#s: dabbing dad & troublesome kid
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Another installation to the drabble series for @vagabond-dad
Now, heâs more or less got a routine down. Adjusting to life as a student is difficult enough with limited funds, but he makes do with what heâs got. Harley goes to his classes, studies and does a part time job as a cashier down at one of the convenience stores near Castelia U. He makes enough that he can mostly live by, paying the rent on his tiny apartment and bills, so long as heâs careful with his money.
Then, halfway through his second semester, he catches some dumb bug thatâs going around the campus.
Initially heâs able to remain relatively healthy even when his classes had a revolving door of students who left with sunken faces and an unhealthy cough, only to return a few days to a week later looking bright eyed and bushy tailed. But one morning, he woke up with a pounding headache, an itch in his throat and groans, knowing heâs not in for a fun week.
And what a week it is. Harley still goes to his classes, even when he falls asleep through half of them. By the third day, heâs coughing deep, painful sounding coughs that often garners worried looks from students and lecturers alike. He often waves off the concern, citing that heâd be right as rain with some rest and tea, but he only got the resting part down by passing out the moment he lays on his bed.
Harley eats canned soup and drink orange juice, but they never made him feel any better. It only made things marginally okay when it ended with him spewing the contents of his stomach about an hour later. He rests his sweaty forehead against the cool porcelain, one arm grasping his cramping stomach and wishes for Arceus to just let him die in peace.
He did not end up dying, but it certainly feels like it. By Monday of next week, he didnât go to class, too achy and disoriented to do anything more than drink some water, maybe attempt a sip or two of soup before he sleeps an uneasy sleep for hours on end. His food soon runs out, as does his juice and over the counter cold medicine heâs been religiously popping ever since this illness set up shop.
Harley keeps telling himself that heâll get up, wash off the sweat and sick before he goes to the shop to buy more stuff. But he only manages to sit up, let the room swirl sickeningly in front of his eyes before he lays back down on the dirtied sheets. He needed to wash them too, but that too feels too demanding right now.
He doesnât know how many days passed by, until one day, he hears knocking coming from the door. Harley cracks open an eye, coughs his smokerâs cough and tries to ignore the jackhammers in his sludge of a brain. Though, his guest seems insistent, so he manages to peel himself away from the bed. It takes a few attempts before heâs on shaky legs, making the perilously long trek to the front door. Some stuff fell around him, which makes the knocking even more annoying.
After a few missed slaps, he finally manages to twist the knob with sweaty palms. Harley leans heavily against the wall as the door swings open, pulling off his best irritated look (which isnât much, given that he looks like death warmed over).
âOh my goodness Harley. What happened to you?â The blurry figure asks. He thinks that the voice is familiar, as does that shade of red, but then his vision swims. His knees buckles as he pitches forward into a pair of strong arms. Everything becomes a low buzz before darkness claims him.
When Harley wakes up, the world's dim and warm and comforting.
He's buried under a metric ton of blankets, and there's something cool and damp over his forehead. He reaches out for it, groggy and half awake â finds a cold compress and wonders who thought to put it there.
He wonders too on what occurred prior to his awakening. Harley tries to recall, but his memories keep trickling like sand in an hourglass. Heâs sick, isnât he? Then he coughs, deep and wet and achy, as if to confirm that thought.
Suddenly, he finds a hand gently rubbing circles on his back. When he stops and sags from exhaustion, an arm keeps him steady. The rim of a cup is pressed against his lips.
âCome on, my boy. Try and take little sips.â A voice encourages. With closed eyes, he takes a sip. The water is cool, and is heavenly on his dry throat. Though, thereâs an odd taste to it-- vaguely medicine like.
ââs bad,â he mumbles, trying to pull away.
âIâve smashed aspirin in it to make it easier to swallow. Itâll help with your fever. Please, try and have some more.â
Harley doesnât want to, but a little tip and heâs swallowing. Itâs slow, under his own prompting. The voice encourages him, the arm giving a little squeeze when he finds it hard to, and that keeps him going till he finishes the entire glass. Then heâs lowered onto the bed, the compress replaced on his forehead and a pressure settles atop his hand.
He wants to see what it is, but itâs like the act of drinking had drained him of his strength. Harley drifts off once more, this time to a low tune about starry skies and peaceful sleep.Â
When he returns to consciousness, Harley finds that he doesnât feel like heâs dying anymore.
He cracks open an eye, finds sunlight streaming in from the window and wonders just how long heâd been asleep for. Brown eyes slowly looks around, taking in the collection of items on the bedside table -- bowl, medicine bottle, a glass of water -- till it falls on a figure sitting by the bed.Â
His body reacts quicker than his mind, tries to sit bolt upright, This only made his head swim with dizziness, causing him to groan loud enough to awaken Alder, who had been sleeping the chair. The physical strain is enough for his chest to revolt with painful sounding coughs. He finds a hand drawing comforting circles on his back till he catches his breath. The arm keeps him in place.
âHow are you feeling?â Alder asks, soft and laced with concern.Â
âAwful,â he mumbles, blinking before he tries to make a move out of the bed. The Champion gently pushes him back down on the bed.
âYou shouldnât exert yourself. Youâve been out for a few with a high fever. You could barely keep anything down, too. Thought I had to bring you to the hospital, but you responded well to the medicine and tea that I gave you.â Alder flashes him a warm smile. âIâm glad that youâre more awake now. Would you like some tea?â
Harley has to take a bit to process everything. When he does, he gives a slow nod. Heâs still far too weak and tired to pull up his usual suspicion with the elder, and tea really did sound good to his sore throat. Alder gives his hand a little squeeze before he rises from his chair, stretching a little till thereâs a satisfying pop. He thinks he hears the other grumble about being old, and that gets a tiny smile from him.
Soon, Alder returns with a mug of tea. Itâs big and warm in his hands. He stares at the murky brown content. Something mustâve shown on his face, for Alder chuckles.
âI know it doesnât look the best, but I promise you that itâll help with your cough.â After staring at it for a solid minute, he finally takes a slow, careful sip. Itâs... a little bitter, a little sweet and surprisingly, doesnât taste as bad during the next sip. The more he drinks, the better it tastes.
Alder merely watches him with a soft smile, until he gently grabs the mug when Harley looks like heâs dozing off halfway through his drink. Heâs still pretty much wiped, but the elder is glad that he managed to get some meds and fluids into him. The next time he wakes up and have more energy, heâs going to have the best chicken soup recipe that Alder has in his arsenal of homemade goods.
âYou should get some more rest, my boy. Iâll be here when you wake up,â Alder encourages as he replaces the cold compress and settles the blanket atop of him.Â
Thereâs a lot of things that Harley wants to ask, but the tug of sleep is too powerful. His eyes slowly slides shut. The pressure he vaguely recalls settles atop his hand.Â
He thinks Alder is holding his hand. It feels nice.Â
Harley falls into a deep, dreamless slumber.
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Okay forgive me, cause idk how to exactly word this, but the (Dad)'s reactibg ro Dadsona and their kids playing around or having genuine fun with each other. (Also love your blog, look forward to seeing you guys post more!)
Craig; âSo, uh, just a little warning, Iâm not the most athletic guy, kids.â You nervously chucked as Briar and Hazel hopped out of the car, getting ready to jog their hearts out. âIf you see me panting and looking like Iâm about to die, just give me a few minutes. Or hours.â Craig had decided to bring you, Hazel and Briar along for his (and Riverâs) weekend run. Of course, the twins jumped up to the chance and practically teleported into the car when he announced this, but you, being the sleepy father that you were, had to be piggybacked all the way to the car. And even then, you were still hesitant about going out for a jog. Your legs werenât being particularly good to you recently, but you decided to push on for the girlsâ and Craigâs sake. Hazel grinned at you as she stretched out. âDonât worry, Y/N. I have 911 on speed dial and Briar knows first aid. If that doesnât work we can always splash pond water on your face to wake you up.â âHazel!â Briar shook her head at her twin and turned to you. âSheâs joking, Y/N. She wouldnât throw pond water on anybody-â Just as she spoke, Hazel had cupped a handful of pond water and splashed it on her twinâs body, making her gasp. âOh my God! You are so in for it now, Hazel!â Just like that, the twins ran off into the distance, disappearing behind a set of playground equipment. Craig chuckled and said heâd go after them before jogging off with River strapped to his chest. You settled for a bit of jogging yourself, trying to catch up to his pace, but you fell behind and just settled for sitting down on a bench when you felt a presence hiding behind the bench. When you turned around, you spotted Hazel crouching behind the bench, trying to keep in her giggles. âShh, Briarâs on the lookout. Pretend Iâm not here!â Just then, Hazel came out from the woods, looking around in search for her troublesome sister. She found you hanging around and walked over to you. âHey Y/N, have you seen Briar anywhere?â Well aware that Briar was right behind you, you decided to mask her location. âI think I saw her somewhere in the⌠playground?â Unfortunately, just as Hazel turned to head off to the playground, Briar was unable to contain her laughter and burst out into a fit of giggles that caught Hazelâs attention, running over to her sister and rubbing the top of her head. âThere you are, you jerk! You got my clothes soaked!â The girl scolded as her twin laughed without a care. You slowly stood up, trying not to disturb them when Hazel faced you with a mischievous grin. âOh, donât think Iâm done with you, Y/N! Youâre in on this, too!â She pounced on you as your weak father legs failed to get away quick enough, making you lie on the ground as Hazel sat on your back. âDrop and give me 10, soldier!â She jokingly ordered. Briar joined in too, hopping on your back. You felt their combined weight nearly crush you, but you pushed on for their enjoyment. âO-One, twoâŚâ You heaved, feeling your lungs begin to cramp up as the twins laughed from on top of you. âT-ThreeâŚâ Out of nowhere, Craig jogged up to you three, smiling as he watched you struggling to continue the pushups. You couldnât tell if he was smiling at you spending time with the kids or at your inability to do pushups with two adolescents on your backside. Either way, he pursued you until you (barely) finished the push-ups and collapsed on the park ground, drained out. The twins hopped off you and helped you up. âYou did great, Y/N! Iâm surprised, considering Hazel weighs like a cow.â Briar teased, to which Hazel replied by sticking out her tongue playfully. âI think Y/Nâs a little tired, why donât you girls get some ice cream over there?â Craig pointed over to an ice cream truck nearby and handed money to the twins, who sped off at the speed of light. Did these kids ever get tired? He helped you onto the bench, handing you his water bottle. âBro, you and the girls get along really well, and Iâm really glad you do. The twins havenât been the best since the divorce and all, so itâs really cool that theyâve warmed up to you.â As you fell back on the bench, River burbled on Craigâs chest, smiling at you. You made funny faces resulting in her laughter. Craig put his arm around you. âOh, and River, of course.âHugo; Being in a relationship with a middle/high school teacher had itâs pros and cons. Mostly cons, one of them being him becoming too busy with checking the studentsâ quiz papers that he had to postpone his long-awaited night stroll with you that evening.  âIâm sorry, honey. Iâll make it up to you soon, alright?â Hugo meekly apologized, giving you a brief kiss before settling down at his desk. Knowing him, he would hardly leave unless he needed food, water, the toilet, or he was hit by a sudden realization that this was his life and needed moral support from his loving boyfriend. The point was, Hugo sure as hell wouldnât be leaving his desk until he was finished, which left you to humor yourself for the night. You decided to go the easy route and head downstairs, plopping on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn for a trashy romcom movie fest. Switching through the channels, you settled on a particularly trashy one which had been running for about 5 minutes. Yet, you could already tell this movie was going to be cheesily awful, so you buckled down and let your eyes glaze over the screen. It was around the twenty-minute mark that you heard the door open, hearing Ernestâs familiar groan and the dragging of his backpack across the floor. But instead of going straight to his room, he stopped behind the sofa. You looked up to see the teen squinting at the television. âIs that⌠Two Loves, One Stone?âYou raised an eyebrow, caring less about the movie title and more about Ernest being invested into garbage low budget romantic comedies. âUhh, yes?â Instead of shrugging it off and calling you a weirdo, he motioned you to scoot over so he could sit on the couch. He welcomed his hand into the bowl of popcorn and stared intensely at the screen. Was Ernest really into this stuff? You wanted to ask about this, but the young man looked so invested into the movie that you refused to disturb him and ate your popcorn in peace. Neither of you spoke until Ernest began sobbing. âE-Ernest? Whatâs-â Ernest pointed at the screen, smiling as he wiped the tears from his eyes. âVictor finally woke up from his coma and confessed his love for Sarah, look! Sarahâs waited four years for this, and itâs just so, so, beautifulâŚâ As he went back to his happy crying, you awkwardly patted his back, even offering a piece of tissue which he silently accepted and blew his nose into. You felt a presence behind both of you and was met by Hugo leaning against a wall, looking as if he was going to cry from joy himself. You giggled from his dopey smile along with his watery eyes before turning back to Ernest. After the movie, Ernest retired to his room, muttering a good night to his father and slamming the door behind him. But Hugo couldnât care less about his sonâs attitude and practically crushed you into a hug, tears rolling down his cheeks as his glasses went askew.  âMy son! My boyfriend! Bonding over a movie!â He cried in joy and buried his head into your shoulder. âIt was beautiful indeedâŚâRobert; There were three things that Robert loved the most; his boyfriend, his daughter, and whittling. So when he drove you and Val to the hill overlooking the city for some nice bonding time, he couldnât contain his excitement as he handed Val a knife and a stick. She looked at the two items, a little confused. âPops, itâs either you want me to carve this stick or youâre going to drag us into the woods to stab a cryptid you tied up, harvest its blood and sacrifice it to the Mothman.â Robertâs face turned dark. âIâve raised you well, Val. Câmon, we only have till daybreak to sacrifice the spider-eyed lamb before it escapes my traps and reaps our souls and the souls of the innocent. The stick must be buried deep into the lambâs heart, to make sure that it shall never rise to harm anybody again. The Mothman shall be pleased.â You stared at the father and daughter, staring at each other so seriously before collapsing in a fit of giggles. A true father and daughter pair. âNot sure if you remember, but I used to whittle a lot when you were a kid. Made you a little wooden dog around preschool.â He grinned and started to peel with the grain. âYou took it everywhere, yâknow? You even named it.â âSheesh, Iâm 24 and you still remind me of Maxine The Great Wooden Dog? Youâre a true father.â Val rolled her eyes jokingly. âSurprisingly, I do remember you whittling, but I still have no idea how you do it.â Seeing Robert go into his own whittling world, you decided to explain it to Val yourself. âItâs kinda like peeling a potato, but youâre also trying to shape it so I guess itâs like shaping potatoes if thatâs a thing. Donât cut against the grain, itâs gonna splinter and ruin everything. Try cutting with it.â You demonstrated, slicing the bark of the stick with ease. She tried to mimic you but felt a bit disabled due to her long nails. It wasnât long until she accidentally cut herself. âAh, shit.â Val muttered, spotting red blood roll down her thumb. Robert snapped out of his whittling world and approached her, wrapping a bandana around her finger as you ran to the car to get the first aid kit. You returned with the box in hand and had her lean over the fence. âThis might hurt a bit.â You warned as you swiped the blood away and dabbed a bit of antibiotic ointment onto the cut. Sealing off the area with a band-aid, you rubbed her back as she pushed herself off the fence. âYou alright?â âYeah. Thanks, Y/N.â âDonât worry, I got cut on the first time I did it, too. Your father was there and he patched me right up, didnât you, Robert?â You turned to Robert, who simply nodded and smiled at his stick. What was he so happy about? On the drive home, Robert nudged you after dropping her off at her hotel room. âHey, thanks for looking out for Val.â âRobert, it was just a cut-â âNo, no,â He chuckled. âMy girlâs a tough one, she can definitely handle a little cut. What I mean is that you were really into teaching her, even going so far as to help her out when she got cut. We should go to the lookout with her again soon.âJoseph; The kids, albeit were a little creepy, they seemed like they wouldnât murder you in your sleep as your relationship with Joseph progressed. You baked with them, brought them to the park and even drove them to school. Of course, there were times that the twins stared at you in silence with similar grins or Chrisâs soft chuckles seemed a bit darker rather than brighter, but Joseph assured you that the kids were all sweethearts.  The six of you decided to spend the afternoon baking sweets for the bake sale the following Saturday. You had to admit, it was nice spending time with the kids. Christie made shapes of the cookie dough, Christian mixed the brownie batter and Chris frosted the cupcakes with his father. Chrish was too young to help out, but he burbled happily in his high chair as if he were commanding you. You looked over Christopher, whoâs arm looked sore from mixing the batter. âHey, Christopher. Iâll stir it.â You offered and he handed the bowl over to you. He looked bored and unwilling to be there, wanting to just finish the brownies and crawl off with his games. As you stirred the mix, he yawned and rested his cheek against his hand, obviously dulled to seemingly no end. Once you finished mixing, Crish had suddenly began sobbing in his high chair. Joseph turned around immediately. âOh, jeez. He might be teething againâŚâ The man rushed over to see what the baby had been fussing about. Before you could turn back around to continue your business, you saw Christian with a handful of flour gripped into a fist, a mischevious grin on his face as he aimed for his father. You knew what had to be done. You dove in front of Joseph just as the flour flew at him, earning you flour dust all over your shirt. Chrish had stopped sobbing and laughed at your misfortune as Joseph realized what was happening. âNo! My plan to vanquish the Spider King has been tainted!â Cristopher cried out and reached for another fistful of flour. âNevermind that. Squire! Help me conquer the evil Spider King and his valiant!â Christieâs eyes lit up as she got involved in this game, withdrawing the harmless cookie cutter and pointing it at your and Josephâs direction. âBack, ye foul creatures!â âHark! What shall we do, Y/N The Valiant? The Mage of Brownies and his rogue alchemist of cookies wish to defeat us!â Joseph gasped. You put on a faux brave face and handed him a mixing spoon while also grabbing a spoon of your own. âNay, Spider King. I shall battle these foes to my deathbed!â You joked and pointed your spoon at Christieâs cookie cutter. âEn guarde!â As you and Christie fake battled with a cookie cutter and a plastic mixing spoon, Joseph shielded himself from the flour dust with a frying pan. Of course, this didnât cover his entire body and he ended up getting flour everywhere. This resulted in Joseph throwing flour onto Christopher and Chris, who cried out gleefully and got into a flour dust war with their father. You and Christie noticed this and ran to your respective sides, you with Joseph and Christie with her siblings. The kitchen was an all-out war area, each side throwing flour to the other. However, the most dreadful of all situations happened; you and Joseph had run out of flour. You raised your mixing spoon as a surrendering gesture to the children. âTurn out! We surrender to your unworldly grasp, Mage of Brownies!â This only pleased the children more, however, as Chris threw a final blow of flour at you. You gasped and made yourself fall back, collapsing against the counter as you pretended to die and grasped Josephâs sleeve. âFarewell, my friend. I shall always be with you in spiritâŚâ You whispered in an exaggerated dying tone. The children laughed and walked over to you, helping you up as best as they could. âWell, that was fun. Have fun cleaning up!â Chris exclaimed as the three of them bolted out of the kitchen, grins on their faces.
âScramble, foul beasts! Let it be known that the kingdom of Spider King and Y/N the Valiant shall rage on!â Joseph called out to them, chuckling as he turned to you. âWell that was quite interesting, wasnât it?â
 You attempted to dust the flour dust off of your pants. âAs much as I love the kids, Joseph, Iâd rather not be covered in flour from head to toe, thanks. It was fun, though.â Joseph laughed and kissed your forehead. âSeems like the kids have warmed up to you. Itâs so pleasing to see the five people in my life get along together so well.â You and Joseph sat there in happy silence, Crish burbling contently in the background on his high chair.Â
Damien; You knew Lucien was a good kid, underneath his rebellious ways and spikey hair. He seemed nice towards you, not giving you as much attitude as he did when you first met. To be honest, you were alright with him. But as you felt a need to be closer to him, you decided to make a little treat for him.
 While Damien was enjoying some alone time in his study, you let yourself into the kitchen to start with your little treat. Lucien had mentioned to you once that he was a vegetarian, unable to handle the thought of an animal being killed whenever he took a bite of his meal. Therefore, you began making the old pie recipe that Amanda loved so much, replacing the regular butter with vegan butter, of course. You stirred the mixture together and placed it into the oven, wondering if Lucien would enjoy it or if heâd just scoff and throw it onto your face. Once the pie was done, you let it cool for a bit before heading upstairs to Lucienâs bedroom and knocking on the door. The teen pulled the door open as soon as you knocked. âWhat is it?â You cleared your voice and tried to muster up what little courage you had to speak with the edgy teen. âHey, Lucien. You hungry? I made something that I think youâll enjoyâŚâ Lucien raised an eyebrow but followed you downstairs. You knew you got him once he sniffed the air. âIs that pie?â You led him towards the sitting room where the steaming pie awaited both of you, accompanied with finger foods and some almond milk. Lucien excitedly sat down on one of the chairs as you sliced him a piece of the pie. His eyes widened once he took a bite. âThis isâŚactually pretty good. Never knew you were into baking, Y/N.â He mumbled in between bites. You practically glowed with pride. âThanks, Lucien.â As you both enjoyed your meal, you saw a flash of raven hair disappear behind a corner, then two familiar magenta contact eyes peer out. Lucien finished around three pieces, muttering a thank you and heading back upstairs. You stood up, getting ready to clear out the table when you felt two arms wrapped around your waist. âIâve never seen Lucien so happy with somebody who wasnât causing trouble.â Damien smiled and placed his head on your shoulder. âHave you cast some sort of spell on him?â âWell, who knows? I might have placed some potion into the pie that makes me inexplicably easy to get along with.â You joked. He laughed and sat down. âIn all seriousness, it brings me joy that youâre getting along well with Lucien.â He sighed. âNow, shall we have some more pie?âMat; Carmensita was relatively nice to you, giving you all the respect you deserved and even joking around with you the same way you joked around with Amanda while she was still around. Your car rides going to school consisted of you and Carmensita singing along to the songs on the radio, Carmensita mostly as you hummed along to the familiar tunes. She was a good kid, really. You were relaxing at home, watching some television when Carmensita and Mat burst through the door, smiles on their faces. âHey, Y/N! Dadâs taking me to the park, you coming?â She grinned and plopped next to you. You stared skeptically at her. âErghh, I donât know, Carmen. These dad legs just canât seem to push themselves off this couch.â You joked. âPerhaps if there was a bit of offering for the creaking dad bones I could consider leaving the couch.â Carmensita pouted. âAweee, câmon! This is the first time weâve gone to the park together in a while!â She whined, pulling at your arm. Mat crossed his arms and grinned at you. âWeâre bringing a picnic basket full of food.âIn a flash, you jumped up from the couch in record speed. âWelp, what are we waiting for, then?â The young girl sniggered at your antics and dragged you towards the car, Mat staying behind to pack the picnic basket and left you two to wait in the car. Carmensita reached over for the radio, switching it on and letting cheery pop music fill the air. Her face lit up with glee. âOh, wow! I love this song!â She cheered and began eagerly singing along, occasionally stumbling over the words with a bashful look on her face. Her enthusiasm radiated off you and seeing her so happy made you attempt to join in on her fun, tapping to the rhythm of the song on the steering wheel and trying your best to follow along with the lyrics, though you failed miserably. Carmensita took no notice of this though and enjoyed singing with you in your own still carpool karaoke.  âHey, guys?â Mat chimed in, climbing into the backseat. âAs much as I love to see you two singing your hearts out, I think we should get going before the sun sets.â You nodded in agreement and left Carmensita to have her own solo, starting the car to drive off to the park. Despite the late afternoon setting which is around the time kids came to play, the park was actually quite empty with only a few children playing around and a couple parents relaxing on the benches. You and Mat carried the picnic basket as Carmensita set down the picnic blanket on the soft grass. Settling onto the blanket, she spotted a bunch of flowers and weeds not far from where you were sitting and walked towards them, plucking them off the ground and walking back to where you and Mat were sitting. âY/N, have you ever made a flower crown before?â She asked, handing you some flowers and a couple weeds. âItâs really fun, actually!â âI think I made one in kindergarten for a girl I liked, but the flowers I used turned out to be the ones she were allergic to and she had to get sent home. Iâve tried to avoid making them ever since.â You shrugged.  Carmensita rolled her eyes jokingly and began weaving. âChildhood trauma aside, flower crowns are an art to make and are pleasing to my generationâs odd taste in aesthetics. Here, let me teach you.âShe helped you weave through the weeds and flowers, and while the finished product didnât look the best, it wasnât bad for a beginner such as yourself. Carmensita expertly created a beautiful matching flower crown and placed in on top of your head, then putting the flower crown you made and putting it on. âSee? I told you it was an art form.â She stuck out her tongue at you, then turned to Mat. âDonât we look great, Dad?â Mat was utterly silent, looking back and forth between you and his daughter before bursting into sudden tears. You immediately patted Matâs back, nervously asking him what was wrong. âN-Nothing, itâs just that you both look so..adorableâŚâ Mat sniffed. Carmensitaâs once concerned face converted back into her joking one. âDad, donât scare us like that!â She groaned and hugged her father. You joined in on the family hug, feeling the father and daughterâs warm embrace course through your veins.Brian; When you got into a relationship with Brian, to say Daisy warmed up to you was an understatement. She got relatively close to you once you and Brian stopped competing against each other, helping you with your word jumbles and taking Maxwell out for walks. A sweet and intelligent girl indeed, and you had a satisfactory relationship. You were cooking up lunch for the three of you, Brian working on the lawn while Daisy sat at the kitchen table, working on her assignments given to her the other day. The house was relatively silent so you could hear the scrapes of her ballpen against the parchment. From your peripheral vision, you could see that she had her tongue stuck out, concentrating on her work. Since you were well aware of Daisyâs intelligence and willingness to complete her assignments, you went on life autopilot, daydreaming off to who knows where as you cooked your bacon in peace. So it was surprising when you heard a faint voice call out to you from the table. âErm, Y/N?â You turned to see Daisy sat upright on her seat, massaging her arm. âDo you think you could help me with this drawing? My hands are kinda starting to cramp upâŚâ âOh, sure.â You finished cooking the bacon and slid it onto a nearby plate before sitting next to the young girl. âWhat are we drawing here?â The drawing was a sunny scene of two kids playing in a field, half colored with Daisyâs felt tip pens. You assumed she was cramping up from coloring, so you reached for her pens and began coloring in the scene. âThis is a nice drawing, Daisy. Whatâs it for?â You asked, out of pure curiosity. She turned a bright red and avoided your gaze. âWell, uh, weâre meant to draw something that weâre looking forward to this year.â She explained. âI was kinda hoping to get a new friend this year, now that Amandaâs off in college.â She seemed a bit sensitive about the topic, so you dropped it and continued coloring the drawing. Daisy joined you after resting her hand for a bit, coloring by your side in silence. You were a bit too careless with your coloring, getting a smudge of blue ink on your finger. Before you could walk over to the sink to wash it out, you had a sudden flash of an idea and picked up the blue ink, doodling a little face on your finger. The girl looked up at you in confusion. âY/N, what are you-â Before she could reply, you turned your middle finger with a little smiley face towards her, channeling the silliest voice you could get. âHey, Daisy! Iâm Mr. Blue! I heard you wanted a friend this year, and Iâd be more than willing to be your friend!â Daisy looked perplexed at first, before bursting into a fit of giggles. Amanda taught her well in pretending. She reached for a red felt tip pen and handed it to you. âI think Mr. Blue is a bit lonely. You should give him a friend!â You got to work and doodled a similar smiley face on your pointer finger, but with little eyelashes on the end and presented it to her. âHello! Iâm Miss Red, and I too want to engage into a friendship with you, young lady!â You let your voice raise a few octaves, hurting your throat but making Daisy full on laugh. She grabbed your hand and etched a few strokes of clothes onto her new finger friends. As she was applying dots of makeup onto Miss Redâs âfaceâ, Brian walked into the kitchen, a bit confused at the setup. âDaisy? I knew you were good at drawing, but I didnât know you were a tattoo artist.â He peered down at her work. âWhat have you two been up to?â She raised your palm to show her father your inked fingers. âY/N says that theyâre my friends, Dad! I gave them clothes and everything!â Brian chortled at her daughterâs silly antics. It wasnât often that he got to see his daughter so childlike. âWell, thatâs great, pumpkin. Letâs invite them over for lunch, eh?â You three (well, five) had a great lunch together, letting Mr. Blue and Miss Red out occasionally to make a silly remark that made Daisy giggle in her seat. Her father looked beyond the goofy personas and stared at you wistfully. It wasnât until Daisy was up in her room and you were washing away the finger friends that Brian walked up to you with a satisfied look on his face. âYouâre great with Daisy, you know that? She really needs friends, and I think she feels comfortable with you.â âDonât forget yourself, Brian. Youâre her father for goodness sake.â You joshed. âDo I hear a competition for friendliest with Daisy?ââWinner gets unlimited cuddles?ââYouâre on, Harding.âÂ
-mod coffee cake
#dream daddy#brian harding#damien bloodmarch#craig cahn#hugo vega#robert small#joseph christiansen#mat sella
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So finals are stressing me tf out and I needed an outlet after a disastrous paper. What better way to do so by writing some tooth rotting fluff about the son and dad.
Cute drabble for @vagabond-dad!
Alder always loves the moments where Harley can drop by his place for a visit, and this is no exception. They caught up over lunch and his blends of tea, finding enjoyment in listening to his the teacherâs tales. This is how he should be â happy and relaxed, grinning with an ease that makes it contagious. Alder just couldnât stop smiling.
At some point, they wound up on the couch. Alder had initially sat on one end while Harley sat on the other, each with their own book in hand. Though, he comes to notice the comfortable weight pressed against, which prompted a kind ask.
âWould you like to lay down? You can use my lap as your pillow, if you want to.â The former Champion wouldnât have minded whatever decision Harley chose, but it comes as a pleasant surprise when he concedes after just a moment of contemplation. The motion is easy, and soon theyâre both lost in their own reading.
Itâs peaceful, and he feels quite content. So itâs a natural movement, a mixture of fondness and feeling far too comfortable that led Alderâs hand to drop into Harleyâs hair.
Alder doesnât seem to realize it at first, too engrossed in his book and only realizing it when he raises his hand to flip the page and then drop his hand back down. He blinks in mild surprise, looking down to see if the action disturbed his metaphorical son, but finds that heâs not in the least bit affected by it.
No, it is giving an effect. Harley looks content, his eyes closed and his posture relaxed. His own book is lying idly on the ground, hands now crossed loosely over his stomach. A little sigh escapes his lips, and with a small gesture of his head, he nudges gently against Alderâs hand, a silent request for him to perform the action once more.
Alder easily complies, for he could not refuse when Harley looks this relaxed. The boy had seemed a little tired, citing that it had been long work hours and just coming out of what he dubs as grading hell that led to the darker circles underneath his eyes. Anything that could make him unwind, Alder would gladly do.
He goes back to his book and puts half of his focus on the petting â for it could not be called anything else â as he eases back into the cushions. At some point, Alder ran his fingers through Harleyâs hair, loosely digging into the poofy mess before he lightly scrapes his nails over his scalp. The reaction is instantaneous.
Alder quite suddenly had the equivalent of a boneless feline in his hands. You know, the way Liepards just go limp and bendy when theyâre particularly relaxed? Harley tips his head back into Alderâs hand, releasing a blissful little sigh. Itâs quite an endearing reaction, so the elder repeats the motion, pushing his fingers through Harleyâs thick hair and lets the tips of his fingers drag against his scalp. That earns him a content humming noise.
Itâs something to file away in his mental file cabinet. Apparently, petting Harley turns him into a giant lap cat.
As if itâs just like any other day, Alder went back to reading and dragging his fingers over Harleyâs scalp. Time trickles by, and at some point, he realizes that the breathing heâd been half-listening to had gone deep, even and quiet. His hand stills and he looks down, once again in mild yet fond surprise when he sees that Harley is still in the same position but his face is now completely relaxed.
Oh my, it seems like his son had fallen asleep.
Alder watches with a silly little smile, feeling his heart swell with love and warmth. This is just another reminder that their relationship had progressed so far. Once upon a time, Harley had been a wary, distrustful kid who wouldnât stay in close proximity unless itâs absolutely necessary. Now, heâs completely at ease in not only initiating contact, he finds Alder to be completely trustworthy that heâs able to fall asleep in his presence.
He continues to watch for a little while longer before Harley makes a low noise. A line appears between his eyebrows and he nudges his head up again. Itâs a sleepy little movement as Alder had stopped running his fingers through the birdâs nest hair. The movement is resumed and Harley relaxes again, nuzzling just a little into Alderâs lap.
Endearing. Totally and utterly endearing.
Well, it seems like he too should get comfortable. Harley could use the sleep, and Alder doesnât mind the warm weight on his lap. Settling once more, he returns to his book, letting his fingers idly play with the poof, occasionally digging in a little deep to elicit that content little sigh.
It is a good day.
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from @vagabond-dad : My hands are shaking, Alder is gonna comfort and calm the boy
Platonic requests for affection (still accepting!)
Harley could hardly remember a time before the nightmares. In another life years ago, his sleep had been uneasy, though itâs more due to wariness. Deep sleep means you wonât know when someoneâs approaching you with ill intent. Now, itâs filled by the thought of the faces of innocent whose lives heâd potentially ruin, or by the sins that he carries grimly on his back.Â
Thereâs no reality of a peaceful nightâs sleep. Either itâs dreamless and he feels relatively rested, or itâs being jolted awake at three in the morning in a cold sweat, names he canât whisper, memories he doesnât want to revisit and a hand over his to chest to check whether his heart is fluttering or itâs just his imagination. Sometimes he wishes itâs not, and then that thought is roughly shoved down before it takes hold.
He wants to say itâs not a frequent occurrence, but it happens often enough that heâs gotten good at using make-up to cover the bags beneath his eyes after a sleepless nights. Initially heâs able to come back down from it within a few minutes, but with time and the connections heâs made, it becomes more jarring, to the point where he canât even lie back down after waking up with his throat hoarse from screaming. Sometimes he just sits in the living room and stare at the wall, one eye seeing the past and another the future. Other times, he does something else.
One night, after jolting awake from that dream in the alleyway, twisted in a way where heâs in the present but his hands are red, the knife jutting out of a still body with a face his intimately present with (nonononono he never meant to involve anyone in danger--), Harley takes in deep, raggedy breaths that morphs into choked sobs before he makes a blind swipe at his phone. Itâs late, heâs probably being a bother but he needs to hear anotherâs voice so he doesnât lose touch with reality.Â
He doesnât know who heâs calling but he brings the device to his ear, biting his bottom lip so hard that his mouth tastes like pennies on a rainy day until he hears a click, followed by a sleepy sounding, âHello? Harley, whatâs--â
And before he knows it, the words are spilling out of his mouth, tinged with shame and desperation. âI-Iâm sorry itâs late I k-know but I just-- I canât-- I n-need to hear-- m-my hands are s-shaking--â Itâs hard to tell where his words and ends but then he hears a voice soothing him, instructing him to follow his breathing.Â
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Youâre doing good. Keep at it. In. Out.
Harley does his best to follow it until the grey edges disappears from his vision and he could feel his heart calming down. Itâs only after a few more breaths that he recognizes the questioning voice to be Alder. Oh man, how embarrassing for him to have freaked out in an unexpected call with the guy.Â
âSorry. Iâm. Iâm good,â he whispers, running his fingers through sweat slicked hair. Alder asks once more, and heâs able to reply with a bit more confidence. âYeah. Iâm fine now.â âWhat happened, my boy?â It speaks a lot on the progress heâs made with Alder when he replies after only a few seconds of hesitation.
âI. I had a nightmare. The bad kind,â he admits softly, drawing his knees up so he could wrap one arm around it. He lays his cheek atop, one hand still pressing the phone to his ear. Thereâs a worried response, to which he gives a little chuckle. âNo, you donât have to come over. I really am fine now. I just... needed to hear a voice to keep me... grounded.â
Admittedly, heâs not 100% fine, and heâs in no particular hurry to lie back on his bed. He doesnât think heâs able to, anyway. Either Alder is psychic or he really has learnt on how to deal with this troublesome kid but he doesnât give him room to end the call just yet. While they didnât touch on the sort of dreams that he had, Harley did get to listen to a bunch of his stories, which helped a lot in distracting his mind from that dark place.Â
And perhaps itâs just his soothing tone, or the feeling of comfort that he gets from the man his subconscious sees as the father figure heâs never had but always wanted, that Harley is able to lie back down and eventually, drifts off to the sound of Alderâs deep, warm voice.Â
On the other end of the phone, Alder hears the soft snores and the crowâs feet around his eyes crinkles with the smile that curls his lips. âSleep tight, my boy.â
#vagabond-dad#that's about it || answered#i got impatient haha#thank you so much for the prompt!#s: dabbing dad & troublesome kid
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