t scratch,” you filled in.

“Exactly,” Freddie said, pushing his wet hair away from where it just barely touched his forehead. “Were we due for a storm?”

“Maybe,” you replied. “I certainly was, apparently.”

“It had been a couple of months,” Freddie nodded.

“God, you’ve got my depression cycle mapped. We’re domestic,” you laughed. “I love it, though I don’t love that I have something like that you have to keep track of.”

“Don’t have to keep track of it,” he said. “I do it because I want to make sure you’ve got support whenever it hits. How long did you deal with it alone, or with minimal support? You’ve got me, and the boys, and so many others now. It would be more than a shame, it would be a crime, to care about you and not be mindful of this.”

He held a hand up before you could speak. “And before you go on with that ‘but I can’t expect others to take care of me all the time’ talk, I know. That’s not our goal, and I think you know that. But I also think you’re afraid of it sometimes, because you’ve not had anything like it before. Support, not to hold you up 24/7, but to help carry you when you need it, and you do the same in return. Equal give and take.”

You nodded. “You are an exceptionally wise man, you know that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I try, same as anyone else.”

“You underestimate yourself with things like this,” you said. “You don’t do it with anything else. The rest of the persona the confidence flows, but you sell yourself short here. You shouldn’t.”

“You do the same thing,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t argue that anymore than I can, can you?”

“No wonder we get on so well,” you said. “Perfectly capable until we’re vulnerable in the rain, and then it all melts away.”

He nods. “It’s nice though, isn’t it? To have someone to let the mask down around so severely. No need to hang onto it, in case someone walks in the room that would make you bring it back up.”

“It really is,” you sighed. “I think it’s hailing a bit.”

He brushed a hand through his dampened curls, and melting pea-sized pebbles of ice shook out. “It is definitely hailing.”

“We should almost definitely go home,” you murmured. “I haven’t seen any lightening, but probably not safe all the same.”

“You can’t tell me that you’ve never wanted to be out in a storm like this, in one of these moments of yours,” Freddie said. “Why not give it five more minutes?”

“And if lightening shows up, and hits us?”

“Then I hope they leave the burned outline of our corpses here on this bench as a memorial,” Freddie said with a cheeky grin.

“Me too,” you said. “I wouldn’t mind a death and a memorial like that.”

“Better than some, and certainly as good as some others,” Freddie nodded. “You know you’re going to be fighting a cold off after this, right?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “You’ve already bought me cans of my favorite soup, haven’t you?”

“Two days ago, had Brian pick them up and bring them by,” Freddie replied. “He asked how I could possibly know.”

“And you told him not to worry about it, and that he’d get it some day?”

“Bless, you’ve got my most cryptic answers down to a T,” he said. “That was exactly it. Bet you can’t guess the rest of my master plan though.”

“To make me soup for the next three days, and keep me sat resting on the couch, except for when we’re napping together in the bed?”

“Almost all of it,” he said. “You missed the bit where I make sure we get a walk outside in. The sun will help, and I know you won’t go out without me.”

“Thank you,” you said, jumping at an even louder clap of thunder. “There has got to be lightening nearby.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “And for what? The soup? That was nothing, really.”

“All of this,” you said, pressing your face into the wet material of his jacket near his neck. “Taking care of me. Being with me. Loving me despite this stupid shit my brain does, that I can’t always rein in as well as I’d like.”

“It’s good work,” he said. “Work I like. Because you do the same work for me. It’s steady, and it all evens out, even when everything else is...decidedly less so.”

“The ebb and flow of the tide, and the two of us as the typhoon,” you murmured.

“You should do something with that,” he said. “I like it.”

“You know I don’t write like that anymore.”

“But you could. Write it down when we get home, just in case. You never know what you’ll find to do on the side in between tours, after all,” he said, and stood slowly, only to duck down as larger hail started to drop hard and fast, as if someone in the sky had overturned a huge bucket of it. “Shall we go now, before you forget it?”

“I think better we leave so we don’t end up with bruises,” you laughed, taking his hand as you stood. “I’m ready to go home.”

#text post #LeeH writes #queen band fic #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury x male reader

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musicanddancingthroughlife · 5 years ago

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Stuckony & Peter -- Ice Cream

First, some whining. Next paragraph is about the fic itself, so if you don’t care, don’t read this XD This is more of a weekly vent session for me, ngl. Anyway, this semester might kill me, and I’m super tired all the time and kinda worried it’ll mess with my marriage, cause when I am home, I legit don’t want to do anything other than read and watch my TV shows that Cody doesn’t care about, and I don’t particularly enjoy hanging out with him? Cause he like. Never talks to me, and only really wants to kiss and cuddle and try to makeout with me (which we still haven’t done, for various reason it’s a serious struggle for us to be physical with each other), which I generally don’t want because I just want to read and then sleep. So ya. School is killing me, my relationship is stressing me out, and I’m out the door by 7AM and then get home close to 11PM, and then have homework. Send help or mayhaps prayers my way haha.

On the story: this is weird for me, cause it’s more of a kidfic, which I’m not sure I’ve really written yet, at least not with Peter being this young (I’m thinking he’s about 6 or 7 here, though fairly articulate for a kid that young haha). It’s Stuckony, because I love watching Steve and Bucky interact with such a young Peter, and have been wanting to write a kidfic with this ship for a while now. Anyway, I got the idea from Twitter dad James Breakwell, or XPlodingUnicorn. His tweets never fail to make me laugh, and he has some quality stories haha. Look him up if you need a laugh or don’t know what I’m talking about. If my Russian is incorrect, please tell me. I’m always down for learning a new language, but holy heck my brain feels like soup and I have like 3 more months of this, so be nice to me.

Here we go, hope you like it all right :) I don’t care for the ending, but whatever I guess, I don’t have forever to make it something I like lol. I might try for more IronStrange next week, but I’m also debating trying some IronPanther, or some VLD ideas I’ve had for a while. I might also branch out so hey, it might get exciting in a bit idk.

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

“Daddy?” Bucky looked up when he heard his son approach.

“What’s up, Pete?” he responded.

“Could I have ice cream?” Bucky paused.

“Did you ask your dad?”

Peter was quiet for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

Another pause. “No.”

Bucky chuckled, “Okay… Did you ask Papa?”

“…yes.”

“And what did he say?’

“No.”

“All right, Peter, then why would you ask me?”

Peter stared up at Bucky, his expressive brown eyes pleading. “Because they can’t tell you what to do! You’re the Fun Daddy.”

Bucky’s mind immediately when into overdrive. On the one hand, this was definitely a trap. On the other, the fun daddy? That was a hard title to give up… But it was a trap. Ugh, but really, if Bucky wanted to give the kid ice cream, neither Steve nor Tony were there to stop him. Then again, there would be hell to pay later, especially knowing both had already told him no. But those bambi eyes were right there…

Bucky agreed.

And half an hour later, when his dad and papa came home and saw them eating half-melted bowls of ice cream and watching cartoons, he joined Peter in dropping his bowl on the counter and immediately fleeing the scene of the crime. Of course, they didn’t get far. It took Tony zero effort to catching their squirming kid, and then it just wasn’t as fun and Steve easily grabbed a hold of him.

“Ice cream? Really, Buck?” Steve looked unimpressed.

“Seriously?” Bucky whined. “How the hell do you two manage to ignore those little puppy eyes?!”

“Easy, don’t look at them.”

“I told the kid he could have ice cream after dinner.” Steve and Tony responded at the same time. Steve looked disapprovingly at Tony, but before he could start lecturing him, too, Peter wriggled free and set off down the hall again, screaming for his “Aunt Nat”.

“Tony, he doesn’t need ice cream every night!”

“And he’s not getting it! He had cookies last night, so there!”

“Tony,” Steve groaned.

“Oh, chill, Capsicle, I was gonna give him some of Bruce’s dumb healthy frozen yogurt or whatever it is.”

Steve paused, then nodded. “That’s fine, then, but really, Bucky? What were you thinking?” Bucky glared, ripping his arm out of Steve’s grasp. “I gave him the same, you punk. I distracted him with cartoons and switched the cartons when he wasn’t looking. He was eating yogurt.”

Steve looked sheepish, and Tony and Bucky felt a surge of triumph over it.

Of course, that quickly changed when they sat at the table after dinner that night. Peter was sitting with Natasha, happily slurping away at his bowl of ice cream while Natasha glared at the three of them, daring them to try and tell her nephew that he couldn’t have ice cream. “If you ever feed moy pauk yogurt like that again, I will not hesitate to maim you.”

“Natasha,” Steve began.

She stepped forward, somehow menacing despite the height and weight difference between the two of them. “Moy. Pauk. Malysh.”

Needless to say, they never told Peter they would give him ice cream and then switch it out for yogurt when he wasn’t paying attention. Thankfully, Pete was a good kid and liked the yogurt almost as much as the ice cream. Still, whenever Natasha was spending time on their floor, they made sure she knew the kid was getting ice cream.

It was always a good idea to have both of their spiders in good moods.

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nyanmitsus · 5 years ago

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[RF4] the importance of keeping cool

title: the importance of keeping cool rating: g fandom: rune factory 4 pairing: doug/dylas additional tags: n/a read on ao3

They weren’t always quiet like this.

In the middle of summer, there was nothing to do but sweat. As high up as Selphia was, it still got unbearably hot, and if Dylas had to spend one more minute listening to Porcoline’s commentary about it, he thought he was going to go crazy. He’d excused himself from lunch and headed down to the lake, and he was pleasantly surprised to find no one there.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise. Today was one of those days where a trip to Autumn Road wasn’t too outrageous of an idea; Dylas supposed that most people decided to head out that way instead. Maybe he would have, too, if he’d thought of it earlier in the day. For now, he was content to sit by the lake and wait for a fish to bite.

At some point, Doug had joined him, with nothing more to say but hey. He sat down next to Dylas and stayed sitting up for all of ten minutes before he shed his coat and flopped down into the grass. And it was quiet—save for the lapping of the lake against the shore—which was both a blessing and a curse. It was easier for Dylas to not have to think about what to say for a little while, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Doug was thinking about.

Not like it actually mattered to Dylas. It was probably just something they’d end up fighting over, anyway.

...Right? Right.

The first time either of them spoke was when the sun was beginning to paint the sky dusty blues and pinks. Dylas’s bucket of fish was only half-full; it seemed like not even those under the water could stand the heat, but he made a promise to Porco to at least come back with something.

“I feel like an ice cream cone,” Doug said, and Dylas was entirely too focused on the charming lilt of his voice than what he was actually saying. “Except, like, in a puddle on the ground. A melted ice cream cone.”

Dylas looked away from the water, examining Doug from head to toe. Still completely intact, even with the shed coat and discarded boots. “You’re not melted, rice brain.”

Doug laughed. “Rice brain? What kinda insult is that?”

“The kind for you,” Dylas said. “Your brain’s only as big as a grain of rice.”

Doug rolled his eyes, and Dylas turned back to the water.

Times like these were when Dylas really didn’t know whether he and Doug liked each other or hated each other. They spent so much time hurling insults at each other, but Dylas almost felt like he trusted Doug more than anyone else in this town, despite everything that had happened before. He knew that if he told Doug something secret, Doug would carry it to his grave. Likewise, he’d do the same for Doug.

But it was just too hard to read that damn dwarf! Sometimes Dylas would catch flashes of expressions across Doug’s face that didn’t seem intentional, but he just didn’t understand him. He talked so much about girls and being bored and wondering what he was going to eat next, but Dylas was always left wondering if any of those things actually interested Doug past a surface-level sort of interest. And if Doug didn’t care much about those things, then what did he care about?

Dylas didn’t even know how to approach a subject like that. He’d learned from Lest that there are some things you can’t just ask outright, and that definitely seemed like what Lest was talking about. But Lest was impossibly good at figuring things like that out—it’d taken Dylas nearly a whole season to even recognize that he and Doug were kind of friends.

He shook his head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to think about stuff like that. He had fish to catch, anyway, even though it felt like nothing had bitten in the past half hour.

He decided to give himself ten more minutes: it was way too hot, still, to wait for ten more minutes, but whether or not he caught something, he was going home. And when those ten minutes were up, he kept his word, standing and collecting his bucket and his fishing rod.

“We’re leaving,” Dylas said, lightly kicking Doug in the side. “Get up, or I’ll leave you here.”

Doug was quick to collect himself, tossing his coat over his shoulder. “Felt like I was laying there for hours. Want me to carry that?”

“I’ve got it. And you were laying there for hours.”

The sun hung even lower in the sky by the time they reached the restaurant, but only because they stopped to talk to Lest on the way back. It seemed like the heat didn’t bother him, even though he’d been working all day. He was telling them all about how he and Dolce were running deliveries all day for someone named Eliza. Somehow, Doug had gotten hold of the bucket during the conversation, and he held it with both hands in front of him, swaying back and forth.

They said goodbye to the prince and resumed their walk back to the restaurant. The same sort of silence from the lake fell over them again. Doug was smiling, though; he didn’t look bored or like he was searching for something to say. Was he really content just taking a walk with Dylas?

No one was inside the restaurant when they arrived—aside from Arthur, maybe—and Doug set down the bucket in the kitchen as instructed. He lingered for a moment, looking like he had something to say.

“You can stay for a little,” Dylas blurted. “Until the sun goes down. So it’s not as hot when you go back.”

Doug raised an eyebrow, like it was completely outrageous that Dylas would extend any sort of kindness towards him, but he nodded. “Works for me.”

“I just don’t want to hear you whining about how hot it was.”

“I don’t whine! You’re way more of a whiner than me!”

“Am not! Did you hear me complain at all about the heat?”

Doug thought about it, just for a few seconds. “Well, no, but you looked so damn miserable hauling that bucket back here that you were practically whining. It was all in the eyes.”

“The hell you lookin’ at my eyes for?”

Doug stammered, but then it was silent again. He didn’t look at Dylas. Instead, he was looking somewhere off to the side, probably trying to come up with some sort of explanation. The thought of there being any sort of explanation made Dylas feel all kinds of strange. It’d be easier to accept that it was just some weird offhanded remark. Maybe it was just a dwarf thing. Or maybe it was something else.

No matter what it was, Dylas didn’t want to know, and the more time Doug had to think about it, the closer an answer came. So Dylas decided to talk about the first thing that came to mind.

“Porco makes ice cream in the summer,” Dylas said, like it wasn’t a fact Doug knew well. “You want one?”

Dylas could almost see Doug’s train of thought crash and burn at the mere mention of ice cream. The topic of Dylas’s eyes was completely abandoned, and they were back to their usual back-and-forth about whatever Doug had to start mouthing off about. It seemed like he’d done a lot of thinking while he was staring at the clouds earlier, and Dylas was half-sure that Doug was just spouting hot air rather than trying to pick a fight.

Still, this felt normal, and normal was something Dylas could handle.

(It was so hot that the ice cream started to melt when they’d barely started eating it. Dylas decided that it must have been the very same heat that warmed his cheeks whenever he thought about staring into Doug’s eyes—or rather, glancing to the side and catching Doug staring at him. He wondered how many of those moments he’d missed in the time they knew each other. He wondered if he’d catch them now that he was paying attention. He wondered if Doug felt the same heat, the same blush, the same feeling in his stomach like there were a bunch of wasps trapped in there instead of the butterflies he’d read about in books and heard about in songs.)

Dylas was sure he’d wiped the same empty table about six times over.

It’d been a few days since he’d had that whole conversation with Doug, but things with him seemed to be normal. They didn’t talk about Dylas’s eyes again, and Dylas wasn’t even sure if that whole thing crossed Doug’s mind nearly as much as it crossed his.

Maybe it was just a ridiculous thing to focus on. If Doug wasn’t thinking about it, then there was no reason for Dylas to be focusing on it either. Right now, anyway, Dylas had to focus on wiping the table for the seventh time. He could see his reflection in it already, but if he looked too bored, Porcoline would surely give him something else to do, and that something else had enormous potential to be something ridiculous. Or just plain unappealing, like going out to pick berries or flowers when it was twice as hot as the day he’d gone fishing.

Arthur walked in from the other room while Dylas was in the middle of his eighth table-wiping, and it was the most activity the entire place had seen for the past hour. Porcoline even stopped his singing to say hello.

“Are you hungry?” Porcoline asked. “You keep yourself cooped up in there all day and all night! You must be hungry.”

“No, I’m alright,” Arthur said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s quite hot today, though. I was wondering if it was cooler on this side of the building.”

Porcoline shook his head. “I can’t say it is. But! What I can say is that you should one-hundred percent stick around for a hot minute, as my darling Dylas has to go on a Porcomission starting right now!”

That seemed to perk Arthur up. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Dylas, what sort of mission are you going on?”

“Not one I was aware of,” Dylas said, tossing his rag over his shoulder and meeting the two at the counter. “What do you want?”

Porcoline spun around in much too big of a circle than was actually necessary, retrieving a basket that sat by the window. It looked rather delicate, and its contents were covered by a red and white checkered cloth. Knowing Porcoline, it was some sort of care package.

“I’ve prepared the most special soup in the entire world! Or at least this side of the world. You must take this to Blossom, okay?” Porcoline asked, with an unusual sort of seriousness. “Arthur has no problem covering for you until you get back. And if she offers you money, do not take it.”

Dylas wasn’t sure when Arthur volunteered himself for something like that, and by the look on the blond’s face, he didn’t know either. But Dylas knew he was more willing to take a walk in the heat than Arthur was, anyway, so he took the basket and started on his way.

The air felt hot even when Dylas breathed. It was no surprise that not many were willing to head all the way to the restaurant for a bite to eat. The path to the general store was pretty empty, save for a few tourists sitting with their feet in the river. Amber was around, too, looking like she was about three minutes away from wilting.

It was somewhat cooler when Dylas stepped inside the store. Doug was fiddling with something behind the counter, but it must not have been very important. He was staring off into space, and he didn’t even realize Dylas was standing there until Dylas cleared his throat.

“Hey!” Doug greeted him without half as much of his usual energy, looking like he was about to die of boredom. He probably was. “Why are you here?”

“None of your business,” Dylas said. “I have a delivery. It’s not for you.”

“Fine, don’t save me from the icy grip of death. Granny Blossom’s upstairs.” Doug came out from around the counter, and Dylas stepped back. “I’m not gonna hit ya. I just wanna take a peek.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?!”

“You’ll mess it up, you stupid dwarf! Porco said it was special!”

“I won’t mess it up!” Doug huffed. “Alright, keep your secrets. See if I care!”

At some point during all of that, Dylas had ended up looking at the ground. But when he looked up, Doug was staring straight into his eyes. He looked hurt. Like Dylas had wronged him far greater than refusing to let him look into the basket.

It hardly lasted a second, and Doug’s eyes flitted away towards the stairs, where Blossom was slowly descending.

“I thought I heard some commotion down here,” she said, a smile growing on her face. “You’re looking well today, Dylas. What brings you all this way?”

“I-It’s not that far,” Dylas said. He held the basket out in front of him. “Porco told me to bring this to you.”

He wasn’t sure why someone would need soup on such a hot day, but as he passed it to her, he felt her icy hands touch his, and it all made sense. She pushed aside the cloth, and inside, there was a jar of soup, two pieces of bread, and two different types of onigiri. Porcoline must have taken Doug into consideration, too.

“Oh, my! This is so lovely.” Blossom smiled and stretched out her hand. Dylas took it as a sign to lean down a bit so she could touch his cheek. “Aren’t you such a sweet boy?”

Doug snickered off to the side, and Dylas shot a glare at him.

“There’s something here for you too, Doug,” Blossom said, placing the basket on the table. “See, your friend cares about you just as much as you care about him.”

Doug laughed a little louder at that. “Me? Care about that guy?! I’d rather die!”

Dylas never in a million years thought hearing something like that from Doug would hurt, but it did, and he was pretty sure it showed on his face with the way that Doug’s expression changed to something unreadable. Concern? Regret? Dylas didn’t know and didn’t care, and he said his goodbyes and walked all the way back to the restaurant before he punched something.

Or more like some one. Really, he wanted to punch Doug. He also didn’t want to punch Doug at the same time, because he wanted to do something else, too, but punching was the thing that Dylas felt like he could actually do.Something like asking what Doug meant by preferring death over admitting whether or not he cared about Dylas was completely out of the question—Dylas already knew right now that he wouldn’t be able to do that even if he went back right now, fueled by adrenaline.

The restaurant was still as empty as it was when Dylas left. Margaret was there now, too, and her, Porcoline, and Arthur were all crowded around the counter. Their conversation stopped when Dylas walked in.

“Welcome back! Did she absolutely love it?” Porcoline asked.

“Yeah, she was happy,” Dylas said.

“Did Doug absolutely love the goodies I snuck in there for him? How was Doug?”

“He was awful, as usual.” Dylas rolled his eyes. “I can’t deal with him.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Margaret said, touching a gentle hand to Dylas’s shoulder. “He’s not horrible! I know you know that.”

“Whatever.”

Dylas picked up his rag again. He was sure that the table was due for its ninth scrub now that he’d left it for a little while. Porcoline started up some weird conversation about something Dylas didn’t understand, and Arthur excused himself shortly after that got started. Margaret started tuning one of her instruments, only half-listening to Porcoline’s monologuing.

Business didn’t pick up again until the evening, and even then there were no more than five customers. It was a good enough distraction, though. Dylas had managed to get his mind off of Doug for almost the entire rest of the evening.

(He didn’t think about him until he was starting to fall asleep. His bedroom was way too hot, even with the window open, so he had no choice but to think about it. The look in Doug’s eyes was what got to him. Was that what Doug meant about it all being in the eyes? Doug hadn’t said anything else, but after thinking about it so much, Dylas felt like he could get a good idea of what was going through his head just by looking into his eyes. And as he fell asleep, he ended up committing each silver tone in those eyes to memory.)

“Today’s the Firefly Festival!”

Porcoline’s voice rang out through the entire restaurant. It didn’t really need to, considering Dylas was about five feet away from him, but if he needed to make sure every nook and cranny of the building heard him, then he was going to do it to the best of his ability.

“And?” Dylas asked, a bit flatly.

He didn’t know what the Firefly Festival had to do with him, unless Porcoline just thought he was daft and was making sure he knew it was today. Dylas was pretty good at keeping track of festivals, though, and Porcoline knew that, so it must have been something else.

Dylas was fond of festivals, but on this one, he usually watched the fireflies by himself. He didn’t have anyone special to watch them with, and it was somewhat nicer to find a quiet spot where he could sit and watch them fly around without the pressure of talking to someone else about it. It was probably a dreadful way of spending such a romantic holiday, but really, who was he supposed to spend it with? Doug?

...The thought sent chills down Dylas’s spine, and he wasn’t sure if they were bad chills or good chills.

“Hello? Aren’t you excited?” Porcoline asked, his face falling a bit.

Dylas shrugged. He couldn’t meet Porcoline’s eyes like this. “It happens every year.”

“Yes! Every year we get to see those scrumptious little lightning bugs, and every year I am so very excited!” Porcoline crossed his arms. “What’s got you being such a sourpuss?”

Now that was a good stopping point. Dylas trusted Porcoline well enough, but he really did not want to get into whatever was going on with Doug. Not with Porcoline or anyone—besides, if it was like one of their usual fights, it’d clear itself up in a few days, and neither of them would even remember it by next week.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So there is something,” Arthur said, and Dylas nearly jumped out of his skin. When did he even get here?

“Who asked you?!” Dylas took a step back, nearly bumping into Margaret.

She thwacked him quickly on the back of his head. “You need to get yourself sorted out, Dylas. It’s not like you to get like this.”

“I have a wonderful idea!” Porcoline said. “You can clear your head by helping Arthur today! Wouldn’t that be a treat, Arthur? You’ve got a nice, strong boy to do all the heavy lifting for you.”

Dylas never actually agreed, but Arthur swept him up faster than he could protest to it. They met up with Lest along the way, and the three of them were off to Dragon Lake in no time—which appeared to have gotten a facelift since the last time Dylas was there, and that was hardly more than a week ago.

“You don’t have to stay for the actual festival if you’d prefer not to,” Arthur said. “I just need you beforehand, so if you’ve got any business to take care of after that, then please feel free.”

The way Arthur looked at him made Dylas feel like he knew a lot more than he let on. And while Arthur’s gaze was sharp and knowing, Lest’s eyes were wide and asked a million questions. The two looked at each other, and Lest seemed to understand whatever Arthur did. When did these two get so close?!

“You can do it, Dylas!” Lest said. “I believe in you!”

“Weirdo,” Dylas scoffed, but Lest smiled, and it almost made him feel better.

Evening came quicker than Dylas thought it would, the fireflies settling into the venue just as he finished preparing the last booth that Arthur had given him to work on. The area was more flooded with tourists, too, most choosing to sit by the lake or in front of the small stage Arthur and Lest (more Lest than Arthur, really) had spent all day on. Margaret was currently setting up to sing; it was no surprise that dozens and dozens of men were sat waiting for her. It made Dylas bristle a bit.

Regardless of what Arthur had said about leaving, Dylas figured he could stay for a little while. There were so many unfamiliar faces that he didn’t expect someone he actually knew to find him very easily, which, of course, made it a little easier for Dylas to relax.

Margaret’s song began, and the fireflies were drawn to her voice. The lanterns they’d set up earlier were rendered almost useless with how much light the bugs gave off. In the distance, standing near the stage, Arthur seemed quite pleased.

“I caught one!”

Somehow, Doug was in front of Dylas now, cupping a firefly in his hands. He grinned, holding it up to Dylas’s face. The firefly stood in Doug’s hands for a moment, almost as if it were staring at Dylas, before it flew away and joined the rest.

“What do you want?” Dylas asked flatly.

“Can I stand here with you?” Doug asked. “It’s kinda lame to watch these all by yourself.”

Dylas didn’t say anything. He just nodded, chest tight, and Doug stood much closer to him than he probably usually would have. Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it wasn’t.

Margaret continued to sing, and when Doug got bored of standing still, he started to catch whichever firefly flew too close. He let Dylas hold one of them. Things almost felt normal, and Dylas felt stupid for expecting this fight to be any different than their usual. Saying sorry was tough for both of them, anyway, so it was probably best that they didn’t try.

Still, Dylas felt like there was something missing. Doug’s voice didn’t carry the life it usually did. Dylas couldn’t find it within himself to argue like they usually did. Nothing was the same at all, now that Dylas really thought about it, and it was weird and scary and Dylas didn’t want to lose what they’d built together, even if it was a careless little thing with a foundation of bickering and secret gifts and making sure the world knew they hated each other.

Dylas didn’t hate Doug. He never had.

Margaret’s song finished, and they were quiet, still, in the interim. Dylas had a million words to say that wouldn’t come out right even if he wrote them down and read them off. Doug looked like he had something to say too, but knowing him, he wouldn’t say it anytime soon.

Arthur was on the stage next, thanking everyone for coming and starting something about a beach beauty contest.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Dylas said.

“I’ll see you home,” Doug said, a little too quickly. “I mean, you’ll probably get lost or something in the dark. And I can see better in the dark. Duh.”

Dylas decided to just start walking, and if Doug followed, then he followed. The crowd was a little thinner now that it was later, but not by much, and Dylas instinctively kept checking behind him to make sure they didn’t get separated.

He nearly ran into Porcoline during one of these checks. The man put his hands on Dylas’s shoulders to steady him.

“Oho? Leaving early?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Have fun, you two. Not too much fun.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Dylas snapped.

“Oh, nothing! Au revoir!”

Porcoline was away in a whirl, and Dylas felt like maybe something was up there, but Arthur was starting to announce the participants of whatever stupid contest he made up, and Dylas continued on. There were still people milling around just outside of the lake area, and Doug grabbed on to his sleeve at some point to make sure they’d stay together.

The crowd didn’t thin until they’d gotten past the castle square. He felt like he could breathe a little easier on the east side of Selphia, even if each breath was full of the flowery fragrance of Illuminata’s shop. The fireflies seemed even more plentiful with no one around.

They were halfway across one of the bridges when Doug finally spoke up.

“I wanted to apologize. Kinda,” he said, leaning against the railing.

“You wanted to kinda apologize?”

“I’m bad at this sort of thing, okay?” Doug looked away, staring at a point in the water. “Sorry for what I said.”

Dylas was silent—he didn’t expect an actual apology, especially since Doug said it would only be a kinda apology. The dwarf seemed sincere, though, even with his crossed arms, even with how he fiddled with a button on his coat. He took a breath, like he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth.

He looked at Dylas, then looked away, then looked at him again and said, “Actually, I-I care about you way too much. So I kinda lied when I said that thing before.”

Dylas’s breath caught in his throat. “Y-You…”

“Granny Blossom said it’s best if I just say what I feel. Just to you. So I’m gonna say it.” He breathed in, breathed out, uncrossed his arms. “I like you. You don’t have to say it back.”

“I-Idiot!” was the first thing that came to Dylas’s mind. Doug flinched, and he added, “Wait. Sorry. I…”

Doug shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I just needed to tell you. Don’t worry about—”

“No, I called you an idiot ‘cause you…” Dylas shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Did you think I wouldn’t say it back?”

Doug’s eyes widened. In the glow of the fireflies, his cheeks were pink. “Well, yeah, we kinda have that rivalry going on.”

“I’m not a good talker,” Dylas said, “so you’re gonna have to keep dealing with that. But I li-li-li—Dammit! This is so hard!”

“Don’t force it like that! It’s fine, I getcha.” Doug grinned, clapping Dylas on the shoulder. “Cool! I didn’t think we’d be on the same page. I’m gonna kiss you now. I mean—can I do that? Do you want to—”

Doug’s lips were warm and kind of soft and Dylas had to tilt Doug’s face up so they could kiss properly. Dylas was way better at this—at kissing, at showing what he felt—than talking, and he was glad Doug was used to that by now. At some point during the kiss, Doug wrapped his arms around Dylas’s neck, and they parted for a moment before another long kiss.

A galaxy of fireflies surrounded them, and their moment felt like forever. Even when they parted for good, Dylas just wanted to stay close, to touch Doug’s face and brush away the fireflies that landed in his hair. Doug was whispering a whole bunch of things, but Dylas could only focus on how each high and low sounded like music, and if Dylas could capture it on paper, he’d want to play it for the whole country.

It was much cooler at night. Standing so close to someone seemed like it’d be too hot of an activity for summer, but it was quite comfortable like this.

The world only resumed when they heard Lest’s voice in the castle square, and they both figured out it’d be better to get out of there before the crowds followed.

(They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way to the restaurant. There was ice cream in the freezer, and it was much easier to talk to Doug now that everything was pretty clear between them. They talked for hours, about the fireflies, about the feelings they’d been holding back, about everything, and the next time they kissed, Doug tasted like vanilla, and all of it made Dylas feel like things were going to be fine between the two of them for a very long time.)

The minute Dylas came down the stairs the next morning, Porcoline asked, “No Doug?”

Dylas felt like he was going to die right then and there. “No,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Why would Doug be here?”

Porocline batted his eyelashes. “It was such an innocent question.”

“Not when you say it.”

“But you did leave the festival with him, did you not?” Arthur asked. “During the main event. I’ve got very sharp eyes.”

“Just because I left with him doesn’t mean he came here!” Dylas huffed. “How the hell would you know that anyway?”

“Well, it was a guess.” Arthur took a sip of his tea. “Thank you for confirming it, though.”

Margaret finally looked up from tuning her harp. “We’re so happy for you guys! Porco’s been waiting for this for weeks. You seem like you’re a lot happier, too.”

Dylas scowled. “I didn’t even say anything about what happened! You’re all the worst!”

“Oh, do tell us!” Porcoline urged. “I’ll make a delectable carrot stew if you tell us every single detail.”

In the end, Dylas didn’t tell them much. He cut his losses and kept it simple: he and Doug were a thing now, and that was that. If he said any more, then Porcoline would tell everyone, and he’d rather have the short and simple version be spread across the town by noon.

(Doug showed up to hide in the restaurant’s upstairs at around one o’clock. Something or other about getting way too much attention about the whole thing, and Dylas joined him when the usual lunch crowd came in with more questions than Dylas had answers. He joined Doug in sitting on his bedroom floor, and Doug took his hand, and he was perfectly content waiting there until everyone’s excitement died down. The summer sun shone through the window, and Doug let his head fall against Dylas’s shoulder.)

(With Doug, the heat didn’t feel so bad.)

#rune factory 4 #doug dylas #doug rf4 #dylas rf4 #mezzosaka xpost

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