So this is Tumblr?

A brainylyle oneshot

1,893 words

“Grife, you're impossible sometimes, you know that?! I can’t stand to hear the nonsense that comes out of your mouth!” Querl exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air and stomping away from Lyle’s work station.

“And what? You're a bucket of sprocking daisies and rainbows, huh? Look in a mirror for once, Dox, and then we can talk.” Lyle spat after him.

“You are a Dox too, you fool, we've been married for forty years!” He yelled over his shoulder. Then, when Lyle’s only reply to that was to blow a raspberry at him, he said, “Real sprocking mature!”

sebastian has a problem. the nice farmer is being a little too nice. maybe he's just overthinking it?

word count- 808

Sebastian doesn’t know why he can’t focus.

Well, he does. It's you. You aggravate him. You annoy him– always waltzing into his room asking if he needs anything. He doesn’t need anything, so why do you always give him gifts anyway? Sure, he appreciates his bowl of frozen tears (he made one into a necklace to wear, but you’d never see that.) 

All of this would make sense as to why he can’t focus if you were there. Which you aren’t. He’s thinking about you when you’re not even near him, and you’re probably doing some stupid farmer stuff. Maybe tending to your chickens and cows, and maybe harvesting crops. Maybe even chopping wood with your sturdy arms. 

He pauses and realizes something. He’s got a crush on you! The farmer! The stupid farmer who's nice to everyone– the stupid farmer who's always coming back from the mines nobody goes into with scratches and injuries galore—the stupid farmer who won the egg hunt over Abby somehow. 

He can’t keep thinking about you right now, he has to work. Somehow, Sebastian can finish the rest of the page of code without thinking of you. Sort of. He thinks about how you don’t bother him when he’s working and how much he appreciates it. He stares at the analog clock on his desk–Five in the morning. He sighs and shuts off his computer, then takes off his hoodie to go to bed. 

It’s Friday. That means it's time to get drunk and kick Sam’s ass at pool. Something's different this week, though. Sam and Abby are nursing their third beer of the night together and swaying to the music together. 

Sebastian, however, is just staring at you. You had come in around twenty-odd minutes ago to give some eggs to Gus, but it seems you had been pulled into a drink or two with Pam. You’re laughing, and he’s staring like a creep. Sam and Abby sneak up on Sebastian and begin to tease him. 

“You’re staring, Sebby,” Sam says while wrapping his arm around Sebastian’s shoulders and squishing his cheek. “You like them,” he continues in a sing-songy voice. 

“Shut up,” he groans and shrugs Sam’s hands off of him.

Abby then butts in, “He does, He does!” she giggles while pointing between you and Sebastian. Hopefully, you don’t see the two drunkards being well, drunk, he thinks. Sebastian looks up for a moment to stare at you and quickly meets your eyes. You were already staring at him. Oh no. Now you’re walking over. Abby and Sam are pushing him towards you and now–

“Hi,” you wave.

“Hey,” he sways back and forth, looking everywhere but your face. 

Theres a pause before you ask, “You kicked Sam’s ass again tonight?” followed by Sam grumbling something about ‘taking it easy today’.

“Ha. Um, yeah. Pool’s not exactly his strong point,” he said, still swaying back and forth on his toes. At some point, he finally meets your gaze. 

“You’re not normally here on Fridays. Or any days, I think,” he commented while staring at you.

“I was dropping off like, a hundred eggs for Gus and got stopped by Pam. She convinced me to have a drink,” you shrug, looking away from his gaze. Almost as if you’re just as shy around him as he is around you. Which you definitely aren’t. 

“That’s um, that’s cool,” he shrugged. You lightly smile at him for a moment.

“Can I show you something outside?” you ask. Sebastian shoos away Abby and Sam's “oohs” as he nods. You lead him outside of the saloon, both of your faces lit up by the streetlamps on the sidewalk. Sebastian really can’t help but stare. Suddenly, you’re reaching into your backpack and rummaging around, the clinks and clanks of your items and tools mashing together until he hears you say a little “aha!” and suddenly, a rainbow rock is out in your hands. 

“It’s called a prismatic shard. Pretty rare,” you say, tilting it in the streetlights. Sebastian’s mouth is slightly open, like a little “o” for a moment before he shakes his head and stares up at you again. 

“Here.” You grab his hand and put the shard in it. “Think of it as an early birthday gift?” you say, staring at him. 

“My birthday isn’t until winter,” he responds, changing his focus from the prismatic shard to you and back to the prismatic shard. “Um, thank you.” you give him a light smile. 

“Well, I’ve gotta head in for the night,” you respond. “I’ll see you?”

“Yeah,” he breathlessly says, “I’ll see you.” 

When he goes back inside, Abby and Sam are gushing over the prismatic shard. They think it's a form of courtship. It couldn’t be, because you’re just the nice farmer who gives thoughtful gifts to everyone. That’s it.

He’s fucked.

Hero X

X's surprise is evident enough when you ask. You feel a little silly asking someone with the power of the whole world at his fingertips, but also you can't think of anyone else you'd rather ask. He takes your request seriously, insisting that you hydrate well the day of.

When it comes to the injection, he gets onto his knees before you and, because he's a charmer underneath the surface, snaps. The world changes around you, becoming something nonsensical and vibrant every time. You're always so busy taking in the sights that you don't mind the shot at all.

Nice

When you ask Nice, it's like he rises to the challenge. There's a certain amount of pride in his agreement, a joy that it is him that has been asked and not someone else. When you walk him through all the steps, he watches with rapt attention. In his first attempt, he asks a dozen questions to make sure he's got it all down.

He's agile when he goes about the injection, talking to you as he does it. Telling you about his day, some kind of long trailing story that you have to pay attention to if you want to follow. By the time he finishes, you barely realize it's done.

Lin Ling

He's a bit shocked upon the initial ask, but when you finally admit how difficult it is, Lin Ling throws himself into helping you. Before you know it, he's watched a dozen tutorial videos, has taken notes, and has a sticky note reminder on his fridge to remind him of the day and time it needs to be done.

He does everything step by step, talking partly to you and partly to himself as he runs through it all. When it comes to doing the injection itself, the first few times he hesitates, but that quickly fades away.

Smile

He questions you when you ask, worried he's not the most qualified man for the job, but when you insist, he takes the responsibility like any other. You find out that he used his connections to go to the hospital and learn how to do it from a professional. Which is sweet if a bit overkill.

His smile never fades as he sets everything up, usually humming to himself as he does. When he does the shot he talks you through it, encouraging you with every second that passes until it's done. His voice always puts you at ease.

Ghostblade

Yi has never been particularly bothered by anything sharp so you don't hesitate to ask him if he can help you out. He picks up on the steps immediately, going through it all with a medical sort of precision. You don't even feel it anymore.

His neutrality doesn't mean he doesn't care, though; when it's finished, he always applies the bandage with such care, bringing your hand to his face to lean into your palm as he kneels before you. Even in his silence you can feel his affection.

Wreck

When you ask, Wreck points at himself like someone else is in the room. It takes some convincing to get him to believe that you genuinely need help, but once he agrees, he approaches it with a level of playful seriousness that always puts you at ease.

Boonboomger Formation Lap: The Informant's Secret Physical Release Bonus Pages (other pages and translations below)

Nice always hated his bed. 

He got more rest on the floor than he did in bed. When he was in bed, any movement he made could wrinkle the sheets, any sweat he produced could stain the pillows. Any wrong step and he was suffocating in his own blankets, his mind warring between wanting to rock himself to sleep and not wanting to move even a hair so as to not disturb the previously perfect state of the mattress. How was he supposed to be the perfect hero everyone thought he was when his sheets weren’t even smooth and his bedhair was a mess and his blankets were fraying at the end (probably from his endless fidgeting though he hated to admit it)? How was he supposed to fall asleep when all he could think about was if he’d be good enough tomorrow, if he’d stand tall enough tomorrow, if he’d smile bright enough tomorrow, if he’d be strong, if he’d be suave, if he’d be worth anyone’s time? Or if he should’ve stayed in his small town, kept to small dreams, bought a small house, lived out a small life. 

Nice always hated his bed, but sometimes he didn’t know if he hated the bed more or the person sleeping in it.

But then he met you- a whirlwind of color on his blank, white canvas. 

You, who insisted his blanket wasn’t fraying, it was “fringe.” You, who insisted his bed wasn’t wrinkled, it was “loved.” You, who made his pillows look more enticing than they’d ever looked when your sleep-softened face sunk its way into the cushion, hair framing your face as you rested, your breaths slow and even and sweet. And though you claimed the bed he had always hated made you feel weightless, like you were sleeping on a cloud, you had then gone on to proclaim that very same day that you could be sleeping on cardboard and you’d still be happy as long as he was by your side. 

And suddenly, his dreary world wasn’t so dreary anymore.

He didn’t speak only when it was practiced; he spoke because he wanted to tell you any and everything that happened in his day. He didn’t weigh his every move; around you, he was weightless. He didn’t force his smiles; he couldn’t help but smile whenever you were near him. 

In a world where his only value was in being put on display, you had shattered the glass and shone light on all the beautiful, fragmented pieces. To everyone else, he was the perfect hero. To you, he was simply Nice and it was enough. 

Nice always hated his bed.

Relationship: Romantic with Prune Juice Cookie

Summary: The reader give him rare ingredients harvest by themself/himself/herself.

***

You ran, and ran, and ran again, trying to escape the monster hunting you down. You had reached your goal: taking a dragon scale. However, you hadn't planned for the fact that you would wake it up. Okay, maybe you had a plan, but, you see, you're actually in the middle of putting it into action now. Yeah, your only idea for escaping a millennial dragon was to rely on your little, weak legs. You don't know how you're still alive, but you are. And if you want to stay that way, you have to keep using every part of your body.

You run, jump, dodge, step over obstacles, and somehow manage to reach — not without difficulty — a safe place. You take a moment to catch your breath, but you're still buzzing with adrenaline, way too excited to stay still.

You squat down and place your knapsack in front of you. You take out a book and flip it open to the pages marked with post-its in your favorite color. You check if you have all the ingredients, your gaze flickering nervously between the book and your bag. Everything’s here. You were way too excited to hand over your hard-earned ingredients to Prune Juice Cookie and then go home to rest and nurse your scratches. So, without further hesitation, you head straight to your favorite Cookie's house.

When you arrive, you open the door and wander between the aisles, heading straight for Prune Juice's potion workshop (if you can call it that). When you push open the door, you give a little more force than you intended, and it slams violently against the wall, startling the Cookie who was mischievously stirring a mixture in his cauldron.

The delicious scent of prune juice fills your senses and instantly relaxes you. You think you might have really scared him, because he looks at you as if you were the terrible dragon you had just escaped from.

"Do you think I welcome savages into my home?" he says, adjusting his hat properly.

"Sorry, I can't contain my energy..." you notice you're speaking slower than usual, and your whole body feels heavy. The sofa you had set up for yourself, for watching Prune Juice prepare his potions, calls to you, and you can't stop your legs from moving toward that irresistible artifact (and yes, still talking about the sofa, not the Cookie, hehehe...). Meanwhile, Prune Juice Cookie starts stirring the potion again in slow, circular movements.

"I'm just very excited!" you continue, flopping onto the couch.

"Is that a reason to interrupt me during a meticulous preparation?" He turns to you — only to see you already fast asleep, clutching your knapsack.

Prune Juice Cookie sighs. Examining you, he notices the injuries covering your body. He leaves you alone for a moment, then returns with the Bookseller’s Monocle. Peering through the crystal-clear lens, he makes your injuries disappear one by one. Then he removes his cape and gently drapes it over you, lingering just a little too long, watching your peaceful face.

Two hours pass before you finally wake up. Slowly regaining consciousness, you sit up.

"Did you sleep well?"

You blush lightly.

"Is it my fault your house smells so... soporific?"

"No, but it is your fault for showing up here obviously exhausted and injured," he scolds.

You lower your head and mumble a small "sorry." Prune Juice sighs again and says:

"Anyway, how did you get hurt in the first place?"

This simple question reignites all your previous excitement. You suddenly leap from the couch and dash up to him, stopping less than a meter away, surprising him again.

"In fact, I didn't hurt myself all alone!"

"Luckily, otherwise you’d really be a lost cause."

You deliberately ignore the jab.

"Well, I brought you some presents!"

You hold out your satchel and press it against his chest. He takes it, eyeing you suspiciously, then finally opens it. As soon as he lays eyes on the contents, his pupils start to glow. He abruptly looks up at you, stammering.

"H-How did you get this? Did you seek it alone?! No, that's too dangerous, only an unconscious Cookie would do that... How much did you pay?"

"A brave Cookie like me doesn’t need money!" you say proudly.

You think you might have broken him, because he's just standing there, staring at you with his mouth slightly open. He shakes his head to snap out of it. With a giggle, you start explaining:

"First step: steal one of your books gathering all kinds of magical ingredients."

He gives you a look that's both doubtful and annoyed.

"Then, make a list of all the interesting ones. Don’t forget to do some research, scout for the ingredients, prepare strategies to collect them, and plan the order based on their storage capacity. And finally, I picked them! It took me so long, more than four months!... Hope you like it!"

"Like it?! Do you even realize how rare some of these ingredients are?! Of course you do, you read my notes."

"Thanks for that, by the way! It helped a lot in choosing the relevant ones. You're really brilliant, you know!"

"Of course I am!" he answers, looking away, pretending to be more interested in the bag’s contents. As he does, he spots a flask full of honey among the Bell Pepper BoltPairs and a pouch full of Ash Moonstone. He pulls out the flask, gives it a gentle shake, opens it, and takes a deep breath.

"Is that... a flask of Dear Honey!? How? The Queen Bee only gives her mellifluous nectar to those who prove genuine love."

"Yep! I don’t really know why she let me take her honey. I just told her I wanted to gather ingredients for a precious friend who loves brewing potions."

Maybe you lied a little. No big deal — you didn’t just call Prune Juice Cookie a "friend," after all. That was probably why the Queen gave you her blessing.

Prune Juice, who is no fool, quickly realizes that if you mentioned him to the Queen Bee, it means you might feel something... stronger than friendship. He can't finish that thought, too embarrassed. He mumbles:

"Is it me, or is it getting warmer here?"

"You said something?" you ask, tilting your head.

"Ah, you brought a Bitter Lime Piece!"

"I know you like your potions bitter, hehe."

"That's very kind of you," he says, starting to organize the new ingredients.

You skip closer, almost dancing, proud and satisfied, knowing you definitely touched him with your gift — and thankfully so, after so much effort. You stand next to him, just a little behind. The prune scent is even stronger from here. You rummage through your bag again, grab a random ingredient, and offer it to him. He looks at you before resting his hand on the box you're holding — touching your hand in the process.

"I'm really happy you like it! Truly."

You stay like that, gazing at each other for several seconds. Then he moves away to place the box on a shelf, murmuring a thank you.

"I’d love to stay longer, but after all these adventures, it’s getting late. I must go home. See you tomorrow!"

He doesn’t even have time to respond — you’re already gone, leaving him alone, his arm still awkwardly raised. He stands there motionless for a few minutes before adjusting his hat, as if trying to hide a (slightly purple) blush on his cheeks. Then he sighs, muttering about how reckless you are. When he finally finishes putting away all the gifts, he notices the book lying next to the satchel on the table. Curious, he flips it open to the pages marked with post-its he definitely doesn’t remember placing.

Indeed, they were yours. They were filled with notes like "Could be interesting to give," "No chance, it's too late to harvest this flower," "Such a cute plant <3." On the Bitter Lime Piece page, there's even a sticky note that says "This one reminds me of him!" making him pause longer. Some pages are also filled with doodles — a cute version of you, or a cartoonish drawing of him with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. That makes him chuckle, though he can't stop himself from muttering "absurd."

The last post-it makes Prune Juice Cookie’s heart skip a beat:

"I really hope he’ll love my gift. I prepared it with all my love!"

He slams the book shut with a loud thud.

"H-How can you turn everything into... into a sentimental scene?! You... you stupid adorable thing!" he huffs, his voice cracking halfway.

He pauses.

"How do you make me feel like this?"

Glancing around nervously, as if someone might be spying on him, he slowly, almost reverently, reopens the book.

He treats it as though it were something sacred, or forbidden... something too precious to touch, yet impossible to resist.

His curiosity — and perhaps something softer — wins again.

Meanwhile, you’re not doing much better having a full fangirl meltdown alone in your bedroom.

***