gyzym | so please be kind if i'm a mess

Heya, internet.

So! First of all: tonight I have a migraine and a twitching eye (SERIOUSLY, YOU GUYS, IT WON'T QUIT THAT, THERE'S LIKE A MUSCLE SPASM OR SOME SHIT HAPPENING, WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS, IT IS FREAKING ME OUT), and so this post exists partially to say: sorry. Sorry, sorry, if I've told you I'm going to get something done tonight I'm probably not, if there's something you need me to do now is the wrong time to ask, if you're expecting me to update a gdoc with real words it's looking unlikely. What I've got in me at the moment is, uh, possibly meandering not-stories and maybe some distracting low-impact flail? I don't know, mostly I feel like a rung-out dishcloth who desperately wants to sleep and can't. I WILL MAKE UP FOR IT TOMORROW OR SOMETHING, I'M SORRY.

Secondly, I've decided that the internet needs a big 'ol one of these:

Who's with me?

Thirdly, Ao3 has opened for subscriptions, which is awesome! I am over there under this self-same username, but, uh, be advised if you're thinking of subscribing to me that I'm planning on adding a bunch of fics I keep meaning to archive (all the H50, that VMars fic, the...entirety of History Repeating Itself...) in the next couple of days.

And finally...oh, shit, I've got no last thing. Here, be cradled like this baby hedgehog, which I got from someone on tumblr - I would check who, but I got an error message about, er, tumbeasts, apparently. I guess that's a thing? I don't know, I just edited this post and found four places where I wrote the word "blue" where I meant "the," take the hedgehog now before this goes on any further.

Happy things in comments, y/y?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com

Oh, love, go lie down somewhere soft, in the dark, with a cold washcloth on your forehead, and dream happy dreams about Danny stealing Steve's fuzziest shirt ♥ ♥ ♥ take care of you - the rest is all gravy ♥

From:

gyzym.livejournal.com

fdjfhds I get migraines like this a lot, and unfortunately I can't...really...get to sleep...most of the time. So I've got the backlights on the computer down as low as they go, lmfao, to try to distract myself until I give up the ghost and am capable of passing out.

however, Danny has to *buy* Steve a fuzzy shirt first. Because he's all utilitarian about shirts. And then he steals it.

ETA: ...Steve...is all utilitarian about...oh god you know what WORDS ARE TOO HARD

Edited Date: 2011-04-06 01:41 am (UTC)

From:

sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com

I UNDERSTAND :D

I guess a fuzzy shirt probably isn't a high priority in Hawaii, huh? Damn them :D

Danny has been known, on occasion, mind you, to steal one of Steve's white tees. He stretches out the shoulders something cruel, and Steve always shoots him a look when he empties the laundry basket, a look that says he knows what Danny did, Danny owes him some t-shirts, Danny should buy his own t-shirts. But then Danny finds Steve wearing one of Danny's old, frayed, Jersey-ready flannel shirts that he'd stuffed at the back of a drawer, and sure, Steve's sick, down with the flu and freezing despite the fact that it's 85 degrees outside, but Danny has to think there's something more to it than just warmth, the way Steve's curled his fingers inside the cuffs, the way he's bundled up as if the shirt is Danny, and for crying out loud, Danny thinks, smoothing a hand over Steve's forehead, the big lug, the big damn lug.

From:

gyzym.livejournal.com

hfjkdhfjkdsfhdsjkfhdsjfkhdjskfhdsjkfhjdshfjdksfhdsjkfhdsjkf oh my god this is the happiest thing ever, jesus fuck, and Steve, the big stupid space heater, keeps using Danny the way he's using the shirt, curving into him, and someday Danny's going to give him shit for that, but probably not today.

From:

sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com

Not today! Today he just patiently coaxes Steve to give up the shirt - "c'mon, babe, c'mon -- I know, I know, you like the shirt, the shirt will still be here, I promise, but that cannot be comfortable, and I'm right here," - and gets in bed with him, lets him push against him, shivering, wraps his arms around him until everything eases and Steve huffs a little bit against his shoulder. And Danny's probably going to get sick too, that's how this works, he's had everything Grace ever hauled home since the moment she started daycare, but eh, whatever, he swears to god Steve really wasn't held as a baby, the way he craves touch now, the way he lets out a long breath when Danny murmurs soft, gentle reassurance.

From:

gyzym.livejournal.com

dfjdksjfshjkdfdjs, Cate, the hearts in my eyes right now, I would read a million words of this, I just want to wrap myself up in it like I'm Steve and it's Dannnny

From:

sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com

And Danny isn't wearing a shirt, so Steve ends up winding his fingers in the waistband of his boxer shorts, as if to keep him close, and Danny laughs fondly, says, "I'm not going anywhere," and Steve just mumbles, rubs his cheek against Danny's chest, and he hasn't shaved, Danny wasn't anticipating stubble burn, but okay, okay. He rubs the back of Steve's neck slowly, gently, feels Steve get heavier and heavier against him, starts to tell him stories like he used to do for Grace, impossible things, feats of daring-do, just to provide the rumble of a voice until Steve's fast asleep.

From:

gyzym.livejournal.com

And the thing is, Danny knows that in a couple of days, when he's the one avoiding coherent sentences like they're on fire and drooling a little onto the pillow, Steve will act superior about it. He won't mean to, but he will-- Danny knows that, knows that this asshole he's fallen in with can't help but be that guy, knows that for all Steve'll be there, solid, steady, he'll play it like he's never had a goddamn sniffle in his life. But Danny's careful anyway, shifts just enough to reach the magazine on the nightstand, slow and easy to keep from waking him. He soothes a hand down Steve's back and Steve makes a noise, soft, discontent, and maybe Danny presses a kiss into his hair--just one--before he turns his attention to an article he isn't really reading at all.

From:

sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com

It helps to be awake - the flu's not quite done with him, and twice Steve wakes up moaning softly, blinks at the ceiling, at the door, then dashes to the bathroom and god, Danny pities the guy, he does, the way this is wringing him out. But Danny just follows, wets a washcloth, passes it to Steve, fills a glass with water and makes him rinse his mouth, crouches down beside him, says, you want something? And Steve just shakes his head looking pitiful, looking so fucking sad, and Danny coaxes him back to bed, smoothes him all out again, gets him to sleep a little more, keeps watch while trying hard not to look like he's doing that at all.

From:

gyzym.livejournal.com

A little bit--maybe a lot--this is the trouble with falling for your partner like you're tripping down a flight of stairs, scrabbling for handholds even though that just makes it worse, just highlights the inevitability of it all. Because Danny can't have Steve's six against a fucking flu, but he's trying anyway, doing what he can, staying still under the covers even though Steve's too hot on top of him. He twitches when Steve groans and feels like a crazy person, wants Steve to give him shit for this later, because he's got it so bad, is so stupid head over heels fucked for this guy it's ridiculous.

From:

sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com

And when he wakes up next morning, Steve's already awake, rubbing little circles with his thumb against Danny's hip, and Danny groans, scrubs a hand over his face, says, "how you feeling?" And Steve says, "better. Some." And Danny nods, says, "I'll go find you some - you should eat. Apple sauce. Something." And Steve gets the goofiest look on his face and looks down at the sheets, ears flaring bright pink. "In a bit," he mumbles, and Danny is exhausted, can't even figure him out, so he just agrees and closes his eyes again, reassured Steve's not going to expire in the next five minutes, lets himself drift just a little.