#anyway i was right i WOULD die without dairy that is the answer to the query ( haha ) ( sorry... ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryxcadbury · 3 years

Text

just so you know ily-Kai Havertz

Yeah so I literally love Kai Havertz so much. He's a great player obviously and absolutely adorable! he’s also like mad fitttt! Without further ado, let's get into it<3

Your name: y/n

Context: it's that time of month and you're not feeling well so your 'best friend' comforts you

First person point of view

I lay on bed trying so hard to focus on the Netflix show I was watching, but it was no use. The cramps were killing me. Yeah, it was that time of month. The devil's Christmas as I liked to call it.

I inhaled and exhaled in hope that the pain would temporarily subside. Soon enough, I felt nothing. A smile of relief made its way into my face before I groaned realising the pain had come back.

I sighed and tried to concentrate on the Gilmore Girls episode that was playing on my television.

"Come on y/n, just think of how hot Tristan is. You'll be fine." I encouraged myself.

I clutched the hot water bottle closer to my stomach if that was even possible and winced as I felt the pain of cramps consume me. I grabbed my phone and dialed the number of my best friend.

"Hallo? Y/n what is it?" Kai answered immediately.

"I am literally going to die Kai. ITS SO BAD." I groaned in pain.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Any special requests?" He responded.

"No. Kai aren't you supposed to be training?" I questioned, immediately feeling bad for disrupting him.

"It's fine. I'll just tell Tuchel it's a family emergency. I'm being rested next match anyway." Kai soothed.

"Okay thanks. Please just come here quickly." I begged.

"I'll be there before you know it." Kai comforted.

"I love you so much Kai Havertz." I mumbled with the notion that he'd hung up the phone already.

After putting the phone down, I sighed and took several breaths, trying to pass the time waiting for Kai.

Thankfully, it was only fifteen minutes later when I heard Kai bursting through the door.

"Kaiiiiiiii!" I called.

"Y/n? How are you?" He checked with worry.

"Just peachy." I rolled my eyes.

"Right. Sorry. Oh I uhm brought some stuff." He informed, showing me the array of bags we brought.

I was close enough to see what was inside the bags. There were different types of teas, greens, nuts, dark chocolate, fruits, turmeric powder, more hot pads, blankets, and books. What surprised me the most was a ninja blender in a box.

"Kai. What is this?" I queried.

"Oh well I looked up the best foods to eat on your period, and I bought you all of them. Except fish because you hate it. And I steered clear of all dairy products because I know they make your stomach hurt. Oh and I bought a blender to blend together the fruits and stuff that'll stop cramps and then I just got some more stuff because I thought you'd like it." He babbled.

I smiled at him, trying to stop a tear from leaving my eye.

"Kai that is so sweet. What'd I do to deserve a best friend like you?" I whispered, hugging him tightly.

"Best friend. Right." He murmured.

"What'd you say?" I questioned, a part of me getting excited that he might actually feel the same way about me.

"Nothing." He replied quickly.

"No no. You said 'Best friend. Right.'" I repeated.

"Well if you knew what I said then why'd you ask in the first place?" Kai rolled his eyes.

"Kai. Honesty is the best policy." I spoke softly to him, moving my face closer to his.

Suddenly, my cramps were things of the past. Magically forgotten at the moment.

He sighed, "Okay fine. I like you. Sorry actually it's more like I love you. I heard what you said on the phone and I thought you might actually feel the same. Only to get friend zoned again."

"How do you know that I don't like you?" I inquired.

"I don't know. Context clues?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Kai Havertz. I love you so much. In a non best friend kind of way." I breathed.

Upon hearing those words, he looked up with confusion but hope in his eyes.

"Y/n, if you're fucking with me I'll kick your ass." He threatened seriously.

"God Kai you're such an idiot, it's not even funny." I rolled my eyes before smashing my lips into his.

My action took him by surprise, but to my luck, he responded, kissing me back. Eventually, we parted for air.

"Does that answer your question?" I spoke softly.

Kai shook his head, "No. You should probably do it again. Just so I can get my question answered."

"You're so cheeky." I groaned.

"But you love it." He winked.

"But I love it." I repeated.

And so, the day ended with Kai and I cuddled up on my bed watching Gilmore Girls, eating dark chocolate and berries.

"You remember Noah?" I reminded after an hour of cuddling and kissing.

"God. That guy from like five months ago." Kai snickered.

"You know why I broke up with him right?" I continued.

Kai shook his head no.

"I didn't think it was fair to keep dating him when I had feelings for you." I explained.

"So you've been in love with me for a while eh?" Kai smirked.

I scoffed at his comment.

"No but seriously, I can't believe you didn't go right to me and tell me your feelings after you broke up with him." Kai spoke.

"I thought if I tried to ignore the feelings they'd go away." I replied earnestly.

"Clearly that didn't work." Kai added, hugging me tighter.

***

@kaihavertz29:

Liked by @timowerner, @cmpulisic, @tammyabraham and 3,683,941 others

@kaihavertz29: Everything's better when we netflix together <3

Tagged: @y/f/n.y/l/n

Comments:

@tammyabraham: I had no idea that ur family emergency involved @y/f/n.y/l/n y'all cute though❤️❤️

↳@kaihavertz29: don't tell tuchel bro🙏🙏

↳@y/f/n.y/l/n: ur a king Tammy💘

@cmpulisic: it took you guys forever but my ship has finally sailed🥳🙄

↳@y/f/n.y/l/n: I'm gonna ignore the snark and just be thankful that you care<3

↳@kaihavertz29: aren't you still single buddy?

@masonmount: alrighty I see you havertz👀 i ship ship💓💓

↳@kaihavertz29: SIR. YOU'RE MY IDOL

↳@kaiii_havertzzz: ayeee love to see mase supporting them

@timowerner: when is @y/f/n.y/l/n officially going to become my sister in law?

↳@y/f/n.y/l/n: whenever you want me to bestie😜

↳@kaihavertz29: in that case, let's do it rn @y/f/n.y/l/n

@kai.havertz.lover: HE'S GOT A GF!! FROM TODAY MY NEW SHIP💗💗

@lyla.w2: i'm jealous but she's absolutely gorgeous🥵🤩

@wife_of_kai: how do they even know each other??!?

↳@sharmilaa_malik: I thought they were friends, but now I guess they're more!

@y/f/n.y/l/n: I love you so so much💘💘

↳@kaihavertz29: I love you more❤️

↳@kiara_rodriguez: y'all's are so fucking cute

@chelsea_updates: after reading some of these comments, y'all can hate but she's stunning💞

@julianbrandt: I forget to call you one week and all this happens?!? Call me asap bro, or else we're done playing fort🤧 oh and good luck @y/f/n.y/l/n ur boyfriend's a real asshole

↳@y/f/n.y/l/n: you're my favourite💛💛

↳@kaihavertz29: NO IM SORRY I LOVE YOU THE MOST. I NEED MY FORT BUDDY

@footballer_newz: Kai Havertz and his girlfriend have gone insta official! More updates like this on my page!➡️➡️

↳@no_username: more ways on how to kill spammers on my page➡️➡️

↳@german_mnt: thanks for stating the obvious smart one🙄

#kai havertz #kai havertz imagine #Kai Havertz imagines #Chelsea #Chelsea fc #germany #epl #premier league #football #soccer #german nt #sophia weber #kai Havertz blurb #imagine #Champions league

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devildomimagines · 3 years

Note

hi, can i request something with the obey me boys? mc is intolerant to lactose, maybe fluff and crack 😤 thx

Hello Hello!

This made me laugh so I hope you do too~

Belphegor

You do a good job covering it up so that he doesn’t pick up that anything is wrong.

That is until you keep getting up from Nap Time™ to go to the bathroom.

Annoyed, he asks “Oy MC, what’s wrong?”

Your stomach answers with an angry grumble.

You cover it in an attempt to quiet it’s rumbling. Embarrassed you admit you ate something you shouldn’t have.

He sighs, “Well it’s not like I’m not used to that with Beel. So what was it?”

“The ice cream,” you frowned, “it tasted so good that I ate way more than my lactose intolerant system can process.”

He laughed as your stomach gurgled again, almost like it heard you talking sh!t.

Belphie laughed as you sighed and went to the bathroom again. He made a note to not get dairy before nap time in the future.

Beelzebub

He walked in to see you rubbing your stomach with a deep frown.

“Tummy ache?” He asked as he pulled a pudding out of the fridge.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you want some pudding? Eating always makes me feel better.” Beel offered a spoonful.

“Ah, thanks but I’d eat anything but pudding, that’s what got my stomach upset.”

“Really?” He looked at the package, was this a weird flavor or was it expired?

“I just wanted something sweet and thought maybe I’d be ok but my lactose intolerance strikes again!” You shook an angry fist in the air.

“That sucks, so you can’t have any dairy?”

“I shouldn’t…. But I do anyway,” you smiled mischievously, like you were getting away with something more impressive than making yourself suffer.

Asmodeus

You texted him, “I can’t be around you today.” He took that as a personal challenge.

“Asmo~” you whined through your door, “I told you-”

“But MC!” He was still pounding on the door, “I can’t possibly be without you allllll day.”

“I’m dealing with something so you have to go away.”

“I can help!” Asmo proposed, “Whatever it is, I can help, I’d be happy to help!”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumbled but he still caught it.

“All the more reason for me to help, I want to know all the most intimate details about you.”

You opened your door in a flustered state, “Stop it!” You looked down the hall, no one else was around which was a miracle considering the racket Asmo was causing. “I’m really gassy today from eating that creamy pasta dish at lunch. Is that the intimate detail you wanted to know??”

“MC, you should have come to me first! I have just the thing!” He pulled you out from your room towards his.

Satan

You didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his fault for the state you were in now.

Your stomach hurt as it bloated from the dairy in the drink he had ordered you. It wasn’t his fault, you hadn’t told him of your dietary needs nor had he been around to hear you order a drink with the necessary substitution.

He did note your frown, “Is something wrong?”

“What, of course not!” You chirped, taking an exaggerated drink from the coffee cup.

“Is it the drink? Is it not to your liking? I thought you liked coffee?”

“I do!” You defended, “It’s just the milk doesn’t agree with me.” On cue, your stomach growled loud enough for Satan to hear. Both of your eyes widened in shock and when you looked away he laughed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were intolerant of dairy. You really shouldn’t keep drinking that then,” he leaned over to take the cup away but you shielded it.

“But it tastes good, except for the milk, you knew exactly what I like!”

He laughed again as he snatched the cup from your shield, “Then I’ll get you a replacement, sans milk.”

Leviathan

You could just die right now, that would be helpful, god.

A terrible silence had settled over you and Levi. The longer it went on, the more embarrassed you were. The fact that you just passed gas in front of him is actually killing you more than your stomach cramps were.

Then your stomach decided to grumble. You think, “God, why have you cursed my bowels?”

When you looked at him, he was just as shocked and embarrassed, his face bright red. “A-are you ok?”

“Ugh, yeah, I’m gonna go,” you got up from the beanbag trying to escape as quickly as possible without another incident.

He stops you, “D-do you n-need anything? I can get you medicine if you need.”

It was sweet of him to offer even though he was clearly unsure what to do. “No, but thank you. I’m just lactose intolerant and should NOT have had that pizza.”

“Oh! Well if that’s all, it’s ok, you should stay.” He was totally relaxed again, he caught your confused face and shrugged, “Sorry, I didn’t know what was happening for a minute there. Human digestion is weird.”

“You can say that again,” and you happily plopped back down on the beanbag.

Mammon

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a low rumble. He was the only demon around so who was growling? Mammon looked back at you.

With a sheepish smile you waved.

“Was that you?”

“My stomach, yeah, sorry.”

“Geez,” he charmingly offered.

You punched his arm when he sat back down next to you. “It’s your fault!”

“My fault?!”

“Yeah you got that milkshake for me!”

“What does that have to do with your stomach growling at me?”

“Technically, I can’t have milk.”

“Well why didn’t you say that instead of taking the milkshake??”

“Because it was strawberry and that’s my favorite!”

After a beat, you both started laughing.

Lucifer

Diavolo invited the two of you over to taste a selection of wine for the next event. Barbatos had prepared some snacks, among which were cheeses, fruits, and crackers.

As soon as you were home, you were rushing to the bathroom. Lucifer watched on with a raised eyebrow. When you didn’t come back right away, he followed you to the bathroom. He knocked gently, “Everything ok?”

“Yup! Be done in a second!” He sat and waited. He figured maybe you had too much to drink.

When you exited and found him waiting, you blushed slightly, “Sorry for running off like that.”

“No, it’s quite alright. Are you feeling ok?”

“Yes, better now. I really should know my limit but with such a fine selection in front of me it was too tempting and I ended up overdoing it.”

“Yes, Lord Diavolo does not hold back when selecting the drinks for his parties, only the best of the best.”

“Drinks?” You thought for a second, “Oh yes the wines were exquisite but I was talking about the cheeses. I’m lactose intolerant so I shouldn’t have any but Barbatos did not pull any punches with his selection tonight.”

Once Lucifer recovered, he sighed and shook his head.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me crack #my writing #anon squad #I just wrote some angst so this was great to get back into some fluff and crack #honestly was just thinking about that meme where it's like my tummy hurts and I'm being so brave about it

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pricemarshfield · 3 years

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first of her name

Written for Day 4 of @acocweek; Tragedy + Favorite (Platonic) Relationship + Amethar. Read on AO3 here.

Saccharina knows, when Ruby's gaze meets hers, that she might die.

It's not the first time she's thought she might. The nuns never cared for her well-being, and she'd not always been so good at finding enough food to feed herself after she'd drowned them all. A Bulbian priest who was better with a sword than she thought, a marauder whose views on magic were less positive than they'd assumed, an arrow that could hit Cinnamon while they were in the air so she'd fall gracelessly and never bring magic back to anything.

She could move first. Gooey meets her eyes with a pleading look, or Cinnamon's fire could reach her. She could run, get out of range of her arrows. But that's her sister, even if she doesn't seem to care.

Saccharina shakes her head at her marauders, then looks back to Ruby. Ruby, whose gaze has hardened, who doesn't answer when Saccharina messages we don't have to do this. Who nocks an arrow and fires it at her faster than Saccharina can even process.

She throws up a shield, knows her dear sister's aim is true enough for it not to matter. Saccharina doesn't have the energy to feel anything other than tired, and closes her eyes against it.

She doesn't die, or feel an arrow pierce her armor, or hear Cinnamon roar in rage. Instead, Ruby screams.

Saccharina opens just one eye just in case Ruby's missed and she has time to run, and sees Amethar lying on the ramparts in front of her, an arrow in his neck. She's sliding down Cinnamon's hide to get to him before she's finished processing what's happening, his scales opening cuts on her skin.

"Amethar?" she asks, rushes forward. "I can heal you, just wait--"

"Saccharina," Amethar says, blood gushing out of the wound. She knows enough to not take the arrow out, but God, she's used most of her spells, and he's so far gone-- "Are you okay?"

Saccharina laughs. It's not funny, but she doesn't know what else to do. "Why did you do this?"

"You're my dau--" Amethar coughs, and Saccharina tries to heal him, but he'll die too fast if she takes out the arrow, and he'll lose too much blood if she does nothing. "And I couldn't let Ruby kill you. She'd have regretted it."

Saccharina thinks of the steel in her eyes, and thinks he has to be wrong. "If you cared, why didn't you just tell me?"

Amethar frowns until some recognition sparks in his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know."

"It's fine," Saccharina says, like Ruby hadn't tried to kill her for it. "Don't talk, it's only making it worse--"

"Dad!" Ruby says from far-too-close, and Saccharina throws up a shield between them without even thinking. "Let me in, I need to see my father!"

"Our father," Saccharina snarls, and it would be so easy to throw a lightning bolt into the other girl, fry her alive, let Cinnamon eat her heart and make sure she's tasted enough of betrayal. It would be so, so easy. "This is your fault."

Ruby's face twists into a grimace, reaching back to her quiver. It's only Amethar coughing again that prompts Saccharina to look away from Ruby. It's just like her life, to find out her father cares enough about her to die for her when he's going to.

"I don't think I can heal you," Saccharina says, and she's choked up, fuck. "I don't--none of my spells can take care of this. I don't know what to do."

"It's okay," he says. "Can you drop the shield? I want to see Ruby."

It's stupid, and it's dangerous, and she drops the shield anyway. She trusts that Cinnamon will fry Ruby if she tries anything, or that her magic will be enough now that she's on guard. Ruby drops to her knees next to Saccharina, taking her dad's hand instinctually.

"I'm sorry," Ruby says, sounding younger than Saccharina's ever heard her. It's been easy to forget she's only barely 18, with the way she always looked down her nose at Saccharina. "I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. Please don't die. You said you wouldn't go anywhere."

"Yeah, well," Amethar says. "I've never been a very good dad, have I?"

"No," Ruby says. "No, this is my fault. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Amethar says. There's blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth now, and Saccharina casts a spell to ease the pain. It's all she has now. "I would do it again."

"Why?" Ruby says, voice venomous. "Why would you die for her?"

Saccharina would throw her off the ramparts now, but she does want to know the answer, and besides, there'll be time enough for it after Amethar stops breathing. He deserves that much, since she can't save him.

"She's my daughter," Amethar says simply, and Saccharina's heart breaks. "So are you. You two shouldn't--you should hold onto each other. Family's all we have. I would give anything to have found one of my sisters alive."

There's a tug in Saccharina's mind at that, the wind whispering to her about some chocolate in the woods, but she waves it away. She'll follow that thread when anyone who might've betrayed her is gone.

"Dad," Ruby says, and then just weeps. Amethar lifts his other hand, moves it vaguely in Saccharina's direction until she takes it.

"Don't hurt her," Amethar says, making eye contact with Saccharina. She nods, and isn't sure if she's lying as she does it. Amethar smiles, though, and it feels, for a second, like all she's ever wanted.

Then his eyes slip close, and he exhales one long, rattling breath, and he shits himself.

Ruby doesn't nock an arrow, and Saccharina doesn't throw a bolt of lightning at her. For just a moment, they sit, mourning their father. Then Ruby stands, says, "I'm going to make sure Cruller is dead," and leaves.

Saccharina stands. The castle around her is throwing up white flags, Cinnamon is shifting, eager to get back to it, and her father's still-warm corpse is on the ground in front of her. There isn't a battle to be won, but there's a throne to be claimed, a land's magic to resurrect, a church to raze to the ground.

A sister to...

Something.

---

Sitting on her throne, Gooey at her right, Theobald at her left, Saccharina waits.

Liam approaches with the Book of Saint Citrina. Its holy light illuminates the room, painful to look at directly, and everything in Saccharina tells her to burn it, feed it to Cinnamon (sticking his head through one of the holes their siege weapons had left, keeping a watchful eye on everyone), throw it into the sea to join the nuns that would have revered it.

Instead, she puts her hand on it, and says, "I am the daughter of Amethar Rocks and Catherine Ghee. After my father's passing in the battle today, I am the rightful Queen of Candia. Are there any who have a better claim than me?"

It's an obvious challenge, but Ruby doesn't rise to the bait, Caramelinda's arm around her shoulders, holding Payment Day and staring down at her feet.

"All kneel before her Majesty the Queen!" Gooey calls, and Theo's armor thuds to the floor first. Everyone kneels, including Caramelinda, including Ruby.

It doesn't feel the way she'd hoped it might. Isn't she entitled at least one simple victory?

"Sister," Saccharina says, and Ruby's flinch is almost hidden. "Would you swear something on the book of our aunt here?"

Caramelinda's gaze is colder than ice, and Ruby looks completely taken aback. Theo is shifting next to her, but he doesn't get up. Good. She'd wanted at least one of them to remain loyal to her.

It'll be a shame to lose Liam, if she's right, but power means sacrifice, and at least she's choosing this one.

"Of course," Ruby says, gets up. The room is quiet enough that the noise of setting down Payment Day echoes throughout. When Ruby puts a hand on the book, her eyes widen, and Saccharina studies her face.

"Do you recognize my claim?" she says.

"Yes," Ruby responds, and there's a sigh from Theo.

"Do you have any intent to take the throne, or to make Caramelinda queen again, or anything else that would threaten my reign?"

Ruby exhales, and Saccharina's certain that neither of them know what's coming out of her mouth.

"Well?"

"No," Ruby says, and Saccharina blinks.

"Good," Saccharina says, and leans in, whispers, "One more question?"

The crowd in the room shifts uncomfortably, and Ruby nods, gaze distant. Liam, still standing next to the throne, makes a face at her.

But she needs them to know. They have to hate Ruby, because trust is nothing.

"Who killed Amethar?"

Ruby shudders. "You know. Don't ask me."

"They don't," Saccharina says, glaring at a Dairy Islander who seems to be trying to listen in, who ducks his gaze. "Ruby, answer the question or I'll tell the room myself. I'll tell them you and your mother conspired." She pauses. "Haven't you lost eno--"

"I did," Ruby says, and Liam's face goes blank. Saccharina wants to turn and look at Theo, but doesn't. It's an obvious sign of weakness to care about the opinions of any but her most trusted generals; she can't do that anymore. "I didn't mean to. I didn't know he would jump in front of you. And I wish he hadn't."

"That will be all," Saccharina says with a polite smile, loud enough for the room to hear, lets her hand accidentally brush the Book of Leaves as she says, "I just wanted to remember my father as he was." The room all seems to nod, understanding grief and loss, after everything. There's a brief rush of magic from Caramelinda's direction, and her gaze is as openly defiant as it could be, given the circumstances. Saccharina makes a note to make sure to keep shield stocked.

As soon as Liam takes the book back, face still blank, hands shaking slightly, says, "Our father would be proud, don't you think?"

Ruby's gaze flashes to hers, and it's not the cruelest thing Saccharina's ever done, but it's possibly the worst thing she's ever said. She doesn't care. She tried politeness, and it got her father dead from an arrow that meant for her.

"Sir Theobald?" she says, and he rises to put a hand on the book. His expression is stormy, but she can't see any resentment of her on his face. When he looks at Ruby, though? There's disbelief, not-quite-hatred, and it works. It's enough for Saccharina's shoulders to relax slightly, to nod at Gooey, who looks more relieved than she does.

"Before Emperor Gustavo Uvano's passing," he says. "I watched him name Amethar Rocks as Emperor of the Concord." The room gasps.

"A shame that excludes you from the running to be Empress, Ruby," Saccharina says with a little put-upon sigh. Ruby doesn't even respond, goes back to her place besides Caramelinda and kneels again. Her hands don't shake.

"The Dairy Islands recognizes the claim of Queen Saccharina Frostwhip, First of Her Name," says Primsy from the front row, and Saccharina manages a genuine smile that she doesn't quite return.

Gooey's hand stays on her sword, and Caramelinda refuses to duck her gaze, and Liam glances between everyone with that same blank expression. She'd hoped the throne would be the end of her fighting to keep her place. But it is hers, for now, and she'll do what she needs to keep it.

This time around, if she's given a chance to strike first, she'll fucking take it.

#saccharina frostwhip #ruby rocks #amethar rocks #acocweek #a crown of candy #my fics

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softbiker · 4 years

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: talk about body image/dysmorphia, past ED’s, veganism (idk if that’s a warning???)

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This is...very self-indulgent. But oh well. A continuation of the Agent 14 series, in which Steve finds another diet he wants to try and he needs some help getting started. As always, let me know what you think!

Sam finds him one afternoon, staring into the glow of the open fridge, in full superhero stance with his feet planted wide. Nothing abnormal about super soldiers looking for a snack; those boys can really put it away. But this one looks like he’s conducting an interview with the refrigerator contents - in his hand is a small notepad, a worn down pencil stub poised over it, and Sam can see little scribbles and tally marks covering the page.

“Uh…Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve doesn’t turn around, but Sam can see his deep-set frown in profile, harsh refrigerator light illuminating his lowered brows.

“What’re you doing, man?” Sam takes a couple steps closer and peers around those massive shoulders into the offending appliance. “That your grocery list?”

Steve finally looks up, blinking. Absently, he taps the end of his pencil against his chin.

“No, not a grocery list,” he frowns. “I’m just…taking stock, I guess.”

“We do inventory of the fridge now?” Sam sidesteps him, reaching for the orange juice. He still drinks straight from the carton and Barnes can just kiss his sweet ass.

Steve ignores him, sparing only an eye roll in response.

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, in a way only Steve Rogers can sigh about groceries. “Just got an idea, that’s all.”

Sam sips his orange juice as he watches him leave the room, more worried by that phrase than anything else Steve could’ve said.

**********

“I’m sorry - you want us to what?”

Steve crosses his arms and gives Clint his most authoritative frown.

“I’d like us to try a plant-based diet,” he repeats, looking at the faces scattered around the common room. This little “family meeting” didn’t warrant using the conference rooms on the upper floors; he had let everyone get cozy after dinner, helped dig through the couch cushions for the remote, and then made his little announcement.

“That means vegan, right?” Natasha says from her armchair, eyes on her phone in her lap. She’d started googling as soon as he proposed this little challenge.

“Woah, woah - hold up,” Sam raises a hand, sitting forward on the couch. “I know you’re not asking me to quit eating meat, Rogers.”

“And dairy,” Steve confirms.

“Eggs, too,” Wanda adds helpfully.

“No meat?” 41’s fingers curl into her baggy bacon-print PJ pants. Her lower lip wobbles. “No-no ice cream?” She looks to Clint, who immediately folds his hand over hers.

“There are plenty of plant-based alternatives-” Steve starts, his tone soothing.

“Is this because of that documentary you watched?” Bucky grumbles. He’s leaning on the back of the couch, eyes narrowed at his long-time friend. “What was the name…the one about the athletes who don’t eat meat…”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steve glares back at him. “There’s plenty of evidence to suggest it gives them an edge in athletic performance, so why not-”

“Oh my god, Steve, we’re literally a team of superheroes,” Sam groans. “Earth’s mightiest heroes, and all that jazz. We’re already mighty! We don’t need this! I don’t need this!”

“That so?” Steve raises an eyebrow. One hand digging into his pocket, he produces the little notebook he was scribbling in a couple days before. “I’ve been making some notes-”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Clint mutters.

“In our fridge, the percentage of animal products is a little over 60% - that’s crazy high, guys.” Steve licks his lips, glancing at the skeptical faces around the room as he flips a page in his notebook. “Not only that, but as a whole, our consumption of takeout and highly processed foods has really gone up lately; the team ate a total of 23 meals from fast food restaurants in the last 2 weeks.”

“You’re monitoring our food, Rogers?” Natasha is looking at him now, though he almost wishes she weren’t. Her undivided attention is not for the faint of heart. Steve musters himself and pushes ahead.

“Look - let’s just try it, give it our best shot and then, in a month-”

“A month?” 41 cries, clutching Clint’s hand. “A whole month? But…but what about Bite?”

Oh. He’d forgotten. Sam and 41’s cherished food festival, held every July - a whole park full of food trucks, unlimited samples, live music. One of their photos from last year’s Bite was proudly displayed on the door of the fridge: 41 and Sam each chowing down on a massive bacon cheeseburger - a cheeseburger with Krispy Kreme donuts as the buns.

“Well…” he hesitates

“No. Uh-uh. No way.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and sinks back into the couch cushions. “There is no way you’re making us miss the best event of the year for another one of your health kicks.”

“Sam-”

“Besides! You and Tin Man can eat as much pizza as you want and still outrun a car,” Sam huffs. “No reason to make the rest of us suffer through another one of your diets. Not to mention that I’m not interested in just eating salad and broccoli…that’s depressing.”

Shoulders falling, Steve sighs and drops his notebook in his lap.

“Okay, well. Sam has spoken,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”

“Mm, I’m with Sam on this one,” Bucky shrugs, unbothered by Steve’s answering look of betrayal. “Sorry, pal, I guess I just don’t see the point…and besides, we had to go hungry for half our childhood. I’m not gonna live on rations now.”

Steve folds his hands in his lap, staring down at his knuckles with what looks for all the world like a pout. Maybe he should’ve made the team watch the documentary first…that would’ve gotten them excited. Hell, even he was inspired - after all, if a non-enhanced guy could train to carry over a thousand pounds, surely there was some kind of benefit to this lifestyle.

“Alright, how about this,” he pulls his last card, his last idea. “If I can make a meal that will convince you vegan food is actually good, would you agree to try it for a little while?”

Sam and 41 turn towards each other; he raises an eyebrow, she responds with a shrug.

“We can accept these terms,” Sam agrees. “But you’re really gonna have to wow us.”

“Yeah,” 41 nods, settling in next to Clint. “Bring out the big guns.”

From his place behind the couch, Bucky’s shoulders quake with silent laughter.

“You really played yourself on this one, pal,” he chuckles, shaking his head. Reaching across the cushions, he gives 41 a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, squirt. Your ice cream isn’t going anywhere - I’ve known Steve for a long, long time…” He smirks at a now exasperated Steve.

“…and Steve Rogers can’t cook for shit.”

**********

Steve Rogers, in fact, cannot cook for shit. But he’ll be damned if that will stop him from trying.

He’s swiping through recipes and grocery lists on his Stark pad, wondering if baking his own bread would be as easy as it seemed, when the text comes through.

Hey soldier. I heard you were going on a diet. That true?

Steve snorts and chews his lip, thumbs hovering as he thinks over his reply.

Yeah, it’s about time I got in better shape.

Feeling a bit silly, he watches the little dots in the text bubble as she types back a reply, and tries not to feel too pleased with himself at the cluster of laughing emojis she sent.

Well, listen. I’ve been vegan for a while, actually, so if you need any help I’m here!

An eager leap in his heart, and his thumbs fly over the keyboard once more.

Oh, really? In that case…I’m not sure if I can really handle cooking by myself. I have a terrible track record in the kitchen.

Another laughing emoji. They didn’t teach you that in the army?

Shockingly no.

Someone (Wanda? Peter?) may have told him something about double texting, but he can’t help himself as he quickly follows up his text with another.

Anyways, I’m desperate. And the team is desperate for me to not burn down the tower, haha. Can you help a guy out?

Waiting for a reply, his knee bounces under his desk and he clicks the pen in his hand over and over, hardly hearing the annoying little noise as his thumb reflexively twitches on the button. When her response buzzes on his screen, he almost flinches.

Tell you what. Today is my day off, and I needed groceries anyway. Trader Joe’s in an hour?

**********

“What on earth are those?” Steve stares incredulously at the basket. “And why are they…not orange?”

“They’re called Hawaiian sweet potatoes and they just grow that way,” 14 laughs as she reaches for a display of squash next to the potatoes.

“That’s not a sweet potato - I know what a sweet potato looks like,” Steve says, obstinate brows crowding together. Shaking her head, 14 just turns away from the squash towards the avocados on the opposite side of the produce aisle.

“Oh boy, you’re gonna learn a lot being vegan…” she sighs. She squeezes a couple of avocados, testing ripeness and feeling the size before she chooses two and adds them to one of her produce bags. With a satisfied nod, she settles her hands on her hips. “Okay, next on the list: tahini.”

Looking at the cart, Steve can’t tell what his dinner is going to be.

“Tahini? What are we gonna do with that?” He wonders what it is, too, but doesn’t ask.

“Eat it, Rogers.” Smirking over her shoulder, she grabs the front of the cart and pulls him along towards the condiments aisle. “What on earth would you do without me?”

“Die a carnivore, I guess,” he shrugs.

“Hm. Tragic.”

**********

“It’s practically foolproof - all you have to do is cook this, roast the sweet potatoes, and then we’re gonna throw it all in together.”

“Never underestimate my ability to totally ruin a meal.” Steve says, stirring the quinoa. An adorable scrunch wrinkles his nose as he turns to where she’s dicing the avocados. “Ask Bucky. Even army rations taste better than my cooking.”

“You must be very confident in yourself to admit that,” she smiles back. Cheeks warm, he turns back to the pan with a shrug.

Silence stretches between them for a few moments, the quiet of shared work - from the other room, they can hear the TV playing, occasional laughs from Sam and 41 as they catch up on episodes of Brooklyn 99. Outside the windows, the summer sun sinks steadily lower, golden hour glow illuminating the skyline and filtering into the kitchen. She’s barefooted, chipped blue polish on her toes, and her feet pad lightly across the tile floor as she moves her bowl of avocado chunks over to the island. The little sound makes his heart hungry.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How long have you been, uh, plant-based?”

“Hmm. I guess about 6 months or so?” She taps her fingers absently against the marble countertop as she thinks. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Wow. Why did you start?”

“Someone dared me,” she winks at him. “No, but really. A friend challenged me to do it with her for a month…and then I realized I felt great and didn’t miss the animal products so much.” She shrugs. “I had more energy, I felt stronger, my skin looked amazing - trust me, after a week, you’ll practically be glowing.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a melodramatic flair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, a playful smile dimpling her cheeks.

He laughs with her, shaking his head. “Oh, thank god. My skin is a nightmare.” His sarcasm sparks her laugh again, and it inflates his chest even more. He feels light, easy, weightless as the dust motes floating through a sunbeam between them.

Her giggles die down when her phone timer buzzes, signaling her to check the roasting potatoes in the oven. Sidestepping him, she leans down carefully in front of the open door, waves of heat assaulting them both as she pokes and prods the vegetables with a spatula. “Perfect,” she closes the oven door with a satisfied nod. “Just a few more minutes. And it looks like that’s almost done, too.” She gestures to his pan and hands him a lid to cover it. “You can go ahead and turn the burner off - the water has cooked out, so we’ll just need to let it sit.”

With the rest of their ingredients prepped and waiting in a neat row on the island, they slide onto a pair of barstools as 14 sets another short timer on her phone. Steve takes a sip from his beer, leaning an elbow on the counter as he turns to face her.

“Have you always liked to cook?” he asks. In his mind, there are a million questions - they roll over each other, constantly trying to push their way out of his mouth, his overwhelming curiosity wishing he could crack open her shell through sheer force of will. Instead, he drums his fingers against the counter, picks at the label on his beer bottle, scratches his beard, and waits for her to speak.

“Oh, no, not at all,” she laughs at the question. She’s not facing him, but she smiles, fingers lightly tracing the stem of her wine glass. “Actually I used to hate it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Surprised?”

Steve is surprised - her kitchen confidence certainly impressed him. Not once has she consulted a recipe, or googled how long to roast potatoes in the oven, how to make lemon tahini sauce. Things that would’ve left him completely stumped and likely going hungry.

“A little. You really seem to know your way around a kitchen, that’s all.”

“Well…” she takes a deep breath, and he can see the shape of it forming in her mind: whatever it is she’s about to tell him, whatever she’s preparing to say - it matters. With a fortifying gulp of wine, she knots her fingers together and forges ahead. “I used to have a lot of…um, body image issues, you know? Super critical of myself, low self esteem…it got pretty bad for a while.” She doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to know and how could she even begin to tell it? Too many cups of coffee and too few meals, the feeling of a toothbrush in the back of her throat. It hurts her now, the memory of that girl who thought that making herself less would somehow make her enough. She reaches for the wine again. Steve stays quiet, his eyes watchful and soft. It hurts him, too.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” Glancing at him, she licks her bottom lip, before turning her eyes back down to her hands. “Anyway - cooking helped me learn how to actually take care of myself.” A half-hearted little shrug, a self-conscious smile. “That’s really all there is to it.”

He nods, holding her gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between her own. Her shoulders curl where she sits a little hunched at the stool, bare feet tucked up on a bar that ran between the legs of the stool, one knee bouncing rapidly. A minute ticks by, then two, the kitchen gone quiet and warm, hazy with the smell of a good meal.

“You know, a long time ago, before I was…this-” He gestures to himself, his big shoulders and tree trunk thighs, the massive everything of him. “- before the serum, well, I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures. Or a documentary,” he smirks, a little rueful. “I was less than half the size I am now - short, skinny, no matter how much I ate my ribs stuck out. Buck used to try to help me train, doing pushups or learning how to box, but I was still so weak. A strong breeze could’ve knocked me over, probably - plus, I had asthma, and I was always getting sick with one thing or another…honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t die before the army got me.”

It coaxes a mirroring smile from her, one elbow propped on the island. She shuffles on top of the stool, turning to face him fully.

“I thought…I don’t know, I thought I’d feel…different. Better, once I was stronger.” He shakes his head, chuckling at himself. “But it was more like…I was just in the wrong body. I kept bumping into things, hitting my head on doorframes; I took up more space than I thought I should.” Letting go of his beer, he spreads his hands in front of him, turning them over alternately and staring at the broad palms, the strong fingers, crisscrossed with veins and scars. “Drove myself crazy trying to sketch. I kept breaking my charcoal, snapping pencils…it was like trying to draw with another person’s hands.”

“Did you get used to it?” she asks. The hand not occupied with her wine glass reaches out to gently take hold of his wrist. A delicate thumb drags across his pulse, and she looks down at the lines of his palms, still uncalloused and pink. Her hand cradles his large one as she brings her eyes up to his own.

“More or less,” he shrugs. “Sometimes I still pass a mirror and do a double take.” More often than he would admit, in fact. He thinks of all the mornings he comes home from a brutal run - double marathons, barely sweating - and sees himself getting into his shower, a god he doesn’t recognize staring back at him.

She nods. She understands.

“Taking care of yourself helps. I think - it never quite goes away, but…” her smile is sweet. Hopeful. “The little things. They help.”

Turning his wrist, he grasps her hand with his own. Her skin is soft and warm; smaller fingers slide between his thick ones. Once, a long time ago, their hands would have been the same size.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, her phone buzzes, vibrating against the counter and startling them both. As she withdraws her hand, she grins up at him.

“You hungry, Rogers?”

“Starving.”

**********

They take their bowls into the living room, joining Sam and 41 on the couch. Steve does his best with the chopsticks at first, but he still hasn’t gotten used to it. In the name of efficiency, he switches to a fork so that he can shovel the food into his mouth faster.

“Woah - what is that?” Sam leans over to get a better look. He sniffs the air. “Damn, it smells amazing.”

“It’s called a Buddha bowl,” 14 says, politely covering her mouth to conceal the sweet potatoes she’s still chewing. With her fork, she strategically arranges the next bite, collecting a little bit of everything: quinoa, potatoes, tahini sauce, avocado, greens. “Because it’s pure bliss,” she adds, before neatly shoving the next forkful into her mouth.

Steve hums in agreement, his own cheeks stuffed full. His bowl is half empty already. Peaking around 14’s shoulder, Agent 41 licks her lips and makes eye contact with Sam.

“I mean…maybe, we could try making some?” she shrugs her shoulders. “With a little Yum Yum sauce, too, I bet that would be good…” Sam is already nodding in agreement, pulling out his phone to look up a recipe.

“Don’t worry,” 14 smiles, patting her friend’s thigh. “I made plenty for everyone.”

As the other two scramble up from the couch and into the kitchen, she catches Steve’s eye and winks.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers x reader fic

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 years

Text

Pairings: Roman x His Mystery Boyfriend

Word Count: 1,459 Words

Summary: Deceit loves his dog, grocery shopping, and the anxiety twins drop off the dark sides something special.

Warnings: Sex Mentions, Cursing, Death Mention, Food Mention, Slight Body Horror Kind Of?, Sick Character, Immunocompromised Character, Aggressive Affection (aka Virgil’s way of showing love), Drug Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Note: This chapter is pre-SvS, by the way. Bolded and blockquoted are actions in their chatroom, not a message.

Usernames, a quick translation guide: Andy: Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero), Dayd: carniverousroomba, Dice: Dr. Bitch, Emile: Thera-pissed, Janus: SnekBoi, Logan: Momgan, October: eatpavementido, Patton: Papa Bear, Pryce: SwEeTvErUcA, Remus: Octopussy, Remy: Coffee Bandit, Roman: waaahluigi, Teal: uwu, Thomas: shrexy, Virgil: spipples

A Very Sanders Group Chat: Chapter 5

8:46AM

SnekBoi: I love Boogey, he's the light of my life and I would kill a man for him if he needed me to.

shrexy: Your dog? What happened?

SnekBoi: My absolute greatest boy ever just helped me get up and I owe him the world and maybe some extra snacks because he's not used to helping me get up anymore but he did it anyway.

Octopussy: you absolute fool, you full well know I would've come up and helped you but you have the dog help?

SnekBoi: I severely doubt you wanted me to wait to get up just so I could puke on you.

Octopussy: fair enough.

spipples: I just can't believe you have to give up another two plus years for this same bullshit again.

SnekBoi: I'll be fine. I've did this before, I can do it again.

spipples: I just hate that you have to do it all over again.

SnekBoi: Well, I did the month's stay in the hospital again right before I started working again and I was on my second stage of treatment, but I'm getting re-admitted for another month tomorrow, since my progress is now going backward ever since my fever and there's no signs yet that the first treatment worked so I'll have to do that stage again.

Dr. Bitch: Yeah, I wanna get you through the treatment again because, otherwise, it won't go away and, as much as I love you, I really don't wanna see you every day if if means I'm seeing you not healthy and I sure as hell don't wanna see you close to your deathbed.

SnekBoi: I know, healthy is the goal, I get it. Anyway, I have some exhaustion to deal with, I feel like a corpse.

Octopussy: cool, can I do an autopsy on you?

SnekBoi: If it means death, I will accept.

Dr. Bitch: There will be no autopsies on my patient, you bone-headed little shit.

Octopussy: fine. but I'm still bringing him breakfast so he might feel better.

SnekBoi: What's breakfast?

Octopussy: well, I got you the ginger candy you like, first of all. and I made you the bagels you like and I might possibly sneak you extra non-dairy cream cheese and I made Boogey a treat bowl since I know you don't keep good boy treats in your room.

SnekBoi: I love you.

Octopussy: I know you do.

SnekBoi and Octopussy are offline

shrexy: I hope whatever that treatment he's having works this time.

spipples: Well, Inny and Dice are doing their best so we just have to trust they know what they're doing. Knowing they've accomplished making him healthy once, makes it easy to believe that they can do it again.

spipples: This time, it just has a lot more stuff because last time his month's hospital stay worked and nothing hitched like his fever last week. Or at least it didn't until he was farther in the treatment when he was starting to push himself again.

waaahluigi: Can we talk about something else?

spipples; Well, I need to go food shopping today, who wants to go with me?

SwEeTvErUcA: I'll go, I need a few things for dinner.

carniverousroomba: Yeah sure, I need to get me some good candy for my Netflix binge tonight.

Papa Bear: I can't to go because I'm busy at work but if you guys can pick me up a loaf of bread and just have someone bring it to me, I'll pay you back.

spipples: If you can make me a decent meal for work when cooking is hard for you, Pat, I think I can buy you a loaf of bread and deliver it to my hard-working dad.

Papa Bear: Oh, it's okay, I want to pay you back! Virge, you always get stuck bringing me food or picking me up things, I feel bad!

spipples: Did I ask you to pay me back?

Papa Bear: No, but I want to!

spipples: I didn't ask you to because money isn't a factor, Patton, You need to eat at work. I won't have you pulling a 12 hour shift without food because Nathaniel isn't there anymore. You need to get some food in your system, feeding yourself is important, Patton. And, if you try to sneak money into my wallet, pockets, or otherwise, I can and will put it back.

Dr. Bitch: Virgil's really out here screaming that food is important. I love that your brand of aggressive affection is still going.

spipples: It never stopped being aggressively affectionate, Dice.

waaahluigi: I need some things, I'll go.

eatpavementido: Please pick me up exactly four tiny pumpkins and a tbe of black paint for them.

spipples: Alrighty there cryptid.

10:10 AM

Momgan: If you're currently at the store, please bring me home coffee before I die from lack of caffeine.

spipples: hey, you, you're finally awake!

waaahluigi: Quick question, what aisle are you in? Because I'm going to come over there and punch you.

spipples: Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?

shrexy: Oh no, he's in meme mode today.

spipples: Maybe.

Momgan: Please. Just pick up coffee, any form of coffee and I swear to god, I'll make you whatever you want for dinner.

spipples: Pizza and nuggets.

Momgan: Done.

Thera-pissed: I feel like I just witnessed a drug deal.

Coffee Bandit: You did. But it's a drug deal for food.

Thera-pissed: Yeah, I figured that out.

12:17PM

Momgan: I have caffeine, I am now human again.

uwu: Good because I'm lonely, come cuddle.

Momgan: Ah, drawn back into the hell of a day off in bed by my own brother. What treachery is this?

uwu: The good kind, now come cuddle me, I'm cold, goddammit.

Momgan: Fine.

shrexy: Wait, you have a brother?

Momgan: Yes, Teal, your teacher character from your short videos is my brother. He may not be a side, but, since our function initially was similar, your mind connected us as brothers just as it has with Virgil and Andy, Roman and Pryce, and Patton and Dayd.

shrexy: Huh, learning something new about you guys every day.

Momgan: I know, I find it rather fun that you're learning so easily.

2:43PM

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): Thought I'd share my dumbass little brother being cute because why not die today.

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): virgilinaflowercrown.jpg

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): virgilinadress.jpg

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): virgilinaflowermaze.jpg

Octopussy: are you outside our house.

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): Delivering food.

SnekBoi: Aw, you two are so thoughtful!

spipples: Well, we gotta help you two somehow and your garden won't sustain two weeks isolation. We've tried that, remember? The week of potatoes?

Octopussy: I know. I just don't have the heart to go because it's always so crowded and I can't risk getting Dee sick.

spipples: And now you don't have to, And we washed everything once, just in case so there's no germs coming into the house.

SnekBoi: I wish I could hug you two.

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): Don't, focus on yourself.

SnekBoi: I know. But still, thank you.

spipples: And no going off on a "you'll pay me back" spiel, I already did that with Patton and the answer is no, you cannot pay me back because I'm trying to help you get better and I don't want to be repaid for helping you out when you definitely need it.

SnekBoi: You little shit, I love you.

spipples: The feeling is mutual, you funky little snake.

3:01PM

Octopussy: is this half pre-cooked food, half stuff from the store? why?

spipples: Well, we know that you're both really busy right now so we made you food like you used to make us food when we were really busy.

Raccoon Man (the trashiest hero): And don't worry, we made sure it was all healthy for Dee.

Octopussy: how long did this take you and how much did this cost you!? this is like an entire fridge and freezer of food!

spipples: Let's just say I took the last couple days off and I worked really late last week.

Octopussy: you didn't need to do that.

spipples: You're right, I wanted to.

Octopussy: you're so lucky Dee's asleep or he'd be telling you off for pulling a stunt like this.

spipples: I fully expect to be chewed out later, don't worry.

spipples: Just let me do something while you guys need it, you didn't have this kind of help the first time and I don't want to let this time be like that again, especially when I can help you.

Octopussy: I'd have hugged you if I wasn't isolating, you lovable little shit.

spipple: Love you too, Inny, you amazing jackass.

Taglist: @glaxyjellyfish @chronophobica @fear-ze-queer

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squidbatts · 4 years

Text

i’m gonna run this nothing town

“That’s how I know I'm making the right choice. Cal, will you be my aide-de-camp?” A smile spreads across Calroy's face, sharp like the water-steel dagger he keeps tucked in his boot. “Amethar,” He says, voice sweet as the sugar beneath their feet, “It would be my honor.”

or: four snapshots of calroy and amethar, after the war

((this requires some explanation. this exists in an au where calroy and amethar (eventually) get married, calroy hates amethar but is also in love with him (and doesn’t know he’s in love with him), and calroy is still actively working against the rocks. it’s.... involved. inspired entirely by the enablers in the d20 server of color and @kindlespark‘s wonderful calroy art. please enjoy!))

{ao3}

When the War is over, when all the dust has settled, Calroy still stands.

He stands beside Amethar, the new King of Candia and the Sugarlands; Amethar, the War buddy that considered Calroy his closest friend; Amethar, the arrogant, spoiled, ungrateful boy that cared more about playing soldier than his place in the Kingdom; His Majesty King Amethar of House Rocks, the Unfallen.

He stands there, and Amethar, in mourning clothes even at his own coronation, clears his throat.

“Cal,” Amethar starts, voice a whisper and brows furrowed, “You know I- I can't do this. I was never supposed to be the one to do this, I don't know anything about politics and I didn't pay attention in my etiquette classes and I never remember any of those fancy titles. I don't even know how to read, you know that.”

Calroy, who once had to trade hard labor and quick favors for his lessons, makes himself nod understandingly. “So you've told me, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, come on, don't call me that,” Amethar says quickly, waving a hand like his title is an annoying bug that he can shoo away. Calroy feels so sick with envy and anger that he worries for a moment that he'll pass out. “I'm not just outlining my flaws for my own health, alright, I wanted to ask you… I mean, you're the best guy I know, and I trust you to watch my back, and you're great at talking us out of scrapes, and my advisors told me that I should choose someone, and-”

“Keep talking like that and I'll die of boredom before you can ask me anything,” Calroy interrupts, tone balanced on the line between joking and rude.

Amethar smiles, a clever little thing that looks much more at home on his face than his earlier wide-eyed nervousness, and his shoulders relax from where they'd begun to climb towards his ears.

“That’s how I know I'm making the right choice. Cal, will you be my aide-de-camp?”

A smile spreads across Calroy's face, sharp like the water-steel dagger he keeps tucked in his boot. “Amethar,” He says, voice sweet as the sugar beneath their feet, “It would be my honor.”

Her name is Caramelinda Merengue and she hates Amethar. She doesn't say as much, because she's whip-smart and understands that would be an insult that even Amethar couldn't miss, but Calroy can tell. He reads it in the line of her brow and the tilt of her lips, in the way her hands tighten on her dress under the table and the way her cheek dimples when she bites it to keep herself from speaking.

Calroy rather likes her.

Her father is in talks with Amethar about marriage and Amethar is deeply miserable about it, as he makes clear to Calroy each evening when they drink together. Caramelinda is miserable about it too, though she's more graceful about it and never even brings up the fact that her set engagement to the late Archmage Lazuli of House Rocks had been one of love and not simple allyship; no, Calroy had to use his spies to find out that one because Caramelinda was too loyal to her duty and her father to complain where she could be heard. This is, technically, exactly the type of thing Amethar brought him in for, even ignoring that he has his own reasons for not wanting Caramelinda and Amethar to get married; marriage means heirs and Calroy doesn't need any Rocks brats running around and complicating his plans.

He approaches the Duke of Meringue with a soft smile and an open ear. He asks leading questions about the Duke's land, his crops, his wife. Caramelinda is his only child, the last of his line, and even despite subtracting the land and livestock included in her dowry, the bride price Lazuli had promised is… exorbitant. More than enough for the Duke to live comfortably for the rest of his days and more than the daughter of a fairly minor noble merited, in Calroy’s opinion.

Love, He scoffs mentally, can make fools out of even the brightest of mages.

“You know, he doesn’t actually want you to marry his daughter,” Calroy confides to Amethar that evening.

“It seems like he wants me to marry her,” Amethar responds petulantly. The syrupy scent of his cologne fills Calroy’s nose as Amethar leans closer to fill his goblet with butterscotch schnapps and Calroy has to resist the urge to either sneeze or take a deep breath in. “My advisors want me to marry her too. They said keeping Lazuli’s promise will show that we still respect our allegiances in Candia.”

A part of Calroy is almost impressed that Amethar remembered all that well enough to be able to parrot it to Calroy; the rest of him is too busy being annoyed at Amethar’s advisors to care. Amethar’s advisors are a bunch of rich elders who have been pressuring the Kings of Candia for the past fifty years and who have no problem publicly calling Calroy an upstart.

Calroy does not like Amethar’s advisors.

“Don’t you trust me?” Calroy asks, making a show out of pouting. Amethar’s eyes flicker down, just for a second, before he settles that earnest gaze back on Calroy’s eyes. There was a time, during the War, when Calroy had gotten tired of Amethar trying to be subtle about checking out his ass and staring at his mouth, when Amethar had let Calroy push him against a tree just outside of camp, when Calroy had bit Amethar’s lip hard enough to make him bleed and then blamed it on inexperience, when Amethar had cupped a hand over Calroy’s cheek and-

Well.

Calroy mentally shakes himself. None of that matters right now. The War was the War, but this is now.

“‘Course I do, more than anyone in the world,” Amethar answers, soft and genuine enough to make Calroy’s skin crawl.

“Then trust me on this. He wants land and gold, and his quickest route to those things right now is making you keep up Lazuli’s part of the bargain. If we can offer him an easier way to get what he wants-”

“Then I don’t have to marry Caramelinda!”

Calroy makes a noise like a champion’s bell and clinks his cup against Amethar’s. “Then you don’t have to marry Caramelinda.”

Amethar is smiling so widely that he spills more than he swallows when he tries to knock his drink back. “You’re the best, Cal, really.”

Calroy grins back, but when he says “And don’t you forget it,” his voice comes out a touch too demanding.

Whatever.

It’s not like Amethar will notice anyway.

Amethar is looking for something. Calroy doesn't know what it is, which is weird enough on its own and would normally make him dismiss the idea, but Amethar's been spending too much time personally visiting the Dairy Islands for someone without a vested interest in what he could find there.

While Calroy appreciates the space he’s been given to pull at the strings that move Candia, the absence of the King has had the side-effort of making the other nobles bolder with their power grabs, more openly distasteful about Calroy's power. If Calroy has to hear another minor baron say Amethar's reliance on Calroy is unbecoming or gossip about how Calroy is a leeching social climber, he's going to do something he regrets, like run them through with his saber.

None of these people know that it's Calroy that keeps their precious liquor and food flowing, that he writes the trade proposals and organizes the council meetings. None of these people have ever had damp soil from a newly weeded field caked so deep under their fingernails that it takes fives washes for the water to run clear, they've never had so much blood dried into the creases of their hands that their palms were dyed red. Everything Calroy has, everything he is, has been fought for, and he refuses to let some snobby nobles or a flighty King ruin this for him.

He starts with increasing the number of meetings Amethar has to attend. As the Royal Aide-De-Camp, Calroy has almost complete control of Amethar’s schedule and, while it’s typically more advantageous for Calroy to go to these meetings alone and gently shift the popular opinion, Amethar’s stubborn blunt force works just as well when aimed right.

For a while, that is.

He can tell when Amethar starts to get jittery as he has less and less opportunity to sneak himself off to another country; the man all but whines about having to actually do his blood-granted duty, and Calroy makes himself grit his teeth in an approximation of a smile and then lets himself grip just a bit too tightly onto Amethar’s arm as he leads him to his next appointment.

He likes to think that he responds with more restraint than Amethar deserves.

It’s not until Amethar actually skips a meeting, like he’s a child sneaking out of his lessons, and doesn’t come back to the Castle for three days that Calroy decides this has to come to a stop. He stands outside Amethar’s rooms and puts all his energy into channeling the visage of a kind and concerned best friend. He takes a deep breath to center himself, puts a hand on the doorknob, and enters without announcing himself.

“Hey, you can’t- Oh, it’s just you,” Amethar says from where he’s making a pathetic attempt to cover the blown-up map of the Dairy Islands, brush still dripping with ink from where he’s been apparently marking the map. He relaxes when he sees Cal, even as Cal tenses.

This doesn’t look like a silly flight of fancy for Calroy to prod Amethar out of pursuing, it doesn’t look like the thrill-seeking work of a boy who misses the adventure of War. This looks calculated, particular. This, Calroy thinks, looks like a nightmare.

“What’s all this, then?” Calroy asks, gesturing.

Amethar runs a hand over his locs and laughs nervously. “It’s nothing. Just a little project of mine.”

Calroy wants to sigh, to yell, to demand that Amethar explain, but he knows that Amethar moves easiest when he thinks he's not being made to do so. He allows himself to furrow his eyebrows a bit more, hunch his posture a bit; make himself look confused and small like something hurt and sad, like someone who needs Amethar’s protection. It takes only twenty seconds under Calroy’s pitiful stare before Amethar folds.

“Okay, fine, but you have to promise to not get mad.”

“When have I ever been mad at you?” Calroy asks, question rhetorical not because he’s never been angry at Amethar but because Amethar would’ve never realized he had been. “I’m just worried. All this galavanting around, avoiding your duties, it’s not like you.”

It is like him, Calroy and Amethar both know it, and Amethar slumps at the lie. Calroy can almost see the cracks appear in his defenses. “Alright. You can’t tell anyone, but I… I have a wife.”

“You have a what.” Calroy says. It’s not a question but it should be because surely Calroy’s misheard. Surely Amethar Rocks is not telling Calroy that he has some secret little milkmaid in the Islands.

“A wife. Her name is Catherine, Catherine Ghee, and I was going to marry her the right way after the War and bring her in as my queen, but then I got moved from the Islands and she stopped answering my letters, and then my sisters-” Amethar cuts himself off, clearing his throat thickly. “Anyway, I forgot about it in the shuffle of everything else. And then there was the whole Caramelinda thing, you know.”

“I know,” Calroy confirms. Bribing enough the duke to make him rescind his acceptance of Lazuli’s -- Amethar’s -- marriage proposal had been his job, after all.

“Yeah! It reminded me. And I thought I’d go find her, it’s the right thing to do and I mean, I think I really loved her, Cal. I think she might’ve been it for me.”

Calroy’s jaw works hard enough that he feels the joint pop. Calroy closes his eyes in the face of Amethar’s enthusiasm, just to give himself a second to process. This would’ve been useful to know when you were almost married off to someone else, Calroy thinks but doesn’t say. What do you mean you got married and then just forgot about her? What part of that screams ‘she’s the love of my life’ to you? Calroy thinks but doesn’t ask.

“So, have you had any luck?” Calroy asks when he trusts himself to speak without screaming. Amethar’s face drops immediately.

“No. I found her parents back in her village but they say they haven’t seen her in almost a year, so I’ve just been traveling around. I hope- well. You know what I hope.”

Calroy hums. He does.

Many, many Dairy Islanders were lost in the War, a larger percentage than any other country. It’s very possible that Amethar’s Catherine Ghee is dead by now. Still, if she’s not…

“You should’ve asked me for help in the first place,” Calroy chides, playfully hitting Amethar’s chest. He lets his hand linger, feeling Amethar’s warmth and the strong pulse of his heartbeat through his doublet. “You have people to do things like this. I mean, really Amethar, I completely understand you and usually I’d be all for this -- hell, I’d join you! -- but when you’re gone so often, it worries the Kingdom.”

“It does?”

Calroy hums mournfully, tucking his hands behind his back and turning away from Amethar to study the map. “The War is over and the Concord is formed, but things are still getting back to normal. If your citizens notice their King, the venerated Amethar the Unfallen, leaving them so regularly, what will they think?”

Calroy doesn’t have to look at how Amethar’s face spasms at the title, but he watches out of the corner of his eye anyway. He knows the flinch intimately, has watched it and caused it enough that it’s burned into his memory; the way it starts with Amethar’s eyes slipping shut, how his jawline shakes, how he twitches as though he’s been slapped. Sometimes, Calroy wishes he could chant it just to see the reaction over and over again. Amethar the Unfallen, Amethar the Last of House Rocks, Amethar the Unprepared.

“The people will really get upset?” Amethar asks. His voice sounds smaller, less sure. Calroy makes sure his smile is more concern than smug delight before he turns around.

“It’s very possible,” Calroy answers, “But there’s no need to worry about it. Now that I know what’s going on, I can get the people whose job this should be on it. We’ll find your girl, Amethar.”

Amethar brightens, falling into step with Calroy and allowing himself to be guided from his rooms. “What would I do without you, Cal?”

Calroy is already mentally scripting how he'll tell Amethar that I've gotten some news back from the Islands and, well... your wife… they just couldn’t find anything. I'm so sorry, Amethar, I know the War has taken so much from us all, but no news is good news, right? regardless of what his search-and-destroy party finds. He bumps his shoulder against Amethar's, supportive and affectionate. “Let's hope you never have to find out.”

It has been… a very long night.

It began with a furious letter from the Duke of Meringue, accusing Amethar of defiling and kidnapping his daughter, of breaking his word, of trying to undermine him. Calroy, who reads all of Amethar’s mail, throws the letter into the fire before taking the Amethar his daily stack of relevant but not too important mail. The day only turns to chaos as the evening falls, when an unannounced carriage pulls up to the gates, holding none other than the Lady Caramelinda Merengue. Before anyone can react, Caramelinda shoves a letter at Amethar’s chest, furious and red-eyed from crying.

“I’m pregnant,” She said, with a voice that carried across the courtyards of Castle Candy like a song even as she bowed low and proper, “It is your sister’s. I have come to ask to be quartered by House Rocks, on behalf of my unborn child, your kin.”

Amethar embraced the women, gleefully accepting her words without a lick of proof, while the entirety of the assembled court gossiped and Calroy picked up the letter. It was from Lazuli, of course, and it explained what had happened in the most confusing and circuitous way possible, of course. all will make sense in time, Lazuli said, trust your feelings, Lazuli said, all is as i foresaw, probably, and if it is not then it is close enough that it does not matter, Lazuli said. It all seemed to fit perfectly, arriving just in time, and Calroy could barely stop his fist from tightening and crushing the letter. After all, if he remembered Lazuli, there was probably a letter in lemon ink waiting just for him on the back, just like there had been on so many of the missives she sent to Amethar and Rococoa on the front lines.

Calroy, now, sitting on a part of the Castle wall far from the celebration for Amethar’s new sister-in-law and incoming nibling, lets his eyes slide closed for a moment. If there's one Rocks sister he hated, it was Lazuli, who used her powers of divination for busybodying and mocking instead of something as simple as saving her own life. There's nothing Calroy hates more than a waste of potential.

Speaking of which, I should probably check this. He holds the letter carefully over his lamp, watching as the heat darkens the lemon ink until he can clearly read Lazuli’s final secret message.

congratulations. or maybe not congratulations, if it didn’t happen in this time, The letter reads, you might never get this letter, or you might get it too late, or it might not matter to you, or you might get it and assume it means something else. it is of no concern to me. congratulations, if they apply.

Calroy presses a hand to his temple, frustrated. This, right here, is why he liked Lazuli the least. He's meditating on that when he hears the footsteps and jolts, his hand is almost around his secret dagger before he recognizes the gait, the sound of the slight drag of expensive shoes and the sure thud of his steps. Calroy forces himself to relax as Amethar swings himself onto the wall beside Calroy, close enough that he can feel the other's warmth.

“What a day. Just like Laz to drop something like that in a letter,” He starts without prompting, “When I was a kid and snuck out, she was almost always waiting right outside the gate for me like she’d used her divination just to scare me shitless. She loved that kind of stuff. Guess she wanted one last gotcha, huh?”

Amethar swings his legs restlessly as he gazes out over his Kingdom, lost expression making him look more like the youth of his story than the Ruler of the Sugarlands. Calroy reaches over and pats Amethar’s knee. “It’s not your fault.”

He says it both because Amethar wants to hear it and because it’s true; with all the forces invested in the downfall of the less impressionable Rocks siblings, it would’ve been impossible for Amethar to stop it.

Amethar’s eyes clear as he nods, and then he reaches down and takes Calroy’s hand in his own. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“You make it easy,” Calroy says, half a joke. Amethar snorts, and then he pulls their joined hands up and presses a candyfloss-soft kiss to Calroy’s knuckles

It happens so quickly that Calroy can’t anticipate it or stay his reactions; the shock that he feels, the flush rising to his cheeks and the speeding of his heart, is all 100% real. Amethar looks up at Calroy through his lashes and smiles at whatever expression he finds, slow and small. When he lowers his lips back down to Calroy’s hand, this time a proper kiss right at the curve of his wrist, Calroy is more ready.

He goes for flattered but nervous, allowing some of his real tension to make a laugh come out jerky and unsure. He widens his eyes and looks away even as he continues to let Amethar hold his hand. “Your Majesty-”

“Please,” Amethar murmurs, and when Calroy turns his head he’s looking back at Calroy with warm, expectant eyes, “Not from you, Cal. Never from you.”

“Amethar,” Calroy concedes, and is rewarded with a brilliant grin, “I don’t- I didn’t think-”

“I didn’t think of it either,” Amethar says, picking up Calroy’s purposefully fumbled sentence with perfect timing. “But it just makes sense. We’ve been through so much together and I wouldn’t be able to run anything around here without you; you’re my partner in all but ceremony at this point anyway. And Laz’s letter said to trust my heart.”

“And your heart says-”

“Yes. Yes, this is what my heart wants, Cal. What about you? Will you give me, give this, a chance?”

Calroy gives himself exactly two seconds. Any longer and Amethar will get anxious, any shorter and Calroy will seem desperate. In those two seconds, Calroy starts to reorganize his gameplan for the next five years and makes a mental note to write a letter to Ceresia to personally inform them of this development. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and smiles like the crescent moon above them.

“I'm so lucky,” Calroy says, entangling their fingers, “To have had a man like you beside me all this time. I would be luckier to keep him at my side.”

“Not as lucky as I’ll be,” Amethar says, looking like he’s barely holding himself back from doing something decidedly improper. He settles for pressing another kiss to Calroy’s hand and Calroy, sitting atop the parapet of a castle that will be his much sooner than planned, looks out to the sparkling stars. Not as lucky as you indeed, he thinks, but still, when he squeezes Amethar’s hand, their hearts beat as one.

#a crown of candy #crown of candy #calroy cruller #amethar rocks #acoc #one shot #prince consort calroy

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 4 years

Note

hi !! uhm so i just saw your lil bingo card thing on Ao3 and i wanted to know if you would write the panic attack on ab Duke and Jason (Duke being the one to have it) thanks in advance love 💕

Here you are! Thank you right back for the prompt, and I hope you like it

Written for the @badthingshappenbingo square “Panic Attack”. X’s are finished, asterisks are requested, and the rest are free!!

---

Duke takes a bite of his ice cream, settling back into his seat. Ever since he first got officially fostered by Bruce, it’s been difficult to go out without the paparazzi hounding after him. He hasn’t been able to come back here, his favorite ice cream place, in months and he’s missed it more than he thought he would. Smiling happily, he scoops another bite off the top. He can’t help but hum at the taste of the fudge topping. He never could afford it before, and though he doesn’t love using Bruce’s money, why not take advantage here? It’s just fudge.

Jason sits across from him, licking absently at his ice cream cone. He’d offered to bring Duke out, saying, “If we’re brothers now, I should probably get to know you, don’t you think?”

And, well. Yeah. The good thing about Jason? He’s still legally dead, meaning that, other than a few paparazzi who are always trying to get pictures of him, there’s a lot less attention on them. Also, when Duke said, “Wanna get ice cream?”, Jason said, “Hell yeah.”

Usually when Duke asks that, it’s to Damian, who has lots of feelings about dairy products.

Anyway, it’s nice to just sit and chill. Jason doesn’t force conversation, but he listens when Duke speaks, and it’s really all he can ask for. (Something they don’t tell you about being brought into a big family? The daily fights for attention. Duke is still learning how to win.)

“How’s yours?” Duke asks, eyeing the Rocky Road Jason had ordered. He’s never had it before, but according to Cass, it’s a family favorite, so he’s curious.

Jason tunes back in, shrugging. “Pretty good. This place is way better than the kind we usually get. How’d you find it?”

“Grew up three streets over. We’d come here every weekend we could afford it.”

“Nice,” Jason says, and he sounds sincere. “You always get that monstrosity, or is it new?”

Grinning, he exclaims, “Hey, tutti frutti isn’t a monstrosity!”

“It’s healthy ice cream. Such a thing shouldn’t exist,” Jason replies seriously. “It’s a freak of nature.”

“Is not,” Duke says. After a quick bite, he continues, “And to answer your question, yes, I always got this here. No one else does it as good as they do.”

“I bet Alfie could.”

“Oh, don’t bring him into this!” Duke laughs.

Smirking, Jason asks, “Scared to talk shit about his food?”

“Hell no! I just. I don’t want to compare that and this.” He doesn’t want to say why—that while Alfred’s food is delicious, this ice cream is more special than any the butler could ever make. This ice cream has good memories of his parents attached to it, and he’s holding onto as many of those as he can. “They’re just—different.”

Jason doesn’t respond for a second, just looks at him. Then he licks at where it’s dripping down his fingers. “I get it. I love his noodles, but nothing can beat box mac and cheese. Me and my mom used to eat that all the time.”

Unsure if he’s allowed to ask—or if he even wants to, knowing from the others that Jason’s mom isn’t someone they’re supposed to talk about—Duke says, “Man, I’m glad you’re around. The others just don’t get it. Gourmet shit is good, but like, yeah, nothing beats Kraft.”

“You should talk to Steph,” Jason says, reaching his free hand out for a fist bump. “She argues with Tim and Dick about stuff like this all the time.”

Duke returns the fist bump, feeling like he’s the coolest kid on the block. Okay, that’s cheesy as hell, but whatever. It’s nice to be around Jason, who’s his cool older brother. Foster brother. Whatever.

Before he can reply, the worker behind the counter turns up the TV in the corner loud enough everyone in the shop can hear it. Where they’re sitting, they have to half-turn to see it properly.

On the screen, one of the local news people is giving a report on the latest Joker toxin incident. It was a few days ago now, and Duke thankfully hadn’t had to help with containing it.

“The last of the antidotes have been administered,” the news person says. “Other than the three deaths which occurred soon after the victims were brought to the hospital, no other deaths are being reported. GCPD is still recommending wearing face masks in the area….”

And okay, maybe there’s a reason Duke didn’t help out with it. It took place right around dusk, when Duke was heading home and the others were coming out. He’d been around when it happened, much closer than the rest. The crazed laughter that had filled the street has been plaguing his dreams the past few nights.

Bruce says Duke shouldn’t force himself to face the Joker. He says it could just make everything worse, and Duke knows now that he was right.

Seeing the accompanying videos to go along with the report, Duke is thrown right back to being a child. To watching his parents get infected, worse than those people were, and hearing as they laughed. His mom’s laugh was loud and she snorted all the time. His dad’s was wheezy and low pitched. Except, that day they were totally different, like something out of his worst nightmares. Maniacal and dangerous and empty.

“Duke?” Jason asks, but Duke hardly hears him. He’s tuned out, the background noise from the shop being replaced by the sound of his heart beating in his ears.The day before he lost his parents, they came here. Mom got cookies and creme, Dad got strawberry, and Duke got tutti frutti. They sat in a booth, and Duke kicked his heels against the seat, too short to reach the ground. Dad got ice cream on his nose, and Mom laughed and she took a picture.

The next day, they were gone. Not dead, he doesn’t think, doesn’t know, but gone. Never to be seen again. Because of that goddamn clown.

Someone takes the cup of ice cream out of his hand, and he hears Jason say, “You’re gonna make a huge mess, so let’s just put that down, okay?”

His chest hurts. He wonders what was going through his parents’ heads when they descended to the sewers, high and insane. Were they scared? Did they think they were going to die? Did they think about him?

“He’s fine, just back off,” Jason says, somewhere, and Duke ducks his head, trying to breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe? It was easy a few moments ago. Minutes? He doesn’t know.

There’s a hand on his back and on his chest, and they force him to sit up straight. His arm gets tucked against a chest, and he can feel it moving up and down. Then Jason says, “Come on, breathe with me, okay? You got this, man. Just do it with me.”

It takes ages, he thinks, to come down. To come back to earth, to his favorite ice cream place, where people are looking at him. Jason is next to him, stooped really low in a position that must kill his ankles, but he doesn’t complain.

Searching Duke’s eyes, he asks, “You good?”

That’s another unofficial rule around the family—no one ever asks that unless it’s serious. Unless they expect an honest answer and won’t take any bullshit. But he doesn’t want to say anything here, not when he can see the camera phones pointed their way. Being spotted is already inconvenient at the best of times, which this definitely isn’t.

Jason seems to understand. He stands up straight, sighing in relief. His ice cream is gone, and Duke doesn’t ask. Just stands with him and grabs his own cup, wanting to get the hell out.

He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve known better. It’s too close to the anniversary, too hot off the heels of the last incident. It’s been so long, he could’ve waited. He should’ve waited.

Jason pulls him outside, leading them right for the car he borrowed from Bruce. They don’t speak as they get in, Jason in the driver’s seat.

“You’re not gonna ask?” Duke says after a few minutes, feeling like he’s going to throw up, either from the attack or the anticipation.

“None of my business,” Jason replies, shooting him a kind look. “If you wanna talk, you can. But it doesn’t seem like you do.”

“I don’t.” And he doesn’t. He wants to go back to his room in the Manor and he wants to pretend this never happened. Wants to ignore the headlines and the concerned looks from everyone. But—”Uh. Thanks. For being cool, I mean.”

Duke winces at how he sounds, wondering if Jason will think he’s some stupid kid now. He doesn’t think he’ll be surprised if that’s the case.

Jason shrugs, reaching out a second later to give a friendly punch to Duke’s shoulder. “That’s what Robins for, you know? Being cool.”

Duke blinks. And then he laughs, and it feels good, cleansing. “Hell yeah.”

#badthingshappenbingo #duke thomas #jason todd #the signal #red hood #batfam #batfamily #my writing #asks #Anonymous

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m00nslippers · 5 years

Text

Bizarro and Artemis are back, in RHATO Annual #3

I’m back with a review of the RHATO annual #3 and it is so good to see Biz and Artemis again. I think we’ve all missed them. Hopefully this issue heralds their triumphant return in the next arc (after the one this is previewing), but let’s get into this.

We get a preview of the upcoming arc that we know involves Lex Luthor recruiting Jason to teach a bunch of kids how to be villains...or something. I’m sure we’ll figure out more in the new issues coming up. I highly doubt that’s all there is to it. I think it’s pretty obvious that Jason isn’t on the side of villains or creating more villains even if he isn’t strictly a hero. So I’m guessing there is some subterfuge involved in his plan and possibly Lex is trying to influence him a bit, maybe holding the fact that he helped Bizarro over his head, something like that. I think it’s most likely that he’s investigating Lex while pretending to work for him and teach in his villain school while secretly teaching all the kids values and whatnot. That would be cute, anyway.

I have to point out this moment though, because I’m not sure how I feel about it. Basically this kid can sense/contact people who are dead but it’s mentally or physically painful, but Jason asks him to do it anyway. Yeah, he expects that it won’t work and therefore not hurt because he thinks Artemis and Bizarro aren’t dead, and also the pain might be minor and finding out if someone is dead or alive is pretty important, worth some mild discomfort even to a child, but I don’t really like the attitude he has when saying, “I’m not asking.” I think he must be playing up/pretending he’s villainous because otherwise that seems pretty out of character for him. He’s generally straight forward but kind to children, animals and non-normative people (like Biz). So I’m kind of assuming he’s acting this way because of circumstances we are going to find out more about in the next issue. Basically the take away from the interaction is that Biz and Artemis are not dead.

So it picks up 6 months before the events of Jason talking to the kid. What this means is that between issue #25 of RHATO and upcoming issue #37, 6 months have elapsed, which seems reasonable. I’ve head-canoned Jason’s current age at 22 and I think this time frame supports that idea (there is reason to believe he was 21 in the Eternal comics).

Also, Artemis and Bizarro are clearly alive and in an alternate dimension where the Hall of Justice has been defaced and renamed “the Hall of Punishment” and is a ‘museum’, with the Justice League dead and disrespected. Everyone, even Superman.

As it turns out, the world is like this because of some bomb which made regular humans metas and metas regular humans, so most of the Justice League immediately became helpless without their abilities to almost everyone around them who now had meta abilities. What this means for people like Jason and the bats in this world who didn’t have powers to begin with is a real question, but not one we get answered. Basically, humans who now had powers and felt resentful of heroes who had originally had powers, took it out on the former heroes, hunting them down and putting them into camps where they eventually died. Which...okay, people are jerks so it seems reasonable that once they had powers some people would find any and every excuse to beat up on people who made them feel weak before so this isn’t a completely stupid basis for an alternate dystopia.

After it’s established that Artemis doesn’t have access to Mistress (or presumably the Bow of Ra) because she can’t call her weapon across universes--which seems reasonable--we get introduced to a few one-off villains.

And like...the moment I saw these guys I shook my head because they are just classic Lobdell-type villains. Flat, corny, names are puny as hell, your stereotypical comic book villains. I’m not knocking it, they are fine for minor villains that only exist for a one shot, at least they are kind of memorable for being so ridiculous, I’m just mildly amused at their everything. One guy is some kind of discount horror-villain butcher character that you can’t understand called Butcher Block, another is a freaking Pop-Eye-esque Milk Man called DAIRY KING because of course he is, and there’s a pigish cop and a chick in a Carebear shirt who holds her hand like an air phone and goes by the name ‘Air Quote’. And the fiery butterfly chick who looks like the love-child of Firefly and Bumblebee. There are just...no words. I just can’t even, you guys.

Along the way on their adventures they meet a guy calling himself Jack Knife who is part of the resistance against the normal people with super powers who made the world all dystopian and messed-up and didn’t agree with people killing former heroes in camps. Also, he is very clearly this universe’s Joker. I haven’t seen anyone mention this, but I’m not crazy here, right? Like, this is as obvious as I think it is, isn’t it? The guy’s name is Jack Knife, so his name is Jack, like Jack Napier, the Joker’s identity in many iterations of him. He has this long, sharp face with a crazy chin and wide mouth, is a bit of a wise-cracker and he wears a purple waistcoat and a green tie and a yellow shirt and has a flower in his lapel--like the Joker-- and uses pistols and knives, like...this guy is clearly the freaking Joker over here!

I can only assume Jason has not filled Artemis or Biz in on his issues with the Joker--which would be pretty in-character for Jay--or at the very least they have never seen him and don’t recognize him because this team up would have been over before it started if they had. They might still have went along with him, since this is a different guy, but they would have been suspicious.

Also, Jack doesn’t seem to have any powers...meaning he had powers before ‘hero day’ when metas lost their powers and norms gained powers...meaning the Joker is a meta. So that’s a thing. The reason the Joker is so wily and weird and doesn’t seem to die or age is because he’s a meta, you guys. You heard it here.

So we get the ‘6 months later’ flash forward and Artemis and BIzarro are working as part of the resistance along with the Flutterby girl seems to have defected in the time skip. Arty and Biz have gone native with some awesome, in my opinion, costume changes. Biz has a beard and muscle shirt and like...latex pants or something, which I am super into for some reason, and Artemis has your stereotypical punk haircut with the shaved head. It’s kind of an overdone design but I can’t lie, I think it works for her, she rocks it.

But even more importantly there’s this awesome interaction between Biz and Flutterby where Biz shows just how much he listens and values and still remembers Jason even after all this time. Their bond is just so strong, even now. Biz stops the girl from killing someone, remembering Jason’s values, which just drives home the fallacy that Jason just kills all criminals. No, Jason thinks for some people, the cost of leaving them alive outweighs the moral price of killing them. It’s a thing you have to do sometimes, something you are sometimes morally obligated to do in his opinion, but not a first resort. That’s what he taught Biz and Bizarro is teaching Flutterby. But he also taught Biz that sometimes you gotta get even, so he lets her give the guy some revenge knocks too, heh. Oh Biz, you’re a chip off the old block. Jay would be proud.

As this is happening, Jack Knife and Artemis are being held ‘prisoner’ (turns out it’s all part of their plan) by...General Samuel Lane?! Yeah, Lois’s dad. I don’t know much about him, I haven’t read anything with him in it, but I guess he’s kind of an on-the-fence secret-service type usually, like Amanda Waller, but seeing him as an outright villain is a bit surprising to me. There is probably no relation, but Lane has also cropped up in the recent Leviathan Event where everyone, seems to think Jason is Leviathan (I don’t, but we’ll see I guess.) I just thought that was interesting. There’s not mention of Lois but there IS mention of...

Lex-fucking-Luthor. Who is apparently a big, nasty head-brain monster, like MODOK or something now. Apparently the meta bomb was his brain-child (heh) and he’s surprisingly okay with the outcome that he’s a giant head that gets around via fork-lift and the world is messed-up. In fact, he and Lane are itching to drop one on Artemis and BIz’s world too! Which they can do, because Luthor--or more likely some minion, I mean he doesn’t have hands anymore--went around collecting the splinters of the doorway which Bizarro and Artemis originally went through to get to this universe.

As the resistance springs their trap Bizarro calls everyone Outlaws which warms my heart. The Outlaws isn’t the same without Biz and Artemis (or Star and Roy), Red Hood is an outlaw, sure, but the team is what made it special, made it something other than Jason just trying to right the wrongs he thinks the other heroes are letting slide because they won’t get their hands dirty. They are better together.

And so in this comic we see an example of the Outlaws sparing some criminals and them outright killing one when Artemis straight-up murders Lex Luthor, hell yes. The guy was just a nasty psychic brain on a fork-lift anyway, it was probably a mercy kill. And then Biz and Artemis jump through the doorway and hopefully end up...home?

This issue was pretty straight forward, just a one-off side story to explain where Biz and Artemis have been, nothing revolutionary. The art was pretty good, though there are a few panels at the beginning where Artemis has really weird expressions. I really enjoyed Biz and Artemis’s costume change, I hope they stick with something like it when they do meet back up with Jason eventually. Two things stood out to me. One, that Biz and Artemis, despite probably only being with Jason a shorter amount of time than they actually ended up spending apart, clearly hold Jason and the Outlaws very dear and are keeping The Outlaws and everything it stood for alive. It’s so wonderful to see someone in the goddamn DC Universe loves and appreciates Jason like he deserves. They can’t return fast enough, IMO, but I don’t think they will drop back into the story until the very end or just after this upcoming arc with Lex Luthor.

The other thing that stood out to me...was the freaking alt-Joker on the Outlaws team! What?! Like I’m not mad or happy, I’m just...what!? I don’t know how to feel. I like this version of the Joker but that in no way makes me not want to perform intimate torture on the main world’s Joker and see him die a cruel, painful death. I still want that very much. Can’t wait until the next issue, happily we only have to wait about two weeks I think. I so here for it.

#Red Hood And The Outlaws #Annual 3 #Scott Lobdell #jason todd #red hood #Artemis Of Bana-Mighdall #Artemis Grace #Bizarro #Biz #Jack Knife #The Joker #Jack knife is the Joker why is no one talking about this?!#The Joker is a meta human #dc comics #I miss Artemis and Bizarro so much #Lex Luthor #He's basically MODOK now #Colonel Samuel Lane

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caprichans · 5 years

Text

[3:36pm] -- to @skzphilia, the girl i associate almost every jisung au with her

“a bitch forgot to milk his cows.” there were many downsides to this when the print was first embellished into your wrist at a good, tender age of eighteen. so much questions arose once the imprint was crafted, and you were quite unfortunate enough to have your family and close friends over when the occasion arose. they were excited as they crowded over your arm that night of your birthday, but the words rendered them speechless when the clock struck twelve in the morning. they took it as an offense, probably due to the vulgar language, but you were confused and borderline devastated. just how in the world would you be able to find a soulmate who would say such things? to make things even worse, the fact that a “bitch forgetting to milk his cows” was imprinted on your wrists forever was really reassuring.

that’s how you found yourself hearing those words now, and strangely enough, it was at the dairy section of a grocery store during a fine afternoon, where the skies were blue and the sun was a blazing yellow. you were in a dilemma yourself, having rushed to the grocery store for some quick shopping in case you die of starvation back in your apartment. you were scanning through the various types of milk, contemplating on whether you should get low-fat or fresh milk. the fresh milk suddenly didn’t matter, you thought, just as a hand snatched your final choice from your own, unaware and a little aggressive.

“hey!” incredulous, you whipped your head towards the figure, but had your mouth completely shut when you saw your new-found milk competitor by the phone, eyebrows furrowed and lips stretched into an agitated frown. he didn’t even pay attention to you, only fixated on the contents of the milk carton, and the two shriveled voices bickering with him by the end of the line.

“a bitch forgot to milk his cows.” he didn’t sense your tension beside him after those words slipped out his tongue carelessly, almost like it was natural. “i swear, you guys never tell me when we’re out of groceries! like, what am i, your servant--”

suddenly, he felt a jolt of pain etch across his wrist, where his imprint was embedded on. if it weren’t for the tolerance of pain he could handle, the carton would’ve dropped from his hand, and splashed its contents on the floor. he gripped the sides instead, and whipped his gaze over to where his wrist was burning, suddenly confused as to why it was acting up now.

then, it hit him.

jisung paired gazes with you the moment the pain in his wrist dulled, the questioning voices in his speaker long forgotten. he noticed the way your wrist rubbed at the sting of your own imprint, yet your gaze never failed to leave him, your wide orbs being the first thing jisung captured in his memory forever. it took you two a good few seconds to bask in complete realization of what just happened, and after that, jisung was the first one to break the silence.

“you...you “hey”ed me, right?” his voice was small, but it held so much hope, that it made your heart flutter at the fact that he probably went through several “heys” from several people in order to finally find his soulmate, while you could only go through one in a million. his voice is the first thing that you captured in your memory forever, but you didn’t tell him that. you nodded your head instead, shoulders still stiff with tension at the newfound realization. “well yes, until i realized you were talking to someone and...said this.” you showed him the now dull mark on your wrist, and jisung’s heart paced faster at the traces of ink down your skin, old, but familiar. without thinking, he pressed “end” on the phone call he was in, never minding the yells of “jisungie, answer us, dammit!” and gently placed the carton on your cart, giving you a soft smile that could surely make your heart ache.

“i’m sorry you had to bear what that nonsense for almost your whole life.” he chuckled bashfully, rubbing the red blush on his nape. “your parents must think i’m crazy.”

for the first time that day, you giggled, shaking your head sympathetically at his apology. “doesn’t matter what my parents think.” you grabbed the carton from your cart, and placed it on his palm again, stopping him when he tried to insist. “what matters is that a bitch forgot to milk his cows, and those bitches are your friends.” you smiled when he laughed, a bright laugh that made his eyes crinkle into crescents, and you thought it was cute, pretty. so, this is the soulmate that made my life a wild one.

so, this is the soulmate who made my life hard and, well, almost boring. jisung thought idly as well, but that was long surpassed when you extended your hand for a handshake, expression amiable. “cara. it’s nice to meet the guy who made my life a road of embarrassment.” he rolled his eyes at such the introduction, but he figured he deserved it, thinking of all the mockery and the questions that were thrown at you amidst the soulmate system. he felt bad, if he were to be honest, but he took your hand anyway and gave it a firm shake, flashing a toothy grin.

“han jisung. it’s nice to meet the girl who made my life a complete puzzle. you are quite a wonder to behold, cara.”

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids blurbs #stray kids #skz #han jisung #squirrel tag #muki writes #THIS #IDK WHAT WAS THIS #but its crackhead n i make every jisung blurb crackhead so #HBD IN A FEW HOURS SUNGIE UWU #u inspired me to put ur name on this blurb there there u have it ily bitch

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kyle-valenti · 5 years

Text

small towns make for small friends 1/?

for @larenoz and their amazing prompt for milenti background (and future mylex?)

read on ao3

Small desert towns, however sparse and anachronistic, gave away knowledge to the people that dared to live in them. For instance the long stretches of roads in and out of Roswell were used for specific things by the locals. One road led to the airstream and dairy ranches, one led out of the town to better things, one circled tourist attractions for tin foil hat visitors, and one rounded around the various homesteads of people daring enough to lead a small life.

There was nothing too off-putting about seeing a car stopped along the stretch of road to his airstream home; Michael was almost certain it was a townie. Dead cell service littered this specific road, so there was a possibility the driver needed help. Not something he usually cared about, but it was near the end of the month and he was tight on rent after paying up his bill with a stubborn Maria Deluca at the Wild Pony.

He slowed down about a mile back, trying to identify which Roswell citizen he would be dealing with only to have a strong suspicion that the SUV didn’t belong to the usual country folk. Thinking through his mind’s catalog of car owners he kept for business use, he remembered all too late that the grossly shiny vehicle belonged to Kyle Valenti. Just the thought of having to talk to the asshole made Guerin begin to speed up again to drive past, but the more logical part of his brain still pressed… It was doctor's money. It was the chance to screw Valenti over, because there was little chance in hell the doctor remembered anything from the auto shop class the jock used to ditch.

In the end he stopped, but he’s all fired up for a fight even so. Walking up from behind the back of the SUV, he knocked on the driver’s window before reaching it and looking in. When Valenti rolled down the tinted window, he looked like hell. Red eyes, disheveled black hair that mousse no longer held up, and a hollow stare accompanied with a tight jaw.

"Crying over your car?” Michael jabbed. “Promise it's not that pretty.”

"Car's fine," was the exhausted response, no usual arrogant bite to hear. "Thanks for stopping.”

Michael couldn’t help but stare, unprepared for what he had secretly hoped to be a fight. Confusion won over, although mocking still slipped into his tone as he drawled. "Thanks?”

Dark brown eyes stared at him now, and while there was the tiniest traces of anger, there was an overpowering desperation to them as well. "What do you want from me, Guerin?” he asked. “I’m really not in the mood to see more blood, so how about we do the highschool reunion thing where you break my nose later.”

"More blood, huh?” Michael prodded, too caught up in the past to be anything then violent. “Who'd you kill?”

A flicker of pain trembled through Kyle Valenti’s face, activating that one nerve that always stood out, before the man turned on the ignition and sneered at the open road, not even looking at Michael as he rolled up the window and peeled off the dirt and onto the blacktop, leaving Guerin so confused that he thought about the interaction all the way home.

The Wild Pony was one of the few reliefs Michael found in this dusty town, somewhere between the alcohol, Deluca’s constant stream of snarky insults, and a large supply of people to deck whenever the mood struck him. (It struck him often.)

Tonight he felt more calm, having made some good money between fixing a truck and selling some copper wire on the side. The whiskey Maria served him was nice and cold (positive reinforcement for squaring his tab) and the acetone he slipped into it gave him an even better buzz. While he was focusing on the intoxicating feeling and how it calmed down the constant overstimulation of the magnetic fields he was always on the edge of pushing, he noticed an unusual guest at his favorite bar. As far as possible from the bar itself sat Kyle Valenti cornered up in the back of a booth.

Maria was opposite Michael behind the bar for the minute, and he nodded to her. “What’s up with Valenti?”

Her face fell a little, sadness rising up that she hardly ever showed. “He lost a patient during surgery. You know Sam Cooper? His kid. Nine years old, got real messed up on a dirtbike without a helmet.”

Trying not to remember how his last words to Valenti were now deeply horrible, he replied. "Oh. They related?”

“No, Guerin,” Maria snapped at him, judgment all over her face. “People don't need to be related to care about each other. Foreign concept for you, I know.”

“Just a question, Deluca,” he huffed, but she had already sent him another glare before walking off to serve another customer, leaving him to fight any feeling of guilt.

Because he wasn’t guilty. It wasn’t his fucking fault that Valenti sucked at being a surgeon, or that he had stabbed at a fresh wound. Who cared that the asshole jock was finally learning that he wasn’t invincible and that hard times existed?

In the end, Deluca was too good at getting under his skin.

Grabbing his drink, he sauntered over to the corner booth and sat across from Valenti, every nerve of him on edge in case things went sour. All he got in return was Kyle’s confused narrowed eyes and equally as tensed muscles.

"You're a third of the reason Alex Manes left, you know that?” Michael growled out at him. "And full offense, I hate you.”

There wasn't anything Valenti said to that, which was probably best because any excuse wouldn’t go over well.

"That all said, you want a beer?”

Kyle stared, silent still, but exhaled a long breath that’s more or less an agreement. Michael gestured at Deluca, who had been giving them a hawkeyed stare the entire conversation (if you could call it that), and he wasn't surprised when she walked over with the drinks herself, all huffy. Her lips are pursed, and her eyes are cautiously looking back and forth at the interaction, but when the drinks are dropped off and Valenti works on the beer she’s given him she turns to glare down Michael. "You scratch even an inch on my floor if you start fighting and you're banned for a week.”

“Just me?” he asked her, a smug grin on his face. “I'm touched.”

She made a face at him per usual, but he didn't miss the way she left with a small squeeze on Kyle's shoulder. It was quick and soft, but it was also supportive. Michael couldn't imagine being on the receiving end of something like that from Maria Deluca, but the man’s face doesn’t even change. No smile, no lean in, just another small exhale.

It seemed like the only thing Kyle Valenti was capable of doing right now was drinking and breathing in and out. As much as he despised sharing anything deeper than highschool alma mater with him, Michael had to admit he was familiar with the feeling.

When things had dragged out and the doctor was now silently on his fourth beer, Michael gave up. "Gotta get out of your head, Valenti.”

"Ever seen someone die?” Kyle snapped, suddenly coming to life with a violence that he hadn’t expected was boiling underneath after such calm silence. Immediately Michael was on edge, but not because he thought he would be attacked. More because he could sense how much Valenti wanted to attack himself. “Ever felt it?”

Begging his mind not to bring up the memories of Rosa Ortecho that answer that question, he stayed quiet and still for once.

Valenti shook his head, a scoff ready. “I don't know why I ask. If you had, you'd know that's impossible.” Before Michael could even decide on what to say, Kyle added, “Just leave me alone, Guerin. Half the town already hates me for failing, I don’t need you sitting across from me adding reminders on how I suck.”

Partly to break the mood, partly because of the emotional emphasis on the word that translated as simple emphasis, Michael laughed.

It didn't go over well. “Excuse me?”

“How you suck?” Michael commented, a smirk finding its way to his face even if things were about to dissolve into the bar fight that Deluca was worried about.

All Valenti did was glare. “Are you 12?”

“Nah, just bisexual. Much easier to take everything dirty,” he replied, tilting his chin up in a defiant challenge. All he needed was one reason to kick Valenti’s ass despite this meeting and tilt everything back into its normal axis where the world of Roswell contained Michael Guerin and Kyle Valenti as sworn enemies who wouldn’t spend a second in each other’s presence.

But there wasn’t even the tiniest of reaction to the declaration. No judgment, no disgust, no arrogance. Just clear annoyance at his grief being interrupted for something juvenile. "How I suck is none of your business.”

"How, or who…?” Michael asked. Self-loathing for being observant and curious enough to ask would be a problem for later.

Kyle Valenti only stared him down, and with that Michael almost dropped his whiskey. Almost. It was good whiskey. “Well look who joined the 21st century. Karma’s a bitch, right?”

When all the doctor does is look away again, the temper in him flares up. He slammed the glass down heavily on the table, ignored the way that Deluca looked up immediately, and glared so fiercely that Valenti ought to thank god heat vision wasn’t one of his alien powers. He leaned over, his voice a venomous whisper. "Afraid I'm going to rat you out? Call you names? Make your life hell?”

“I’d understand,” was the even response the brunette gave, eyes looking unsure but jaw tight and resolved.

Standing up, Michael decided that Deluca could put this on her tab since it was her fucking fault. Spitefully, he snarled, "I'll wait a week or two,” even though he had no plans to do anything. Maybe it’d put the dick in his place just being scared, or maybe the man was an adult not scared of being out now anyway. All Michael knew was that the irony in Kyle Valenti being bisexual was crippling, and without thinking about anything but all the shit the jock pulled in highschool, he spat out, "you owe me a blowjob”, and left.

#milenti #guerenti #michael guerin #kyle valenti #milenti fic #guerenti fic #michael x kyle #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #mine #my work

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quietbrain-quieteyes · 5 years

Note

Hi, I love Aizawa and I definitely need some fluffy love for that man. I love the class finding out about his S/O would you mind doing that?

Sorry this took so long! I was binge watching Lord of The Rings and I told Joke I’d answer;; Anyway, Bakugou swears at the end and I don’t know if this counts as fluff or not

Mod Eraser

Aizawa’s students find out he does, in fact, have a S/O

( 890 words)

When the whispers first started they were just that. Whispers, little rumors that the freshmen muttered about in their dormitories between activities. It wasn’t until one fateful evening that a one, very flustered, Momo Yaoyorozu scuttled up the staircase towards her bedroom, book clutched tight to her chest.

Even she was unsure of why this news had affected her so greatly. It was no big deal. Everyone already knew about it, they just didn’t talk about it. Right? Or was she the first one to actually know? She needed to tell someone. Texting Jirou first she that she had big news she wanted all the girls to hear first. The boys would blow this wide open and she couldn’t just tell one of her closest friends.

Within the next few minutes the other five girls had joined her on her bed- because she really didn’t have anywhere else to sit. Taking a deep breath she let it out “Okay, so while I was having Mic-sensei help me wi- well, wait” She shook her head and huffed once again “This happened while I was leaving the teacher’s dorm. I was walking out the door when I heard miss Midnight ask Aizawa-sensei about his [s/o]” Immediately the room burst into excited chattering, if Midnight was asking about it it had to be true!

Needless to say the secret didn’t last long. It was part of a game of telephone one rainy day a few weeks later and at the end it was revealed that the sentence was in fact “Aizawa is married” and not “Aizawa is afraid of dairy”

The remaining fourteen students collectively processed the information silently before each of them had widely varying responses. “Wait WHAT”

“I thought he wath one of thothe loner guyth?”

“Alriiight then!” accompanied by an approving head nod and a finger gun on his chin

“This is unexpected…”

–

It’s not like he was hiding it from anyone per se. Aizawa had just always been careful about things like this, for privacy and protection yes but mostly so people didn’t bother him about it. Though it was inevitable that his closest friends and coworkers would find out in some way so he had told them. And while it wasn’t as big of a secret as All Might’s smaller form was before he retired, they tended to treat it like that. He wasn’t complaining.

Another thing he did was hide how they identified simply by using they/them pronouns. Again this was mostly for privacy but he did find it amusing when, in the past, if he did date someone with neutral pronouns his friends would be confused at first.

When his lover had been brought up, unbeknownst to him as Yaoyorozu left the building, he answered simply “They’re fine.” As he flipped through some papers to make sure he had finished grading the physical copies of his latest test.

Who knew something so simple would blow up like this. He didn’t understand why it was such an interesting topic for his hoard of children. But apparently it was very important because his class was completely silent for the first time since he had started teaching them. While it was a welcomed change it was still suspicious. It was instinct that made him move slower, stalking over to his podium. Squinting at his precious little angels. “Good morning.”

At once Mina and Mineta’s hands shot into the air, “What?” He didn’t bother calling on either of them, knowing Mina would shout over the lispy male. “Is it true you’re married?!” They already knew the answer, she wouldn’t ask if they didn’t. She was just breaking the ice. With a long sigh the tired teacher answered, no point in really hiding it from them, right? “Yes. I am married.”

It was like he’d turned pulled the trigger on a gun full of questions. The peaceful room turned to chaos. He felt another decade or so be taken off of his life. As some of the more excitable students launched themselves from their chairs Iida attempted to get them to be quiet.

Having his students full attention on him was something he was used to, but damn did he just want to lay down and not have to look at them right now. The class’s vice president’s shouts of “This isn’t any of our business! If he hadn’t told us before he didn’t want us to know!” went ignored. Tapping his finger he waited for the puberty ridden teenagers to stop their babbling. Eventually the last person he expected to weigh in piped up

“Y’all, chill the fUCK OUT!” It was Bakugou, looking feral as ever, the class settled somewhat- instincts telling them he had something more to say. “He’s a grown ass man-” Aizawa gave him a warning glare “-And he clearly got married so he could fuck without God crying.”

Never had he expected to hear that. Defeated as the others roared to life once again at the thought of their teacher having sex. Shouta dropped his head into his hands and stared blankly at the wood of his podium, whispering softly through the curtain of his hair “Please let me die.”

#how the hell do I add tags when I answer stuff #help #aizawa shouta #s/o

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sportsnightnut · 5 years

Note

scully/stella prompt: they meet in London doing something entirely ordinary and boring (as so many fics begin in a bar). they're grocery shopping, taking the tube, at the market, the bank - you choose!

Oh, this was such a fun prompt. Thank you, my friend! This is my first Scully/Stella fic, and I gotta tell you, all it makes me want to do is write more.

Enjoy! 💛

i’ll buy you dinner first

5:37. Not much of an on-time departure from the office, but when has that ever been the case, really?

It’s Friday night and it’s been raining the whole damn week, as it’s apt to do this time of year in London. Stella wants to get home, kick off these stilettos in the middle of the floor without giving a fuck exactly where they land, have a glass or three of wine. But then she remembers she used the last of her coffee this morning, so she needs to stop on the way home to replenish it, lest Saturday morning turn into something mildly miserable. Ten more minutes in these shoes, she tells herself. You can do that. Just ten more minutes.

She shrugs on her trench coat and slings her bag over her shoulder. She’d been invited to go out with colleagues, but had politely declined. Social activities, particularly on a Friday evening, have never really been of interest to her. Friday night means home, silk pajamas, wine, a movie. And besides, she knew it was more of a pity invite than anything. Her colleagues like and respect her, sure, but the boss isn’t usually anyone’s first choice for a happy hour companion (unless it’s a party and the boss is buying, which was not the case in this instance).

Stella flips the lights off, starts making the trek home. There’s a Sainsbury’s between the office and her flat, so she decides to pop in there. They have a fine enough coffee selection, and maybe she can grab something to go with the leftover chicken in her fridge while she’s at it.

No basket, no trolley, because then she’ll buy more than she needs. Just straight for the coffee and tea aisle, stopping only to pick up a box of pasta on the way.

But then Stella rounds the corner and nearly drops the box of angel hair she’s holding. She comes dangerously close to running into, and subsequently toppling over, the cardboard display case of seasonal herbal tea.

Because in front of her is perhaps one of the most beautiful human beings Stella has ever seen.

She’s a bit shorter than Stella, although they’re probably a similar height without the stilettos. Fierce, dark red hair–one might even call it auburn–skims her shoulders. Stella’s first coherent thought is that all she wants to do is touch it, run her hands through it. God, it looks soft. I’m sure it would look similarly good spread out beneath her head on my pillow.

The woman is wearing a simple black dress and a gray cardigan with a pair of shiny black flats. She’s leaning against her trolley, standing in front of the coffee, looking absolutely baffled.

And the only thing Stella can conclude is that she absolutely must approach this woman. Because clearly she needs help. And clearly Stella should be the one to help her.

“Are you…looking for something?” Stella asks, stepping toward her. The woman raises her head and her lips turn up into a sweet smile.

Holy shit, she’s stunning. Stella swallows. Hard.

“I’m relatively new to London,” the woman starts.

Oh, Christ, she’s American. She’s gorgeous and her accent is fucking adorable.

“This is…well, I’ve never bought coffee here before, so I don’t know what to get. None of these brands are familiar to me. I mean, there’s Starbucks, but I don’t like Starbucks that much, and…” she stops explaining, realizing she’s started to ramble. “I’m sorry. That’s probably not what you meant when you asked if I needed help.”

“Oh, no, that’s exactly what I meant,” Stella replies smoothly. “The store brand is fine, but I enjoy Taylors.” She points to one, her maroon polish shining in the light as she taps the bag with her index finger. “This blend is quite lovely.”

The woman smiles at Stella. “Thank you,” she says, and reaches for the coffee. Stella hands it to her, causing their fingers to touch, and she thinks she might die right here in the middle of Sainsbury’s because even though it was only half a second, she could tell how warm and soft the woman’s hands are and her mind immediately jumped to all the places she’d like those hands to be.

“You’re quite welcome. I’m Stella, by the way.”

“I’m Agent–” she stops herself, shakes her head. “Sorry. Still used to introducing myself that way. I’m Dana.”

Stella cocks her head, looks the woman up and down. “Agent, hm? From the States?”

Dana nods. “Yes. Dana Scully, formerly a Special Agent for the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

God, what a fucking turn-on.

“So what brings you to London, then, Dana?”

“I’m a physician. I went to medical school before I was recruited by the FBI. A former colleague of mine recommended me for a position at a clinic here. I was ready to get away from my life in D.C. Too much history, a little too much pain.” Dana pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m practically telling you my entire life story in the middle of a grocery store.”

Stella smiles and touches Dana’s arm gently, wanting her to know it’s okay. She seems lonely, maybe a little uneasy being in a new country on her own. But god, a Special Agent for the FBI? It seems to suggest that she would understand Stella’s life, at least in some ways.

“No need to apologise. I work for the Metropolitan Police. Detective Superintendent Stella Gibson, to introduce myself officially. So I know a bit about what that life is like, Agent Scully.”

“Oh, wow,” Dana breathes. “Yes, you certainly do. Well–thank you for this,” she says, holding up the bag of coffee beans. “It was awfully nice of you to assist a stranger.”

“I could walk around with you a bit, if you like,” Stella proposes. “Help you get the lay of the land. Answer any other questions that may arise about British groceries.”

Dana giggles, and Stella is sure she’s going to die on the goddamn spot. It’s this sweet, sexy sound she wants to hear again. And again. And in other contexts, too.

She agrees readily. “I’d like that, Stella.”

Dana tries not to make it obvious that she’s trembling slightly as she walks alongside Stella. This woman is the definition of alluring. Long blonde hair curled at the ends, a little bit of makeup, the kind that makes it look like she really isn’t wearing any. A silky emerald blouse, a black pencil skirt, and tall stilettos that basically beg for Dana to notice her calves as she strides confidently down the aisle.

And she’s in law enforcement, which is (unsurprisingly) a major turn-on. Stella gets it. She knows the life, the job, the responsibilities, all of which require a certain commanding presence that Dana can’t help but think would come in useful in…certain situations.

And Dana is sure she looks really fucking hot wielding a weapon.

(Also, has she mentioned the British accent?)

Here’s the thing: Dana has never been with another woman. Not fully, anyway. Not in the “we’re in a relationship” kind of way. There was Lauren, an undergrad classmate who lived in her dorm senior year, but they only ever flirted, and usually only when drinking. Then in med school, there was Abby, who was in her surgery rotation. Abby was the closest she ever got, and it was mostly flirting with a few relatively innocuous makeout sessions (although it was always while sober, which made it feel very different from Lauren).

So the fact that Dana is incredibly, incredibly attracted to this woman has her more than a little unnerved.

They walk down the aisles together, Stella pointing out the locations of necessities like cereal and pasta, what the best baked goods are, what’s worth paying a little extra for and what’s just as good in the store brand. When Dana chooses a package of chocolate-filled croissants from the bakery, all Stella can think about is eating them with her. Naked, in bed, on a post-coital Sunday morning.

She clears her throat.

As they approach the dairy section, Stella observes that Dana seems a bit cold. Either that, or she’s inexplicably standing closer to Stella, which she admittedly wouldn’t mind.

She’s having trouble getting a read on Dana: she’s clearly not in a relationship now, as she moved to London alone (and mentioned something about moving away from something or someone painful). But she agreed to Stella’s company, and it seems like she’s been finding reasons to stand closer to her, accidentally brush against her. Didn’t move her hand away when Stella let hers linger for a moment longer than necessary.

But it’s still unclear if she’s that kind of interested.

The same cannot be said for Stella.

Dana is stunning, sexy. Beautiful and badass, and Stella wants her. Bad.

So as she shows Dana which cream she likes best for coffee, she reaches for the appropriate container and sets it in the trolley without ever breaking eye contact, her gaze focused on the woman next to her. They’re already close, but Stella leans in even closer, gets a hint of Dana’s perfume. She smells like raspberries and jasmine and everything good in the world. God, she wants to bury her face in her neck and perhaps stay there forever, just nibbling at that perfect ivory skin.

“Dana,” she starts. Her voice is dark, quiet, so none of their fellow shoppers nearby can hear what she’s saying. “If you don’t want this, you can tell me to kindly fuck off, and I will. But I feel compelled to tell you that you’re absolutely fucking beautiful and I would like nothing more than to take you home with me.”

Dana blushes, but not out of embarrassment, exactly. Stella knows the look, the reaction, this particular shade of flushed pink on the cheeks. It’s the reaction of someone who’s been “figured out,” so to speak. The reaction of someone who is pleasantly surprised that Stella finds her attractive in that way.

But it’s the cutest fucking thing, and it manages to warm Stella’s otherwise cold heart.

Oh, god, this woman is going to do me in, she thinks. First I proposition her in the middle of a grocery store and the next thing I know I’ve got a fucking crush on her and I’m about to turn down a night of incredible sex so I can date her instead.

“Let me add this,” she says before Dana can respond, her voice still low and dangerously close to Dana’s ear. “I’ll buy you dinner first. At least once if not twice. Maybe three or four times. I’ll kiss you after the first time. And I’ll take you out for coffee. Oh, yes, definitely coffee. And really, whatever else you desire. Dessert, wine, whiskey, anything. Then after an appropriate amount of dates and innocent kisses, I’ll take you home with me. Pour you a glass of red wine while you stand in my kitchen. I’ll kiss you, but not as innocently as I kissed you before. And then I’ll touch you in as many places as you’ll allow me.”

It’s Dana’s turn to swallow. Hard.

“Yes,” she says almost inaudibly.

Dana says the word “yes” faster than her brain can process what’s happening.

She was relatively certain, throughout this entire encounter, that Stella found her attractive. It was mostly from the look in her eyes: caring and kind, yes, but also a little bit feral. It was clear when she put the coffee creamer in the cart that this was more than a friendly gesture. There was a want, a desire in her eyes, a look Dana hasn’t been on the receiving end of in years.

And the thought of being on the receiving end of it now terrifies her. Not because it’s a woman, not because it’s Stella. Because it’s been a long time.

But it’s been long enough.

And she wants Stella just as badly.

“Yes?” Stella repeats, somewhat unable to believe that this beautiful creature wasn’t intimidated by the fact that she was incredibly direct about her intentions.

“Dinner sounds nice. And coffee. And…those other things you mentioned.” Dana clears her throat, and Stella thinks it’s absolutely adorable because it’s clear that Dana is flustered and nervous. But this also means she finds you attractive, Stella. Shit, the woman just agreed to go out on multiple dates with you knowing that at least part of your motivation is to get her into your bed.

Stella takes one small step back so she can look at Dana. She reaches over, caresses her cheekbone with her thumb, restrains herself from pushing her up against the cartons of milk and taking her right there. “Dinner it is, then. Anywhere you’d like. Tomorrow night.”

#scully/stella #scullyxstella #first encounter fic #the fall #dana scully #stella gibson #man this was fun to write

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whumphoarder · 6 years

Text

Face God and Walk Backwards Into Hell

Summary: Peter is lactose intolerant—and arguably masochistic—and this somehow becomes Tony’s personal cross to bear.

(In the same universe as Spider-Man’s Very Mundane Kryptonite, but the stories can be read independently)

Word count: 1,763

Genre: Fluffy illness, humor, sickfic

Link to read on A03

After initially finding out that the kid was lactose intolerant, Tony started doing everything in his power to help Peter avoid dairy. He stocked three kinds of plant-based milks at the compound—soy, almond, and cashew. If he was ordering pizza for team training nights, he would always make sure to have non-dairy pasta and salad options on the side. Chips and pretzels were served with hummus or bean dips rather than sour cream based ones, and Tony even tried out a vegan cheese version of his mother’s beloved lasagna recipe.

All these precautions would have likely been very effective, if only Peter wasn’t such a little shit.

At first, Tony assumed the kid just made a mistake. That was what he figured when he shuffled into the kitchen at one a.m. on a training weekend to discover the teenager standing with his back to the entrance, rifling through his cabinets.

Tony stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest in amusement. “Looking for something?”

Peter startled and spun around, eyes wide. “Whoa, what are you doing up, Mr. Stark?”

“Insomnia’s a bitch,” Tony scoffed. “But I could ask the same about you. Shouldn’t you be wiped from your training session with Cap earlier?”

Peter’s stomach growled loudly in response, causing his unusually pale cheeks to flush slightly.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Are you hungry? If you need a snack, try the fridge.”

With a small groan, Peter snaked an arm around his middle. “Uh, no thanks,” he said with a grimace. “I’m not feeling so great, actually.”

“Stomach ache?” Tony guessed.

Peter looked embarrassed, but nodded anyway. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just was seeing if you had anything down here I could take for it.”

“You mean like Pepto, or…?” Tony asked with a frown.

Peter shook his head. “That doesn’t usually work very well. May has these like, enzyme pill things that sometimes help...?” he said hopefully.

Tony quirked his head in thought. “Pepper might have something,” he mused. “She’s fully on the herbal supplement bandwagon.” He crossed the kitchen over to a drawer next to the fridge and opened it to reveal a few dozen small bottles.

With some assistance from FRIDAY, he quickly identified the most-likely-to-be-helpful candidate—some kind of natural probiotic—and dosed out two pills for the kid.

“Thanks,” Peter muttered before knocking them back with some water. “Ugh. I’m never eating ice cream again,” he moaned.

Tony’s forehead wrinkled up in confusion. “When did you get ice cream?”

Peter gave him a pained smile. “Uh… after training? Clint took me out—he said someone should celebrate the fact that I laid out Cap twice.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Tony said with a huff. “Which is why I served everyone those vegan eclairs that I special ordered because, you know”—he shot Peter a pointed look—“they don’t have dairy.”

“He, uh, he said someone should celebrate it with a real dessert,” Peter mumbled.

“I’m hurt, Pete,” Tony mocked.

Peter’s gaze dropped to his feet. “If it makes you feel any better, I got Stark Raving Hazelnut.”

“Why would it make me feel better to have my name attached to your gastrointestinal distress?” Tony asked sarcastically.

Peter huffed out a quick laugh. “Sorry.” Suddenly he winced and pressed a hand to his stomach. “Ah. Cramp.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Tony scoffed. “I think you’re being punished enough.”

At the next Avengers team dinner, Tony stood in the buffet line behind Peter, watching in horror as the teenager covered his pasta in Alfredo sauce. “What the hell, Peter. I got the marinara one especially for you.”

“I had some of that already and it was great, Mr. Stark!” Peter said earnestly. “It’s just been like, forever since I had actual alfredo sauce.”

Tony blinked at him. “Right...” he said slowly “...That would be because you’re allergic to it.”

“Technically it’s not an allergy,” Peter argued, sprinkling parmesan on top of his Fettuccine Alfredo. “An allergy would require an autoimmune response. We learned that in freshman year bio.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, intolerance, whatever. You’re still gonna get sick.”

“I’ll be fine if I only have a little bit.”

A mere thirty minutes later, Tony was having déjà vu.

“Peter, I swear to God…” he began.

Peter gave him a sheepish grin. “Okay, I know what you’re gonna say, but—”

Tony spread his arms out dramatically. “There is literally half the dessert table here full of things you can eat, and yet you pick the cheesecake? Why?” he demanded.

Peter gave him an incredulous look. “Because it’s cheesecake, Mr. Stark,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tony scoffed, “Yeah, key word there, cheese.”

Peter gazed longingly at the towering fluffy white dessert balanced on the serving spatula in his hand. “But it’s so good.”

Tony ran an exasperated hand over his face. “Kid, think this through. I’m begging you.”

Peter let out a resigned sigh as he let the piece of cheesecake tip onto his waiting plate. “I have. I’m sorry.”

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, it’s your funeral. But I don’t wanna hear about it later.”

“You won’t—I promise,” Peter assured. He picked up a fork, and, making eye-contact with Tony the whole time, brought a bite to his lips. “But I gotta do it, Mr. Stark.”

A few hours after dinner, Tony spied Peter emerging from the restroom, pale and sweating, arms wrapped around his obviously cramping stomach.

“Uuugh Mr. Staark…” Peter whined upon seeing his mentor. He was making a pouting face, but the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “My tummy huurrts...”

“I’m sure it does, kid.” With a snort of amusement, Tony held out a bottle of water to the teen, who took it gratefully. “Was it at least worth it?”

Peter thought for a moment as he sipped the water. “Almost,” he finally decided. He hummed to himself. “Now if the cheesecake had had whipped cream on it…”

Tony let out a long sigh. “Why? Why do you do this to yourself?” he implored.

Peter locked eyes with his mentor. “Mr. Stark,” he said solemnly, “some nights you just gotta face God and walk backwards into Hell.”

“NO YOU FUCKING DON’T, PETER!”

Tony was just finishing some updates on DUM-E when FRIDAY alerted him to the fact that Thor was urgently approaching the workshop doors. Given he wasn’t a usual visitor, Tony looked up curiously.

“Stark, you must come quickly!” Thor’s voice boomed. “The Falcon and young Man of Spiders seem to have ingested some kind of poison.”

Tony’s heart dropped. “What?” Peter and Sam had been poisoned? “How?” he asked sharply. He dropped his tools on the workbench and immediately hurried toward the door. “What kind of poison?”

“I am not certain,” Thor replied. The two men strode quickly down the corridor. “But it appears only to affect mortal men as I myself have consumed the same beverage and yet I remain unscathed.”

“Did you call in a med team?” Tony demanded.

“A healer?” Thor questioned. “Nay, but Banner had arrived just as I left to seek you.”

Tony instantly breathed out a sigh of relief. Sure, Bruce may not be an actual medical doctor, but his seven PhDs are certainly worth something. “Okay, good. What symptoms are we talking about here? When did this start?”

“It came on about an hour after consuming the beverage. They both appear to be in a fair amount of pain, and their bodies seem to be working to expel the contaminant,” Thor reported. “There is a foul odor about them as well, as though something inside is dying.”

“Jesus…” Tony swore, breaking into a jog for the rest of the way to the common area.

When he arrived, the scene wasn’t quite the picture of imminent peril that Thor had painted for him. On one couch, Sam was laying flat on his back, one arm hugging a pillow to his stomach while the other arm was extended upward so that his forearm rested over his eyes. On the couch next to him, Peter was half sprawled out, half propped up against the cushions so he could sip from a can of Sprite. He looked a little green.

Bruce, looking calm as ever, was lining a small trash can next to Peter with a fresh plastic bag.

“What’s going on here?” Tony demanded, stepping into the room. “Thor tells me they’ve been poisoned.”

Bruce let out a quick snort of laughter. “You could say that. Self-inflicted, but sure.”

“Excuse me?” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Mr. Staaark…” Peter moaned from the sofa. “Did you know there’s no such thing as a milkshake on Asgard?”

Tony just blinked at him.

“I mean, imagine going your whole life without ever tasting a milkshake,” Peter went on, his tone just bordering on a whine.

“That’s just not right, man,” Sam groaned in agreement.

Tony glanced at the three, large, empty tumblers on the table nearby, their insides coated in what appeared to be milkshake residue. He looked back over his shoulder to the kitchen area and spied a blender sitting out on the counter.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” Tony deadpanned. He shot Sam a glare. “And now you too?” he accused.

“Blame genetics,” Sam grumbled. “Did you know seventy-four percent of African Americans are lactose intolerant?”

“Rhodey isn’t,” Tony quipped back.

“Well hooray for Rhodey then,” Sam muttered irritably into his arm. “Lucky bastard.”

“I do not understand,” Thor spoke up, frowning in confusion. “Have these men been poisoned or not?”

“Yes,” Peter groaned, clutching his stomach.

Tony rolled his eyes at the dramatic kid. “It’s… complicated,” he replied to Thor. “They’ll live, and with any luck, they’ll be deterred from future idiotic behavior for about a week. Or five days if I order pizza on Friday.”

“This was about justice for the Prince of Asgard,” Peter mumbled. “We die like men.”

“Men with tummy aches,” Tony pointed out.

Eyes still covered by his arm, Sam held up his middle finger. “We die like lactose intolerant men,” he amended.

With a hum of agreement, Peter promptly leaned over and vomited into the trash can.

As Bruce moved in to rub Peter’s back while he heaved, and Sam got up to make another trip to the bathroom, Tony threw his hands up in the air and turned on his heels.

“That’s it,” he muttered as he walked out. “I have officially given up.

Read Part 3 of the Lactose Intolerant Peter series

Fic Masterlist

#spider-man fic #mcu writing #irondad fic #Irondad #my fic #sick peter parker

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ijustwanttoexist · 6 years

Text

Tyson Barrie #1

This is the first imagine I’ve ever written so please have mercy. Everything in this is entirely made up so please don’t at me for realism or whatever.

It’s closer to midnight than you’d like to admit as you walk into the King Soopers closest to your apartment. It’s not like you’re here to fill your pantry, you tell yourself as you walk quickly to the frozen food section and make a beeline for the aisle with the ice cream. It’s been a crummy day and you just want to eat unhealthy amounts of frozen dairy.

You take a turn into the aisle you want and freeze in your tracks, hoping the only other person in the aisle won’t notice you. Because honestly, you’ve never met anyone famous before, and there, right in front of the ice cream (because of course, the universe enjoys mocking you so why not) is Tyson Barrie. And it’s not like you can pretend you don’t know who he is if he looks at you, wearing your Colorado Avalanche hoodie as you are.

You take a bracing breath and continue into the aisle. You’ll just grab the ice cream you want and go, no need to interact.

Except then you actually look at all the ice cream flavors available, and you draw a blank. Can you be satisfied with mint chocolate chip or moose tracks, or is this a chocolate chip cookie dough kind of problem? You look at all the options laid out before you and sigh.

“Tough choice?” you hear, and look over. Tyson is looking at you with a friendly smile on his face and you find yourself returning it.

“It always is,” you answer. “I’m trying to decide if I’ve had a hard enough day to actually justify getting the cookie dough, or if I can be satisfied with something else.” He nods in understanding.

“What about you?” You find yourself asking, even as you scream at yourself in your head to just stop talking before you stick your foot in your mouth.

“Trying to decide if I want to try something new or stick with a tried and true favorite for my next cheat day,” he answers. And fuck, that’s adorable. Apparently, Tyson Barrie is the kind of sweets fiend that plans his treats for cheat days.

“I’d get one of each,” you offer, ”because what if you try a new one, and you don’t like it? Are you stuck with it then, and you have to either finish it or go out when you’d rather be eating ice cream? But honestly, if I was scheduling cheat days and didn’t mind going out, I’d probably just go out for a Butterfinger blizzard. But like, also get the pint you know you like just in case you don’t actually feel like going out.”

He smiles at you. “That’s a good idea,” he says, then digs into the freezer for a couple of pints. When he closes the door, he hesitates for a moment.

“I would get the cookie dough,” he suggests. “I don’t know what your day was like, but why not get something you know will work?”

You sign but nod in agreement. “Yeah, I was probably going to get the cookie dough anyway. I don’t think anything else will do after having to deal with my sister’s fiance,” you say as you look for the flavor you want. “I just never know which brand to get. It seems like most of them throw in like three pieces of cookie dough to a pint like cheap assholes.”

And that’s Tyson Barrie laughing at you. You can feel the flush crawling up your face, but try to ignore it. He opens a door, grabs another pint of ice cream, and holds it out to you.

“Don’t ask how I know this, but this brand has the best ice cream to cookie dough ratio. It’s worth the price.” You reach to take it from him with a thank you.

You see his eyes drop down to the logo on your sweater and tell yourself not to freeze, and to keep your mouth shut so you don’t embarrass yourself. You’re surprised you haven’t already. You both seem to hover for a moment, each with a hand still on the pint, before you both move again. He lets go of the pint, and you pull it close before turning back to the ice cream because you know one pint won’t be enough.

You grab two more and almost startle when you see him still there, looking uncertain.

“I was really worried when you blocked that shot early in today’s game,” you hear yourself say as part of your mind moans in despair. His eyes snap to yours and you feel stupid, but your mouth just keeps going.

“I was relieved when it turned out you were okay. At least, I hope you’re okay. I know sometimes players keep playing even though they’re hurt. And like, I understand that it’s a good morale boost for teammates or whatever, but it always makes me really anxious.”

And honestly, all the alarm bells in your mind usually shut you up before you get to the rambling part, and yet here you are, still going.

“Like, whenever a player comes back onto the ice after taking a puck to the face, I get so worried. A few weeks ago, I saw Tom Wilson do that, and then someone on the opposite team tried to fight him. And you could tell he really didn’t want to be fighting, he didn’t even take a single swing at the other player.

“And god, seeing a player trying to disconnect from a fight and the other player not letting them is the worst.”

You finally stop talking, biting your lip so ideally the word vomit doesn’t start again. You’re even relieved that Tyson looks more amused than anything else, because this is honestly a nightmare.

“Most of the impact hit my pads,” he finally says. “There’s barely even a bruise.”

“Oh, that’s...that’s good. I’m glad,” you say. Then you take a step back, and gesture towards where the checkstands are. “I’m gonna...” and then you trail off because you don’t actually know how to finish that, and you’ve talked more than enough already.

“Oh, yeah, right, good idea,” he says, and then he’s walking next to you and you kind of want to die, just a little bit.

You separate at the checkstands, which is a relief because you don’t know how much more awkwardness you could take. You make small talk with the cashier as he rings up your ice cream, and pay.

It’s just as you’ve gotten outside that you hear someone calling out to you. It’s Tyson, because god hates you.

“Hey, I was just wondering,” and he seems nervous, which is weird. “I was kind of wondering if maybe you wanted to get a blizzard with me, on my next cheat day?”

“I--yeah. Yeah, that would...that would be nice,” you say. Because while you knew Tyson was cute and sweet from interviews you’ve seen him in, it’s another thing to have all that directed at you.

“Sweet, um,” he pulls out his phone, “is it cool if I have your number? Or um, actually, I can’t believe I don’t even know your name.” And he looks super embarrassed about it, his face bright red in the lights coming from the front of the store.

“It’s [Y/N],” you say, smiling, “and my number is [X].” Your phone vibrates in your pocket as he puts his own back in his.

“Awesome. It’s really nice to meet you, [Y/N].”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say, “I’m looking forward to that blizzard.”

You separate and go to your respective cars. You resist looking at your phone the whole way home because people in Colorado already drive scarily without you adding to the madness. You make yourself wait until you get inside your apartment to look at your phone.

How does Wednesday sound? The text reads.

Wednesday sounds great. What time? You reply. You settle onto the couch with some Netflix and your ice cream, and think that Tyson was right. There’s a perfect amount of cookie dough in the ice cream.

#tyson barrie imagine #nhl imagine #what am I even doing?

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lilstar242 · 5 years

Text

The Crescent Curse-9

“Listen,” Cassius said to Giselle in a serious tone as Cassius shut the door of his little hut. “I will take you up to the edge of the forest. After that, you can find your own way to the Fisherman’s Village.”

Giselle had woken up to a breakfast of some sort of soup dish stewing over the fire. Cassius had prepared it, and ate it with Giselle whilst apologising about the large quantity of vegetables and the lack of meat and dairy in the dish, for he was in fact a vegan. But still, every time Giselle turned to the game they had played the night before, he directed the conversation. Now, after they had eaten, Cassius was explaining his plan to Giselle as the two of them walked into the forest.

“How will I know where to go?” Giselle asked, wanting to make sure she was certain as to exactly how to get to the Fisherman’s Village.

“Follow the river, that way.” He pointed. “Whatever you do, don’t go off track. There are worse things in this forest than that Chimera, trust me, you don’t want to come into contact with them.” Cassius adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder as Giselle once again followed him through the forest.

They walked for a while in silence. Giselle thought back to her home where a sick feeling came over her. She knew how worried her mother would be but Giselle also knew she would have to be away from her mother either way.

There was a sudden rustling among the trees. Giselle jumped, as she remembered her encounter with the Chimera. Cassius stopped suddenly, listening to the noise carefully. He looked around in the trees, for something. For someone.

“What i-” Giselle started.

“Shh.” Cassius interrupted. Giselle held her breath until the rustling stopped for a moment. She had never seen Cassius so tense.

“Werewolves.” Cassius whispered, his sea green eyes scanning the surrounding area. “Stay back for a moment.” Giselle took a few steps backwards obediently. There was a deafening silence, where Giselle froze, too scared to breathe.

A black figure jumped out of the bushes, knocking Cassius straight to the ground. Giselle gasped loudly, closing her eyes in hope it wouldn’t come near her. She opened them again cautiously when she noticed Cassius was silent. A black wolf had Cassius pinned to the ground, growling in his face. It then backed away, but it’s eyes remained focus on Cassius’. He put his hands out steadily, calm as possible. Giselle panicked, worried for Cassius. Her quick, shallow breathing turned the wolf’s attention to Giselle, leaving Cassius to get up on his own. The wolf had sharp, sinister teeth; but the thing that made Giselle sick with fear was the bright blue eyes, scanning her like prey. Another wolf emerged from the bushes, joining the blue-eyed werewolf. That one looked even more scary, it’s eyes red as it snarled. Giselle backed away slowly as more wolves joined behind the two existing ones. She kept going, until her back scraped the bark of a tree. They had surrounded, trapped her. The blue eyed werewolf suddenly jerked up, slamming it’s front paws on the tree, just above Giselle's head. She screamed and turned her head away, closing her eyes. She waited for the moment where the werewolf went at her throat. Giselle knew this would be where she would die.

But the wolf’s breath slowed down, it lowered its front legs and stood back slightly. Giselle opened her eyes, turning her head in confusion.

A pair of piercing blue eyes met hers.

“Giselle,” Adrian said, smiling. Giselle stared at him, confused. She noticed a group of people standing behind him, along with the werewolf with red eyes. The werewolf then, to Giselle’s amazement, formed into an ordinary-looking guy. It suddenly clocked in Giselle’s brain what was happening. Adrian, the boy who had saved her at Eagle Beach, was a werewolf. And this, the few people standing behind him, were his pack. Giselle said nothing, staring at them all with her mouth wide open.`

“So you made it?” A girl with yellow eyes and thick, blonde hair said, coming up behind Adrian. Giselle couldn’t tell if her tone was sarcastic or friendly. “The fairy has gone.” she then said, to a more muscular man. He had silver hair that slicked back, and he looked much older than everyone else. Adrian laughed a little.

“Welcome to the pack, Giselle.” Adrian said, standing back so she could see them all. There was only four of them; Adrian, the silver-haired man, the blonde girl and the red-eyed one, who glared at Giselle, making her feel uncomfortable.

“We talked with the fairy.” The blonde girl said. “He said she’s going to the village.”

The silver-haired man chuckled.

“Out of all places.” His voice was deep and rough, and Giselle wondered what was so wrong with the Fisherman’s Village that everyone should talk negatively of it. Giselle looked around, realising that Cassius was no longer there. How could he leave her with a pack of werewolves, in the middle of the forest?

“I...I...” Giselle stuttered.

“Must we take her with us?” The red-eyed man said. He was tall and looked a lot older than Adrian. But he still had something left of his youth as his hair was still a vivid jet black. His deep crimson eyes continued to stare at Giselle, but she tried to avoid his eye contact and focus on Adrian.

“Shut up, Jason.” Adrian snapped. “She has survived this island long enough. It won’t hurt us to take her to the village.”

“Are you a villager?” The silver-haired man interrogated.

“No.” Giselle replied.

He hesitated then turned and ran through the trees, Jason and the blonde girl following him rapidly.

“Are you coming?” Adrian asked, gesturing for Giselle to join them.

“Where are we going?”

“Where you want to go.” Adrian smiled as he grabbed Giselle’s wrist and ran through the forest, leaving Giselle no choice but to follow him. Adrian slowed down to a walk when he realised Giselle was quick to run out of breath and let go of her wrist.

“Adrian,” Giselle said, breathing heavily. “Where did Cassius go?”

“Cassius?” Adrian repeated. “Oh, he went off somewhere. Willow convinced him we would take you.”

“And you did this without even asking me?” Giselle said, anger rising up within her.

“What? You think one fairy is going to be better at protecting you than four werewolves?” Adrian laughed. Giselle thought about how Adrian was right. But she thought even more about how Cassius was a fairy. Giselle had known he wasn’t human, but Cassius being a fairy in human form wasn’t a surprise either.

“What is so bad about going to the Fisherman’s Village?” Giselle then asked, frustrated that people gave her such limited information.

“It’s not that interesting.” Adrian said. “But I mean, you can go wherever the Arizona you want.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a werewolf?!” She persisted.

“Do you really think you would have believed me Giselle?” Adrian answered in the same tone. “I probably would have just scared you off, anyway.”

“You almost scared me off, anyway.”

Adrian shrugged, before switching to a different matter. “What were you doing with that fairy, anyway?”

“He helped me.” Giselle said.

They then caught up with the rest of the pack, Giselle tagging along at the back whilst Adrian walked at a fast pace in front of her. Adrian looked back at Giselle before slowing down so he could walk beside Giselle.

“By the way,” Adrian said. “Our leader is Demarcus.” He said, pointing to the silver-haired man at the front. “And then Jason, and Willow.”

Giselle nodded. Adrian resumed his place in front of Giselle. She stared at Jason’s back. He wore a black trench coat that made him look like a shadow. The more she stared at him, the more sick she felt. For some reason she couldn’t shake of the uncomfortable feeling of Jason’s presence. Despite this, she carried on, following the small Crescent Island pack of wolves.

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