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needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves · 2 years

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Meant to send this on mother's day and have it be one of the husbands trying to make their wife a mother but...

Instead can we have either Julieta or Pepa giving their husband a father's day present and it's before the eldest grandkids are born so the guys are like...I'm not a dad yet mi amor and the wives are like 'You will be in a couple of months.' and that's how either Agustin or Felix (could be both) learn that their wife is pregnant

Oh go to hell. This is precious. Let's do it, even though i personally dread father's day- (maybe thats why i love these guys, because my relationship with my dad sucks ass)

Also fun fact, Agustín was born on Father's day, didn't know if you knew that, anon.

"Agustín! You almost done up there?!"

"Si, one second!"

Agustín didn't know what it was, but Julieta had been extra kind to him today. Like, WAY more than usual. She woke him up with a morning tea, she let him sleep in-clearly there was some event he was forgetting. It's why he was in his room, looking at his calender, trying to think of what he could be missing. He thought maybe his birthday, but that wasn't supposed to be for another four days. He sighed as he made his way downstairs, where Bruno and Félix were sitting at the dining room table.

"Hey bro. Do you uh, know what's going on?"

"No, and I'm terrified we forgot something important."

Bruno grinned from his cup of coffee.

"I know something you don't~"

They both whipped their heads towards Bruno. Ever since they knew him, Bruno has always been a little shit, always been a bit cryptic and never giving a straight forward answer. He was pretty sure he just liked their suffering.

"Bruno what is it? Is it someone's birthday? Is it a holiday?"

Bruno shook his head a bit, letting these two fester. Félix was about to shake the answer out of him, when their wives stepped into the kitchen, trays of food in hand.

"I hope you three are hungry, I spent a little extra time on breakfast today."

She wasn't kidding. French crullers, hot coffee, radishes on buttered toast, his ideal breakfast. She kissed the top of his head, Pepa kissed Félix's, and Bruno just stole an extra doughnut from the basket.

"It looks exactly how maman would make it."

"Your mother gave me the recipe. I hope you all like it, I wanted you to eat something nice while I gave you your father's day gift."

That was a weird way to phrase his birthday. He helped himself to his breakfast as she pulled out a box from the corner. It was big for a simple present. He took a second from his food to open it, revealing-

"Is this...a tree sapling?"

"Yes! It's Jacarandas! I thought it'd be lovely to grow outside, in the back. I think they'd love it!"

Agustín raised a brow at the gift. It was nice, but not what he expected.

"Well, thank you, mi amor. This is very sweet. I mean, weird to get me for my birthday but-wait. Who would like it?"

Julieta sat in front of him, putting her hands over his.

"It's not for your birthday. It's for your first father's day. Agustín. Estoy embarazada."

He went stiff. He studied her face for a joke, but there wasn't any. He looked at her face, at her stomach, at her face again.

"I...I'm going to be a father?"

"Si. I just figured it out a while ago. You are going to be a papi, and I'm...going to be a mami."

He froze. Holy. Fucking. Shit. It took him a moment to remember to breathe, but when he did, he immediately held onto her face, blood rushing.

"I KNEW there was something about you that was different! You're PREGNANT! You're GLOWING!"

Félix put his hands on the side of his mouth, giving out a grito he himself could NEVER do.

"Eso Agustín!!! You're gonna be a papi!!! Holy shit- imma be a tío!"

Pepa plopped a small box in his hands, nudging his shoulder.

"I got you a gift too, so you didn’t feel left out, hombrecito."

They watched as Félix pulled out what appeared to be a little guitar. Félix gave her a look that roughly translated to 'you bitch', but a smile was at the corner of his lips.

"Is this because you're taller than me? Because that's so mean-"

"Turn it around."

Félix did, and on the back, was a paper silhouette, taped to the back. Agustín recognized it immediately, but it took Félix a second. He whipped his head towards Pepa once he did.

"Pepa. Pepa are you-"

"I'm pregnant too, idiota."

Félix jumped out of his seat, arms going this way and that as he proceeded to lose his mind.

"I'M GOING TO BE A DAD! YOU'RE GOING TO BE A DAD! HOLY S H I T!"

Pepa and Julieta watched as these two proceeded to lose their shit, rambling and yelling and making just an absolute ruckus. They only stopped when Bruno, a doughnut in his hand, interrupted them.

"Salut you two! Congrats on two adorable little girls. Oh, did I say that out loud?"

Julieta and Pepa gawked at him.

"Wait. We're having girls?!"

"BOTH OF US?!"

Bruno grinned like a little shit, cup of coffee in the air in a congratulations.

"Surprise! I had a vision about it before ANYONE here knew. They're beautiful. Even Pepa's, which surprised me."

"WE'RE HAVING DAUGHTERS, MOTHERFUCKER!!!"

Félix, in his excitement, tried to chest bump Agustín, only to send the guy to the floor. Julieta laughed as she tried to help him up.

"Oye, Félix, careful with my husband!"

Agustín chuckled as he got up to his feet, just in time to see Félix dancing merrily with Pepa, practically bathing in rainbows and sunshine. That was when Abuela walked in, looking confused.

"Something happened to my door? It says 'Abuela', are one of you...?"

Bruno, who was eating everyone's food at this point, did the honors.

"Both of 'em. Daughters. I'd give dates, but my powers aren't that specific."

Abuela looked aghast, before immediately diving in to embrace Julieta, crying out in absolutely joy and thanking god for such a miracle. She hugged both her daughters, hugged Félix, then turned to Agustín. Agustín thought about apologizing for a second, before she held onto his hands, smiling.

"You will be a wonderful father. I don't need Bruno's powers to see that."

"But I need powers to keep me from killing Bruno-he ate all the doughnuts!!"

"I WAS HUNGRY, PEPA!"

Agustín was ready to bring new little ones into this crazy life of his.

#not transformers #encanto #asks #that tree is STILL in the backyard of the Casita #its big and beautiful and Agustín (and Félix) hung up a swing on it #also Félix and Agustín's parents being told this?#lost their M I N D S #especially Félix's oh my god they partied for like three days straight

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t-underneaththeradardancing · 3 years

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awake not even - 2nd try coffee aint helping - was hoping for inspiration would settle for semblance of clever but thats a lot to hope - yes a kitty and a good one tho the reason for the 1st - murder early birdsong - a valentine anniversary poem already - a psycho sunday imma try and sane thru - thank god for emojis and ritual - watever gets u - mostly some places we dont go there any - more is not always the answer - close and dancing maybe - imma make some french toast with actual french brioche - duz that make me sound pretentious - if i wuz either a foodie or fotographer there wood bee a picture - maybe even anywaze would that b something - t takin pictures of his food - a crow calls - i toss walnuts - imma grail quest later - settle for daffodils and water - after that maybe mostly

fuck all

love

#poetry i guess #sacred art productions

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 years

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Roman and Logan’s Dark Strange Son: Rewrite

Pairings: Romantic Logince, Platonic Loginceit/Roloceit

Word Count: 1,048 Words

Summary: Deceit gets showed his new room next to Roman and Logan’s. (aka they officially ‘adopt’ him)

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Unsympathetic Patton, Implied Eating Disorder, Trust Issues, Secret Friendships, Food Mentions, Mentions of Death (in the means of ‘fading’), let me know if I should tag something else.

Chapter 3

It took a good three weeks to gain Deceit's trust. From being able to go in his room, to talking about personal things, to finally being able to bring him to his new room.

The yellow room was all set up with yellow, black, and gold furniture that Roman had summoned and painted himself. Logan had added more of the decorations and additives the room. Yellow ceiling stars, a second bed curtain on the bedposts for even more privacy, fairy lights on the headboard for light at night. The more they learned, the more they added to the room for Deceit's inevitable move-in date.

When Patton and Virgil inevitably asked questions on the color choices and what they were doing, they explained it away as them wanting a neutral room to be alone in. Yellow had been a 'funny coincidence' of being Deceit's color since it was the only primary color left and Virgil had the color purple, which their colors combined to.

Patton and Virgil had been satisfied enough with this explanation that they hadn't questioned further and had lost interest in watching them set up the room. Now it was time to move Deceit in.

So here Roman sat with Ceres, a baby Burmese python, slithering across him and he was admiring the good girl. Logan had just finished feeding Iris, the sunbeam snake, and was currently letting her be alone to bask.

The indigo and silver scales that covered Logan's neck were given little attention, as were the red and gold ones on Roman's hands. Deceit was currently placing Juno, the Amazon tree boa, back in her enclosure then he came to help Roman put back Ceres.

"You should both leave, you're too scaly." Deceit tried to urge them out.

"We need to show you something, actually." Roman began.

"What?" Deceit asked.

"We have a surprise for you in the Mind Palace, Dee." Logan clarified.

"O-Okay." The shortest side let them lead him back to the Mind Palace, all the way upstairs, but not to the door yet. It was nearly two in the morning, Patton had long since gone to bed, likely having been watching Parks and Rec, and Virgil's insomnia medication usually meant he passed out around midnight.

"I'm going to cover your eyes, is that okay?" Logan asked. He got a small 'yeah' before doing so and guiding Deceit to the bedroom door while Roman walked ahead and opened the door to the yellow room. Logan let his hands down and Deceit's eyes opened to the room.

Bright yellow ceiling stars lit up the room like the night sky, the bed curtains opened to shoe the inside and the fairy lights. Tiny flowers on the desk and Dreamworks posters strewn about. much to Roman's beginning Dismay that the snakelike side liked Dreamworks over Disney.

Despite it's original yellow/gold/black toned appearance, the room swirled with deep blues and whites due in large part to Deceit's favorite character, Jack Frost. Deceit's eyes blew wide and he looked back at Logan and then to Roman as if he wasn't sure who had done this.

"You two did this?" He asked softly.

"We wanted to make sure you don't start fading. To do that, we can't have you an hour away from us. So we thought we'd make you a room here that you can stay in so we can be sure you're okay." Roman assured him.

"You made a room just so you could take care of me?" Deceit asked.

"Of course. My other option was going to be having you stay at my castle but that's in the Imagination and the same distance away, so we wouldn't be able to check on you quickly if such a problem were to arise." Roman explained.

Without any further confirmation, the shortest side flung his body against them, hugging the both of them tightly. That night they spent with him, both laying on either side of their dark, strange son, both continuing work from that day until they could fall asleep nearing four in the morning.

The next morning went by just as they'd thought it would, Logan made breakfast while Roman made coffee as Patton usually slept in and Virgil woke up in a few hours, groggy and still tired from his medication. It was a game of dodging.

Deceit woke up only an hour after them, at nine in the morning, two hours before Virgil usually woke up at eleven. This allotted time to them all helping to make breakfast for the other two sleeping sides to wake up to.

They knew, of course, of Deceit's aversion to eating around others, something they'd both deemed was probably a form of an eating disorder they didn't want to press so soon after gaining his trust.

So, after getting a list of things Dee was allergic to, they immediately reformed the recipes they wanted to make. No dairy was an allergy Roman shared, something they already left out and had no issue continuing to do so. But eggs, Deceit apparently loved eggs.

So that's just what they did. They ended up making eggs, non-dairy pancakes, and french toast. Deceit obviously thought they were going over the top until he realized they were cooking for five people, not just three, then he seemed to accept it and move along helping.

They put on Rise of the Guardians and Moana to eat to and they both couldn't help but smile noting that Deceit had both finished off his plate and fallen back to sleep between them.

Roman ended up carrying him back upstairs to take a nap and closed the door softly to give him some privacy. Virgil woke up in this time and began toddling downstairs after Roman to the coffee machine, pawing at it like it would know what he wanted.

Roman helpfully poured him his coffee the way he liked it and got a head against his shoulder in thanks as Virgil took his liquid energy for the day and sat at the table still half asleep. No way he'd seen Deceit in his half-delusioned state.

Patton came down a half hour later for breakfast. Logan and Roman never spoke a word that day of their happy first morning with their very own dark, strange son.

Taglist: @zozomind @im-default @imma-potatoo @genderfluidmoma @brain-deadx0 @knightinsoftpastels @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @lgbtforeverything @fandersides1234567 @that-gay-satanic-trash @messcentral @turtleluv799 @theenbyregressor @katelynn-a-fan @13hisss

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breanime · 4 years

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Person A placing their hand on Person B’s forehead to check if they have a fever with Logan poor baby needs love!!

Oh ho ho hooooo, you KNOW how much I love sick Logan!

TW: vomiting

When you walked into the house, Logan was laid out on the couch with his arm covering his face. He was wearing his bright red spanks (his “feel good underpants”), no shirt, pink sunglasses, and one fuzzy blue slipper. The other slipper was on the floor. His hair was messy, pushed all around his head in a strange brown halo, and the TV was playing “Girl’s Trip” in the background. You glanced over at the coffee table to see that he had a small collection of water bottles on the table, half an eaten orange, and a piece of toast he’d clearly just picked at.

“Oh Logan,” you sighed, walking over to him, “you sick, baby?”

He blinked up at you, his dark eyes bleary under the pink shades. “I might be.” He tried to sit up, but groaned and just slumped back onto his side. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours,” you said back, pushing his hair back to feel his forehead. He leaned into your touch. “You’re burning up.”

“Before I die,” he said, dramatic as ever, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

You laughed; he was such a softie. “You’re not gonna die,” you said, standing up and gathering as many of the water bottles as you could in your arms, “You just have a fever.”

“I’ve named you my beneficiary,” he went on, “My family is gonna be pissed.”

“Good thing you’re not dying, then,” you dumped the water bottles and then came back for the food, “Have you been able to eat anything today?”

“Tried to eat some fruit, threw most of it up,” he reported, “played with the toast, threw up my stomach acid.” You made a face. “I really want soup, but I can’t get up without throwing up.”

“I’ll make you some soup, baby,” you assured him, kissing his warm forehead when you came back into the living room. “But let’s get you in bed, okay?”

“But my movie—”

“—I’ll put it on for you in our room,” you said, helping him up, “After a shower. C’mon…”

Soon after, you laid Logan down in bed, propping him up with pillows and wrapping him up in blankets. You pressed another kiss to his forehead before heading to the kitchen to make him some chicken noodle soup. You checked on him while you cooked, making him swallow down a pill to calm his stomach and stopping him from hovering in the kitchen. Once the soup was done, you served it to him in bed, and you smiled at how happy he was to be taken care of.

Later, after he’d eaten, Logan sat in bed with his head in your lap. You played with his hair as he chuckled at the antics of the women on the screen. He was already feeling better, his forehead wasn’t as hot, and he sounded more like himself. You looked down at him, smiling at his pink form (Logan had made you put his sunglasses on after his shower), and kissed his forehead one more time.

“I wasn’t joking before,” Logan said, eyes closed in comfort, “when I said I made you my beneficiary. I did.”

You froze, fingers stilling in Logan’s hair. “You did?”

“Mm hmm,” he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, squeezing it until you started playing in his hair again, “If anything happens to me, you get everything.” He opened his eyes and looked up at you. “You’re the only person who loves me for me,” he said, “I want to take care of you like you take care of me.”

“Logan, that’s… That’s sweet, but you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” he interrupted, smiling, “but I want to.” He closed his eyes again, rubbing against you like a cat, and you knew whatever 24-hour bug he had was going away quickly. “I love you.”

“Love you, too…” You said, smiling as you leaned back against the headboard.

That night, you snuggled in bed with Logan, keeping him close as you both slept. He woke up feeling better, but you both took the day off—just in case. Logan, back to his healthy self, made you sit on his lap while he fed you oranges (not that you complained), just to be sure you didn’t get sick as well.

Later, he showed you the paperwork he’d filled out making you his beneficiary, and when you saw the date he’d filed it, your eyes filled with tears.

He’d filed the papers the day after your first fight—he had been that sure that you were the one for him, and he had been right. You hugged him, and Logan wrapped his arms around you, kissing the side of your face.

You really were in love with a softie.

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading!

Everything Taglist: @encounterthepast @jigsawlover10 @gollyderek @charlylama @realduckvader @teacuplotus @whovianayesha @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @fanfictionrecommendations-com @maxslime-blog @songforhema @lucielandss @themadhatter92 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @ashkuuuu @luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @iaintnofurry @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @binbons-is-theloml @aikeia @bitch-imma-head-out

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#logan delos x reader #logan delos imagine #logan delos #breanime's drabble event

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themurphyzone · 5 years

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Oneshot: Lollipops and Burritos

Summary: How does a studious man with big dreams and a slacker with no regard for the rules become partners? Easy, just make your own rules.

Spoilers for First Impressions!

Seriously I loved the Dakavendish in this episode like there’s so much it’s not even funny well it is but you know what I mean! Imma stop rambling now and get on with the story!

This was it. Today was the big day. On August 26, 2168, Balthazar T. Cavendish would pass his driving test with flying colors and become a full-fledged agent of the Bureau of Time Travel, an agency dedicated to protecting the delicate space-time continuum from evildoers, miscreants, and the shadowy Marmoset League.

Agents had it all: limousines with aquariums, high society parties, stylish tuxes and gorgeous dresses, and most importantly, recognition for their efforts in saving the world.

Cavendish always aimed high in his goals. What was the point of setting them if you didn’t aspire to achieve great things? When he was young, he dreamed of being a famous concert pianist.

Mozart had been invited to play in a royal palace when he was but a young lad. Beethoven composed despite his deafness. With the great composers of history as his inspiration, Cavendish had practiced and practiced until every note, rhythm, and key signature was burned into his mind.

But he was just a small fish in a big pond. He’d competed against children who fiddled before they walked, and the judges overlooked him despite his efforts to play everything as written in the piece.

So he turned to law in the Queen’s court instead. Barristers were fair, thorough, and had extensive knowledge of the precedents regarding a case. He would help the judges deliver justice for the innocent and punishment for the guilty.

Then Queen Elizabeth IV banned him from the royal palace for life because he dared to call her out for her refusal to compensate a florist for the damages that her precious corgi, Mr. Marshmallow Biscuit Longfellow, caused at his shop.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

He refused to go back anyway since Mr. Marshmallow Biscuit Longfellow urinated on his favorite suit and he had no choice but to throw it away.

Then Cavendish went back to school, taking classes such as Theoretical Mathematics of Time Travel and How to Avoid Erasing Yourself from History 101 until he’d earned his Bachelor’s of Science in Time Travel. Then he applied for a job at the BoTT and the rest was history.

Cavendish spent three harrowing months studying for this driving test. An important part of driving was knowing the car’s mechanics after all.

And when he passed, he’d be a full-fledged agent!

Despite his nerves, he forced himself to concentrate on his electronic manual for this particular model of time travel vehicle. Student drivers used basic 2160 Tempos for easy handling and an auto-pilot to help get them back on track if they accidentally wound up in the Dark Ages.

But if he clawed his way up to the S-Rank in BoTT, he could earn enough to buy a highly coveted 2167 Chronos Satellite, which was equipped to fly in the lower regions of space while providing a steady oxygen supply, temperature control, and enough safety features so that the driver didn’t accidentally hurtle to earth in a fiery blaze.

“The Time Delineation gear is for quick trips in local space, allowing you to move three times faster than local time,” Cavendish recited. He knew the book forwards and backwards by now, but last-minute cramming never hurt anyone.

“Alright, Cavendish,” he said as he stored the manual. Sounding confident was key. “You are on your way to becoming a fully-fledged time agent! This deserves a lolly!”

Alright, so he couldn’t resist a black currant lollipop. It was the best flavor on the market in his humble opinion.

Then the driver’s door suddenly opened, and before he knew it, he was unceremoniously shoved into the passenger seat by some...some hoodlum with the largest afro Cavendish had ever seen in his life.

The world was a cruel mistress. He spent all this time studying for this moment, and the payoff was being carjacked by some greaser who thought he looked good just cause he wore a leather jacket.

And to add insult to injury, the jerk wasted his last black currant lollipop.

Dakota liked food, music, and movies. He was just a simple guy with simple pleasures. While he’d be perfectly happy working in restaurant jobs for the rest of his life, it didn’t pay the bills.

Companies preferred robot workers these days. More efficient and less costly, they argued.

Most human servers worked in small family-owned restaurants, but they’d be out of luck in a few months when the patrons inevitably moved onto more snazzy, well-known businesses.

Two weeks ago, Dakota had the bright idea of dressing up like a robot and seeing how well he could imitate his mechanical co-workers at a popular fast-food joint. It worked for a few hours, but his appetite got the better of him and he was caught stealing chicken strips on camera.

He’d been carted off to jail and charged with impersonating robots without a permit. Humanity had advanced to flying cars and time travel, but they’d never been able to fix the justice system.

On the plus side, the incident had given Dakota the idea to get a permit so he could legally impersonate a robot.

He discovered the eviction notice after he’d been released from his week-long stay in jail. There just hadn’t been enough money to pay rent and groceries. He could pay rent and starve, or he could pay for food and allow himself to be kicked out.

It wasn’t a hard choice, nor was it a total loss. Dakota was already a recruit for the BoTT, and they had many private study rooms. They called it a study room, Dakota called it his bedroom, but either way, it was a room.

And the cafeteria food was delicious.

The morning of August 26, 2168 was just like any other. Dakota scarfed down his eggs and French toast, topping it off with a glass of orange juice. As he prepared to sweet-talk Penelope the mechanical cafeteria lady into giving him a second batch of eggs, the intercom beeped.

“New time agent recruits, please select a vehicle for your driving test. If you survive today, you’ll get your first assignment and partners tomorrow. Thank you,” a bored man in some serious need of coffee announced.

For some reason, the announcement had given him a craving for one of Rita’s burritos in the 21st century.

“Yo, Penelope, that a new ocular lens on ya? Looks good. Say, how ‘bout holding a few chocolate muffins for me? I’ll pick ‘em up later,” Dakota said, leaning on the counter lazily.

“My circuitry is heating up,” Penelope monotoned.

Though she had no outward forms of expression, Dakota knew from experience that circuitry heating up was the equivalent of blushing and that she would honor his request.

With everyone scrambling to file last-minute digital work (paper had been completely phased out), the path to the holding bay for student vehicles was clear.

After a brief round of eenie-meenie-miney-mo, Dakota headed over to the winning vehicle and opened the door, which thankfully wasn’t locked.

“Slide over, stretch. I need a ride,” Dakota said as he shoved the driver—a tall man with ginger hair and thick-rimmed glasses—aside and made himself comfortable.

“Wait a minute, who are you?” the other man asked indignantly. His accent was overly posh like one of those fake Brits on TV. He held a purple lollipop in his outstretched hand, and Dakota snatched it up, much to the other man’s dismay.

He was kinda funny actually, so Dakota decided to name him Stretch.

“Is this for me? Thanks!” Dakota exclaimed as he stuck the lollipop in his mouth. Something to suck on for the road couldn’t hurt.

Then an extremely bitter flavor exploded across his tongue, and Dakota yanked the lollipop out of his mouth, exclaiming his disgust for Stretch’s choice in flavor.

“BLECH! What flavor is this?” Dakota asked in disgust. He was going to need some extra salsa to get rid of this gross flavor that had no right existing.

“Black currant,” Stretch enunciated carefully, his eyebrows knitting together.

Yeah, didn’t look like they were getting along, especially if Stretch insisted that black currant was delicious and Dakota’s taste buds were the ones that were in need of major readjustments.

Dakota threw the disgusting lollipop over his shoulder, its purple juices making the entire thing stick to the window.

“Not even gonna ask what that is,” Dakota muttered as he started up the car and opened a time portal.

Good thing he knew a shortcut, because he seriously needed to get that lollipop out of his system.

Cavendish privately named this man—no, this unwanted hitchhiking selfish lollipop-stealing vagrant ‘Hoodlum’.

It didn’t matter how loud Cavendish protested. Hoodlum broke every speed limit law in the manual and in all of existence, took bends at two hundred temporometers an hour when the recommended was just fifty, and didn’t check the gauge to make sure they had enough time juice to last the entire trip.

In the span of thirty seconds, the vehicle was caught in the powerful jaws of a T-rex, used as leverage for a sauropod to reach some high-hanging leaves, and battered by an angry Triceratops.

By the time Hoodlum finally got them to the safety of paved 21st-century streets, the time vehicle had been battered and bruised to the point of being a miracle that it functioned.

“What. Was. That?” Cavendish asked flatly, too scared for his life that he couldn’t outwardly express his mortal terror.

“Shortcut through the Mesozoic,” Hoodlum said casually, as if he hadn’t just taken them on a crazy joyride that would’ve made them another statistic to the list of BoTT recruits who didn’t survive the training. “Come on, let’s get some burritos.”

Hoodlum pushed the eject button, and Cavendish was thrown onto the asphalt, his glasses knocked askew from impact.

“Tres burritos, Rita!” Dakota called to a nearby street vendor. “That means three burritos, Rita.”

This miscreant was actively sabotaging Cavendish’s driving test with his reckless, self-serving ways. Who did he think he was anyway? Cavendish’s anger boiled to a breaking point. He was sick and tired of being tossed around like a ragdoll caught in the whimsical fantasies of a child who’d never grown up.

“GREAT GRABKNACKLES! YOU RISKED OUR LIVES FOR A LOUSY BURRITO?” Cavendish stormed up to Hoodlum, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Cavendish ignored the dirty looks Hoodlum and Rita threw his way.

Any sane person would know perfectly well that burritos did not supersede basic self-preservation.

“No, no. I risked our lives for an amazing burrito, so good it only exists in this time and place,” Hoodlum retorted. “You want nachos with yours?”

Cavendish scowled and folded his arms. He would never sink low enough to accept food from Hoodlum. “You would make a terrible partner,” Cavendish snapped, pointedly turning his back to this scoundrel.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t asking,” Hoodlum replied.

That was the only sensible thing he’d said all day.

Stretch didn’t want a burrito.

Fine, whatever. Dakota tried, at least. Though who in their right mind would turn down an amazing burrito? Literally, an Amazing Burrito. It was right on the sign.

Rita quietly excused herself, not wanting to be part of the awkwardness that permeated the air as Dakota ate and Stretch grumbled.

Stretch seemed to have two speeds: Buzzkill and Even More Buzzkill.

Really, hadn’t this guy ever heard of fun in his life?

“It’s in the manual. Page 9, Paragraph 15, Line 5. ‘A recruit may not use a company vehicle for personal use’,” Stretch quoted.

Dakota had no desire to open the manual and check it himself, but he was pretty sure the manual didn’t have every individual paragraph and line marked. He almost felt bad for Stretch. He didn’t seem to have much of a social life if he memorized everything in that dusty old knickknack.

“THERE ARE RULES, MAN!” Stretch yelled, shoving the manual in Dakota’s face.

For a stickler, Stretch had no qualms about invading personal space and breaking rules on basic politeness.

Dakota had to give the man a point.

“I know, I just choose not to follow them,” Dakota proudly admitted. Rules never did anything for him, so why should he have to obey some stupid list?

“When we get back to our own time, I will be reporting you to the proper authorities,” Stretch said pompously, puffing out his chest in a pitiful attempt to be authoritative.

Really, his spaceman suit was working against him in that regard. It looked more ridiculous than anything.

Besides, the authorities never could make charges stick for long. Robots were so easy to bribe with spare nuts and bolts.

“Not everything’s in that manual. Sometimes you gotta improvise when the unexpected happens-” a strange whooshing noise caught Dakota’s attention, and he craned his neck to see a torrent of water carrying a battered school bus with a rocket sticking out of its roof and—were those kids being dragged behind on a broken back door?

“-like that! Those kids need help!” Dakota shouted, tossing his burrito aside as he leaped out of his seat. “Come on, let’s roll!”

He wasn’t sure how those kids wound up in such a precarious situation, but their bus driver was endangering their lives and not even slowing down so he had to do something!

As he darted toward the car, he suddenly realized how cool it would be if he could leap over the car hood like some inexplicably awesome action hero.

He felt like a regular James Bond, like a jerky 1980s movie protagonist whose trumpets bellowed their theme like they were some god descended to earth and-

He felt that solid concrete hurt.

A lot.

It all happened so fast. One moment they were locked in a vicious argument, then they saw children in peril (an incredibly strange sort of peril, but they called it peril for a reason), then Hoodlum shouted about rescuing them and wound up faceplanting into the asphalt as he tried to leap over the time vehicle’s hood.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Cavendish would’ve been more than happy to hold it over Hoodlum’s head as karma.

Cavendish buckled himself a scant two seconds before Hoodlum gunned the engine, floored the gas pedal, and crashed through a fence without remorse for destroying public property.

Cavendish found himself not caring that they broke the rules regarding wonton destruction with a time vehicle as outlined on Page 45, Paragraph 6, Lines 3-7.

Fences could be replaced. Children’s lives could not.

As they pursued the school bus at a speed that surely couldn’t be safe for any car, much less a near-totaled one, Cavendish caught a glimpse of the panicked expression on Hoodlum’s face. He gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he wildly spun the wheel to avoid oncoming traffic.

Hoodlum didn’t know these kids.

But he would still shatter speed limit laws, risk crashing himself, and refuse to adhere to BoTT’s rules about revealing the existence of time travel before it was invented for them.

Cavendish had a feeling that he sorely misjudged Hoodlum after all.

The rocket propelled the bus into a river, and the children—dear White Cliffs of Dover how were they even holding on at this point—were getting further away every second.

“We’re going to lose them!” Cavendish shouted as the bus careened down the opposite fork in the river.

“Not if I can help it!” Hoodlum yelled, slamming the gas pedal to the floor and pushing their odometer to dangerous levels.

Cavendish clung to his seat for dear life, an uncomfortable pit of dread settling in his stomach that wasn’t just from being airborne and upside-down.

His first mission as a time travel agent would not end in tragedy. He’d never forgive himself if it did.

The moment they landed (right-side up thank goodness) on the opposite bank, the rocket suddenly ignited, pushing the bus and children even further out of their reach.

“They’re going too fast!” Cavendish bit back a curse. They’d been so close that time, yet the chance of a successful rescue had been snatched from their grip.

The water churned and swirled uncontrollably, throwing all sorts of flailing aquatic creatures into the air.

Just their luck, the children and the bus door they’d been riding on went airborne and the rope that tied them to the bus fell away.

Dakota gritted his teeth, massively frustrated that they’d been so close to getting those kids away from danger but failing every single time. “And now they’re airborne,” he griped.

“Wait, we’ll use the Time Delineation gear!” Stretch exclaimed.

Dakota had no idea what Stretch was talking about. They didn’t have time to waste. “The what now?”

“It’s the Time Delineation gear! It allows you to move three times faster than local time! That’s in the manual!” Stretch exclaimed, pulling a lever through a series of ninety-degree turns. A strange power surrounded the time vehicle, bringing everything to a near-complete standstill while Dakota maintained their rapid speed.

Water stood still, animals were suspended in their movement, and the children and door hovered in midair without being subject to gravity.

It was incredible.

If Stretch hadn’t memorized that manual, neither of them would have known about the Time Delineation gear and the children’s lives would be in even greater jeopardy.

When all was said and done, maybe Dakota could borrow Stretch’s manual and see if anything else in there would be useful.

If Stretch was willing to forgive him for the whole burrito thing, that is.

“Whoo-hoo!” Stretch yelled. “We’re actually driving on water!”

Huh. So Stretch could smile after all. Who knew? He looked good.

“Bet that wasn’t in your manual!” Dakota exclaimed.

He leaned forward, giving the car one last burst of speed before they went airborne a second time. The underside of the bus door hit the windshield, and he and Stretch held the door in place with their fingertips. The two children, a boy with an overly-large backpack and a girl with flaming red hair, had frightened expressions on their faces but seemed physically unharmed.

How two elementary-age children wound up in this situation, he had no idea.

Stretch pulled the Time Delineation gear back into its previous position with his free hand, and the timeflow went back to normal.

The rocket finally burned out, thank goodness.

Driving was harder with just one hand, and Dakota nearly rammed into the back of the stopped school bus in front of the elementary school. He was just glad the student driver cars had excellent brakes.

The momentum of their sudden stop caused the children to fly off the windshield and into the safety of the bus, the door slamming shut into place behind them.

Once Dakota and Stretch recovered from nearly hitting the windshield themselves, they sighed in relief.

The return trip to 2168 had been awkward, to say the least. Whether Hoodlum drove at normal speed because he wanted to or because the poor car suffered enough abuse, Cavendish had no clue. After Hoodlum’s reckless yet heroic driving, Cavendish decided to hold his tongue for once and make plans for the imminent future.

Cavendish knew he didn’t have the best track record when it came to working with others. Back when he played piano, he never worked well with an accompanist. Too often those sessions devolved into a screaming match over tempo and dynamics. He’d cultivated a reputation for being uptight and obnoxious in the barrister community.

It would be difficult to work with someone he didn’t know, but he supposed he’d manage. They would just be work partners after all. Their work and personal lives would never intersect.

He was just thankful that the vehicle maintenance department didn’t ask too many questions about the battered state of the car. Apparently, many student driving cars didn’t survive the BoTT driving tests and wound up being used for scrap metal to build cheap robots.

The next day, Cavendish was called into Mr. Block’s office to meet his new partner. Cavendish had passed his test with flying colors. He was lucky they scored him based on how alive he was rather than what he did on the road. If anyone thought to check the vehicle records, they would’ve been horrified by what Hoodlum put the car through. And Cavendish would’ve likely been mistaken for an accomplice.

“Okay, let’s see what we got here,” Mr. Block grunted as Cavendish walked into his office. Cavendish’s heart raced, and he wrung his hands while Mr. Block looked over the official document that stated who Cavendish’s new partner would be. “Recruit number 68427, Cavendish. This is your new partner, Vinnie Dakota.”

A figure stood up from the plush chair in front of Mr. Block’s desk, and Cavendish froze. That afro and leather jacket would forever be burned into his memory.

“Hoo boy,” Hoo-no, his name was Dakota, Cavendish reminded himself. As in North Dakota and South Dakota. Dakota rubbed the back of his head, avoiding Cavendish’s eyes.

“It’s you!” Cavendish gasped.

Fate sure loved her irony.

But Cavendish derived some satisfaction from knowing this was just as awkward for Dakota as it was for him.

Dakota was completely stunned, his eyes flickering between Cavendish and Mr. Block.

A bubble of anger rose up. How dare Dakota show his face here, how dare he act like he didn’t endanger their lives, how dare he pretend saving two kids was nothing, because that was the most courageous act of foolishness Cavendish had ever seen in his life.

“Wait a minute, do you two know each other?” Mr. Block asked suspiciously as Dakota stared at Cavendish as if expecting a tirade on how he would never work willingly with someone who breaks speed limits just because they couldn’t control their hunger.

Cavendish threatened to report Dakota to the proper authorities, and he was always a man of his word.

“Here it comes,” Dakota muttered, resigned to his fate.

“I’ll tell you exactly what I know about this man,” Cavendish said.

There were a million things Stretch could say that would incriminate Dakota right then and there.

Sabotaging a new recruit.

Taking an unauthorized trip through the timestream with a company-owned vehicle.

Using the company-owned vehicle for personal reasons.

Stealing his favorite lollipop.

Reckless driving.

Dakota normally didn’t give a second thought to his rulebreaking, but geez, he was feeling lower than a discarded piece of gum on a leather boot for dragging along an innocent man who could potentially do great things in his future.

“When someone is in trouble, he’s a good man to have around. Balthazar Cavendish, pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” Stretch said, extending his hand in a formal greeting.

Shocked by Stre-Cavendish’s formality and calm but respectful tone, Dakota stared at the offered hand for several tense seconds before finally grasping it in a firm handshake.

Dakota wasn’t usually forgiven so easily, and Cavendish most definitely struck him as the type to hold a grudge. Still, it beat getting into trouble with the authorities.

On another note, didn’t he see that old surname on bananas at the grocery store?

“Pleased as well. And thanks,” Dakota finally managed.

“Don’t mention it,” Cavendish replied.

“I won’t,” Dakota grinned.

“Though I might,” Cavendish said, his eyes narrowing. “Later.”

Dakota had no doubt that his new partner would indeed follow up on that threat. “I’m sure you will.”

By this point, their handshake was less of a handshake and more just rhythmically moving their arms up and down together.

“Whatever. Get out of my office,” Mr. Block snapped.

Unwilling to be on the receiving end of Mr. Block’s wrath on the first day, they hurried out and the door automatically closed behind them.

“So, partner. What kinda mission do ya think they’re gonna send us on?” Dakota asked. They passed by a secretary’s desk, and Dakota discreetly snagged a cotton candy lollipop from the jar left conveniently on the side.

“Well, I believe they’d start us off with reviewing old cases,” Cavendish mused. “It would help us learn the patterns, see which areas of time require more of a presence, and help us catch the perpetrators who dare mess with the planet and its inhabitants. Which would include evil scientists bent on misusing the field of discovery for nefarious purposes, hunters intending to swipe the most valuable objects in history, and worst of all-”

Cavendish snatched the unwrapped cotton candy lollipop out of Dakota’s hand, stuck it in his mouth, pulled it out, and stuck it on the window behind him in one smooth flourish.

The man was so smooth at revenge.

Dakota felt a light tap along his jaw, and belatedly he realized Cavendish had closed his mouth for him because he was too stunned to do it himself.

“-lollipop thieves who revel in stealing and wasting other people’s favorite food,” Cavendish smirked. “I believe I said I’d mention it later. Don’t look so flabbergasted, man.”

“You are one petty stickler, Cavendish.”

“And you are a reckless hoodlum, Dakota.”

“Square.”

“Carjacker.”

“Stick up your butt.”

“Scoundrel.”

And that’s how Dakota knew it would be the dawn of a beautiful partnership.

#milo murphy's law #balthazar cavendish #vinnie dakota #dakavendish #mml spoilers #fanfiction #oneshot

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fyeahrixonne · 7 years

Note

The boys,Rickyl, forget their anniversary and try to make it up to a very hurt Michonne. (Maybe her ex never remembered things like that, and it made her feel that sadness/disappointment all over again.)

(set in the no-zombies AU (this prompt’s been sitting for a YEAR. sorryy. ~tails))

You stretch languorously, toes curling, and groan when your back screams at you. Even with a proper night’s sleep, the hectic shift you’d had yesterday is still coiled around your body as comeuppance. You’d been so tired you just stripped down to your boxers and hit the bed as Daryl and Michonne lay sleeping.

Even with your eyes still closed, you can feel Daryl shifting beside you, trying to go back to sleep as he always does when he wakes up the first time. You blink and crane your neck to look over Daryl’s bare shoulders and back to see that Michonne isn’t in bed with you anymore. Strange, considering it’s the extremely rare occasion that all three of you have days off at the same time. It’s usually spent in couch potato mode, .

Daryl snuffles, probably having given up on trying to sleep again, and opens his eyes. “Heya,” you croak, smiling, and kiss him, though he tries to sway away because he’s embarrassed about his morning breath. “What time did you get back last night?”

“Maybe a little after ‘Chonne did.” He rubs at his eyes. “The Silverstone we’re restorin’s been a bitch. Imma see if Ford’s done with the paint job.” He reaches for his phone in his pants’ pocket balled up under his pillow, the slob. He chuckles when you chide him for it, but then goes stock-still while staring at his screen. “fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” He holds his phone up to you, staring at the ceiling with an empty expression on his face. On his screen are a slew of unread text messages the night before, from Glenn. “happy anniv!!!!” “holy shit i cant believe you guys have made it this far, its awesome” “tell rick and michonne congrats for me and maggie” “i hope you guys had fun ;3″

“Wow, I can’t believe it either. A year since you seduced me.” You laugh and kiss Daryl’s bristly cheek. “Congrats to us, honey.” When he doesn’t respond, something tightens in your chest. “What’s with that face? Having second thoughts?” you try to jest, though it’s a legitimate, tangible fear.

This finally snaps Daryl out of it. “Huh? No, ‘course not. But…we forgot it yesterday. And ‘Chonne was in a real quiet mood when I got home. Didn’t even reply when I said ‘I love you.’”

It finally dawns on you. “fuck.”

You both shuffle like gallows-condemned men from your bedroom to the kitchen. Michonne is at the dining table, staring into her mug of coffee like it’s the most compelling thing she’s ever seen. Her face is a window with the curtains drawn, even here in the clear light of morning, and your chest literally twinges from the ache.

Daryl coughs, and asks, “Andre’s off t’ school already?” It’s a testament to how rattled he is, that he’s the one initiating conversation.

Michonne gives the barest nod, and tightens her grip on the coffee mug. After exchanging glances, you sit on the chair beside Michonne, and Daryl perches on the kitchen counter, biting at his thumb. Nobody says anything for a while.

Finally, you’ve organized your thoughts and start talking to the scuffed floor. “Lori was real big on anniversaries.” You feel both their eyes land on you, and you have to force yourself to continue talking. “What kind of gift for which year, what flowers. Silver and gold anniversaries and all that. I grew to dread it...resent it. Like a time bomb. The date became just a date, and the real meaning got lost to me.”

You force yourself to look at both of them, especially Michonne. “But this is different. Not just because we’re...you know, three people in a relationship, but you mean so much to me. And I don’t wanna make the same mistakes. Me being so busy on duty lately is no excuse for me to forget. I’m so sorry. ”

In your peripheral vision, Daryl nods, and shifts uneasily, knowing he also has to say something. “I did know that our anniversary thing was this month. Didn’t know the exact date but I always knew October was our month.” He trails off, and makes a sound that’s somehow both a laugh and a sob. “I never thought we’d get this far. Shit. I’m just an asshole from Hicktown, I was so sure you guys’d get sick o’ me. So every day is important to me. Not just one day of the year in particular. Ain’t a good excuse or what, but s’all I got. You’re all I got. M’sorry.”

All this time your eyes flit from Daryl’s open wound of a mouth to Michonne’s fingers as they slowly uncurl from her coffee. You hold your hand out for her in case she wants to take it, and she does. Her hand is still warm from holding the mug. She reaches her hand out for Daryl to take too, and he hops down from the counter to do it.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.” You and Daryl both perk up at how firm and stern her voice is. “You’re gonna take out some French toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs from the cafe down the street for our breakfast, we’re gonna eat it, and after we’ve digested from watching Evolution and Orlando Jones, you’re going to treat me right andremember this date for the rest of your lives.”

She still sounds a little hurt, but her smile is genuine, more radiant than the sunlight streaming through the windows, more than you deserve. “For the rest of our lives, huh? A proposal already? Damn, we’re moving fast.”

Daryl buries his face in Michonne’s hair to hide his happy laughter, and his free arm whips out to pull you closer as well. You stand like that over Michonne, her head pillowed between your stomachs, and think helplessly, i love them.

#fic #rixonne #dixonne #richonne #rickyl #anonymous #IM ALIIIIVEEEE I LIVE HELLO #tails

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builder051 · 7 years

Note

Maybe something about Bucky's triggers could be interesting... like steve knows what they are and tries to avoid them at all costs without bucky realising and is kind of overprotective in a way- idk where it could lead imma just put it out there, could get angsty, fluffy whatever

Here’s what I came up with. I like plot, so… yeah. If this didn’t quite hit it for you, let me know and I can unleash a bunch of headcanons in non-story format as a sort of companion to the Stucky stories.

This is powers/no powers choose your own adventure.

___________________________

Steve glances sideways as he ticks up the speed on his treadmill. He catches Bucky’s eye, and he can tell Bucky’s doing the same thing on his own machine. Steve ticks the speed up another notch and pumps his arms at his sides, propelling his body to move faster. Bucky’s already breaking into a sprint, his chest open forward and his quads gripping with visible musculature.

“What’s your distance at?” Steve pants, trying to see the display on Bucky’s treadmill without losing concentration on his own movements.

“Five point six,” Bucky reports.

“I’m at five point six one,” Steve says with a smile.

“Race you to six miles?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows and sending a bead of sweat down the side of his face.

“You’re on.” Steve ups his speed again. So does Bucky, and the sound of sneakers slapping against the treadmill belts increases to a frenetic pace.

At their speed, it only takes a couple minutes to finish the last mile. Lactic acid burns through Steve’s legs. The distance counter on his machine flicks to 6.00. “Done,” he exhales, looking at Bucky again.

Barely one second later, Bucky echoes, “Done.” They both slap the speed down and slow their sprints to a softer jogging pace.

“Ah. You win,” Bucky concedes, wiping his forehead to displace the fine hairs that have escaped from his ponytail.

“Barely,” Steve breathes. “You’re getting good. I’m going to have to step up my training to stay ahead of you.”

“Naw,” Bucky says. “I’m just happy to be in shape again…”

“I’d say it’s come back to you pretty easily,” Steve compliments. “But then again, we’re here a lot.” He gestures around at the small 24-hour gym, which, as always, is deserted at this hour.

“What time is it?” Bucky asks, slowing his treadmill to walking pace and looking over his shoulder for a clock.

“Almost five,” Steve replies, looking down at his watch.

“Fuck.”

“Well, we’ve been here since three,” Steve says with a shrug.

“The day has…too many hours. Like no matter what I do, I can barely get time to pass,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve isn’t sure how to respond. Bucky’s right. When they’re up hours before sunrise to dampen the nightmares, first instinct is to expect the day to start. But when work and other activities don’t start until at least seven or eight, something has to be done to goad the clock into moving forward. The gym’s become their go-to activity following pre-dawn wakeup calls. It gives Steve hope that Bucky has so much energy and drive, but it doesn’t take away the fact that he’s been shouting his way through paralyzing bad dreams almost nightly for the past few weeks.

Both of them have gotten stronger physically, but Steve can see the subtle wear and tear the schedule’s having on Bucky. Faint shadows show beneath his eyes. He’s quieter. Twitchier. His forehead sometimes wrinkles with what Steve knows is a headache and Bucky insists is nothing.

“Well,” Steve says, dropping his treadmill speed down to zero. “You about done here?” He steps to the carpeted floor and leans against the wall to stretch his calves.

“Yeah, I guess,” Bucky says. He surfs his treadmill belt for a few seconds as the machine turns off. The expression on his face looks upbeat enough, but Steve doesn’t like the pallor of Bucky’s cheeks or the micro tremble in his fingers.

Steve claps his hand down on Bucky’s stump shoulder. “You doing ok?” he asks quietly, wanting to check in without being overbearing.

“Sure, yeah,” Bucky murmurs, a little distantly.

“Hungry?” Steve continues. “I think we’re out of eggs. But we could find something to eat at home, or we could go out.”

“What’s open this early?” Bucky asks, flipping up the hem of his shirt to wipe more sweat from his face.

“24-hour places. IHOP,” Steve offers.

“Ok. That sounds good.”

They’d walked to the gym, so they end up walking a few blocks out of the neighborhood to a street of restaurants and shops. It’s still completely dark outside, further confusing the precarious concept of time.

Steve steps up under the IHOP’s blue canopy and holds the door open for Bucky. A sleepy-looking hostess takes them to a booth in a windowed alcove and hands them menus that are slightly tacky to the touch.

“Two coffees,” Steve orders when the woman asks if she can get them started with drinks. “And two waters, with no ice.”

Bucky’s absorbed with the menu, so Steve isn’t sure if he’s listening to the exchange. Steve’s gotten good at avoiding Bucky’s triggers, even adopting some of the habits as his own just to make things easier. Up until this most recent string of night terrors, Bucky’s been flourishing. Navigating life easily as long as certain things are avoided. They haven’t actually talked about it in a while, so Steve can’t say clearly whether or not his protectiveness is embarrassing to Bucky, but he has a feeling it probably is.

The dining room is empty except for a group of drunk-looking young people a few tables over. Steve glances at them with a disapproving look for a moment, then he realizes it’s Saturday morning. They’re probably the leftover stragglers from some Friday night party. He remembers himself and Bucky doing things like that years ago, and a single sniff of a giggle escapes him as he turns his attention to the list of omelets.

“What?” Bucky asks, giving a confused smile at the look on Steve’s face.

“Was just thinking…” Steve says. “About us as kids. Going out drinking and stuff.” That feels like so long ago, before the war came in as an unwelcome interruption. Now, sitting face to face in the restaurant booth, it’s starting to feel overwhelmingly like a date despite their gym clothes and sweaty faces. It feels like they’ve been together for a century. But before the war, it was in the closet. And now, it’s an awkward domesticity. Steve can’t drudge up a single memory of them actually going out.

“God, I barely remember that far back,” Bucky says. “We’ve gotten old.”

The waters and coffees arrive. Steve sees to rehydrating himself with the clear fluid before attacking the caffeine. Bucky takes one halfhearted sip of his water, then wraps both hands around his steaming mug. The water’s still cold even though it doesn’t have ice in it. Steve makes a mental note to ask for room-temperature next time, even though it sounds nit-picky.

The waitress comes around a moment later, and Steve selects an omelet. Bucky goes for plain pancakes with eggs and bacon, stuttering a little over his order and training his eyes downward.

“I bet you could make that,” Steve says, pointing at an advert on the wall for pumpkin French toast. Now that his menu’s gone, Bucky’s picking at a crack in the tabletop, and Steve’s reaching to give him a distraction. Bucky’s recent infatuation with the Food Network seems like a good choice.

“I bet it’s too sweet, though,” Bucky says, looking up at the pile of whipped cream and candied pecans topping the image of orange-brown toast triangles.

“But if you made it yourself, you could have it be however sweet you wanted,” Steve reminds him.

“Hm,” Bucky muses. “Might be fun. We could have breakfast for dinner, maybe for Halloween…”

“Yeah, I’d been meaning to ask, what do you want to do this year? How’re you feeling about the doorbell and stuff?” Steve poses, draining his water glass.

Bucky looks into his coffee cup. Last year, Steve’d tried putting up a sign imploring trick-or-treaters to skip their door. He and Bucky’d ended up sitting against the wall in the master bedroom listening to the doorbell ring on and off for the entire evening.

“I don’t know…” Bucky says. “I’m not…really wanting to do the same thing again.”

“I could ask Clint if they get a lot of traffic in their neighborhood. Since it’s a lot more rural than here,” Steve suggests. “Or we could get a hotel.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Didn’t know it was that kind of holiday,” Bucky jokes.

Service is quick in the almost-empty restaurant, and their steaming breakfast plates arrive. The waitress generously refills their coffee mugs and leaves a collection of ketchup and hot sauce on the edge of the table. Steve adds some condiments to his hash browns, then tucks in. The workout’s left him famished. Bucky’s slower in his attack on the eggs and bacon, but nods enthusiastically when Steve asks if his meal is good.

Bucky switches back and forth between his savory plate and his pancakes. Steve directs him to the little cart of flavored syrups. “The original’s probably the least sweet,” Steve says. “But there are fruit-flavored ones, too.”

Bucky scoots down the length of the booth to investigate, accidentally knocking his napkin off the edge of the table as he moves. He’s about to change directions and lean down to pick it up when one of the young men from the drunk table passes by, likely on his way to the bathroom. His foot lands squarely on the white paper napkin, and he slips, reaching blindly for anything to break his fall.

It’s no use. The young man hits the floor, along with the ketchup and Steve’s coffee cup. The sound of glass shattering mixes with swearing, and the waitress rushes over to pull the kid off the floor and survey the damage.

Steve looks at Bucky, who’s wide-eyed and ghostly pale. “I…what did…? I didn’t mean…” Bucky’s stammer-whispering. His gaze is trapped on the young man, who’s dabbing ketchup off his jeans, and the mass of glass and ceramic and muddled red-brown liquid on the tile below.

“Buck, it’s alright,” Steve says, reaching for Bucky’s hand across the table.

Bucky retracts, hunching his shoulders. “I didn’t…I didn’t pull the trigger,” he mutters.

“You didn’t do anything,” Steve says firmly. He rounds the table, trying to avoid the mess on the floor. Bucky’s covering half his pallid face with his hand, and Steve reaches for both shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go outside for a minute. You’re safe. It’s ok.”

He pulls Bucky out the front door and off to the side so they can lean against the building’s brick façade.

“I didn’t meant to…to shoot him,” Bucky breathes.

“You didn’t shoot anyone,” Steve firmly reminds him. “That was a stupid drunk kid knocking stuff on the floor.”

“It’s my fault…”

“No,” Steve says, grounding Bucky with gentle pressure on his arm and stump. “It was an accident. That guy wasn’t paying attention.”

Bucky tips his head back against the wall and takes a gasping breath.

“Alright, get your breath back,” Steve encourages. “You’re at the IHOP in Falls Church. You’re close to home. You’re with me. You’re gonna be ok.”

“Steve,” Bucky mutters.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Steve says. Bucky’s white face is illuminated blue with the glow of the restaurant’s sign. His jaw’s hanging slack; Steve wonders if he’s feeling sick.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers.

“It’s ok. Don’t worry about anything. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Can we…please go home?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says. “We’ll have to walk. Are you feeling up to it?”

Bucky swallows hard and nods.

“Ok,” Steve says. Then, “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and seems to battle for coherency. “Like…kind of sick, but…still really hungry?” he tries.

Steve chuckles at the honesty, relieved Bucky’s able to get in touch with his own feelings. “How about we take breakfast to go?”

#sickfic #fanfic #marvel #mcu #captain america #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #panic attacks #flashback #powers/no powers choose-your-own-adventure

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notalk-justthought · 7 years

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i didnt expect to be asked all these questions in one go but here we are

HOKAY so

wow that’s a lot more questions that i thought lmao imma put it under a read all thing cuz it’s a lot

chocolate: when was your first kiss? -hasn’t happened yet

french vanilla: how old are you? -the tender and weird age of 19

cotton candy: three places you want to travel to? -Canada, Japan and Australia

strawberry: a language you wish you could speak? -Spanish i already know a fair amount already and it’s practical

coffee: favorite cosmetic brands? -the only thing i own that’s probably remotely considered makeup that i have with me right now is burt’s bees chapstick lmao

mint chocolate chip: indoors or outdoors? -yes

cookie dough: do you play any instruments? -yeah, i play piano a bit

rocky road: favorite songs at the moment? -Wonderland by Caravan Palace and DIP-BAP by THE ORAL CIGARETTES

butter pecan: favorite songs for life? -Everybody Wants to be a Cat from The Aristocats

cheesecake: what’s your zodiac sign? -the crab

toasted coconut: the beach or the pool? -beach

chocolate chip: what’s your most popular post? -oh god um this

bubblegum: books or movies? -hm… movies only because it’s the only thing other than tumblr that can grab my attention when im procrastinating

pistachio: manga or anime? -anime i guess? i don’t really read manga or watch anime much anymore

salted caramel: favorite movies? -The Aristocats, Shaun of the Dead, Silence of the Lambs and Tangerine (it’s such a mix of genres i know)

birthday cake: favorite books? -i havent read a book in a while, but the Memoirs of the Mausoleum trilogy/series, uhhh The Living and The Hunted are good too

moose tracks: favorites for manga? -idk

orange sherbet: favorites for anime? -bnha (im not caught up tho), ouran

peanut butter: favorite academic subject? -creative writing and animation

black raspberry: do you have any pets? -my mom has two cats and my dad has two cats whom i all love dearly

mango: when and why did you start your blog? -i made my blog in like may of 2013 because i thought why not and it was the best and worst decision i have made in my life

mocha: ideal weather conditions? -kinda sunny but cold, like the ideal autumn weather which hasn’t happened consistently long enough

black cherry: four words that describe you?- openminded, foolish, kind, loyal (idk im a mess sometimes)

neapolitan: things that stress you out? -my inability to get my classwork done until the day of due to procrastination

raspberry truffle: favorite kind of music? -honestly idk, like im listening to childish gambino now but the next song could easily be from a musical

chocolate marshmallow: favorite brands of candy? -snickers, kit-kats, twizzlers (i can eat red vines, but there’s something about them where i cant love them entirely)

toffee: a card game that you’re good at? -concentration or spoons (okay spoons can be dangerous af i could have died that one time, luckily we were using plastic spoons)

lemon custard: do you eat breakfast? -yeah

dark chocolate: turn ons? -people who smell good, are passionate in what they believe in (okay i dont think about turn ons and turn offs that much so yeah…)

fudge: turn offs? -people who smoke, rude to others (idk what else havent made a list yet lmao)

peach: how do you relax? -listen to music, drink tea, take a nap (well try to)

praline: a popular book you haven’t read yet? -Murder on the Orient Express

superman: do you like sweaters? -yes

cherry: do you drink tea or coffee? -yes but not at the same time, i tried that last year and i hated it

dulce de leche: an instrument you wish you could play? -guitar or the accordion

blackberry: have you ever laughed so hard you cried? -yeah

ginger: a new feature you wish tumblr could have? -a feature to not fuck up with every update they put out

blueberry lemon: favorite blogs? -dude that’s way too many to list

almond: favorite mean girls quote? -you go glenn coco (i havent seen it in a while and i know there are better ones, but i cant think of any others rn)

butterscotch: what color are your nails right now? -clear? im not wearing nail polish

cinnamon: have you ever been confessed to? -uhhh does that one time in 12th grade where a girl wrote in my yearbook that she wanted to take me out some time count as a confession? if so then yes (and i ended up not going out with her which is a shame tbh she was nice)

blue moon: have you ever had a crush on someone? -i sure have

cappuccino crunch: do you take naps? -sometimes

mint: the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done? -there was this one time in 5th grade where i misheard one of the after school group leaders and thought she said for the girls to wash their hands before snack time and started to tell the girls around me and then i realized that i made a mistake and they started to laugh about it and because i was hella sensitive (im a cancer so it makes sense) i cried for like an hour and i had to go see the school nurse

brownie batter: do you like sushi? -yes dude i havent had sushi in a while…

key lime: where do you want to be right now? -somewhere not at school and with my friend daria

red velvet: do you wear prescription glasses? -yeah

green tea: favorite flavors of ice cream? -mint chocolate chip, salted caramel, rocky road

#about me #one-for-all-plus-ultra #ask #long post

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