#dizzy dumpling

[emmondsokolov]

// Not me tism pacing circles around my kitchen like an insane person whispering about ocs and practicing dnd voices with myself while I'm waiting for my dumplings to cook. No not at all.

[softlyspector]

Grays

Summary: Joel likes to be read to and held and have his hair stroked. He would never dare admit it, though. Based on this lovely ask.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: Joel being insecure about his looks, age, gray hair (idiot 🙄 affectionate), Joel being a nuisance by sweating and chopping wood, Joel's bad attitude, reader is implied to be from the south/Appalachia (and has an accent), food as a love language, food mentions and eating, minor internal angst, Joel character study?because I'm insane, very domestic, fall vibes

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you like this and thank you to the anon who sent that ask. I wrote this in just a few hours because you inspired me so and a price can't be put on that. Thank you all for always being so lovely and letting me write whatever comes to mind/inspires at the time💕

“Are you almost done with that?” 

The ax arcs through the air again, splits solidly through the log and then thumps down onto the stump beneath. Two halves of split wood go flying in opposite directions, and you set about gathering them up for Joel, who pauses, one hand on his hip as breathes heavily through his nose. 

There’s a tendril of sweat snaking down his temple; the ax hangs loosely from one hand like it weighs nothing. 

“What?” He snaps. 

You smile and repress the urge to laugh, turning your back so he doesn’t see. “I said, are you almost done?” 

He makes a disbelieving noise, an indignant half-squak. “This has gotta be done before winter sets in, in case it slipped your mind.” 

“I didn’t say it doesn’t,” you agree, rounding the stump to prop up one of the halves back onto the ax scarred stump. “It’s just that you’ve been at it for a good long while. Ain’t you tired?” 

You step back and Joel straightens his shoulders, fingers tightening around the handle of the ax again. He lifts and swings, muscle straining in his arms, shirt lifting just enough that you see a thin line of his skin. The log splits, and you step forward with the other piece, ignoring the flutter in your belly at the sight of him. “Would go faster with help,” he grouses pointedly. 

“Mhm, or you could come get some dinner. It’s gettin’ dark.” 

Grunt, lift, swing, slice. 

No answer. 

You roll your eyes and instead sweep the fallen pieces of scattered wood into your arms and start toward the growing pile of firewood along the back side of the house. You don’t get very far with your burden. “Hey,” he says, tugging you back by your shoulder. “Quit that. C’mere.” The firewood is out of your arms before you can protest. 

He shoulders past you, heat radiating off him in dizzying waves. The autumn air is chilly and growing colder, the day dunked in a gray, dusky fading light. The sky is that late autumn purple it sometimes gets to be, rosy like blush and lavender, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. “If you want help,” you comment, following closely behind him. “You do actually have to let me help.” 

His shoulders pull taut, the wide cut of them straining at the red flannel he’s outfitted in. “Uh-huh.” He drops the wood on the top of the pile and turns back to you. His eyes flicker over you, chin tucking down, head tilting as he assesses you. “You eat?”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him.

Typical Joel.

“Might be what I’d come to fetch you for. Supper’s on.” 

“That so?” 

“Chicken and dumplings,” you say by way of explanation. “And gravy.” 

 “Sounds good.” He says it with a note of surprise in his voice. “Real good.”

“‘Cause it is. Come eat. The work will be here tomorrow. You’ll even have my help that time around. If ya happen to let me help that is.” You beckon him with a jerk of your chin toward the open back door. 

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, then runs it down his face, palm cupping his chin. The thick tendons outlined in his throat tighten when he clenches his jaw and considers the mess of the backyard. Warm yellow light is starting to unspool across the lawn, over long dead grass and the whisper of browned leaves. “Ellie eat?” 

“She’s with those friends of hers tonight. Suppose she’ll eat with them.” 

He makes another vague noise in the back of his throat, still looking at the stack of logs he’d yet to split. 

Joel does this sometimes. Works himself like a dog, gets grouchy and sharp, forgets to eat. 

Sometimes it takes a firm hand and hard pressed coaxing to get him to give it up. 

If you weren’t there, you wonder how long it’d last, that rise and fall of the ax, the strain of his body, already well past its limits. 

He must be exhausted and hungry, not that he’d ever rightly admit to that.  

That’s another thing you wonder after — did Joel even feel those things anymore? 

Yes, you think. Since Jackson, yes. He just had a way of ignoring his own needs. He’d run on empty for days if he had to. 

But he hesitates, makes a show of surveying the work he has left for him, the last dregs of the dying sun spilling weak across the yard. Or, maybe it's not a show. With Joel, things rarely are. He’s earnest, feet rooted firmly to the ground. 

You watch him while he deliberates. One huge hand is still fisted around the handle of the ax, the bulk of his forearm straining, muscle and vein twisting prettily beneath flushed, damp skin. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, the top few buttons of his shirt left undone. His chest and neck are tinted the same color, dappled in the same sheen of sweat. 

His hair is starting to go properly silver, a dark attractive gray that extends to his beard, the chest hair that just pokes out against the top of the flannel. 

It’s unfortunate, really, how he seems to get more beautiful each year. Age shouldn’t look as good as it does on him. 

When your eyes flicker back to his, he’s already watching you. An unreadable expression is tangled over his features, complicated and unknowable. Just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, his expression cleared. You aren’t sure what he’s seen on your face that makes him fold inward, shut the door closed on you. 

“All right,” he agrees, leaning the ax against the stack of wood, seeming reluctant about it. 

Still, he follows you up the back porch stairs and through the door, wipes his shoes on the mat and then toes them off as you close the door to the encroaching night.

There’s something about socked feet, bare feet, that is painfully domestic, painfully homey and full of a feeling you don’t know how to articulate anymore. Something that reminds you so starkly of life before. You’d both gone months, once, without ever taking your shoes off, aside to tape them and switch socks, too afraid you might not have a moment to put them back on. 

Joel glances at you as you shuffle past him, a hand placed gently between his shoulders for just a second, before you trek further into the house. “Smells good,” he compliments, following close on your heels. “I ain’t had chicken n’ dumplings in years.” 

“That so?” 

“Mm.” He moves toward the stove in what you’re sure will be an attempt to serve both of you. 

“Nuh uh, sit,” you intercept him bodily and direct him into the chair at the breakfast table. 

He huffs at you and sits, only mildly annoyed.

“Crabby,” you comment, spooning out a sizable portion. You always feel that he doesn’t eat enough, that he tries to leave too much behind for you and Ellie, especially after hard work. Joel still ate like he expected rations to run out. It’s unconscious, but it still worries you. 

“I ain’t crabby,” he gripes. 

You roll your eyes, sit the plate in front of him, and press the back of your hand to his cheek. The sweat is drying tacky on his skin, the strained rose color fading from his cheeks in the warmth of the house. He should have been wearing a jacket; his skin is a clammy kind of chilled, even sweaty and warm as he is. “You’ve actually never not been crabby, and it’s worse when you haven’t eaten,” you inform and hand him a fork with your other hand. “Ellie would agree with me.” 

His hair curls at the base of his skull with the evaporating humidity of his skin. Like his socked feet, it feels painfully domestic to witness. Incredibly human, which Joel seemed more than, sometimes. “Guess she would,” he agrees. You lean your hip into his side and wait for him to take a bite, moving your hand away from his cheek to rest on his shoulder. 

Joel might show his love through killing himself chopping wood for the winter, but this is the way you do it. He can’t cook, anyhow, and it makes you feel good to give him something good. It reminds you of better times.  

When he swallows, eyes fluttering closed at the taste, you pat his shoulder and start to pull away to get your own plate.

“Hey,” he catches at your hand. His fingers tangle briefly with yours. His thumb sweeps over your skin, soft about it, though he doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. “It’s real good.” 

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. 

When you’re both done eating, he does the dishes, builds a fire in the grate in the living room so the room is warm when you find your way there, book in hand with the intention to complete a nightly ritual that he’s never raised complaint at since it was quietly started. 

You alternate between words and music, and last night Joel had played the guitar for you in the chilled air of the back porch, a blanket tucked around your legs. 

Joel would never dare admit it, not in ten thousand years, not in the pits of hell with a knife at his throat, but he likes to be taken care of, too. 

It’s just so often that he bristles at it, feels guilty and faulty over it. 

After dinner, with a full belly, and a stiff drink in him, he’s better about it. 

Better about letting you shove him down onto the couch to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging at those delightfully gray locks. It’s longer now, too, and you like that too. You hope he forgets about getting it cut. 

It’s such a nice look on him. Handsome. You should probably tell him that, but the words never come out. 

He lets you do as you like, easy about it, eyes closed, breathing even and slow as you settle beside him, pressed tight to his chest, ass hanging off the edge of the sofa. You mean to open the book lodged somewhere between your bodies, but you don’t. You just look at him, sleepy, between the fire and the heavy food. 

Maybe he’d never admit it but this is one of the many little ways he can accept it. He lets you feed him food that reminds you of your childhood, lets you read to him on alternating evenings, lets you bring him in from the cold when it starts to get dark. 

“Should I add chicken and dumplings into our rotation?” You wonder aloud, tracing the lines by his eyes carefully, the vein in his throat, the hollow at his clavicle, the slope of his broad shoulders.  

He only grunts and doesn’t open his eyes. “It was good.” And that’s the closest you’ll get to an admission that he would like to have it again. 

“Glad for it, Miller,” you say and tuck yourself under his chin. You hear the book fall to the floor and make no move to get it. “You need a shower,” you complain instead, nose pressed to his throat.

He does, but he doesn’t smell bad. He smells like himself, sweat and sawdust and cedar, the faintest whiskey. It’s a human scent, almost comforting. And Joel has, frankly, smelled much worse.

He just locks one thick arm around your waist, the wide flat of his palm against your spine. “In a minute.” But he’s breathing deeply already, halfway to a place you can’t reach. His arm tightens, his head tips down heavily against yours, solid and comforting, mostly asleep. 

“In a minute,” you echo.

Joel wakes to a dark living room, a chill creeping in around the edges of the room. You’re still pressed tight against him, though he can’t see how with the way you’re practically halfway onto the floor. If he loosens his arm even a fraction, you’ll go tumbling down. 

He considers doing it for just a second, suppressing a chuckle at the unimpressed reaction it would garner, the wet cat look of anger and indignation that would pull over your face. 

Instead, he nudges you awake, rubbing your back until you start to stir. The bedroom would be warmer for you, now that the fire had burned down. He hates the thought of you cold, always has. “Let’s go to bed,” he says in your ear. 

He doesn’t know exactly where you came from before. It doesn’t really matter anymore, doesn’t  hold any weight or meaning, since most places are just empty graveyards that can’t really be returned to. But wherever you came from gave you a pretty little accent, a twang in your voice that’s different from his. 

It’s something he loves about you, sounds like home. 

“Joel,” you complain, brow scrunching. “You just go on and leave me be.” It’s almost funny, how much twangier it is when you’re close to sleep. 

“Can’t do that, honey. C’mon now,” He pats your hip and keeps a steady pressure on your back until you grumble and start to sit up. “Go up to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

You’re rubbing your eyes, leaning back against his legs. “Why?” 

“Fire,” he nods to the still glowing embers as he sits up. “Don’t want the house burnin’ down. Wanna make sure Ellie got home all right, too.” 

“Okay.” He keeps a hand on your waist until you’ve got your tired feet under you, still mostly asleep, he thinks, as you balance with one warm hand on his bent knee until you stumble away towards the stairs. 

He sighs and tends to the fireplace, then checks out the kitchen’s back window to see the glow of Ellie’s lights on, before following you up the stairs. He expects a dark bedroom but you’re propped up against the headboard with the bedside lamp on, changed into sleep clothes but definitely still awake. “It ain’t that late,” you say when he arches a brow at you and leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “And it’s my turn,” you hold up the battered copy of the book you’ve been slowly reading to him. 

“It’s all right—”

“Uh-uh,” you interrupt. “Go shower. Then come here.” 

He holds up his hands. “Yes ma’am.”

“Mhm,” you hum and flip idly through the book, no longer looking at him.

There’s a hope lodged in his heart that you’ll fall back asleep while you wait. It ain’t that he doesn’t want to hear you read. He’s invested in that story now, and he loves your voice even if he didn’t. The cadence and shape of the words, the rumble of your voice against his ear is a nice balm to drift off to. 

What's more is that you deserve the sleep, that he shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you downstairs. 

There’s a lot of things about you that scare him. How much he cares for you, for one. But the thing bothering him most now is the one that stares back at him when he looks in the mirror.

Jesus, it’s like everyday there’s more gray in his hair, his beard, even his chest hair is starting to go white and gray. It’s like everyday, he looks and gets a little bit older. 

It’s goddamn embarrassing the way he worries about it, the way it bothers him. He doesn’t remember aging, isn’t really sure when it happened. Maybe he spent so many years avoiding the mirror he missed it. 

And, well, it wasn’t important before. But now that he has time to think beyond the next day, the next meal, he thinks about it. About how fucking old he looks, especially next to you. 

You aren’t younger than him, not but maybe a couple years, if you are at all—another thing that doesn't matter anymore, birthdays and age and counting the years—but you don’t look your age. Your hair has retained its color, aside from the very artful looking gray starting to creep in at your temples, just barely there. Your face isn’t lined, not like his anyway, delicate, graceful little lines by your eyes, instead of the deep creases that crack up his. You don’t seem to ache in the same way he does, either. You don’t seem to feel old. 

Maybe that’s why he’s so set on working himself down to the bone over chopping that wood, to prove he was still worth something to you, worth keeping around. Proof that he could keep up with what needed keeping up with. 

He watches himself in the mirror, the lines under his eyes and across his forehead, age creeping in around the edge of him like a slow poison. The way you look at him sometimes. . .he knows you think about it too, know it too. You had been in the yard before dinner, eyes locked on him, a look on your face he couldn’t quite get a read on.  

It worries him. Makes him sharp with you when he should be the opposite. 

It’s embarrassing, really, the way he thinks about it, hates the way your eyes linger on him and feels too fucking self-concious about it to just ask you what you’re thinking. Maybe he just doesn’t want to know. 

He glances away from his reflection, a sigh heavy in his chest. He needs a damn haircut, if nothing else. 

He makes quick work of the shower, dressing in something warm because he’s always cold, even if that's just another thing he won’t admit to and that is an aversion that gets worse as the years go by.

You gave him a scarf recently, blue and soft, and he wears it because he likes the way you look at him when he leaves in the morning with it on. 

When he pushes the door open, you’re still awake, curled up on his side of the bed, book held open with one hand. “Thought we were supposed to do that together,” he says mildly. 

“I’m just re-reading where we left off.” 

“Mm,” he sits down at your hip. “Scooch.” 

You move over just enough for him to lie down, which he does with a huff and a groan. “You got that whole other side there, you know.” 

“I like being close to you.” 

“Well it ain’t like I’m far. Now c’mon, move it.” 

“Cranky.” 

“Thought it was crabby?” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “Real funny. Y’know sometimes I don’t even know if y’like me at all.” 

The way you say it makes something sting in his chest, a sharp little barb wedged between two of his ribs. 

You start to move further away, like he asked, when he hooks an arm around your waist, props himself up over you, tangled up in the middle of the bed like you’d end up anyway. “Like ain’t exactly the word I would use.” 

A wicked smile pulls the corners of your mouth up. “What word would you use then?” 

“Hm,” he looks you over, feels the curve of your thigh, the hook of your knee, press against his hip. “I think you already know what word I’d use.” 

You reach up to cup his face between hands that have seen too much violence. The skin of your palms is softer than he remembers it being just a few years before, calloused thumbs sweeping in a tender arch over the apples of his cheeks. “Mm, I think I do.”

“Yeah, y’do,” he agrees, and then lets you pull him down against your chest. The comb of your hand slides through his hair, against the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. It’s nice. It’s the kind of affection, attention he’s not sure he’s ever had before.

Not since he was a kid, at the very least. He’s never been the one that got held, just the one doing the holding, and he hates that he likes it. 

And he does like it, craves it. 

Things like this, they were so easy to get used to, and the hardest thing in the world to adjust to. The mix of it, the easiness and the hard knot of disbelief and potential rejection, make for a disarming cocktail. 

You’re so warm and soft under him, the scent of you wild and homey, like cooking and chilled air and soap. 

“You smell better,” you tease and pinch his bicep. “You awake?” He feels you shift, book cracked open over his shoulder. “Or am I reading to the ghosts?”

“You got me,” he mutters, curling his arms around your waist, behind your back, and you arch just a little to accommodate him. The material of your shirt rucks up under his hands, soft, scarred skin warm where he touches you. “I’m listenin’.”

You rub the back of his neck again but don’t start reading. He waits a few minutes, listening instead to the sound of your breath, even and slow in your chest, the tap of your heartbeat against his ear. 

“You forget how or somethin’?” He asks eventually. 

You shake your head, and the paperback comes to rest against his spine. “Have I ever said—” You stop and he waits, but nothing more is forthcoming, just your silence and the kind way you touch him. 

“What?” 

When he picks his head up, your brows are tilted down over your eyes; you’re frowning at him. “Nothin’,” you dismiss, massaging two fingers against his temple, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Said what?” He tries not to have a bite in his voice about it but he does anyway. Just a little bit of a snap, because he worries whatever you might have not said are all the things he thinks about himself. 

You shrug. “I just think the gray looks real nice on you.” You twist a strand of his hair around your finger and tug gently. 

He huffs, expecting you to grin at him so he knows you’re just teasing him. But you don’t, your gaze is reverent, adoring where it’s focused on him. “It just makes me look fuckin’ old,” he disagrees and sounds bitter about it.

“No, it means you got to get older, Joel. Not everyone gets the privilege.” 

That takes the wind out of his sails. He doesn’t say anything else, words collecting in the back of his mouth like a little ocean he can’t seem to make drain away.

“It makes you look. . .rugged,” you decide, tracing the curve of his jaw. “Handsome.” 

“You like it?” 

“Yeah.” Another tug. “I love it.” 

“Mm.” He clears his throat, tips his head down against your body again, the trapped wing of your heart fluttering faster than it had been before. “All right. Get to readin’ now.” 

It makes it just a little bit harder to hate, if that look in your eyes was appreciation, affection. Maybe that’s what he’d seen in your face earlier, and couldn’t quite recognize it.  

You tap the book against the back of his head. “Idiot,” you sigh, and then start to read. 

It’s some kind of thriller, something you’d started at the beginning of October and still haven’t entirely worked through. The plot is a little ridiculous, all things considered. After all the horrors he’s seen, this book doesn’t do much to thrill him, though it is entertaining in its own way, maybe a little funny. 

He’d have to find something new when you’re done with it. Something seasonally appropriate, if he can help it. Some kind of Hallmark holiday romance ordeal. He’d like to hear you giggle through reading something like that out loud. 

Yeah, even if it keeps him up, he’d find you something like that. 

When your voice fades, each word cottony and long in your mouth with fatigue, he reaches back to pluck the book from your hands, and then flick out the light. 

“Baby,” you coo, and it’s nice to hear, nice to have you reaching for him in the dark, kissing him goodnight, because he’s yours, and you like him fine. 

What’s the other word? The one that’s decidedly not like? 

“Love you,” you say against his mouth, the edge of your lip sticking wetly to his. “Even though you’re always crabby.” 

He loves you, too, even though he’s cranky about the whole goddamn world. 

💕 Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕

[yonkimint]

Without You [Yoongi x Reader, Hobi x Reader]

24. No Take Backs ✎

Yoongi drops his phone as black spots swim across his vision. His blood runs cold and he feels so dizzy. He doesn’t notice his phone ricochet off his thigh and onto the floor. He doesn’t register the brush of y/n’s fingers on his arm or when she asks if he’s okay.

How do you think Seojun even exists?

After learning that Hobi was not the father of y/n’s child, he had been relieved. It still stung that she would hook up with some random guy after what they had had together but at least it was a one off thing. He had even taken comfort that she hadn’t bothered to contact the father but…

y/n had taken extreme measures to keep Seojun a secret from him. The Dumpling. Seojun. That name.

The alarm clock reads 2:38 AM. Yoongi isn’t surprised. He usually doesn’t sleep very well when he’s up against a deadline and this one is worse because this is the first album without Hobi. Namjoon has tried to pick up some of the load but he and Yoongi can't do the work of one and a half people forever.

But that’s not what’s woken him up this time. He’s already reaching across the mattress for y/n but he pauses, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. Bathed in the silver moonlight, she’s the most beautiful thing Yoongi has ever seen.

Her hair is a wild mess across the pillow and most of her face. When he moves to brush the hair away, he can see the drool leaking from the corner of her lips. It might have grossed him out if it wasn’t her but even this is endearing. He grins, swiping at her chin with the pad of his thumb, and she stirs.

“Yoongi?” she breathes. Her eyebrows scrunch together and she starts to stretch. The sheets slip a little down her chest as she moves. Yoongi normally wouldn’t mind leaving her exposed, loving the curves of her body, but he knows how she hates being cold when she’s sleepy so he pulls them back up around her. 

“Go back to sleep, baby?”

He leans up to kiss her forehead, to soothe her back to sleep, but her eyelids are already fluttering open. Her smile when she sees him hovering over her is so sweet Yoongi feels like it might break his heart.

“If you’re awake, I’m awake,” she says sleepily, “Is everything okay?”

She slips her arm free of the sheets to trace the tired lines of his face. He leans his cheek into her warm palm and lets his eyes slip shut. He wishes all the time that he could freeze them in these moments. He wishes he could bring himself to tell her how in love he is but she’s told him repeatedly that she can’t have anything serious while she’s in school and besides he travels all the time so it works out for both of them.

For now, it’s enough just to have her in his bed.

“I just had an interesting dream and I wanted to hold you,” he admits, settling on his side beside her and draping his arm across her waist. He pulls her closer to him and nuzzles his face into the space where her neck slopes into her collarbone and inhales the sweet scent of her.

y/n’s fingers tangle in his hair as she hums. He presses his lips to her skin.

“A good dream or a bad dream?” she asks.

“Depends on who you ask,” he says, “We were parents.”

“Together?” y/n asks, her fingers stilled against his scalp.

“Yep!”

“Hmm.” Her answer is noncommittal. She doesn’t know Yoongi loves her like that. She’s never told him she feels that way about him. It’s hard to talk about a future when your entire relationship is based on the casualness of it. She wonders why Yoongi is bringing it up at all.

“Don’t you want to know how many kids we had?” he asks.

“How many?” she asks and carefully begins carding through his silky hair again. He dyed it black again a few weeks ago and he’s been growing it out for her. Management keeps asking him to cut it but he keeps refusing. He won’t tell them why but y/n knows it’s because he likes when she pulls it. It’s silly but she takes great pride in this power she has over him.

“Two,” he answers.

y/n smiles at the ceiling. Two kids with Min Yoongi? She’d give him as many as he wanted if he asked her. She asks, “Did they have names?”

Yoongi nods, “But I only remember one.”

y/n tugs on his hair when he doesn’t immediately provide the answer and he hums, lifting his head to look into her eyes when he says, “We had a son and we called him Seojun.”

Her smile is instant, crinkling the skin around her eyes, and she sits up just enough to kiss him. “Min Seojun,” she tries the name between their lips and it feels so perfect there, so sacred that they both nod, “If we ever have a son, that’s what I’ll call him then.”

“Is he sick?” y/n’s dad asks. Yoongi blinks up at y/n’s living room ceiling, unsure of when exactly he went horizontal but from the fretful look in y/n and Irene’s mother’s eyes, it must have been sudden.

He tries to sit up but both of y/n’s parents pin him back down. Yoongi should feel honored. He’s not a strong man and y/n’s mother could have pinned him on her own. But all he can think about is that there is a baby somewhere in this room that might be his.

And y/n didn’t tell him.

“Umma, you poisoned a member of BTS!” Irene teases, “Army is going to come for you!”

“I didn’t poison him!” her mother wails, swatting at her eldest daughter. Yoongi knows he should laugh, knows he should assure all of them he’s okay but he’s not okay. He feels sick to his stomach. He feels his chest aching. He feels betrayed.

And then Seojun starts to cry.

This time Yoongi is up before they can push him back down. He crosses the room to the infant, squatting low in front of his playpen and staring into those big, almost black eyes nearly squished by even bigger, rounder cheeks. His cheeks, Yoongi realizes.

How had he not seen it the very first time he peered into this baby’s face? This is so obviously his son. Tears spring to Yoongi’s eyes. Because it doesn’t matter that he’s had this big revelation. His presence at Seojun’s side isn’t a comfort. He’s still crying for his mom, for y/n, or — anger flashes hot through Yoongi — Hobi.

His own son is waiting for Hobi to come and comfort him.

It’s y/n who comes and scoops Seojun out of the crib, pressing his tear swollen face against her chest and offering soothing promises that everything will be okay. Seojun’s arms are around her neck in an instant, his breathing slowing as he calms himself against her skin.

As his outburst subsides, y/n carefully lowers herself to the ground beside Yoongi. There is so much concern in her eyes, he knows she has no idea that she is the cause of his pain. She reaches out to touch his arm again but he shakes his head at her, hoping the rage that is coursing through his blood shows in his eyes.

“How could you, y/n?” he whispers so low that only she and Seojun can hear.

Her eyes screw up in the confusion but she returns her outstretched hand to Seojun’s back, tracing comforting circles against his skin. Yoongi leaves her there. He can’t cause more of a scene than he already has. He’ll save that for later.

Instead, he bows deeply, apologetically to y/n’s parents. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Thank you for a delicious meal and for inviting me into your home but I just remembered I have some urgent work to take care of and I need to be going.”

“Urgent work?” Jin asks, quirking an eyebrow. Yoongi refrains from rolling his eyes but Jin knows him well enough to read the exasperation in his pointed gaze. He turns to Irene, “Oh, I totally forgot. We need to get back to the studio.”

Irene nods, not buying this excuse but not going to call attention to whatever has just transpired, “Okay, y/n and Seojun can squeeze in our car then. You go with Yoongi but text me when you’ll be home please!”

Jin nods. Yoongi has already beelined for the door and he’s not about to get left behind.

y/n’s mother turns to her husband and swats him, “You made him uncomfortable with all of your stupid jokes!”

“Ah! It’s not my fault!”

y/n shakes her head, utterly baffled by whatever just happened. This is the second time that Yoongi has asked her that question: how could you? But this time it felt more pointed, more specific. He went straight to Seojun. He looked into his eyes and cried.

She knows she doesn’t deserve comfort in this moment, that she is the monster who hid a baby from the man she has always loved, but she looks for Jay anyway and when she meets his gaze, it all clicks into place. Jay looks guilty as hell.

“I’m so sorry,” he mouths.

Panic races through her veins and she clutches her son a little tighter. “What did you do?” she mouths back but she knows. She watched them furiously texting from across the room while her dad was telling jokes and her mom was trying to stuff everyone with fruit after the already massive dinner she had fed them.

Jay told Yoongi the truth. He took it from her the same way she took fatherhood from Yoongi. No warning. No discussion. No take backs.

PREVIOUS - MASTERLIST - NEXT

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[y-vna]

hi lovelies! Final results for #shortcake : the event is in!

I had soooo much fun making this event im so glad you guys liked it! I loved all the mood boards a lot, please don't be discouraged if you didnt get picked. I'll probably host another event at 300 (and we're already at 240!) but more creative, so you always have more chances :33

if you don't dm me to claim your prizes, I'm not responsible for remembering to give you your rewards. (Scroll to the end for prizes)

anyway the winners areeee:

( i tagged all the mbs and then like only two of the links saved and im lazy to do it all again cuz its a lot..aorwy TvT)

1st place

🍒 : @p-oisn 's ADORABLE Cherry Jam and Rei moodboard!! OKAY, LISTEN TO ME GUYS BEFORE YOU THINK: "But Ari, this is clearly rigged! You cant pick your pookies first just cuz u wanna!" I swear this is all fair play, JUST. LOOK. AT. THE. MOODBOARD. LIKE OMGG ARE YOU FRRR?? ITS SO FRIGIN GOOD!!!!!!! icons match great, everything looks cohesive, and for a strawberry shortcake event, the dark theme stood out in a good way! Still matched the theme, met my expectations and exceeded it even, and overall deserves the win <33

🍑 : @dollries 's little appricot and chaewon mb! I'm so fr, the color and vibe are everything squeeeaaaal! Matches perfectly, the hues are literally in sync, I love this one a lot :3

🍨 : @wcnbear 's cute suzette crepe and yena moodboard! I immediately fell in love! Maybe I'm just a sucker for pink, but the cute sweet vibe i got and the icons fitting together like puzzle pieces making a pretty picture. I heart this mb fr.

2nd place (THESE 2ND PLACE MBS ARE SO CUTE IM FRFR THEY WERE SOOO CLOSE TO 1ST! )

🍎 : @bellelovesyou 's super cute apple dumpling and rei moodboard! Fits adorable together, really honored the theme and made everything work. I admire how the icons were all made to look more pleasant overall!

🫐 : @c-hance 's Blueberry muffin and sakura moodboard! The gif is saur cutieee!! The concept is adorbs. the color of the blue was pretty and consistent, and I loved it :)

❄️ : @jenfaery 's frosty puff and chaewon moodboard! The icons were so 5 the striking blue to match frosty puff's color scheme, combined with the elegant white reminded me of the cold weather outside now and I could feel the season winter in this moodboard :>

3rd place

🍇 : @19kisoir 's giselle and sour grapes moodboard! The purple is stunning, the Taylor swift lyrics made me dizzy on the groundsd!!! Yeah, super cute!

🌱 : @lovveons 's coco calypso and chuu moodboard! The messy aesthetic was done nicely, some subtle green, smart use of colors! There's nothing else to say besides that, it's pretty!!

🌸 : @sakkurify 's hayoung and cherry cutter moodboard! I can clearly see the effort put into this! Cute, not overcrowded or empty. Pleasant to look at, and fits the theme well!

STANDOUT HONORABLE MENTIONS: @jaes1lvr @yuqi-luv @mxlly143 @i0hyein ALL DID AMAZUNG FR EVERYONE DID GREAT :33

1st place:

70 reblogs, follow back, 2 moodboards from me, 2 gifs, or/and headers from me if you choose.

2nd place:

50 reblogs, follow back, 1 mb, a gif, and/or header from me if you choose

3rd place:

30 reblogs, follow back, 1 mb, one gif OR one header if you choose

Honorable mentions:

Fllw back, disclose blog, 20 reblogs

Participants:

5 reblogs

I'll make better prizes next event, and hopefully I can finish all the reblogs and stuff in about a week or so. Tysm all for joining ilyasm <33

[fic-recommended]

Shyan Fics

I’ll Crawl Home – carrieonfighting

(16,024 words / 6 chapters / Teen and up)

Tags: Demon!Shane, Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, bc im PRETENTIOUS, Protective!Shane

"Shane was almost unnerved by how quickly he’d settled into this body, this name, this life - his friendship with Ryan was the most time he’d spent with any human before, and yet the man fascinated him."

Wow. That’s all I gotta say. I started reading Shane/Ryan fic because I had a weird dream and went looking for comfort fic to ease the edges of my mind. I stumbled upon this fic and was so fucking blown away. I was drawn in because of the demon!Shane tag and the way this story is charted out is insane. It’s nonlinear (there is a liner version tho I’m strongly against it). Just ohmygod read this fic it’s insane and hurts so good.

I’m Gonna Keep You in Love with Me (for a While) – beethechange

(21,847 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: fake married, also real married, friends to husbands to lovers to ???, Las Vegas Wedding, possible dubious consent due to alcohol consumption, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Rimming, just assume most of the kinds of sex are present here, probably more Celine Dion than you were hoping for, they say "fuck" a lot, also "dude" but I don't make the rules okay, Bedsharing

Shane is pacing around the hotel room. It’s not a huge room and Shane’s legs are long enough that he doesn’t have much real estate to pace before he has to swing back around for another loop.

“Can you stop?” Ryan asks. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Okay,” Shane says finally. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re just going to—we’re going to be married. The only way out is through.”

“Um,” Ryan says, because this plan strikes him as counterproductive to their shared goal of not being married.

To me there are the big two when thinking of Shane/Ryan fics. That is to say the others aren’t amazing but two gutted me in a way I was not expecting from I ship I don’t even ship. This is one of the two and fucks sake it hurts me but in a way I really like and neeeeeded. (The other is the one above this)

Muscles Better and Nerves More – beethechange

(26,301 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: Bodyswap, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, First Time, Pining, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Body Horror, Rituals, Swearing, Sexy Shame

“I’m serious,” Ryan says. “Don’t go fucking up my body. I want that shit back in the same condition I left it.”

“The same condition—Ryan. I’m not spending hours in a gym every day so you don’t lose muscle mass.”

“I want you to treat my body with the respect you would a national park. Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but memories.”

***

A certain meddling Voodoo Queen of New Orleans thinks Ryan and Shane need some new perspective on life. After an inadvisable ritual deposits Ryan in Shane’s body, and Shane in Ryan’s, the ghoulboys pursue some soul-searching and self-discovery to put things right. Sometimes in a sexy way.

I have found out while reading this fic that I am also a sucker for bodyswap!au. Something about learning to love someone completely while seeing (and being lmao) all of them is so intimate and endearing to me. Plus there’s dumplings in this fic and that is just sweet sweet poetry.

If you can find a way to love me, it’s all right – varnes

(11,232 words / 1 chapter / Teen and up)

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Psychic Ryan

When Ryan was a kid, he fell into a pile of bricks. They were playing hide and seek, and he thought he had the best hiding spot: high up in a thickly lush tree, his knees drawn to his chest so that he’d blend in. But the branch broke. He hit his head and doesn’t remember much of what happened after that. When he woke up a few hours later, the sun was setting, and his friends were gone, and his parents were calling for him, their flashlights swinging across the grass. There’d been blood on his bangs.

Anyway, now he can see ghosts.

Kind of.

Look, he’s not great at it.

--

Or: Ryan, personally, has three lists: “NICE GHOSTS,” “GHOSTS I DON’T FUCK WITH,” and, “IDK, SPOOKY STUFF.”

Oh my goddddd this fic is so sweet and so owie. At first I was skeptical because the fanon is that Shane can see demons or ghosts or whatever. But having it be Ryan???? So owie in such a good way. Other then this fic being the masterpiece that it is, I’m going to convince you with one sentence: Ryan has a cat with a ghost in it that demands Taco Bell. That’s it baybee. Read it or you’ll regret itttt.

BFFS Get Married For A Week – Ryan and Shane – aspookycryptidsock

(18,108 words / 8 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Pining, Mutual Pining

"As I was saying," Curly continues with a pointed glare in Ryan's direction. "It's my honor to join the two of you in unholy matrimony. The rules are simple, you'll live together, plan one date each, and cherish each other. Til week do you part."

I first read this fic years and years ago. I don’t know how it happened but me and my best friend found it while being at a library and we went feral reading it before their mom picked us up. It’s my origin story to the ship. This fic is my first love and my baby gorl. Shane is intense in a way I lovelovelove. Ryan is dumber then a pile a bricks amen.

Body Farming – shiphitsthefan

(7,251 words / 1 chapter / Explicit)

Tags: Season/Series 04, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Shane Madej, Protective Shane Madej, Omega Ryan Bergara, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Scenting, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Daddy Kink, Size Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Filth with Feelings, Community: bfukinkmeme, Multisex Omega

Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

Your honor I’d like to state my case by saying being horny on main is bc I’m silly goofy and I never meant no harm. ABO fuck or die in a cave? Fuccck kkkk y e aaaa

Por Favor, Sweetheart – carrieonfighting

(7,859 words / 1 chapter / Teen and up)

Tags: Kid Fic, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Accidental Baby Acquisition, ryan dadgara, and shane dadej, Original Baby Character - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned

Two dorks raise a baby and don't even realise they're doing it together until it's too late

Alternatively, Ryan Bergara is Trying His Best Thanks

Ryan gains custody of a baby and is strugggglinnnggg until a Sasquatch comes and helps <3. Ain’t nothing says romance baybeee then an actual baby.

daring it’s a faded notion – varnes

(28,760 words / 5 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Paranormal shenanigans, y'all remember that trope where people can't be more than 5 feet apart without Suffering?

The sun is too bright and Ryan’s whole body is alight with something that is eating him all the way up from the inside out, but he keeps his eyes open and he makes himself look, and he tells himself that once he finds Shane, he’ll think about it. Once he finds Shane, they’ll make a plan. Once he finds Shane, and only then, he’ll let himself have the thought he’s been swallowing down like bile since he came to: that they didn’t fall.

They were pushed.

OR: Ryan and Shane get cursed by a ghost, and now they can't be not-touching. It's ... not great.

Ghosties don’t like the no homo and said ummm yeeeeet!!! Into the Grand Canyon then the ghoul boys kiss???? Makes me go hubba hubba

Collide - needywitch

(35,310 words / 2 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: Pining, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Biting, First Time, Dirty Talk, Love Confessions, Rough Sex, Shane Madej Has a Big Dick

Ryan is desperately in love with his best friend.

Owieeeeeee. This one made me cryyyy. The prose of this fic along with a healthy usage of the word jaunty made this fic deeply emotional as well as made me want to cry when they kissed. Very excellent

A Perfect Piece of Ass, Like Every Californian - beethechange

(25,706 words / 3 chapters / Explicit)

Tags: entirely self-indulgent PWP, smut with feelings, Threesome, Birthday Sex, Oral Sex, lotta ball stuff here folks, so i hope you like balls, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Sexy Air Traffic Conducting, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism

“Happy birthday, Shane,” Sara says. “I got you a Ryan.”

“Th—thanks?” Shane says. He looks at Ryan and Ryan just looks back, weirdly impassive, giving nothing away. “But I’m pretty sure I already have a Ryan in this model. What’s the return policy?”

“Not like this, you don’t,” she says, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Out of the corner of his eye Shane can see Ryan bring his hand to his mouth, stifling a snicker that he turns into a cough. Oh, he thinks.

Oh shit.

I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that this fic is morally correct but Shane/Sara/Ryan fic is what I needed and it blew me away and it is the best smut thank you goodnight

[flowerbarrel-art]

What if Blue would try to make dinner from StickCity but forgot to ask Chosen if he’s allergic to something, while he puts something in the food that Chosen is allergic to, i’ve had that in my mind for days now since the vacation started 😭

The only thing that Chosen can’t eat is really spicy food. It’s not dangerous if he eats it (except for the fact he might breathe fire everywhere). He doesn’t get dangerous allergic reactions, he’s just not happy.

If he ate spicy food he’d feel ill and dizzy for a day or so but he’d be just fine afterward.

He also doesn’t like anything too garlicky or otherwise too strongly flavored. Blue would feel awful he forgot but Chosen wouldn’t be mad at him about it. Sometimes he tries to eat new things despite having a good reason to be picky. He knows it’ll probably taste good and doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

He’d have to be careful about spicy food in all the new Minecraft recipes Blue learned in The Chef. His favorites would be pizza, quiche and dumplings. Dark’s would be quiche, burgers and tamales (more savory than spicy when he’s little).

[valorant-drabbles]

deadlock and gekko resolving their differences and maybe spending some fluffy sweet time together 🥺

I'm loving all the requests for the newer agents- we don't have enough Deadlock content. Allow me to fix that!

Odds & Ends

Gekko & Deadlock

Summary: It's no secret Deadlock has a certain distaste towards Gekko, ever since her arm was horrifically taken by a beast similar to the ones Gekko carries with him. But being on the same team, they're forced to work together frequently. One day, Gekko decides enough is enough; he's going to prove his buddies are harmless, and hopefully make some progress in befriending the Norwegian agent once and for all.

Warnings: None

Killjoy & Cypher cameo

Word Count: 1.8k

Within the Valorant Protocol, there were bound to be a few agents who'd butt heads over small things; who's turn it was in the training simulator, who gets to have the last dumpling... And although most debacles ended shortly after starting, there was the occasional dilemma that not even Brimstone could sort out.

Cypher and Sova not getting along, Brimstone and Breach having tension... at least the troublesome agents could be civil during missions. Looking out for each other's backs, even if there's a fair amount of distrust or tension. Despite everyone's views and differences, at the end of the day, they were a team. They had to get along, for the future of their world.

And although every new agent recruited is bound to have their own share of baggage... It's fair to say that Deadlock held one of the strongest grudges in the Protocol. Can anyone blame her?

After losing her team and her arm to a terrifying beast during a mission gone-wrong, Deadlock had her fair share of struggles fitting in. She found it hard to connect with anybody around her on a deep level, out of fear of losing them as she lost her last team. Though time and patience has proven vital in her adaptation to the Protocol, it was clear she still held a great grudge towards one particular agent.

Gekko.

Despite his best efforts to get along with his fellow agents, he wasn't immune to the threatening aura Deadlock gave off whenever her eyes landed on his little buddies. She refused to call them by their given names, only muttering a cold, bitter; "... radivores." under her breath as she passed by. Ever the pacifist when it comes to internal issues, Gekko did his best to be patient and slowly earn Deadlock's trust. If she could learn to trust him, she could surely learn to trust his buddies!

So there he sat, in the commons room, Dizzy sleeping on his lap as his hand mindlessly pet the top of the little creature's head. His eyes scanning over the words on his phone; advice on 'how to conquer your fears' from various sources. He figured that Deadlock's behavior towards his pets were out of fear, less out of a bloodthirsty hostility.

"... You know, being afraid of Scandinavians is an odd fear, but I can't say I blame you." Cypher's voice caused Gekko to nearly leap off the couch; if it wasn't for Dizzy's sleepy self on his lap, that was. He pressed a relieved hand to his chest and exhaled heavily.

"You know that's not what I'm doing this for." Gekko shot a look behind himself, seeing Cypher leaning against the back of the couch, cup of tea in his hands tenderly. The broker chuckled to himself in amusement, always finding some form of entertainment in pestering the younger agents. "I do know. I also know you looked up 'Scandinavian meals' last week. And 'how to comfort a female co-worker without coming across as weird'. Oh, and lets not forget 'how to-'"

"Cypher!" The younger male's hand shot forward, instinctively trying to cover Cypher's mouth, only for his hand to be caught. The information broker couldn't help but snicker; Gekko just knew this bastard had a huge smirk on his face, despite not being able to see his face. He pulled his hand back and felt his cheeks heat up. Of course Cypher knew what he'd been looking into. It was his job to keep tabs on this sort of stuff.

"If you know what I'm trying to do, then maybe you could help me instead of... whatever the heck you're trying to accomplish right now?" The green haired lad raised an eyebrow, quietly hoping that Cypher might actually provide some assistance; but alas, the man simply shook his head. "You know I'm no good at that. If I was, Sova could actually stand being in the same room as me for longer than five minutes."

A quiet groan escaped Gekko, as he rubbed his face with his hands, head resting against the back of the couch, eyes glued to the ceiling, as if the ceiling held all the answers to his dilemma. "Then what am I supposed to do? How can I get her to see what I see?..." His gaze had slowly moved down to Dizzy, who'd woken up by then at the mild commotion Gekko had caused when scolding Cypher. Seriously, how could anybody see Dizzy as a terrifying monster...? She was so sweet...

"That, my friend, you will have to figure out on your own. I doubt she'll be convinced by a simple showcase." Cypher pat the top of Gekko's head before turning to leave, cup of tea still in tow.

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

"Gekko, to your left!" Deadlock shouted out, a bullet rapidly firing from her gun to strike the bot that had been approaching Gekko. "Gracias, Deadlock!" He'd shouted back, the sound of his footsteps being drowned out by the firing happening elsewhere in the training grounds. He ducked down behind a wall, the lights dimming to a deep red, causing him to swallow. They'd been shoved into the training grounds without much warning by Killjoy, who insisted they test out her newest upgrades to the bots. And they were proving to be quite difficult, and relentless.

It was clear both agents were getting exhausted, as they'd been at this for what felt like ages; though it was closer to two hours. All they had to do was get to the end of the room and take out the final bot; but with all the other turrets firing, they'd barely had any time to progress. And every time that damn red light went off, it meant any damaged or broken bots were being replaced.

"How the hell are we supposed to progress?" Deadlock asked herself, head leaned back against the wall her back was pressed against, out of breath.

"I told you, if you'll just let me throw out Dizzy, we can blind them and-"

"No, I don't trust that little monster." Deadlock sneered, as she reloaded her gun- though she was very low on ammo at that point. They'd worn out almost all the guns that had been placed in the room beforehand. "Just let me think. I'm sure my tech can... figure something out."

"You can only do so much on your own, amiga. And at this rate, we're gonna get our asses kicked while Killjoy and Brim are watching. I dunno about you, but I'd like to avoid that." Gekko shot back with a hint of attitude, as a familiar blue orb flung from his belt into his hand. Deadlock's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare, Mateo-"

So threatened by the mere idea of releasing Dizzy onto the field, Deadlock failed to notice the bot that had snuck by her sensor, and was aimed right behind her.

Gekko's eyes narrowed. Instinctively, he tossed up Dizzy, whilst grabbing Mosh from his belt, and chucking it directly at Deadlock- or, that's at least how Deadlock saw it.

It all felt like time slowed down.

She'd flinched and shielded herself, expecting to get... mauled or blown up by the little green creature, eyes screwed shut as she braced for impact-

Until she heard a bot explode behind her. Her eyes shot open as she looked behind her, seeing Moshpit staring at her, clearly happy that it'd managed to keep her safe. She simply stared in confusion, before she heard Dizzy floating above her, blinding the bots with the goo it released. Dizzy happened to land right in Deadlock's hands, her little tag wagging proudly.

It reminded her of a puppy.

"Deadlock- Wingman stunned a path out!" Gekko called out to catch the Norwegian's attention, as she peeked out behind the wall to see several bots disoriented, some still being blinded as well. Pulling out her phantom, she fired with reckless abandon at any bots in their way- revealing the final bot.

"Alright..." Deadlock stepped out from behind the wall, aiming her arm towards the clear path made for her.

"My territory, My rules!"

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

The two exhausted agents had managed to pull themselves out of the training simulator with minimal injury. Killjoy was very quick to thank them for helping with the experiment, handing each of them a lollipop as thanks, before she'd retreated to her lab. Especially since Deadlock had been glaring at her. Two hours of testing the damn bots, and all she gets is a piece of candy?

Gekko, on the other hand, despite his own exhaustion, thanked KJ for the opportunity to test her work, and popped the lollipop into his mouth.

"Sooo... Maybe my little buddies can be helpful after all?" Gekko had piped up once silence had settled between them, the two agents walking together towards their lockers to put their util away. Deadlock kept quiet, as she fidgeted with her sensor in her hand.

"They were... less destructive than expected." Deadlock muttered, throwing open her own locker, placing her tech inside. "I suppose I can see how they'd be beneficial in an actual fight..."

"Just a shame you didn't get to see Thrash in action-"

"No, I'm quite glad I didn't see that. Thrash is arguably your most dangerous creature." Deadlock corrected, closing her locker- only to be met with the sparkling, excited gaze of Gekko.

"... What?"

"You just called Thrash by her name.. instead of calling her a monster~" Gekko cooed in a teasing tone. Deadlock's face quickly grew red as she stepped back, quickly averting her gaze from him.

"I-- It was just a slip of the tongue, that's all." Deadlock stammered.

"You also called her a creature instead of a monster!"

"Will you be quiet?!" Deadlock hissed, though it was hard to be intimidated by the Steel Hunter while an embarrassed mess. She turned on her heel, making an effort to escape the conversation before Gekko could spew more nonesense.

But Gekko simply tailed behind her with a grin. "Okay, Okay- but you saw most of them in action today. Which one's your favourite, huh?" He urged. He was treading very dangerous ground, truthfully-

"... Dizzy. Her behavior... reminds me of the halden hounds from my home country..."

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

"You really asked those two to test your new bots...? You know they don't get along." Cypher questioned with a raised eyebrow, his glowing blue eyes boring into Killjoy's sheepish smile as the two of them entered the commons room.

"Right! And nothing brings enemies closer to becoming friends like a near-death experience in a fight! Though it was a simulation..." Killjoy attempted to defend her actions, though her train of thought was immediately cut short as she stopped in her tracks, hand shooting over to stop Cypher from progressing forward as well.

The Moroccan did indeed stop, confused. Following Killjoy's gaze until it landed on the couch.

On the couch, to their surprise... was Gekko and Deadlock, asleep, Gekko's head rested on the Norwegian's shoulder... surrounded by Thrash, Dizzy, Wingman and Mosh, who were all comfortably snuggled up against Deadlock in one way or another.

"... Deadlock will murder you if you take a picture." Killjoy had slowly and quietly warned- only to hear the soft click of one of Cypher's many cameras.

"Doubtful. Perhaps I will print her a copy... Hmhmhm..."

[comatosebunny09]

Imagine Kyojuro’s birthday was also the day he passed.

A year following his demise, you visit his grave to celebrate it with him. Reminisce over saké, fighting back tears and the swell of emotions in your chest.

You didn’t have the gumption to tell your friend how you truly felt back then. How he held your heart in a vice and your voice in your throat, his kindness ever-flowing and energy infectious.

Your resolve slowly crumbled since then. You gradually fell into a pit of melancholy, nearly relinquishing your sword and abandoning the Corps.

You wander home when your bottle is empty, and fireflies dapple the sky. Your chest feels hollow; your sword is held lax between your fingers, screeching while dragging against the gravel.

When you reach your estate, you are greeted by an arctic, inky darkness that sinks its talons into your heart and drags downward. Crash into a downtrodden heap on your futon, molten tears and wounded sobs staining your bedding until sleep beckons you with her somber voice.

You awaken to muddled palettes of color swarming before you. Oranges, reds, and golds. To the savory aroma of fried dumplings and dango tinging the air. A symphony of laughter, music, and firecrackers pervade your ears. Once your vision adjusts, you fully ingest the sights with parted lips and wide eyes.

Crimson paper lanterns shiver overhead, intertwined with Japanese maple leaves. Technicolor signs glow, promising delicious confectioneries and endless entertainment. Children excitedly tug their parents towards the booths offering games, mirth coloring their pudgy cheeks.

You can’t recall how you got here; why you’re swaddled in a soft, weightless yukata, intricately-designed geta strapped to your feet. Where the silken coin bag wrapped around your wrist came from. Nothing, and no one seems recognizable. You haven’t the foggiest idea where or when you are. Just have a burning instinct to move, and you obey the call.

You try to push yourself up from the icy ground—when did you fall? Yet, a voice that often sullies your dreams dispels the cacophony of your mind, drawing your gaze to the source of it.

“Are you alright?” it asks, causing your heart to work overtime to pump blood to your extremities.

The air is punched from your lungs. Your throat fills with sand. A dizzying sensation overtakes you, soaking you to the bone. You nearly double over as he kneels before you, stretching a battle-worn hand towards you.

Time slows to a crawl. The world fades into a gentle bokeh of light around you. Nothing exists but the pair of you in this moment. Your gaze is trained on the worry hanging between his wiry brows. To every spasm of his lips. Every twitch of his jaw. Each measured rise and fall of his chest. Lingers on his proffered hand, soaking in the texture and warm-ivory glow of it.

Could it really be—no. There is no way. He died back then. You watched his life slip away as you clutched him in your arms.

Yet, there is no mistaking the homely scent of a kindled fire he exudes. No mistaking the warmth he radiates, lulling you into tranquility.

Kyo…juro?

Your voice scattered between the stalls; you can only nod, disbelief painting your countenance. Is it really you, you muse, shakily taking his hand. Your skin sparks from the contact like striking flint against steel, your heart thudding like a war drum in your esophagus.

He effortlessly hauls you onto your feet, tearing the wind from your chest. You flatten your palms against the hard press of his body to keep yourself from teetering. Feel his heart beating beneath the many folds of his yukata and each inhalation of breath.

It…feels like him. He’s real. Has to be. But…but, how?

The world seeps back in. You snatch away from him, sheepishly rubbing the nape of your neck, warmth speckling your cheeks. He regards you with eyes that simmer like liquid spilled over hot coals. Scans your face for any discomfort, raising tentative fingers to your jaw. He stops himself midway, his arm falling listlessly at his side. A grin slowly crests over his face, replacing the wariness which once resided there.

“Shall we continue, then?” Kyojuro booms, standing akimbo, confidence oozing off his skin.

His goofiness remains the same, causing fondness to creep into your belly. You muffle a chuckle behind your fist, tears of mirth springing to your eyes. The puppy-like confusion marring his features makes you laugh even harder.

You don’t know what higher power granted you such a gift. With the ability to stand by your friend again, basking in his boyish glow. On his birthday, no less. Whoever they are, you overload the heavens with praise; appreciative gaze turned skyward once your shoulders stop quaking and your cheeks ache in the aftermath.

Without a second thought, you loop your arms with Kyojuro’s, standing on tippy-toe to grace his cheek with a chaste kiss.

“Of course!” you chirp at his awestruck demeanor, a smile rounding your lips. You swiftly tug him towards the sea of festival-goers, his cheeks stained a beautiful shade of rouge in your peripheral.

And, was that steam you saw billowing from his ears just then?

Yep. It’s him alright.

[brightgnosis]

Two days in a row, now, I have officially been at my computer all day without issue, and with only minimal dizziness. And I've only just taken my first Ketorolac in 2 days- after having stood up cooking Chicken and Dumplings in a hot, humid Kitchen for 2 hours. So I'd say I'm doing pretty damned good finally!

[chouhatsumimi]

Words from Nukoduke, vol. 1, part 2

Words in bold are particularly relevant to the story, and words in italics seem like they’d be worth remembering outside the context of the manga. Bold and italic together means they’ve probably appeared somewhere in Nukoduke more than once. Kinda long list but it's for a whole volume... actually it's too long for tumblr, so splitting into two parts.

捕食者 ほしょくしゃ predator [OH this one was in Reincarnated as a Slime!!] 被食者 ひしょくしゃ prey 凍える こごえる to freeze (of one's body), to be frozen, to become numb (with cold), to be chilled / congelarse お転婆, 御転婆, 於転婆 おてんば tomboy / chicazo, chica que se comporta como un chico おてんば娘, お転婆娘 おてんばむすめ tomboy, hoyden しっくり来る しっくりくる to feel right, to sit well with one, to be happy about, to suit to a T, to fit well together 甘党 あまとう person who prefers sweet things to alcoholic drinks, person with a sweet tooth / goloso, aficionado a los dulces 捩じ込む, 捩込む, ねじ込む ねじこむ to screw in, to thrust into, to push into, to shove into, to squeeze in (e.g. meeting), to protest (and seek rectification), to complain 錬成, 練成 れんせい training, drilling 堅物 かたぶつ straight-laced or stubborn person 流離 さすらい, りゅうり wandering (e.g. bird, exile, lifestyle), wandering alone in a strange country / errante, vagabundo 気が紛れる, 気がまぎれる きがまぎれる to be distracted from feelings of depression, boredom, tension, etc. 弾む, 勢む はずむ to spring, to bound, to bounce, to be stimulated, to be encouraged, to get lively, to pay handsomely, to splurge, to part eagerly with (money, etc.), to breathe hard, to pant, to be out of breath / rebotar, ser estimulado, estar animado, derrochar 道端, 道ばた みちばた roadside, wayside / a la orilla del camino 精肉 せいにく (good quality) meat, processed meat, small goods / mercancías generales, carne procesada, carne de muy buena calidad 和泉 いずみ Izumi (former province located in the southwest of present-day Osaka Prefecture) 真っしぐら, 驀地 まっしぐら, ましぐら, ましくら, ばくち at full speed, impetuously, precipitately, headlong / a toda velocidad 生け簀, 生簀, 生けす いけす fish pen, holding pond, fish tank, live well, live-box お強請り, 御強請り おねだり begging, pestering, pleading, coaxing [I've seen this come up so much these last couple days] 摘入 つみれ fish balls, fish dumplings 逆立つ さかだつ to stand on end, to bristle up, to be ruffled 良かれ, 善かれ よかれ all for the best, what is right 良かれと思う, よかれと思う, 善かれと思う よかれとおもう to wish to go well, to have good intentions 試飲 しいん sampling a drink, tasting 造花 ぞうか artificial flower, imitation flower, artificial flower making 内職 ないしょく side job (outside of one's main employment), side gig, side hustle, part job (carried out at home), home industry, (secretly) working on something unrelated to the class (or conference, etc.) one is attending / trabajo suplementario 雑貨屋 ざっかや general store 威嚇 いかく threat, intimidation, menace / amenaza, intimidación, amenazar, intimidar 殺傷 さっしょう killing and wounding, bloodshed 殺傷力 さっしょうりょく lethality, killing effectiveness 猫 ねこま cat [LIKE HAIKYUU, I GET IT NOW] 糠漬け, 糠漬, ぬか漬け, ヌカ漬け ぬかづけ, ヌカづけ pickles made in brine and fermented rice bran (esp. vegetables, also meat, fish, eggs, etc.) 額ずく, 額づく, 額突く, 叩頭く, 額衝く ぬかずく, ぬかづく, ぬかつく to kowtow (to bow from a kneeling position such that the forehead touches the ground), to prostrate oneself, to give a deep, reverent bow 目まぐるしい めまぐるしい hectic, bewildering, bustling, dizzy / febril, agitado, confundido, mareado, aturdido, desconcertante, héctico 男前 おとこまえ, オトコマエ handsome man, man's looks, good looks, manliness / hombre guapo 最早 もはや already, now, no longer, not any more / ya, ahora 現役 げんえき active duty, active service, student taking (university) entrance exams while still enrolled in school, student who passed their university entrance exams on the first try / servicio activo 赤飯 せきはん red rice (beans and mochi) for auspicious occasions / sekihan (arroz con judías rojas) 書き下ろし, 書下ろし かきおろし writing something on commission, newly written text

[dream-meister-translations]

THE TALE OF FOOD

CABBAGE BLOSSOM - PADDY STUDY

━

MASTER : Mr. Bai, everyone's slaving away over there. What are you doing squatting on the footpath here?

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : What an imprudent pupil you are, Master. You nearly put paid to the experiment I spent many days conducting.

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : Watch out for the light green object ten centimeters from your right foot. It is an important observation subject to me.

MASTER : Observation subject?

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : Praying mantis. I am observing praying mantises. Though it only has two limbs outstretched and looks as though it is praying, it is immeasurably strong and is a fierce predator that will never let go of any prey it bites. Would you like to watch it hunt?

MASTER : ...Although I've already asked this many times, I'm going to repeat myself again. Are you really a literature teacher?

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : I have indeed answered this question many times. My occupation is indeed teaching literature, but I have the right to pursue any hobby I wish to.

OPTION 1 : Look at his back damp with perspiration. (Touch book.) CABBAGE BLOSSOM : My clothing? It is soaked through with sweat. Who knew that working in the fields was so hard? MASTER : Don't act like you've been working at all! All you've been doing is squatting here and staring at bugs! OPTION 2 : Look at the perspiration on his forehead. (Touch hair) CABBAGE BLOSSOM : You wish to help wipe away the sweat on my forehead? That is unusually thoughtful of you. CABBAGE BLOSSOM : Hm, I'm feeling a little faint. Could it be that I have gotten heatstroke from being exposed to the sun for too long? MASTER : Don't sound so pleased with yourself! All you've been doing is squatting here and staring at bugs!

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : "All I've been doing is squatting here and staring at bugs"? This is a highly problematic statement. Are you challenging the work of Fable and his peers?

MASTER : No. Merely poking fun at you.

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : Ah, to a bookworm like this humble teacher of literature, the sun... The lofty eye of the skies is truly too harsh.

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : Merely squatting here is enough to inspire fits of dizziness and headaches, to say nothing of the harsh jeers of my pupil. It appears that I must seek a shady spot to record my observations.

MASTER : Your idle tranquility doesn't scream "heatstroke" exactly.

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : ...

MASTER : Wait, you're not serious, are you... Mr. Bai? Mr. Bai!

━

DUMPLING : He'll be alright after drinking this medicinal soup. You should not underestimate heatstroke, my child. The slightest lapse can prove fatal!

MASTER : ...

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : ...

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : Did I not tell you that the sunlight of the outdoors was far too harsh for me?

CABBAGE BLOSSOM : But now, I am finally able to continue compiling my observations into a report in peace here.

[wormholxtreme]

@ppctts said: 🖊 + the moment she was really sure she & Athan are soulmates

(@telipatia)

Drabble Meme

When did it happen? Was it a singular event that captivated Kaylee's heart? It couldn't have been. Even in the times when her mind was shrouded in shadow there he was by her side. To call that love would be a lie but he was made for her, and she was made for him. That's how it was presented. They were unstoppable to say the least. She'd seen a rage in his eyes turn to something different, something of an awe as he look to her in all her infectious glory. A look that Kaylee adored. No person before him had ever made her feel equal. They mocked her, manipulated her, used her. But not Athan. Sure, he was rough around the edges. He didn't understand a lot of Kaylee's quirks. But he was a quick study. He learned fast what it meant to be her treasured lover and despite the havoc he waged against everyone else, he was more careful with her heart than anyone before him.

But that love was tainted. Showing each other the darkest parts of themselves that when the light poured in, Artemis to Athan and Sophie to Kaylee, there was nothing holding them together. Well…almost nothing.

Even with the baby, Kaylee would have let him walk out of her life forever. But his sisters had other plans. She felt caged with their presence and pressure but she agreed to walk with Athan around the block. There was something so different about him now. The rage in his eyes that she'd fallen for at her worst was mere storm clouds. She waited to let him speak but everything about him seemed so different that she couldn't hear a word he was saying. Just a loud buzzing in her ears until the spots filled her vision. She felt so dizzy and he was the only thing she could grab onto. Her fingers intertwining with his as she went down.

Kaylee squinted her eyes open to the bright lights of the Avengers hospital wing. She was tucked safely in bed, a sharp feeling in her arm. Groaning she looked down seeing the needle under her skin, the line attached to a saline bag. Kaylee reached over to pull the needle out. She hated needles ever since she was a child. Her eyes flashed to the bracelet on her other arm. The only way they could have gotten the needle in her was with a power inhibitor. She was so weak already that the loss of her powers was almost too much to bare. 

And then he came out of no where. That storm in his eyes back to rage. "I know you're mad at me." She told him defiantly "So say what you're going to say." She could feel the heat of anger wave off of him but he wouldn't relent. The refusal sparking anger in her too. She reached out with both palms and shoved him "Say it!! Athan just fucking say what you want to say!!" Her hands on his chest trying to push into him to no avail. That spark in her died out as quickly as it came. Her face in his chest as tears rolled down her cheeks, muttering into him.

And then he surprised her again, scooping her off the floor and carrying her back to bed. How did he do that? In one act, even as he was seething, he was gentle with her. It's only for the baby. Kay was certain. But she promised him anyway to try. She'd try to sleep. She'd try to eat. As long as he was trying to get better from the abuse Lady Death had bestowed on him, she would too.

After that day, Kaylee never pushed him away when he showed up to her penthouse. But he always paid the toll. A different kind of food each time. The first time she laughed in a long time was watching him try out chopsticks. "Okay okay stop let me show you." She reached out taking his hands in hers, setting them between his fingers and guiding him to pick up a dumpling. "Perfect but now that's mine." She grinned bending under to snag the dumpling from the chopsticks and grinned at him. "Soooo I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to help me with my new powers." She asked him. The titan magic that pulsed in her veins frightened her and who was better than him to help her control it.

His face was priceless the worry etched into his feature. "Just training darling!" She told him affectionately not catching the pet name until his curious gaze matched hers. Her true smile faltered and she cleared her throat before letting her mask of a simplier smile set in place.

Once they hit the gym, his strength threatened to overpower hers but Kaylee had her secret weapon. She'd pulse a yellow glow with purple flecks and double her strength class. But she had something more on her mind. A mischievous grin until she twisted out of his grasp, floating just out of reach. "You'll have to catch me first!" She giggled swimming through the air gracefully. Athan mere steps behind her but not quite fast enough to catch her. She spun and flipped taking to the sky out of the tower, daring him to follow. She could have sworn she saw a smile on his face. Where did that dimple come from? Lost in his smile she lost her edge and his hands grasped her tightly.

Kaylee gasped, another giggle escaping her lips she relented under his touch. "You uh you caught me." She spoke softly, brushing his hair back away from his face with the softest touch.

After that she found herself stealing glances. Hoping to catch a glimpse of that smile again. Not knowing what could trigger it, but a desire to want to be the one to bring it out in him. But as much fun as games of chase were, she found herself losing stamina.

He started pushing her toward the bedroom when she'd yawn. "I'm fine really." She'd protest but all it took was a raised brow to get her to sigh in resignation. "Okay but…" Kay blushed slightly, heat rising into her cheeks as her request hit the tip of her tongue "will you come with? I uh…I sleep better with someone next to me right now." Usually it was Sophie but she wasn't going to be there until later.

An awkward shuffle. The two hadn't spent the night in the same bed since they were under Lady Death's spell. But when Athan wrapped his arms around her Kay never felt safer. She settled down nuzzling into his chest and drifted off. For the first time since she found out about the baby she slept peacefully. No nightmares to speak of.

A new routine. One that Kaylee welcomed. Dinner and sleep. Something she hadn't really done before but with Athan's influence became ordinary.

She grew to be spoiled by his presence. And not just her. Whether it was the butterflies he gave her or the sound of his voice, Kay felt the baby kick when she was around him. Her heart longed for him when he wasn't there but she dare not admit it yet. They had gone through so much and the walk back from hell wasn't over yet.

A night Athan wasn't there. A night when Kaylee agreed to stay home for his sanity was the worst day of her life. They poured in through shadows, windows, and doors. Relentless. But Kaylee was just as tenacious. Until she turned and came face to face with Lady Death. A hand reached out, a flash and the entity's hand changed into a skeleton, the boney finger touching Kay's forehead knocking her to the floor.

She woke up on the cold floor of a cell. Shackles bound her wrists and ankles. Kaylee struggled against them to no avail. Shackles built for gods. Even with all her power, Kaylee was left helpless.

Agony ripped through her belly. They were cutting into her abdomen, the only care they took was to not hit the baby. They couldn't care less what organs of Kay's they sliced through. She screamed but stayed still. "I'm. Going. To. Kill. You." She said through gritted teeth, getting a sneered laugh in return. And then she heard the cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks knowing it was too late.

And then he was there. Arms delicately pulling her from the ground. His voice calling her name from beyond the veil. It was the sweetest sound she ever heard. "A-athan go get him." She squeezed his hand with the little strength she had left. Blood pooled around them. Her healing factor trying to do it's work but there was so much damage it was anyone's guess. She wanted to tell him more. She wanted to go through all those memories and point to each one that made her love him. Each detail about him that made her heart flutter. It wasn't a singular moment but a collection of pieces that brought them here. Maybe it was their destiny but they were so much more than Death could have ever imagined. They weren't two souls cut from the same star. They were two souls who in the end chose each other even if the dominos were stacked in place for them. "Go find our son." She told him, a soft smile to her lips. A trust in him to protect the thing they both treasured the most. And in that moment she knew. She knew she loved him.

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

Reflecting

Drip, drop... Drip, drop...

Rain fell outside of Hope's Peak, and splashed on the ground and windows. The soft pitter-patter of each hit soothed Kakeru's mind as intrusive thoughts tried to reach him. However, he had agreed to make dinner for everyone, whereas Akane was ill and being cared for by Ayame, so he stood up and left.

Kanata had wanted to be of help to Akane, but she insisted that the surgeon didn't fuss over such a small thing, and that Ayame could handle it. So Kanata was assigned to help Kakeru.

He had expected to find her waiting outside his room, but she wasn't there. With a soft shrug of his shoulders, Kakeru walked down to the kitchen- Where Kanata sat near the counter with her face buried in her arms. She hadn't seemed to hear him approaching.

"Inori?...What's wrong?" he whispered, getting on his knees and tilting his head.

Soft and bleary cerulean blue eyes met his, puffy and flooded with tears. Kanata then buried her face back into her arms for a second, and soon after stood up and wiped her eyes with her hands before washing her tear-covered hands in the sink. "I was... simply reminiscing on past memories. And then realized I was alone. Thank you for your concern, Mister Yamaguchi." Kakeru watched with concern as she dried off her palms and fingers before grabbing a large mixing bowl, alongside flour, baking powder, white sugar, salt, butter, and milk. "Come on, Mister Yamaguchi, lets make some dumplings, spring rolls, egg drop soup, and some stir fry." 

The noirette sighed, grabbing some canola oil, nappa cabbage, garlic cloves, carrots, and bamboo shoots. As they worked in silence, he could hear Kanata sniffling and gasping. It was growing more concerning, honestly, as he had never really seen her cry.

"All right, Inori... What's wrong? You're clearly upset, and it's worrying me. Of course, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to! But if you need to just... not cook, I can do it by myself!" Kakeru carefully mixed his chosen ingredients into a nice filling before grabbing some spring roll wrappers from the cabinet and stuffing each one up with the filling ever so carefully. 

Kanata gripped her spatula harder, folding the dough neatly into itself before Kakeru took the bowl from her and began working on it faster. He had noticed her knuckles turning white, and the fact she was biting her lip in frustration at not being able to fold the dough faster. She silently took out a pot and began making a soup for the dough to simmer in once fully prepared, eyes dull.

"Inori, why don't you take a break?" Kakeru suggested softly, trying not to be offensive.

Kanata looked at him out of the corner of her eye and shook her head. "I suppose I should talk to someone about this... I was thinking about my birth parents. I don't think I've told any of you yet, but I'm adopted. My... Birth parents died in a car crash when I was... What, 5?" She drew in a shaky breath as she stirred the soup, eyes beginning to tear up once more.

Kakeru waited patiently for her to continue, putting the dough aside to work on preparing the stir fry.

 "I don't remember all the details, but... I know we were driving home from a vacation, and I think my parents were talking about how great it was. They must have been distracted, because they swerved and crashed. I... I remember the sirens, and their croaks of agony as they bled out... I remember feeling squished and dizzy... When I woke up the next day, I was in a white room, with an IV in my arm and a monitor beeping with my heartbeat. I asked about my parents, and the nurse had quite the hard time explaining to me that they wouldn't be able to come back, no matter how bad they wanted to. So the surgeon who worked on me was brought in. He explained what had happened, in a way I could understand. I... I felt alone. I panicked whenever the nurse left the room due to not wanting to be alone. I think that's when I developed my autophobia."

Her hands began to trembles as she put on some gloves and took the dough, rolling it into small balls and pinching the tops before setting them into the soup to soak. Her cerulean blue eyes felt like they were on fire, but she continued.

"I was terrified of going to an orphanage. However, a few days later, the surgeon- Hikaru Ando, his name was- came in. He asked me if it would be okay for him to adopt me. He explained that it'd mean I'd have a new family, and that I'd have a brother and sister unlike I did before. He was kind to me, and he explained the whole process. I agreed, with a bit of worry that it might be bad, but he understood. I was adopted into the family, and... well, the rest doesn't matter I suppose..."

Kanata sighed, watching the dumplings soak and harden with dull interest, scooping one out and putting it in a separate bowl numbly. "I found out recently that I wasn't expected to survive. My father worked his behind off to make sure I'd live. I also met with the fireman who saved me- his name's Kasai Shinji. But... I guess those two things had me thinking about it again."

Kakeru looked down at the now finished stir fry, biting his own tongue gently before speaking. "Ah... I'm sorry that all happened to you, Inori. I'm not sure of much else to say, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here- if you wish, that is."

The dirty blonde cracked a small smile, glancing up at him before she took a few more dumplings out and replaced them. "Thank you, Mister Yamaguchi. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here, too."

-

sources for recipes; dumplings; https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/6900/dumplings/ spring rolls; https://dinnerthendessert.com/spring-rolls/ my ao3;  kur0k4w4_M1k4k0

Kanata having autophobia is simply a headcanon, do not treat it as canon at all.

[itsukismoon]

Onsen Village overflowing with Love - Chapter 4 (Cyrus)

>> chapter 5

After eating the hot spring dumplings, we took a footbath while sitting side by side.

Cyrus: Even the footbath is good… I feel like I’m getting rid of my fatigue by simply doing this.

Emma: Yes, despite only my feet being in the water, my whole body feels warm, too.

Emma: Though at first I wondered how we’d do… we’re properly resting, aren’t we.

Cyrus: It’s all thanks to you being here.

Cyrus: If I were by myself, I would be at a loss of what to do.

Emma: I should be the one saying that: I’m really glad I got to tag along with you.

Cyrus: I see. If I’m not causing you any problems then I’m happy.

Cyrus: This time, I realised that I’m still immature.

Emma: Immature, you say?

Cyrus: Yes. I want to fulfil my duties as a knight. That is definitely my own wish.

Cyrus: Day after day, I’ve been training hard to become stronger. Unbeknownst to me, my body was full of fatigue.

Cyrus: If I continued overworking myself like that, someday I might have collapsed at the wrong time.

Emma: You’re right. After coming here, I feel like I’ve come to understand the importance of getting a good rest.

Cyrus: In order not to let this happen again, let’s take care of each other.

Emma: (Somehow… I feel like Cyrus-san’s mood has improved/softened a lot today).

As I felt my face relax into a smile, I scooped up the flowers floating in the hot water.

Emma: What a nice smell…

Cyrus: Those flowers, I feel like I’ve seen some similar flowers somewhere before in Alstoria.

Emma: While you were on patrol?

Cyrus: If I’m not mistaken, it was when I passed through the meadow near the stream. May I borrow them?

Emma: Yes, here you go.

Cyrus: …They are similar, after all. I think the scent might be almost the same, too.

Water droplets spilled from the flowers on Cyrus-san’s arms as he muttered.

Emma: (Taking a closer look, Cyrus-san seems to have a lot of scars).

Cyrus: Is something wrong?

Emma: Ah, no… I was just thinking that your arms have a lot of scars on them.

Emma: Uhm… If you don.t mind, could you show me your hands?

Cyrus: A-ah, I don’t mind.

Emma: (His hands, they’re big and calloused… he really has been holding onto his sword for a long time).

Cyrus: Even if you stare at them like that, they’re just ugly and not something you should worry about.

Emma: That’s not true, they’re wonderful. They’re hands that always protect everyone’s peace.

Cyrus: …Is that… so.

Cyrus stuttered, frowning with a somewhat troubled face.

As I kept my eyes on him for some reason, he looked into my face as if to change the subject.

Cyrus: Anyway, are you okay? Your face is a bit red.

Player’s choice: You may be right. (+12 moon points) // That’s not true (+12 sun points)*

Emma: That’s not true.

Cyrus: How can you say that when you can’t even see your own face?

Cyrus returned the flower in his hand to the hot spring and gently touched my cheek with the back of his fingers.

Cyrus: I knew it. You’re hot.

Emma: But I’m not feeling unwell.

Emma: Is it because of what’s in the hot spring water, I wonder…

Emma: (Cyrus-san’s fingers are cold and pleasant.)

Perhaps because my head was dizzy from the heat, but before I knew it, I was resting my cheek against the cold of his fingers.

Cyrus: …!

Emma: !!

Emma: (W-what am I…!)

Emma: S-sorry. I was a bit absent-minded and…

Cyrus: No…

Cyrus: …We should leave soon.

As he averted his face, Cyrus’ ears seemed to be slightly red as he got out of the footbath.

[dwn024]

OK am home now have fan on can eat. bro i even bought Two gatorades this morning cuz i was like “one is not going to be enough and if i run out i Will faint trying to get home at the end of the day” but i barely even made it home leaving early still with some gatorade. it’s not enough to just be sitting down while dizzy my brain is being steamed like dumplings help

[ellcrys]

drove up to lowell for the first time ever today! went with a coworker friend and her brother to check out the Lowell Southeast Asian Water Festival \o/

it was hot as FUCK (got real dizzy at one pt bc i’m an idiot who doesn’t eat or drink enough fluids and it was 92 fucking degrees out but minor details), so that was not fun, but the festival itself was a jam! tons of tents all lined up against the merrimack river full of shops, food stalls, org booths, and more. at one end of the festival was a stage and seating area were you could watch some really cool performances. we caught the end of the angkor dance troupe. normally there would be boat racing as well but that part was cancelled this year bc covid is still a thing.

highlight of the festival for me was definitely the food. i had sugar cane juice for the first time ever (what saved me from my almost fainting spell bless my savior who got me this drink while i plopped my ass down by the river to sit and stave off the lightheadedness) - it was so cool watching all the stalks go through this nifty machine that flattened the stalk whole/squeezed out all the juices. also tried sticky rice in bamboo for the first time - such a novelty watching the woman hack the bamboo open for me with a full on cleaver. it was delicious and frankly ingenious bc it’s perfect for eating on the go.

after the festival we got dinner at this dumpling place that frankly I thought was just ok but then we stopped by bambu my BELOVED IT’D BEEN 84 YEARS.

bambu has 3 locations in the boston area (lowell, dorchester, randolph), but none of these locations are particularly close to me. so the last time i had bambu was maybe 3 years ago?? how i love their vietnamese che <3